Deeper in the bamboo forest, the light thins and fractures into pale slivers, filtered by countless green stalks rising like spears toward the sky.
Diexin moves fast but controlled, her steps light, her breathing steady, the Seventh Prince following close behind despite his uneven pace.
After several minutes, his voice breaks the silence.
"Lady Wenji," he asks, keeping his tone low, "do you know who they are… and why they want to kill you?"
Diexin does not answer immediately.
She keeps moving, eyes sweeping the ground, ears tuned to every rustle, every whisper of displaced air.
Her mind races.
She cannot tell him the truth.
Not about Meili.
Not about her true identity.
Not about the tangled blood-deep hatred between her and Shen Ling's faction.
But if they survive this forest, she will need him.
The Seventh Prince is the current king's son.
And the king would never tolerate an unknown organisation backing Prince Yuan's breakthrough into the Sublimation Realm.
That truth alone gives her leverage.
"They want to kill me," Diexin finally says, "because I heard a secret."
The Seventh Prince says nothing, but she can feel his curiosity pressing closer, sharp and insistent, like a blade hovering just short of skin.
She continues walking, bamboo brushing her sleeves.
"Shen Ling," she says calmly, "belongs to an organisation."
The Seventh Prince slows, then pushes a bamboo stalk aside to pass through, his brows knitting together.
"And Prince Yuan," Diexin adds, "has a deal with them."
The bamboo creaks softly as he steps forward again.
"So cousin Shiyi's marriage to Shen Ling…" he murmurs, more to himself than to her, "…was part of a deal."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by something darker.
"Now I understand why Uncle arranged Shiyi's marriage to a married man."
His jaw tightens.
He looks up at Diexin's back.
"What does Uncle get out of it?"
Diexin stops.
She crouches slowly, brushing aside fallen leaves to examine faint disturbances in the soil, footprints half-erased, bamboo fibres snapped in haste, traces of hurried movement.
"Golden Blood Spiritual Liquid," she says without looking up.
She rises and scans the forest again.
The Seventh Prince blinks.
"Golden Blood Spiritual Liquid?"
He frowns. "What is it used for?"
"It increases the chance of advancing to the Sublimation Realm," Diexin replies.
The words hit him like a blow.
"What?" he blurts, then quickly lowers his voice.
"Why… why would Uncle Yuan keep something like that to himself?"
Diexin does not answer.
She starts walking again, and after a moment, the Seventh Prince follows, his expression tight, his thoughts clearly spiralling.
Minutes pass.
Then the air screams.
A blade of sword qi tears through the bamboo ahead of them, cutting cleanly through stalk after stalk as it races toward their position.
The Seventh Prince freezes, shock locking his body in place.
Diexin reacts instantly.
She channels her qi and swings her sword upward, forming a translucent shield just as the sword qi crashes into it.
The impact sends a violent tremor through her arm, forcing her back half a step.
The bamboo behind her splits apart, falling in clean halves.
Through the newly opened gap, they see a clearing.
Three figures stand there.
Chu Feng.
And two men beside him, both alert, hands near their weapons.
Chu Feng's eyes widen the instant he sees her.
"Di, "
Diexin snaps her gaze to the Seventh Prince and tilts her head sharply.
Chu Feng catches himself mid-word.
", Wenji," he corrects smoothly, though surprise still flickers in his eyes.
"What are you doing here?"
"To escape from attackers," Diexin answers without hesitation.
The Seventh Prince studies them both, suspicion sharpening his gaze.
"Do you two know each other?" he asks.
For a heartbeat, the forest seems to hold its breath.
Diexin and Chu Feng exchange a glance.
Then Diexin smiles, light and unforced.
"We know each other from Dongji Province," she says.
Chu Feng nods immediately.
"I'm from Mian Province. My family often visited Wenji's teacher for treatment."
The Seventh Prince observes them, searching for cracks, for hesitation.
After a moment, he nods and falls silent, though his eyes remain sharp.
Then he asks, "Why is my uncle targeting you?"
Diexin does not answer aloud.
Instead, she connects to Chu Feng through spiritual transmission.
Tell him his uncle isn't targeting you.
Tell him it's the organisation behind Shen Ling.
Chu Feng meets her eyes and gives a nearly imperceptible nod.
"Your uncle isn't targeting me," he says calmly.
"It's the organisation behind Shen Ling."
The Seventh Prince frowns.
"Why?"
Before anyone can answer, one of Chu Feng's men stiffens.
"Master," he says sharply, pointing upward, "look."
They follow his gaze.
Above the bamboo canopy, tongues of fire lick into the sky, smoke billowing upward in thick, dark plumes.
The forest crackles.
Heat begins to press down from above.
Everyone's eyes widen.
Diexin turns slowly, scanning the bamboo around them, the narrow paths, the dense growth.
"They want to burn us alive with the forest," she says quietly.
Silence falls.
Not the peaceful kind.
The heavy, suffocating kind that settles when everyone understands the same grim truth.
The bamboo groans as fire spreads somewhere beyond sight.
The crackling grows louder, sharp pops echoing through the forest as heat rolls in suffocating waves. Smoke coils between the stalks, stinging the eyes and coating the throat with bitterness.
The Seventh Prince stops abruptly.
Terror flashes naked and unguarded in his eyes, his voice trembling as he speaks.
"How… how dare they," he says, disbelief cracking his composure, "knowing that I am here?"
Until this moment, he had never truly believed his life was in danger.
He had assumed, no, trusted, that even if Prince Yuan's men pursued them, they would never cross the final line. Killing a royal prince, even a rival, was unthinkable. He believed his uncle would restrain Shen Ling's organisation, would never allow such madness.
But the fire answers that belief.
The bamboo forest is being burned without hesitation.
No signal.
No warning.
No concern.
His chest tightens.
In that instant, the Seventh Prince understands something he had only heard whispered before, that affection within the royal family is an illusion, a mask worn for court and ceremony.
This is the first time he feels it with his own life at stake.
His uncle does not care if he dies.
No one responds to him.
There is no comfort to offer, no lie strong enough to hold.
Chu Feng's gaze moves quickly, assessing wind, flame, terrain. Diexin's eyes are already searching for paths between the firelines, calculating distances, chances, and costs.
They do not waste words.
"We need to break out," one of Chu Feng's men says urgently. "Master, Yu and I will attack and open a gap. You and Lady Wenji escape."
Chu Feng frowns immediately.
"That's suicide," he says.
The man does not argue. The fire draws closer, bamboo igniting in waves, heat licking at their backs.
Chu Feng looks at Diexin.
Their eyes meet.
They both understand.
"Let's do this," Chu Feng says.
The two men explode into motion, sprinting toward the thickest line of flame and figures beyond it.
Chu Feng follows close behind them.
Diexin grabs the Seventh Prince by the shoulder and shakes him hard.
"Move," she snaps. "Now."
They run.
As they push through the choking smoke, Diexin realises the direction Chu Feng has chosen.
Her expression tightens.
"That's toward Songji City," she says sharply. "They'll deploy more men there. They won't let us leave the forest that way."
Chu Feng grits his teeth, then nods.
"You're right."
He raises his voice.
"Change direction. Red Slit Cave."
They veer deeper into the forest, away from civilisation and toward darkness.
Chu Feng speaks while running.
"The caves connect to old tunnels. If we can reach them, we can lose pursuit."
Ahead of them, Chu Feng's two men unleash their power.
One forms a serpent-shaped qi construct, massive and coiling, its jaws opening as it crashes into the fireline. Flames scatter violently, momentarily torn apart by the force.
The other releases a school of fish-shaped qi, sleek and razor-edged, darting forward in coordinated waves. They slice through Prince Yuan's guards and masked figures alike, forcing them to scatter and break formation.
Screams rise.
Chu Feng charges in, his sword flashing, tearing open the gap wider.
Diexin follows.
Her butterfly qi wings flare briefly, and she strikes with precise, brutal efficiency, disarming one guard, cutting down another, poisoning the ground beneath their feet to slow pursuit.
The Seventh Prince stumbles, nearly falling, but Diexin hauls him upright without slowing.
They break through.
Behind them, fire roars back into place.
They reach the cave entrance just as arrows and qi techniques slam into the stone around it.
They dive inside.
Darkness swallows them.
The air turns cold and damp, the scent of smoke replaced by stone and decay. Their footsteps echo wildly as they run through twisting tunnels, breath ragged, hearts hammering.
Left turn.
Right turn.
Downward slope.
Dead end.
They skid to a stop before a solid wall of stone.
"Another dead end," the Seventh Prince gasps.
No one answers.
They turn and run again.
Voices echo behind them now, shouts, orders, footsteps reverberating through the tunnels.
Diexin leads them down a narrow passage barely wide enough for two people. The walls scrape their shoulders, stone biting into skin.
Then she stops abruptly.
"Wait."
She presses them back and edges forward alone, peeking around the corner of the tunnel.
Her blood runs cold.
Ahead, torchlight flickers.
Prince Yuan's guards stand in formation, weapons ready.
Among them, masked figures wait silently.
The tunnel network has been sealed.
She pulls back slowly.
Chu Feng sees her expression and knows without asking.
There is no way out.
No retreat.
The Seventh Prince swallows hard.
Diexin's voice is calm, frighteningly so.
"I will not be captured by them."
Chu Feng tightens his grip on his sword, nodding once.
Then a voice speaks from behind them.
Calm.
Joking.
"Do you want to fight them to death? I cannot allow it."
Qi surges instinctively.
Diexin and Chu Feng turn, power flaring, then faltering as recognition hits.
They stop.
A woman stands in the tunnel behind them, robes unburned, expression steady, eyes sharp with familiarity.
They recognise her.
Ye Weiran.
She looks at Diexin first, then at Chu Feng, her gaze lingering.
Her voice softens just a fraction.
"Merin will not like it," she says evenly, "if his unborn child and his wife die here."