Lan Zeyan moved like a fleeting shadow, his feet barely touching the air as he leapt. The roots below, thick and wild like serpents, lunged after him—twisting, clawing, trying to drag him down. But for every strike they made, Lan Zeyan answered with a fluid slash, his sword singing with every motion. Golden Qi shimmered with each arc, severing the roots mid-lunge.
On his other side, the tree-turned-disciple flung himself forward, moving with unnatural speed and grace despite his grotesque, wooden limbs. He attacked without pause, branch-like arms stretching and bending at impossible angles.
Yet Lan Zeyan's face remained unbothered, serene even. His blade danced with precision, leaving glimmers of golden energy in its wake.
"Nice sword," Qinghui shouted from below, seemingly impressed despite their dire circumstances.
Lan Zeyan flicked a cold glance at him mid-swing, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly—his first visible reaction.
Qinghui chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Roots suddenly whipped toward Qinghui from behind, aiming for his back. But before they could land, he flipped into the air, using stepping stones made of swirling black Qi to carry himself up.
"Hey! Lan-gongzi!" he yelled while twisting mid-air, narrowly dodging another lash. "Got a spare sword on you?"
Lan Zeyan didn't respond—too focused on parrying the tree disciple's onslaught. But he did glance at Qinghui, his brow ever so slightly furrowed.
The two of them spun and dodged as if dancing—one cloaked in golden brilliance, the other surrounded by a murky black mist. Each movement, each strike, was timed to perfection despite their mismatched temperaments.
"I mean it!" Qinghui waved both hands as he flipped again. "I'm good at dodging, but I'd rather be good at slicing!"
Lan Zeyan's gaze lingered on him a moment longer. His eyes flicked over Qinghui's tattered state—no outer robe, bloody sleeves, barefoot. With a short sigh, he pulled a set of golden talismans from his sleeve with one hand, while the other kept deflecting attacks.
"Qinghui!" Lan Zeyan called sharply and tossed the talismans through the air using his Qi.
Qinghui caught them clumsily. "Papers? Are you kidding me? What am I supposed to do with these exactly?!"
Lan Zeyan closed his eyes for a heartbeat, exhaling through his nose. Annoyance flickered across his face.
"They're talismans, idi—" he bit off the insult mid-word, lips tightening. No. He was a man of virtue and restraint. "Just use them!"
And with that, he turned and roundhouse kicked the tree disciple straight into the dirt, the impact sending a thunderous boom through the forest floor.
Meanwhile, Qinghui was still playing an elaborate game of mid-air tag with the roots, flailing and shouting. "All right, all right! Let's see what these 'holy papers' can do!"
He straightened one talisman with a dramatic flick of his wrist and focused his Qi into it.
Lan Zeyan glanced up, sword at his side for a brief pause, watching Qinghui charge the paper with a skeptical squint.
Qinghui muttered an incantation under his breath, a half-remembered sutra from one of the ancient scrolls he may or may not have read upside down.
"By command of the myriad spirits, let demons flee! Let earth crack and winds return, let evil roots be severed!"
And with a bold cry—"Begone!"—
With dramatic flair, Qinghui flung the talisman toward the nearest root.
It fluttered majestically through the air...
...spun twice...
...and smacked Lan Zeyan squarely in the face.
"...."
"...."
"...."
A beat of stunned silence.
Lan Zeyan peeled it off slowly, expression unreadable.
"What?! Hey! Lan-gongzi! These things are useless!" Qinghui barked as he dodged another whip of roots, spinning upside down.
Lan Zeyan said nothing. He simply clenched the paper talisman in one hand until it split in two with a crisp tear.
Yet just as Qinghui soared through the air, the black Qi beneath his foot flickered—one of the stepping stones suddenly dissipated without warning.
"Oh crap—"
His balance broke. One leg missed its footing, his body tilting sharply. The talismans he had been clutching slipped from his grasp, fluttering away like autumn leaves. At that moment, one of the pursuing roots lunged forth from the shadows of the air, aiming straight for his exposed chest.
The scene froze like a painting—tense and breathless.
From the ground, a streak of silver light burst forth. Lan Zeyan acted without hesitation. His spirit sword, light as moonlight and sharp as frost, arced through the air. In one swift motion, he caught one of the talismans mid-air, whispered an incantation beneath his breath—a spell of purification—and cast it forward. The talisman ignited, its golden script flaring like the sun, striking the root just as it neared Qinghui's heart.
In the next instant, Lan Zeyan was beside him. He caught Qinghui with one arm, steady and unyielding, and with a surge of sword-light beneath their feet, lifted them both higher into the sky.
Beneath the vast, luminous moon, the two hovered midair.
The wind swirled around them, gently tugging at their robes. Qinghui, who had always carried a grin and a spark in his tone, now found himself wordless, gazing up in stunned awe. The moonlight danced in his eyes—wide, reflecting the man before him.
Lan Zeyan looked down at him briefly, his expression unreadable—but his gaze softened, just a little. Perhaps he too had seen that fleeting light in Qinghui's eyes.
Below them, the root that had been struck by the talisman writhed violently. A shrill hiss echoed as the dark veins along its surface flared with golden cracks. Then, like a dried branch split by lightning, it shattered into ash and fragments, scattering with the wind.
The forest quieted. Even the shadows retreated.
Still suspended in the air, Qinghui finally broke the silence.
"Psshww." He gave a low whistle, clearly impressed. A grin tugged at his lips. "So that's what the Second Master is capable of."
Lan Zeyan didn't smile. If anything, he looked more inclined to scold than to bask in praise.
"What are you even doing here?" he asked, his voice cool. "Didn't I tell Lan Feirong to keep you away?"
"I asked him to bring me along," Qinghui admitted without shame.
"..."
"..."
Qinghui gave a sheepish smile, raising his hands slightly as if in surrender. "Okay, okay—I know you're mad. But listen, I've got something important to share. I found something—something big."
He glanced down awkwardly at their current position.
"But first... could we go back to the ground? Being carried like this by Lan-gongzi is... a little much."