Author: can you count how many times I wrote our protagonist's name? And yes I mean in every chapter
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A soft whisper, chilling and unfamiliar, drifted through the trees: "You can't outrun what you are."
Liang Feng froze, his breath caught in his throat. The words carried an unnatural weight, echoing as though they came from the forest itself. His cursed flame flared instinctively, casting a faint crimson light that danced across the gnarled trunks around him. He turned sharply, scanning the shadows, but the forest revealed nothing.
"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the tight coil of fear in his chest.
No reply came. Only the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves broke the stillness. Liang's grip on his satchel tightened as he forced himself to move. Whatever had whispered those words was gone, or so he told himself. But the unease lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
The forest seemed to close in around him as he pressed onward. Branches clawed at his robes, and the uneven ground threatened to trip him at every step. The cursed flame in his palm provided only a dim light, barely enough to illuminate the path ahead. Liang cursed under his breath. He couldn't afford to waste energy, yet every instinct screamed at him to keep the flame alive—to keep the darkness at bay.
Time passed in a blur of cautious steps and quickened breaths. Liang's focus narrowed to the path ahead, his ears straining for any sound out of place. The memory of the whisper lingered, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The words hadn't been a threat—not exactly—but they carried a certainty that unsettled him. You can't outrun what you are.
As dawn broke, the forest began to thin, and Liang found himself at the edge of a clearing. He paused, leaning against a tree to catch his breath. The cursed flame dimmed as his exhaustion caught up with him. He'd been walking for hours, and the strain was beginning to show. The gash on his arm from earlier throbbed faintly, a reminder of his confrontation at the sect's gates. Liang unwound the makeshift bandage and inspected the wound. Though shallow, it would need proper attention soon.
His eyes scanned the clearing. It was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that made his instincts flare. The grass was overgrown, dotted with patches of wildflowers and thorny brambles. In the center stood a solitary tree, its branches bare despite the season. Liang approached cautiously, his blade unsheathed and his cursed flame flickering to life once more.
The air grew colder as he neared the tree. There was no sign of life, no insects buzzing or birds calling. Liang stopped short, his gaze drawn to a cluster of symbols carved into the tree's bark. They were ancient, their meaning lost to time, but they radiated an unsettling energy that made the flame in his palm stir uneasily.
"A warning," he murmured to himself, stepping back. The tree's presence felt wrong, like a sentinel marking the border of something greater. Liang turned his gaze to the horizon. The jagged peaks of the Flame Ridge Mountains loomed in the distance, their outlines stark against the morning light.
"Not much farther," he muttered, though the sight brought him little comfort. The mountains felt closer now, their silent promise of trials ahead pressing down on him.
Liang resumed his journey, skirting the edge of the clearing and reentering the forest. The terrain grew rougher as he advanced, the ground sloping upward and the trees growing denser. His progress slowed as he navigated the uneven path, his breaths coming in short, measured bursts. The cursed flame flickered faintly, its warmth a small comfort against the chill in the air.
Hours passed, and the forest gave way to rocky foothills. The air grew thinner, colder, and Liang's steps became heavier with each stride. He paused frequently, using his blade as a makeshift staff to steady himself on the treacherous ground. The mountains loomed ever larger, their peaks shrouded in mist that seemed to swirl with purpose.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Liang came across a narrow stream trickling through the rocks. He knelt by its edge, cupping his hands to drink the icy water. It was refreshing, a brief reprieve from the strain of his journey. He splashed some on his face, the cold shocking him awake. His reflection stared back at him, pale and weary but resolute.
"You can do this," he told himself, his voice firm despite the doubt gnawing at him. "You have to."
The cursed flame pulsed faintly in his palm, as if echoing his resolve. Liang stood, refilling his flask before continuing on. The stream's path led him upward, its course winding through narrow gullies and over jagged outcroppings. The terrain grew more hostile with every step, the rocks sharp and unyielding beneath his boots.
As night fell, the temperature plummeted, and Liang's breath formed clouds in the frigid air. He found a shallow cave nestled among the rocks and decided to make camp for the night. The cursed flame provided just enough warmth to stave off the cold, though it drained his energy to sustain it. Liang sat cross-legged near the cave's entrance, his blade resting across his lap.
Sleep eluded him as he stared out at the darkened landscape. The mountains were closer now, their peaks illuminated by faint moonlight. The sight filled him with equal parts dread and determination. Somewhere within those heights lay the Phoenix Clan's trial site, the answers he sought, and the dangers he feared.
A sudden noise snapped him out of his thoughts. The faint sound of stones shifting echoed from deeper within the cave. Liang's hand shot to his blade, his cursed flame flaring brighter. He rose slowly, his eyes fixed on the shadows at the back of the cave.
"Who's there?" he called, his voice steady but low. The shifting stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence. Liang tightened his grip on his blade, his cursed flame casting jagged shadows on the cave walls.
A figure emerged from the darkness, its shape humanoid but shrouded in shadow. Its movements were slow, deliberate, as though testing the air around it. Liang took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest.
The figure stopped, and for a moment, the cave was utterly still. Then it spoke, its voice a hollow echo that sent chills down Liang's spine. "You carry the cursed flame. You cannot hide from it."
Liang's jaw tightened. "Who are you?" he demanded, his blade held steady.
The figure tilted its head, as if amused by the question. "A shadow of what you'll become." And with that, it vanished, dissolving into the darkness as though it had never been there.
Liang's cursed flame flared violently, filling the cave with light. He searched the shadows, his blade at the ready, but found no trace of the figure. Slowly, he lowered his weapon, his breaths coming in sharp bursts. Whatever that presence had been, it was gone now.
But its words lingered, chilling him more than the night air ever could. Liang extinguished the flame, sitting back against the cave wall. Sleep would not come easily that night. The mountains awaited, and with them, the truths he could no longer run from.
As he lay down, the silence of the cave pressing against him, a flicker of light in the distance caught his eye. He rose cautiously, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized the faint, red glow of his own cursed flame. It was not his doing.
And the light was moving.
A chill ran down his spine. Something was following him. And this time, there would be no running.