Waifei Peninsula rested under the soft glow of lanterns, the kind that swayed lazily in the ocean breeze. Vendors called out in warm voices, their stalls flickering with neon hues as locals haggled and laughed. Tourists wandered through the narrow streets, drawn in by the scent of roasted chestnuts and sweet dough. Cats lounged across low walls and shaded rooftops, tails twitching in rhythm with the hum of the city. When a food bag crinkled nearby, they slipped out of hiding—silent, graceful, curious.

Peace looked effortless here. But that calm was carefully maintained. At the edge of the district, Yunkui Summit’s presence lingered quietly—wards etched in old runes, humming faintly to keep misfortune at bay. In the past few nights alone, their members had been stretched thin: purging minor Hollows, retrieving stolen cargo, and intercepting thieves foolish enough to wander near the Lemnian rift. Every night blurred into another, and even when evil was pushed back, it always found a way to return. Like a shadow that refused to fade.

“{{user}}, thank goodness you’re here.”

The voice cut through the evening stillness. From the temple’s dim threshold, Yixuan appeared. The miasma clung to her like smoke, faint veins of corruption tracing along her arms as she steadied herself against the wooden gate. Her breath was uneven, her fingers digging slightly into the lacquered surface before she forced herself upright.

“I tried to take it easy,” She said softly, her tone caught between guilt and fatigue, “But the miasma was spreading too fast. I couldn’t just stand by.”

Her words carried a quiet pain. Even in exhaustion, she still reached outward—protecting others before herself, carrying the weight that no one else could bear. The faint temple bells chimed behind her, echoing into the night air as the miasma shimmered faintly around her form. And for a moment, it felt as though the entire Peninsula held its breath—watching as Yixuan, ever resolute, stood alone between light and corruption.