The morning after the teahouse fire, Baojing woke to whispers and smoke. Rumors clung to the streets like fog—some said a demon cult had returned, others claimed sect assassins were culling spies. But Lin Wuyin knew better.
She stood at the edge of a rooftop overlooking Baojing's Eastern Market, cloak fluttering like a torn shadow. Beside her, Tang Yun'er crouched with a biscuit in her mouth, chewing loudly.
"You sure he's coming here?" Yun'er mumbled.
"He owes me a favor. Fear makes people predictable," Wuyin replied.
They were watching a pawn shop called Silver Dust Trinkets. Inside, a twitchy, sallow-eyed man paced behind the counter—one Liu Shifan, former poison-runner and minor informant.
Wuyin jumped down the moment he stepped outside for air.
She grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the alley wall.
"Where is the Whisper Nest?"
Liu choked. "I-I don't know what you—"
She twisted.
He howled. "Okay! Okay! The sewers! Behind the burnt moonstone kiln, south of Vermilion Bridge. There's a trapdoor under the tiles!"
Yun'er landed beside them with a shrug. "That was quick."
Wuyin's voice was cold. "He remembers pain better than coin."
---
It was almost evening when they found the entrance—an old storm drain choked with moss and a sealed panel made from interlocked spirit runes. Wuyin traced the sequence, not with a sect's knowledge but the instincts of a survivor who had lived too long in the cracks of the world.
The seal gave way.
Yun'er muttered, "You keep doing things no rogue cultivator should know."
"I'm not a rogue," Wuyin said. "I carry an inheritance."
She didn't elaborate.
They entered the Whisper Nest. Stale air. Cracked lanterns. Rows of scroll shelves and abandoned bunks. It was half-evacuated already. But there were signs—a recent message burned into a clay plate, a half-erased summoning sigil.
Yun'er read the sigil, eyes narrowing. "Bloodborne communion. They're preparing rituals. Not just information exchange."
Wuyin pocketed the sigil. "Let's move. Before they regroup."
---
Later that night, at the Bai estate, Yujin patched a cut on Wuyin's arm.
"You don't flinch," she said.
"I've had worse."
Their eyes met. A quiet moment, the kind born of long silences and shared dangers.
"You've never said where your techniques come from," Yujin murmured.
Wuyin looked away. "A tomb. In the forest. Ten years ago."
Yujin paused. "Not a sect?"
"She was already dead when I found her. The Silent Monarch. Her bones were laid beneath obsidian lotus stones. I took the scrolls. Learned them alone."
Yujin didn't speak for a while. Then she said softly, "You're not bound by legacy. You chose your path."
Wuyin shrugged. "No one else would choose me."
Yujin touched her hand.
"I would."