Chapter 34
They did not stop moving.
The forest swallowed them quickly, smoke and screams left behind as if they had never existed. Gu Tianxu led without hesitation, altering terrain subtly—roots shifting, slopes bending—just enough to erase pursuit without announcing the change.
Sang Sang clutched Shenping's robe with silent intensity.
She had not cried. Not once.
That frightened him more than screams would have.
Mei Lian was carried between Gu Tianxu and Li Wei. Her breathing was shallow but steady, blood crusting along her side. Every few steps, Gu Tianxu pressed two fingers lightly against her back, stabilizing space around her wounds so they did not worsen.
"This is not healing," he said flatly. "Only delay."
"It's enough," Mei Lian murmured weakly. "I can still hear… less noise now."
Shenping tightened his jaw. "You saved her."
Mei Lian smiled faintly. "I chose her voice."
They reached an abandoned shrine before dawn.
It was old—older than any current sect markings—half-collapsed stone pillars choked by vines. Time hung strangely here, not erased, not preserved, but indifferent.
Gu Tianxu nodded once. "We rest."
Li Wei immediately collapsed near the entrance, weapon still in hand. Shenping set Sang Sang down gently, wrapping her in his outer cloak.
She looked around slowly. "Are they gone?"
"For now," Shenping said.
She nodded, accepting the answer without relief.
Gu Tianxu stepped into the center of the shrine and placed his staff upright. The ground hummed softly. A thin spatial veil spread outward, dulling presence, blurring intent.
"They will still find us," Li Wei said hoarsely.
"Yes," Gu Tianxu replied. "But not yet."
Sang Sang watched him intently. "You're not like them."
"No," Gu Tianxu said. "I remember things they deleted."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Deleted… like my mother?"
The air tightened.
Shenping froze.
Gu Tianxu turned fully toward her. "You remember?"
Sang Sang shook her head. "I remember the shape of her. Not her face."
Shenping's chest ached.
Mei Lian stirred. "Memory erosion before emotional collapse," she whispered. "They were accelerating it."
Gu Tianxu's grip tightened on his staff. "They are learning faster than expected."
Sang Sang looked down at her hands. "They said I was special. That if I stopped remembering, the world would stop hurting."
Shenping knelt in front of her. "They lied."
She studied his face carefully. "You hurt."
"Yes."
"You didn't erase it."
"No."
She nodded again, decision settling with unsettling calm. "Then I'll keep mine."
The shrine trembled faintly.
Gu Tianxu's eyes sharpened. "Did you feel that?"
Li Wei pushed himself upright. "Yeah. Like pressure."
Mei Lian gasped softly. "She's anchoring."
Shenping looked at Sang Sang. "Anchoring what?"
"Time," Gu Tianxu said quietly. "Not controlling it. Refusing to let it be edited."
Sang Sang frowned. "Is that bad?"
Gu Tianxu met her gaze. "For them? Yes."
The ground pulsed again—stronger this time.
Far beyond the shrine, systems recalculated. Probability trees collapsed. Future paths blurred.
An anomaly had stabilized.
A child who remembered pain.
Gu Tianxu exhaled slowly. "They will stop trying to capture you."
Sang Sang's fingers tightened around Shenping's sleeve. "Why?"
"Because," Gu Tianxu said, voice like stone grinding stone, "you are no longer extractable."
Shenping swallowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Gu Tianxu replied, "they will try to erase everything around you instead."
Silence fell heavy and absolute.
Sang Sang looked up at the broken ceiling, where the first light of dawn crept through cracks in stone and vine.
"I don't want the world to disappear," she said softly.
Shenping placed a hand over hers. "Then we won't let it."
The shrine held.
Time resisted.
And somewhere beyond causality, a decision was finalized—cold, precise, merciless.
If the anchor could not be removed, the timeline itself would be burned away and rewritten from a cleaner point.
The hunt was over.
The war had begun.