Warning: Violence, blood.
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Lan Guan-Yin's shadowy figure stumbled forward as she moved over the roofs of the Yamen. Her figure obscured by the rising flames and the smoke pillars curling against the breaking dawn. Yet ZhiYi could see her clearly.
The smell of blood was overwhelming as she left behind a crimson trail. Her sky-blue robes were cut open over the back, drenched with slowly drying blood, her figure hunched over as she hugged her hand against her chest.
ZhiYi had seen PingZe's arrow slash her wrist. Fan ZhiHao's silver left long lasting wounds from which even their kind couldn't heal from fast. If the dagger Lan Guan-Yin was wielding was made by master Fan, there was little to saving Yang Chen. But none of this mattered as ZhiYi hurried after Lan Guan-Yin, his fingers tightening around the pewter staff.
