Chapter 86
The night sealed the city shut.
Torches flared along the walls as the gates groaned closed, iron grinding against stone with a finality that echoed through the streets. Soldiers shouted orders, their voices sharp with fear rather than authority. Whatever had taken Lin Yue had done so cleanly—too cleanly—and that terrified them more than blood ever could.
Shenping stood in the empty clinic doorway long after the others had moved away.
The air still remembered her.
A faint warmth lingered where she had stood, tangled with the bitter residue of spatial distortion. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but to Shenping it blazed like a wound.
Wei Han watched him carefully. "She's alive," he said at last. "You know that, right?"
"Yes," Shenping replied.
Not hope.
Certainty.
They hadn't killed her because killing her would have been simple. Instead, they had taken her—removed her from the immediate flow of causality. That meant leverage.
And leverage meant intent.
"They're learning faster than before," Wei Han said as they moved through the darkened streets. "Back in our timeline, it took decades before they understood emotional anchors."
"That's because they observed them," Shenping said. "This time, they're experiencing them."
The realization sat heavy between them.
Pain was no longer theoretical to their enemies.
It was data.
They stopped beneath an old watchtower near the inner wall, its stones etched with faded protective arrays. Shenping pressed his palm against the surface, feeling the structure's history unfold—centuries of minor repairs, prayers carved into stone, fear layered upon fear.
"Someone's watching us," Wei Han muttered.
"Yes," Shenping agreed. "But not directly."
A ripple passed through the shadows.
A man stepped forward, cloaked in dark robes marked with the sigil of a local sect. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, assessing every detail.
"You caused quite a disturbance," the man said calmly. "The city elders would like answers."
Wei Han rolled his shoulders. "Funny. We were hoping for help."
The man studied them for a moment longer, then nodded once. "My name is Qiao Ren. I oversee… irregular threats."
Shenping met his gaze. "Then you already know this wasn't a normal incident."
Qiao Ren's expression tightened. "The workshop was operating under my supervision. Or so I believed."
He gestured for them to follow.
They descended into the watchtower's lower chambers, passing through layers of old wards and forgotten mechanisms. The air grew cooler, heavier, steeped in old cultivation residue.
Qiao Ren stopped before a sealed stone door.
"She was taken here first," he said.
Shenping's pulse spiked. "Then she's still in the city."
"For now," Qiao Ren replied. "Whatever took her didn't leave immediately. It tested the environment. Sought compatibility."
Wei Han frowned. "Compatibility with what?"
Qiao Ren hesitated. "With hosts."
The door slid open.
Inside was a circular chamber carved directly into the bedrock. At its center stood a formation—ancient, incomplete, and recently activated. Chains of light still flickered faintly, as though something had only just slipped free.
Shenping felt it instantly.
A fold.
Not a jump through time, but sideways—into a pocket of constrained possibility.
"They're not moving her far," Shenping said. "They're isolating her."
"To study," Wei Han added darkly.
Qiao Ren looked between them. "You speak as if you've faced this before."
"We have," Shenping said. "Just not this early."
The chamber trembled suddenly.
The formation flared, lines blazing brighter as something pushed from the other side.
A voice echoed through the stone.
Not Lin Yue's.
A child's.
Thin. Strained.
Wei Han stiffened. "That's not her."
Shenping's face hardened. "They're baiting me."
The formation split open.
A figure tumbled out—a boy no older than twelve, his body marked with glowing symbols burned into his skin. His eyes were vacant, unfocused, as if his thoughts had been hollowed out and replaced with instructions.
Qiao Ren swore under his breath. "That's impossible. That formation was sealed centuries ago."
The boy's head lifted slowly.
He smiled.
"Deviation acknowledged," he said, voice wrong. "Emotional leverage insufficient. Escalating parameters."
The symbols on his body flared violently.
Shenping moved instantly, space snapping tight around the child to immobilize him without crushing his fragile frame. Pain lanced through Shenping's chest as his fractured cultivation protested the strain.
Wei Han caught the boy as the light dimmed, lowering him gently to the ground. "He's alive," he said. "Barely."
Qiao Ren stared in horror. "They turned him into a relay."
"Yes," Shenping said. "And now they know where I am."
The chamber darkened as the formation burned itself out, collapsing into dead stone.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Final.
Shenping straightened slowly, blood running freely once more. He wiped it away without looking.
"They won't hide Lin Yue anymore," he said. "They've confirmed she works."
Wei Han's jaw tightened. "So what now?"
Shenping looked up toward the sealed ceiling, beyond which the city slept uneasily.
"Now," he said, voice cold and steady, "I stop reacting."
Qiao Ren felt a chill run through him. "And do what, exactly?"
Shenping's eyes burned with a quiet, terrifying resolve.
"I hunt them," he said.