44. In the Tall Grass

Ling’er is already moving, and I follow.

She’s fast. Faster than me. Fifty paces ahead within seconds, and the gap is widening even as I run with all my might. My lungs burn. My legs push. This body can move; I rarely get a chance to test its limits, to really push against the foundation I’ve built, but it’s not enough. She’s a blur ahead of me, gold-brown hair catching the afternoon light, and I can’t catch up.

I don’t stop.

The path up the mountain is familiar. Every rock, every root, every turn where the trees thin and the sect comes into view. I’ve walked this road a thousand times. Never like this. Never with my heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with exertion.

The hope that, for once, Ling’er might be mistaken drains away entirely when I see Wei Chen.

He’s stumbling down the path toward us, one hand pressed to his head, blood seeping between his fingers. His robes are torn. His face is pale. He sees us and nearly collapses.

“Sect Leader—” His voice is ragged. “Bandits. They came at dawn. A group of them—maybe fifteen, maybe more. The leader was strong. Foundation Establishment at least. We tried to fight but—” He gestures vaguely at his head. “Mei Lin and Lian. They took them.”

I catch him before his knees give out. “Slow down. Breathe. Where are the others?”

“Jun has them at the sect. Everyone else is alive. No one else was taken. But they ransacked everything. Storage rooms, the freezer, the disciples’ quarters. But they took whatever looked valuable and what they could carry.”

My mind races. Where could it have gone wrong? Feng? No—Feng was bitter, but he wasn’t a bandit. Jun? No—Jun has been watching, calculating, but he’s not a traitor. I’ve been watching him too.

The variables collapse, one by one, until only one conclusion remains.

Myself.

I’ve been spending visibly in Greenstone Town. Spirit stones changing hands. Goods flowing into a sect that had nothing. I thought the cover story was solid; a new mine vein, careful savings, nothing worth noting. But someone noted. Someone followed the trail of wealth back to the source and decided to take it for themselves.

I treat Wei Chen’s wound while I think. The gash is shallow—bleeding heavily but not dangerous. I press a cloth against it, hold it firm.

“Anybody else hurt? Killed?”

“No. Jun got everyone else evacuated. The younger disciples, the servants. Old Chen hit one of them with a ladle.” A ghost of a laugh escapes him. “He’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Just… scared.”

Relief floods through me, cold and sharp. Not dead. Not dead. I can work with not dead.

“How many bandits? Which direction? How long ago?”

“Ten. Maybe twelve. They headed east, toward the old trade road. Two hours ago, maybe three.” Wei Chen’s eyes find Ling’er, who has been standing perfectly still since we arrived. “Me, Mei Lin, and Jun were holding off their leader until they caught Lian because she was in the garden. Mei Lin… surrendered. Bought us time to try and get you.”

Ling’er’s response to learning Mei Lin was taken is not what I expect. She nods once, her eyes distant, unfocused, seeing something that isn’t there. The threads, I realize. The Sacred Cosmic Bone is working, pulling information from connections I can’t perceive.

“They’re alive,” she says as a statement. “I can feel them. The threads are strained, but they’re not cut. I can find them.”

I meet her eyes. “Lead the way.”

I order Wei Chen back to the sect, pressing what little medical supplies I carry into his hands. “Treat the others. Keep everyone inside the perimeter. Don’t let anyone leave until we return.”

He nods, already turning, already stumbling back up the path.

Then I let Ling’er lead.

She’s faster, more capable, more attuned to the threads she’s tracking. If anyone can find Mei Lin and Lian before it’s too late, it’s her. But… her power has been a secret to keep, a weapon to conceal, a potential threat to manage. This is the first time something she loves has been threatened, and she can actually respond to it.

‘I’m not going to take that from her.’

She moves ahead of me with the familiarity that comes from knowing exactly where you’re going. I follow, keeping her in sight, using the Gaze to sweep the terrain ahead.

The Gaze isn’t omniscient, but Ling’er’s threads fill the gaps. She veers east, then north, then east again, her head tilted, her steps certain. She’s following something I can’t see.

We run.

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The base is a cave. Well-hidden, well-used. Signs of occupation; fire pits, bedrolls, stolen goods stacked in crude piles. They’ve been here for weeks, maybe. Close enough to watch the sect, just far enough to avoid detection.

I use the Gaze to map the entrances, the sentries, the blind spots. Two guards at the front. One at the back. Three inside, near the captives. The leader is deeper in, his Foundation Establishment aura flickering like a coal.

Ling’er doesn’t wait for a plan. She hits the front guards like a natural disaster: no mercy or hesitation. One moment they’re standing; the next they’re on the ground, and she’s already inside. I follow through the chaos, Frostbite in my hand, the blade cold against my palm.

“ARRRGH!”

The bandits scream. They shout warnings that come too late. They reach for weapons they never get to use.

It’s a reckoning.

These men thought they were robbing a minor sect. A backwater with no defenses, no protectors, no one who would come for them. They picked a fight with something they have no category for, and they’re learning that lesson in blood.

Ling’er moves through them like water through cracks. Her flames consume. Her ice shatters. Every technique she’s been holding back, every limitation she’s been pretending to have, every careful restraint she’s maintained for months… she releases it all.

I feel something rise in my chest as I watch.

These men almost undid everything.