The wind off the northern ridge carried the smell of wet stone and blood.
It was supposed to be a quiet morning. Snow still clung to the rooftops, and the streets of Yuehanyin City were unusually still, as if the battle two nights ago had stolen even the merchants' voices.
Mo Lianyin stood in the training courtyard, barehanded, facing the cracked wall. He hadn't meant to crack it—it had been a test strike, nothing more. Yet his palm print had sunk three inches into stone as if it were wet clay.
He should have felt satisfaction. Instead, a slow, crawling unease settled in his gut.
---
The sound of boots crunching on frost pulled his gaze away. Xue Qingxue approached, her long hair bound tightly, her expression a mask of calm that didn't fool him.
"You didn't come to the strategy meeting," she said.
"I wasn't needed," Lianyin replied. "Plans are for men who need them."
Her brow tightened. "You used to care about them."
"I still do." His voice was flat. "I just care more about winning."
Qingxue crossed her arms. "And what exactly does winning mean to you now? Because lately, it looks less like protecting people and more like destroying anything in your path."
---
Her words hit harder than she knew.
Lianyin looked away, jaw tightening. "I'm doing what I must. The enemy won't stop because we play by rules."
"And you think the Fifth Forbidden Art isn't a rule you're breaking?"
The name sat between them like a fresh wound. He almost told her to drop it, but the sharpness in her eyes kept him silent.
---
"Do you know what they're saying in the city?" she continued. "They call you the Silver Flame now. Some say you've been blessed. Others…" She hesitated. "…others say you're cursed."
"I don't care what they call me."
"But I do!" Her voice cracked, the first sign her mask had slipped. "Because the more you let that thing inside you feed, the less you'll be the man I—" She stopped abruptly, as if the rest of the sentence had burned her tongue.
---
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Lianyin turned back to the cracked wall. "The man you what?"
Qingxue's lips pressed into a thin line. "Forget it. Just… remember who you are, Lianyin. Before it's too late."
She left before he could answer.
---
The courtyard fell silent again, except for the faint hum in his veins. The Fifth Forbidden Art purred softly in the back of his mind, its voice smooth and patient.
> She fears you now. They all do. That fear is power—do not waste it.
Lianyin flexed his hands. "If I let you lead, will there be anything left of me?"
> Enough. Enough to win.
---
That night, a scout brought word—the Blood Envoy had been seen moving south, toward the village of Qingshui. The same village that had once sheltered Lianyin during his early years of exile.
Qingxue wanted to send a battalion. Elder Huang urged caution, fearing a trap.
Lianyin said nothing during the debate. But inside, he already knew what he would do.
The Fifth Forbidden Art didn't have to whisper this time.
It just waited.