The night was a shroud as Luochen and Xiaoyu pushed north, the cave’s fragile peace left behind with Gu Yin’s mocking laugh. The terrain grew rougher, the valley giving way to craggy foothills that clawed at the sky. Yanshan Pass loomed a day away, its jagged silhouette faintly visible under the moonless dark. Every step brought them closer to Bao Tian—and now, it seemed, to the assassin who hunted them.

Luochen’s leg ached, the arrow wound a dull fire beneath the makeshift bandage, but he kept pace, his sword a steady weight at his side. Xiaoyu moved beside him, her cloak fluttering in the wind, her daggers glinting with each stride. They hadn’t spoken since leaving the cave, but the silence wasn’t cold—shared purpose had forged it, tempered by the confessions they’d traded. Gu Yin’s threat hung over them, a blade poised to drop.

The path narrowed as they entered a ravine, its walls rising steep and sheer, studded with gnarled shrubs. The wind whistled through, carrying the faint clatter of loose stones. Luochen slowed, hand on his hilt. “Too quiet,” he muttered.

Xiaoyu nodded, eyes scanning the shadows. “He’s here.”

As if summoned, a figure stepped onto the ridge above—Gu Yin, his black cloak snapping like a banner, his curved blade resting casually on his shoulder. The moonlight caught his pale face, his hawkish eyes glinting with amusement. “Sharp instincts,” he called, voice carrying over the wind. “Pity they won’t save you.”

Luochen drew his sword, the rasp loud in the confined space. “Come down and try me.”

Gu Yin chuckled, descending with a predator’s grace, his boots silent on the rock. “Bao Tian’s orders were clear—cut off the strays before the Pass. But I’ll give you a chance. Drop your blades, and I’ll make it quick.”

Xiaoyu stepped forward, daggers flashing. “You talk too much.”

Gu Yin’s smile widened, and he lunged, blade arcing for her throat. She parried with both daggers, steel shrieking, and twisted aside as Luochen charged. His sword slashed for Gu Yin’s flank, but the assassin spun, blocking with a fluid twist that sent sparks flying. The ravine erupted into chaos—three blades clashing in a dance of death.

Luochen pressed Gu Yin, his strikes heavy and relentless, aiming to overwhelm. The assassin met each blow with eerie calm, his curved blade weaving through the air like a serpent. Xiaoyu flanked him, daggers darting for gaps—his ribs, his legs—but Gu Yin moved like smoke, always a step ahead.

“You’re slow,” Gu Yin taunted, ducking Luochen’s swing and slashing at his wounded leg. The blade grazed the bandage, drawing a hiss of pain, and Luochen stumbled. Xiaoyu lunged to cover him, her dagger catching Gu Yin’s wrist, but he twisted free, kicking her hard in the chest. She hit the ravine wall, breath knocked out, and slid to one knee.

Luochen roared, surging forward despite the pain. His sword met Gu Yin’s in a brutal lock, metal grinding, and he drove his shoulder into the assassin’s chest. Gu Yin staggered, footing slipping on the uneven ground, and Luochen slashed downward. The blade bit into Gu Yin’s arm, blood spraying black in the dark, but the assassin laughed, shoving back with surprising strength.

“Better,” Gu Yin said, circling again. “But not enough.”

Xiaoyu rejoined the fight, her movements sharper now, fueled by fury. She feinted high, then stabbed low, aiming for Gu Yin’s thigh. He blocked, but the distraction let Luochen land a heavy blow to his shoulder. Bone crunched, and Gu Yin grunted, his grin faltering. For a moment, they had him—two against one, pressing the advantage.

Then Gu Yin shifted. His blade whipped up, faster than before, and a hidden dart shot from his sleeve. Xiaoyu dodged, but Luochen wasn’t quick enough—it struck his arm, a sharp sting followed by a creeping numbness. Poison. He cursed, shaking it off, but his grip weakened, his sword dipping.

“Luochen!” Xiaoyu shouted, diving between him and Gu Yin. Her daggers clashed with the assassin’s blade, holding him at bay as Luochen ripped the dart free. Blood trickled, dark and sluggish, but the numbness didn’t spread further. Not lethal—just a trick to slow him.

Gu Yin laughed again, batting Xiaoyu’s daggers aside and slashing at her face. She ducked, the blade slicing air, and drove her shoulder into his gut. He doubled over, and Luochen seized the chance, lunging with a thrust aimed at Gu Yin’s heart. The assassin twisted at the last second, the sword piercing his side instead, and he hissed, stumbling back.

“Enough games,” Gu Yin snarled, blood staining his cloak. He retreated up the ravine wall, agile despite the wounds, and paused at the ridge. “Yanshan Pass is your grave. Enjoy the walk.”

He vanished into the dark, leaving only the echo of his words. Luochen lowered his sword, chest heaving, the poison’s sting fading but his leg screaming with every breath. Xiaoyu sheathed her daggers, wiping sweat from her brow, and grabbed his arm.

“You’re hit,” she said, inspecting the dart wound. “Poison?”

“Not strong,” he rasped, flexing his hand. “Meant to cripple, not kill.”

She nodded, relief flickering in her eyes, and tore a strip from her cloak to bind it. “He’s good. Too good.”

“Better than Tian’s usual dogs,” Luochen said, wincing as she tightened the cloth. “Zheng must’ve hired him.”

Xiaoyu’s hands stilled, her gaze darkening. “If Zheng’s pulling strings, Jianren’s tied up in it too.”

He met her eyes, seeing the storm there—anger, guilt, resolve. “We’ll deal with him when we have to,” he said. “Right now, it’s Tian I want.”

She finished the binding, stepping back. “And Gu Yin?”

“Next time, he dies,” Luochen said, sheathing his sword. “He’s bleeding now—won’t be so cocky.”

They gathered themselves, the ravine’s walls looming like silent witnesses. The fight had tested them, their blades and their bond, and they’d come through—battered, but alive. Luochen flexed his arm, the numbness receding, and nodded toward the path.

“Yanshan Pass,” he said. “No stopping now.”

Xiaoyu fell in beside him, her silence heavier than before. They climbed out of the ravine, the foothills stretching ahead, the Pass a shadowed promise in the distance. The night was still, the wind dying to a whisper, but danger lingered in every step. Gu Yin was out there, licking his wounds, and Bao Tian waited beyond, a specter of blood and vengeance.

As dawn broke, gray and thin, they reached a plateau overlooking the Pass—a narrow gash between mountains, its cliffs steep and unforgiving. Smoke rose from somewhere within, faint but real. The summit was close, the Bao Clan’s stronghold within reach. Luochen’s leg throbbed, his arm ached, but his grip on his sword was steady.

Xiaoyu paused beside him, her scar stark in the pale light. “He said it’s our grave,” she murmured. “Gu Yin.”

“Then we make it theirs,” Luochen replied, voice hard as stone.

She nodded, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Together?”

“Together,” he said, and the word felt truer now—forged in steel and scars, a pact sealed by the blood they’d shed.

They descended toward the Pass, the dawn casting long shadows behind them, two blades against a tide of enemies. Gu Yin’s threat echoed, but so did their resolve. Yanshan Pass loomed, and with it, the end of their hunt—or the beginning of their fall.