Jian Yuche's mind was still trying to process what he'd just witnessed.
First, fire manifested from human hands, spreading with unnatural speed, extinguishing the moment water touched skin. He was trying to figure out not only what happened, but why it happened when Rouxi spoke again, her tone shifting from dry annoyance to something closer to practical concern.
"This is why you don't smoke inside," she continued, looking at Lingyun with the kind of expression someone might use when addressing a teenager who'd been caught doing something stupid. "Imagine if you fell asleep and dropped a cigarette on the mattress. We would all die in our sleep without knowing why."
The words hung in the air for a moment, and Yuche felt something shift in the room—not physically, but in the collective understanding of what had just happened. Or rather, what they were all going to pretend had happened.
Smoking.
She was framing it as Lingyun was smoking a cigarette and caught the curtain on fire.
Jian Yuche's gaze moved to Lingyun, who was still standing there dripping wet, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at his palms.
There was no cigarette. There had never been a cigarette.
Fire had appeared from nothing, had burned without fuel, had spread in ways that defied every law of physics Yuche understood.
But Rouxi was offering them an explanation. A rational one. A comfortable one.
And the terrifying part was that Yuche could feel himself wanting to take it.
"Right," Lingyun said slowly, his voice hoarse. He looked up from his hands, his expression still dazed, still confused, but there was something else there now—relief. Desperate, fragile relief at being given a narrative that made sense. "I... I should stop smoking."
Rouxi nodded, as if this was a perfectly reasonable conclusion to draw from what had just happened.
"Probably a good idea," she agreed before she turned and walked toward the kitchen, her movements casual and unhurried, like she'd just resolved a minor household issue rather than witnessed something impossible.
Yuche watched her go, his analytical mind cataloging every detail—the way she moved without hesitation, the complete absence of shock or fear in her body language, the matter-of-fact tone she'd used when offering an explanation that couldn't possibly be true.
She wasn't in denial. She wasn't confused. She was just... handling it. The way she handled everything else.
She returned a moment later with a bag of chips, walked past all four of them without making eye contact, and settled onto the couch.
The television was still on—some drama playing in the background, the sound muted beneath the fading wail of the smoke alarm—and she reached for the remote, adjusting the volume slightly before opening the bag with a soft crinkle.
The smoke alarm finally stopped, leaving only the sound of the television and the quiet rustle of chips.
No one spoke.
Jian Yuche's gaze moved to Chenghai, who was standing near the window with his arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral. Then to Zhenlan, who had moved to examine the burned curtain and wall, his movements methodical and controlled. Then back to Lingyun, who was still staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else.
They were all choosing the same thing.
The realization settled over Yuche with uncomfortable clarity.
They were all going to accept the smoking explanation. Not because they believed it—Yuche could see the doubt in Chenghai's eyes, the tension in Zhenlan's shoulders, the way Lingyun's hands were still trembling—but because the alternative was too destabilizing to acknowledge.
Fire didn't manifest from human hands. People didn't generate flames from nothing. Those things weren't possible.
So they would pretend it hadn't happened.
"She can't handle it," Zhenlan said quietly, his voice barely audible over the television. He wasn't looking at any of them—his gaze was fixed on the burned wall, his expression tight. "What she saw. She's... reframing it. Giving herself something rational to hold onto."
It was a generous interpretation. A kind one, even.
And yet, Yuche knew it was wrong.
Rouxi wasn't reframing anything. She wasn't in shock. She had looked at an impossible situation, offered a plausible explanation, and moved on with her day.
That wasn't denial—that was control. But saying that out loud would mean acknowledging what they'd all seen, and none of them were ready to do that.
"Right," Yuche said, his tone neutral. "We should... let her believe that."
Chenghai nodded slowly. "Agreed."
Lingyun exhaled, the sound shaky and uneven. "I'll stop smoking," he said again, like repeating it would make it true. "I didn't realize... I should've been more careful."
The lie settled over them like a blanket—suffocating but comfortable. Easier than the truth.
"We still have the bodies outside," Chenghai said after a moment, his voice returning to its usual tactical efficiency. "We need to deal with them before decomposition becomes a bigger problem."
Yuche nodded, grateful for the shift back to practical concerns. "Burning is still the most efficient option. We'll need to gather materials—accelerant, kindling, anything that burns."
They moved outside together, leaving Rouxi on the couch with her chips and her drama, and the moment they stepped through the door, the reality of the situation hit them again.
Bodies everywhere—dozens of them, scattered across the lawn and driveway, motionless and still. The air was thick with the smell of death, and the sun was already starting to intensify the decomposition process.
"We'll start with the ones closest to the house," Chenghai said, his tone clipped and professional. "Work our way outward. Yuche, check the garage for fuel. Zhenlan, see if there's anything in the shed we can use."
They scattered, each moving with purpose, and Yuche found himself in the garage, searching through shelves and storage containers for anything flammable.
There wasn't much—some old newspapers, a half-empty container of lighter fluid, a few rags soaked in oil. Not nearly enough for the number of bodies they needed to dispose of.
He returned to find Chenghai and Zhenlan attempting to ignite one of the corpses using the materials they'd gathered. The lighter fluid caught briefly, flames licking across the body's clothing, but it burned out quickly, leaving only charred fabric and the acrid smell of smoke.
"It's not enough," Zhenlan said, his frustration evident. "We'd need industrial accelerant for this many bodies, and we don't have it."
Yuche's gaze moved to Lingyun, who was standing a few meters away, staring at his hands again. The same hands that had produced fire less than an hour ago. Fire that had burned without fuel, that had spread with unnatural intensity.
"Lingyun," Yuche said quietly.
Lingyun looked up, his expression wary.
"Can you..." Yuche trailed off, unsure how to phrase it. Can you make fire appear again? Can you do the impossible thing we're all pretending didn't happen?
Lingyun's jaw tightened. He didn't ask what Yuche meant. He just looked down at his hands, his expression shifting from wariness to something closer to resignation.
He held his hands out, palms up, and after a moment—a long, tense moment where nothing happened and Yuche started to think maybe it had been a hallucination after all—fire appeared.
Then it started small, just a flicker in the center of his palms, and then grew, spreading outward until flames were dancing across his skin without burning it, without consuming anything. Just there. Just burning.
Chenghai took a step back, his hand moving instinctively toward his weapon before stopping.
Zhenlan's expression remained carefully neutral, but Yuche could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze was fixed on Lingyun's hands with the kind of intensity that suggested he was trying very hard not to react.
Lingyun moved toward the nearest corpse and extended his hands. The fire spread immediately, engulfing the body with the same unnatural speed it had shown inside the house. The flames consumed the corpse rapidly, reducing it to ash in minutes rather than hours.
He moved to the next one. Then the next.
By the time he'd burned through approximately a quarter of the bodies, his movements had slowed noticeably. His face was becoming pale, his breathing labored, and when he tried to manifest fire for the next corpse, the flames flickered weakly before dying out entirely.
"Lingyun?" Chenghai's voice was sharp with concern.
Lingyun swayed slightly, his hand moving to his head. "I'm fine. Just... dizzy."
He wasn't fine. Yuche could see it in the way he was struggling to stay upright, the way his skin had taken on a grayish tint, the tremor in his hands that had nothing to do with cold.
"You need to rest," Zhenlan said, moving forward to steady him. "This is too much. You're exhausted."
Exhausted. From shock. From stress. From the physical exertion of burning bodies.
Not from manifesting fire from nothing. Not from doing something impossible.
And there they were... doing it again—reframing, rationalizing, choosing comfort over truth.
"We'll finish this later," Chenghai said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Lingyun needs to recover. We all do."
Yuche nodded slowly, his gaze moving across the remaining bodies, then back to Lingyun, who was leaning heavily against Zhenlan now, his eyes half-closed.
They were lying to themselves. All of them. Choosing a narrative that made sense over the reality they'd witnessed.
And the worst part was that Yuche didn't know what else to do.
"Let's get him inside," he said quietly.
They turned back toward the house, leaving the bodies behind, leaving the questions unanswered, leaving the truth buried beneath layers of convenient denial.
Inside, Rouxi was still on the couch, still watching her drama, still eating chips.
She didn't look up as they passed.