Lin Xuan and Yu Lan stepped cautiously out of the Redleaf Forest, the weight of their filled satchels a reassuring presence. The once-distant outline of the Azure Sky Sect's outer grounds grew clearer with each step, sunlight filtering down to welcome them back. The mission was complete, but Lin Xuan's mind buzzed with unease. The encounter with the Thunderfang Wolf and Zhao Jing's failed ambush had left a lingering tension in his chest. The silver spindle pulsed against his wrist, a quiet heartbeat of power. Each time it did, it whispered of choices yet to be made, threads yet to be pulled.
Yu Lan let out a long breath, breaking the silence. "We made it back in one piece. I'm still not sure how." Lin Xuan smiled faintly, his gaze distant. "Neither am I." They passed through the stone arch marking the edge of the sect grounds. Other disciples milled about, some returning from their own tasks, others whispering amongst themselves. As Lin Xuan and Yu Lan walked by, the murmurs seemed to follow them, threads of curiosity and suspicion intertwining in the air.
"Did you hear? Lin Xuan survived the Redleaf Forest."
"I heard he defeated a Thunderfang Wolf."
"Impossible. He's just an outer disciple."
Lin Xuan kept his gaze forward, his shoulders squared. Let them talk. Words couldn't touch him anymore. He was no longer the weak, overlooked boy they once knew. A familiar figure stepped into their path, his face lined with skepticism — Elder Yu. His sharp eyes narrowed as he took in their dirt-streaked clothes and the satchels bulging with Spirit Grass. "You two made it back," Elder Yu said, his voice neutral. "And with a decent harvest, it seems." Yu Lan bowed respectfully. "Yes, Elder Yu. We completed the mission." Elder Yu's gaze lingered on Lin Xuan. "I heard there was trouble in the forest." Lin Xuan met his gaze steadily. "We encountered a Thunderfang Wolf. We dealt with it."
Elder Yu's brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise passing through his otherwise stoic expression. "A Thunderfang Wolf? And you survived?" "Yes, Elder." The silence stretched for a moment before Elder Yu nodded slowly. "Impressive. Very well. Deliver the Spirit Grass to the apothecary. You'll receive your contribution points after." As Elder Yu walked away, Yu Lan let out a shaky breath. "That was intense." Lin Xuan nodded, but his attention was caught by a new thread glimmering faintly in the corner of his vision. It was thin, fragile, almost hesitant — a future yet to solidify. His fingers brushed the spindle, and the thread unraveled just enough to give him a glimpse.
Zhao Jing, his face twisted in anger, speaking in hushed tones with a group of disciples. Their eyes gleamed with malice. Lin Xuan's stomach tightened. Whatever Zhao Jing was planning, it wasn't over yet. "We need to stay alert," Lin Xuan murmured. "Zhao Jing isn't done." Yu Lan's jaw clenched. "That snake. What do you think he's up to?" "I don't know yet." Lin Xuan's eyes hardened. "But whatever it is, I'll be ready."
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the sect's outer grounds. Lin Xuan sat cross-legged beneath the Sky-Reaching Oak, the silver spindle resting in his palm. The night was still, the only sounds the faint rustling of leaves and the distant calls of night birds. He closed his eyes and focused on the spindle's warmth. "Analyze." The threads appeared, glowing strands weaving through the darkness. He reached out, brushing his mind against them, seeking answers. The threads shimmered, each one a possible path, a potential outcome.
A thread pulsed brighter than the others. He focused on it. In his mind's eye, he saw Zhao Jing and a group of disciples sneaking into the apothecary hall. They whispered to each other, their eyes glinting with malice. Zhao Jing held a small vial filled with a dark, viscous liquid. Poison. Lin Xuan's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in short gasps. His heart hammered in his chest. They're going to poison the Spirit Grass. If Zhao Jing succeeded, the blame would fall on him and Yu Lan. Their reputation would be ruined, and they'd likely be expelled from the sect. It was a cruel, calculated move.
Lin Xuan rose to his feet, his jaw set in determination. He couldn't let this happen. The apothecary hall was dimly lit, the scent of herbs and dried flowers thick in the air. Rows of shelves lined the walls, each filled with glass jars, parchment-wrapped bundles, and ceramic pots. The Spirit Grass they had collected lay neatly arranged on a long wooden table, ready for processing. Lin Xuan slipped inside, his footsteps silent. The threads of fate shimmered before his eyes, guiding him. He crouched behind a shelf, his breath steady, and waited.
Moments later, the door creaked open. Zhao Jing entered, flanked by two other disciples. They moved quickly, their eyes darting nervously. Zhao Jing pulled the vial from his robe, the dark liquid glinting ominously. "Make it quick," one of the disciples whispered. "If we're caught—" "We won't be," Zhao Jing hissed. "They'll take the fall for this. Just watch." Lin Xuan's muscles coiled. Now. He stepped from the shadows. "Looking for something, Zhao Jing?" Zhao Jing froze, his eyes widening in shock. "You!"
Lin Xuan's gaze was cold. "Drop the vial." Zhao Jing's shock turned to fury. "You think you can stop me?" He flung the vial toward the Spirit Grass. Lin Xuan lunged forward, his hand snapping out. Time seemed to slow as his fingers closed around the vial, inches from its target. He twisted his body, landing lightly on his feet, the vial clutched tightly in his fist. The other disciples backed away, panic on their faces. "Run!" one of them shouted, bolting for the door. Zhao Jing snarled, his face contorted with rage. "This isn't over, Lin Xuan!" He turned and fled, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Lin Xuan exhaled, his grip on the vial loosening. The threads of fate shimmered around him, the danger averted — for now. But he knew this was only the beginning.