The azure web on Xiaoxiao’s brow flared rhythmically, each surge matching her fading breaths. Ren Zifeng dropped to his knees, fingers stiffening an inch above the burning brand. He couldn't touch it. He couldn't help her. The air crackled, growing heavy, a familiar, crushing pressure descending from the heavens. The warden above drew near. A blur of crimson entered the shack. Lin Muyue pushed past him, her sandals slapping the dirt floor. Her sight locked on the girl's forehead, lips drawing taut. She scooped Xiaoxiao into her arms, the child dangling limp as dry straw. “Move. Now,” Muyue commanded, her tone cutting and flat. The crushing leaden weight descending through the roof timbers forced him to his feet. He caught up the leather pouch of spirit essence pills. “Where?” he managed, his voice hoarse. “The Veil-Stone Crypt,” Muyue replied, clearing the low sill without jarring the child. “It blocks divine senses. An old refuge from the first sovereign.” He sprinted behind her into the dark. She ducked past the outer terrace switchbacks, taking jagged clefts behind the crags where cold wind masked their scent. The suffocating draft from the clouds pressed harder against their skulls with every stride. She veered into a briar-choked chimney split into the cliffside. At a blank slate face, she pressed her palm against the stone, muttering an invocation. A seam cracked open, parting just wide enough for shoulders to turn through into swirling vapor. She slipped inside, and Zifeng drove himself through after her. The instant the stone shut behind his heels, the skyward pressure vanished into dead stillness. The underground vault opened wide and chill. Runes of luminescent cinnabar cast pale red lines across carved bas-reliefs running along the granite perimeter. The figures were not patriarchs, but titanic forms clashing in ruined skies around a solitary crowned warlord. Xiaoxiao’s shallow gasps slowed as the ward took hold; the azure lines on her brow dimmed to thin scratches. Muyue carefully laid Xiaoxiao down on a bed of soft, luminous moss. “Your spine,” she said, setting Xiaoxiao gently atop a bed of soft dry lichen. Her eyes dropped to the blackened crust stiffening the back of his hemp tunic. “Let me see.” Zifeng kept his head ducked, shy beneath her direct scrutiny, and turned. He felt the cool brush of her fingers as she gingerly peeled back the fabric. “Elder Song struck deep,” she muttered, slicing the stiffened fabric away. “The venom is rotting the muscle.” Her touch was feather-light as she cleaned the wound with a clear, fragrant liquid from a small vial, then applied a poultice of crushed cave herbs. The icy paste stung like lye, drawing out the black rot until the burning settled into an ache. “Thank you,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the wall carvings. The crowned figure, chiseled without features, gripped a trident that made his own palms twitch with phantom muscle memory. Muyue capped the vial. “Ren Zifeng,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper against the dry stone, “I know what sits behind your ribs.” Zifeng flinched, shrinking back into the rock shadow. How could she know? Only Lord Buzhou, and his own fragmented memories, held that truth. “The Lin clan were never native to Mount Wuyin,” she said. “We guarded an emperor’s sepulcher before the grand deception stripped our titles. The secret records survived with our bloodline.” She pointed toward the carvings. “The one who fooled the stars was you. Reincarnated, yet... altered.” His tongue felt thick. “He broke this body beforehand,” Zifeng murmured, staring at his calloused knuckles. “My mother, my meridians, Xiaoxiao’s curse... he arranged every scar to build an instrument.” Muyue rose and traced the granite relief where a fissure ran deep into the core of the peak. “He buried his residual intent within the root vein of this ridge. Seize that reservoir, break into the Ascendant Realm, and you will burn out Xiaoxiao’s brand before the wardens descend.” He stepped beside her, tracking the stone channels. “Draining that subterranean artery would collapse the upper peaks,” he said, throat tight. “Every outer courtyard would fall.” She caught both of his wrists, squeezing until bone pressed against bone. “You bleed for strangers while your sister chokes on her own blood. Discard the world, Ren Zifeng. Be ruthless enough to save your kin.” Her grip anchored him. Behind her dark pupils lay no pity, only cold calculation aligned with his own survival. A harsh brass clang reverberated down through the ceiling strata. Three rapid strikes, then a sustained shriek from the summit bronze bells: the sect's alert for an internal apostate. Muyue's jaw hardened. “Song Liena,” she said, teeth bared. “She tracked our blood trail.” Granite ground on granite as the outer fissure snapped shut with a deafening crack. The red cinnabar runes sputtered, dropping the chamber into near blackness. A concussive blast smashed down from the open sky, shattering outer crags. Blue lightning split the overhead vault, raining rock shards upon the floor. The celestial warden had located them, and the mountain was coming down.

The Saintess and the Sinner