Realizing that their great escape might have been in vain cast a heavy pall over the group. The faint hope that had carried them out of the dungeon was already unraveling. Many of the escapees had slowed, eyes hollow, their faces bearing the quiet acceptance of people who had seen what awaited them. What the sect would do to them was not slaughter — it would be correction. A clinical resolution to an error that should not have existed. While the others sank into despair, Shen steadied his breathing, his gaze sharp and calculating. “Think,” he murmured under his breath. “We can’t stop here.”. But before he could act, an alarm ripped through the stillness — harsh, mechanical, unending.

“Unauthorized breach detected. Respond immediately.”

The voice echoed across the grounds, repeating again and again until it seemed to shake the very air. The group froze for a heartbeat, then broke into motion. Panic carried them forward, following Jin and Shen through the narrow courtyards, desperate to put distance between themselves and the dungeon below.

It wasn’t long before Shen felt it — the faint ripple of qi behind them. Glancing back, his eyes caught flashes of crimson robes leaping between the rooftops. Inner disciples.

“Keep running,” he hissed. “If we fight here, we’ll be surrounded.”. Even half-starved, they ran without looking back — the memory of the labs still burned behind their eyes.

The chase drove them toward the outskirts, the paved paths giving way to rough soil and scattered roots. Ahead, the shadows thickened — a vast forest stretched before them, moonlight weaving through its canopy.

“Push through,” Shen ordered. “Once we’re inside, they’ll lose formation advantage.”

Branches whipped against their faces as they plunged into the treeline. Behind them, the glow of the sect’s walls dimmed, swallowed by the forest’s gloom. The sound of pursuit still lingered for a time, but the deeper they went, the quieter the world became.

The forest was alive. Leaves whispered above, unseen insects hummed, and a low mist coiled around the roots like breath. Compared to the sterile air of the laboratories below, it almost felt peaceful. Almost.

“Keep moving,” Shen said softly. “We break line of sight, then rest.”

They stumbled forward, feet dragging through uneven earth. One man fell, clawed his way upright, and kept going. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

Finally, Shen raised his hand. Silence. No qi ripples, no footsteps. Only the forest’s rhythm.

“They’ve lost us,” he said.

Relief rippled through the group. Some collapsed outright, others leaned against trees, whispering prayers through cracked lips.

Jin slid down beside a mossy trunk, sweat streaking his face. “We actually did it,” he breathed.

“For now,” Shen replied. His voice was calm, but his eyes remained distant. “They’ll search again at dawn. We need a way out before then.”

Jin frowned. “Out? You mean the sect boundary?”

Shen nodded. “If I’m right, we’re near the southern edge of the Central Plains. This forest borders the western ridge.”

Jin’s eyes widened. “The western ridge… you don’t mean the Scorched Path, do you?”

Shen’s silence was answer enough.

The Scorched Path — a name whispered even by common folk. Thirty years ago, it had been a bustling trade route, a river of caravans and merchants. Then, without warning, the ground beneath it erupted — an unstable yang qi vein had torn open, incinerating everything for miles. The Crimson Flare Sect later declared the area cursed and sealed it from human entry.

Jin’s expression shifted — fear mixing with fragile hope. “If it’s still sealed… we might slip through unnoticed.”

“Perhaps,” Shen said.

After resting briefly, they continued onward, following the slope of the land toward the faint murmur of running water. The deeper they went, the darker it grew. Even the insects fell silent, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

Then they saw it — a shimmer between the trees, faint and flickering like a dying flame. A boundary line. Beyond it stretched a quiet valley under the pale moonlight.

“The exit,” Shen whispered.

A shaky laugh escaped one of the escapees. “We made it… we’re free.”

He stepped forward, tears glimmering in his eyes. “Finally, I’ve left this cursed lan—”

A flash of crimson fire swept through the air. When it passed, only ash drifted where the man had stood.

“—go no further.”

The words cut through the silence like a blade — calm, cold, close.

Every head turned. A figure stepped from the shadows, robes of deep crimson lined with gold. The insignia of a deacon burned on his chest. His expression was unreadable, his eyes sharp as tempered glass.

Shen’s hand drifted toward his sleeve. “Deacon…” he muttered.

The man’s face was blank, his voice cold enough to drain the warmth from the air. "Leave behind the test subject, and pay for your transgressions with your life"

What transpired after this was almost instantaneous, the escapees started combusting randomly, the pain only lasted for a moment. They flailed for a few moments while screaming, until they turned to ash in the wind.

Ash drifted across the clearing. Only Jin, Shen, and the little girl remained. The both of them caught fire, however, perhaps due to training in momentum and intent, the both seemed to have a mysterious resistance to elemental arts in general. This however didn't mean they were unharmed. The great heat from the flames made their blood start boiling, their organs churned, and their muscles writhed with pain.

Their blood was quite literally boiling. Pain dragged them to the edge of consciousness. Shen and Jin understood from the pain they felt, this wasn't an opponent they could run away from. The moment they turned their backs to this man, it would signal the end of their lives.

Jin took up a fighting stance and started to draw on his momentum. Shen brought out a weapon and took his stance as well, Shen spoke to Jin "It seems Brother Jin has realized as well — there’s no escaping this thing."

Jin steeled himself, his intent boiling over, the indignant wails of the dead resonated in his ears, he could feel it. The feeling he had that day on the river bank.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The night of Boss Wang’s sixty-fifth birthday stretched long and loud. Lanterns bathed the courtyard in a warm amber glow, their light flickering across half-empty jugs and the glimmer of fine porcelain. Laughter rolled like thunder beneath the eaves, the kind that came from men who had long since stopped counting their cups.

Bao Kun sat among them, silver threading his dark hair, his face still sharp but softened by time. He raised his cup when toasts were offered, but mostly he listened—his calm presence grounding the drunken cheer around him.

“Brother Bao!” Boss Wang boomed, cheeks flushed with wine. “You still drink like a monk. At this age, a man should celebrate his body still keeping up with him!”

Bao Kun smiled faintly. “At our age, Boss Wang, one should be grateful the body does keep up.”

The table roared with laughter again, and Wang slapped his knee. Music started somewhere in the back, a bamboo flute weaving through the fading chatter.

But as the night deepened, Bao Kun’s eyes drifted toward the open veranda. The noise of the feast dulled behind him—wine, laughter, and the echo of decades slipping quietly into memory.

When at last he stood, Boss Wang looked up, bleary but content. “Leaving already, old friend?”

“The night’s grown still,” Bao Kun said. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

He stepped outside, the cool wind carrying away the scent of smoke and wine. The manor behind him pulsed with life, yet the world beyond the walls felt unnaturally calm. Stars burned sharp over the horizon, and far to the south, the faint crimson hue of distant qi shimmered at the edge of sight.

Bao Kun’s gaze lingered there—the southern edge of the Central Plains.

A wry smile touched his lips. “It seems,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “my foolish disciple has found himself in a bit of a pinch.”

He shifted his stance ever so slightly.

The ground beneath him cracked. Stone tiles splintered like glass, rippling outward from where his foot met the earth. A pulse of power burst through the courtyard, scattering the loose dust into a ring of light.

Then, with a single step, Bao Kun vanished—no sound, no wind, only the faint shimmer of distorted air where he had stood.

The night swallowed the shockwave, leaving Boss Wang’s lanterns swaying in the silence.