The cool night air bit at the fresh, self-inflicted wounds on Shen Yu's shoulder, but the sting was a distant hum compared to the cold fire of the hunt. He moved with the silent, predatory grace of a phantom, his blood-stained white robes fluttering like a tattered shroud as he left the smoke and the lingering stench of the Peng Estate behind.
Behind him, Xu Yi kept pace, her breathing rhythmic and silent. She watched his back, straight, lethal, and radiating a pressure that made the surrounding forest go still.
Shen Yu reached into his robes and crushed the silver talisman in his palm. A pulse of liquid Qi surged through the air, and the parchment began to burn from the top with a slow, ghostly blue flame as it established a spiritual bridge to its twin.
"So, how did it go, honey?"
Meng Yan's voice drifted from the burning paper, sultry and thick with an intimate playfulness that felt out of place in the dark woods.
