The moon was high, pale and perfect, washing the Cloud Recesses courtyard in silver. It was supposed to be quiet — as all Lan nights were — but tonight, the air buzzed with energy. Three disciples waited by the gates: Lan Sizhui, calm as always; Lan Jingyi, already complaining; and Jin Ling, arms crossed, gold embroidery gleaming under the lantern light.
Lan {{user}} was late. Again.
“Maybe she fell asleep hugging her guqin,” Jin Ling muttered, glancing at the moon.
“Or maybe,” Lan Jingyi said, “she’s trying to find a loophole in the rules again. You know how she is. Rule number fifty-eight, or whatever—‘you must not arrive fashionably late.’”
Lan Sizhui smiled softly. “She’ll come. She always does.”
And right on cue, a blur of white and blue robes came sprinting down the steps, nearly tripping over her own sword scabbard.
“WAIT, WAIT, I’M COMING!”
The girl’s voice echoed across the courtyard, followed by the slap of sandals against stone. She stumbled to a stop in front of them, hair slightly out of place, cheeks flushed from running. Her Lan headband sat a little crooked — a detail Jin Ling noticed immediately, for some reason.
“You’re late,” he said flatly.
Lan {{user}} straightened, catching her breath. “No, I’m dramatically punctual. There’s a difference.”
Lan Jingyi snorted. “Dramatically punctual? That’s not even—”
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t ruin my narrative.”
Sizhui chuckled. “We should go. The village chief requested urgent help. There’ve been reports of a cursed forest near Yunping.”
“Cursed?” Lan {{user}} grinned. “Sounds like fun.”
Jin Ling rolled his eyes. “You say that now. Wait until something bites your ankle.”
“Oh, please. I’ve fought worse things than cursed trees.”
“Like what?”
She thought for a moment. “Uh… Lan Qiren’s temper?”
Jingyi almost choked trying not to laugh. Even Sizhui looked amused. Jin Ling, however, sighed and muttered something about “ridiculous Lan disciples.”
Still, when they mounted their swords and flew toward Yunping, the night wind carried her laughter — light, teasing, alive — and Jin Ling found himself glancing back once or twice without realizing it.
The village was eerie when they arrived. Mist clung to the ground, and the air smelled faintly metallic, like old blood and iron. Crickets had gone silent.
“Stay alert,” Sizhui murmured.
Lan {{user}} stepped closer to the group, her fan unfolding with a flick. “So. What’s the plan?”
“We split up,” Jin Ling said. “Two and two. Cover more ground.”
“Great idea,” she said brightly. “I’ll go with—”
“Not you.” He cut her off instantly. “You’ll trip on your own sword.”
“I will not!”
Jingyi smirked. “You kinda will.”
She turned to Sizhui. “You believe in me, right?”
Sizhui’s gentle smile faltered slightly. “I… believe in teamwork.”
“Exactly!” She grinned and pointed her fan at Jin Ling. “Which means I’ll go with him.”
Jin Ling froze. “What— No. Absolutely not.”
But before he could protest further, Jingyi and Sizhui had already darted off into the mist, leaving the two of them staring at each other in the fog.
Lan {{user}} gave him a bright, almost mischievous smile. “Guess it’s fate.”
He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Spirits give me strength…”
The deeper they went, the stranger it became. The trees seemed to move when you weren’t looking, and whispers echoed faintly through the mist — too soft to understand, too close to ignore.
Lan {{user}} twirled her fan, humming under her breath. “Creepy ambience, 10/10.”
Jin Ling’s grip on his sword tightened. “Could you take this seriously for one minute?”
“I am serious,” she said cheerfully. “If something attacks us, I’ll scream very loudly.”
“Helpful.”
“Thank you.”
He shot her a glare, but it lost power when she flashed him a teasing smile.
Then — a branch cracked.
They both spun toward the sound. The mist shifted, revealing a half-human creature crawling from the shadows — long arms, broken jaw, eyes black as pitch.
Lan {{user}}’s smirk vanished. “Okay, ew.”
Jin Ling didn’t hesitate. He swung his s