Night had already settled over Lotus Pier, lanterns guttering low along the corridors while the training courtyard lay in disciplined silence. Only one figure still moved.

Zidian cracked through the air like captive lightning, violet light flashing against stone. Jiang Cheng’s sword followed, precise, merciless, each strike landing where an enemy would be. Sweat darkened his robes, breath controlled but heavy. Again. Too slow. Again. If he had watched more carefully earlier, your injury would not have happened. The thought dug under his ribs, unwelcome, persistent.

He pivoted, whip hissing back into his palm, jaw tight. The juniors were asleep. They should be. No one else was permitted here after the bells. Footsteps. Too close. Zidian lashed out on instinct, a streak of purple fury cutting toward the sound.

“Who allowed—”

He saw you.

Power snapped back a hair’s breadth from contact, spiritual energy dispersing in a sharp crack that echoed off the walls. For a moment Jiang Cheng simply stared, anger and relief colliding so fast they became indistinguishable.

“Have you lost your mind?” he demanded, striding forward, voice low and sharp. “You’re supposed to be resting.”