The boy froze for a heartbeat when I tapped him. Sunlight hit the side of his face, and for an instant, there was a glint of chill in his eyes.
He hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. “My na is… Fengyu.”
“Fengyu?” I repeated, the syllables tingling oddly on my tongue. “Nice na.”
Lian suddenly paused and fixed his gaze on him. “Fengyu… You said you live in the mountains and can read the wind’s direction. That ‘Feng’—is it your original surna?”
The boy nodded, though sothing in his expression tightened.
Noticing Lian’s look, I coughed lightly to dissolve the tension. “Alright, enough genealogy. Priority now is breaking this formation. Once we all get out alive, we can drink and chat all you like.”
Only then did Lian withdraw his gaze.
The scenery around us continued to warp, subtly but persistently. In the distance, the small hut—burned to ash long ago—seed to reassemble itself through the drifting smoke, piece by piece, like so obsessive phantom recreating its own ruin.
I clenched my teeth and muttered inwardly, “System, get out here. Ergency.”
Silence.
“Hello? Isn’t this your favorite blood-soaked drama setup? Why are you pretending to be dead?”
Still nothing.
My brows twitched. “Great. The illusion must be blocking the system.”
The hut in the illusion burst into flas once more. The air thickened with the sll of scorched wood and rouge powder—illusory, yet suffocatingly vivid.
Lian said quietly, “The mont’s here. It’s starting. Rember—make Hua Xiang shield… the past from the sword.”
And so, our first attempt began.
Flas roared. The little hut ca alive, blazing upward in a violent red flash.
Two children staggered out, the pursuing soldiers shouting behind them.
Lian lifted his hand. Pebbles rose, suspended mid-air. With a flick, he sent them flying toward the masked boy—Hua Xiang—aid at the ankle.
A crisp snap.
The boy stumbled and fell, exactly where we’d calculated: in the perfect position to block the sword ant for young Lian.
Or so we thought.
A wet, sickening sound.
The sword pierced straight through—not Hua Xiang—but the child version of Lian.
My mind blanked.
“You—you didn’t flick it the wrong way, right?” I stamred.
Lian’s face reddened hotter than the fire. “I… didn’t miss. He… leaned backward when he fell.”
Mu Cangli sighed. “Dead.”
Lian’s expression hardened to iron. “The formation remains.”
“Then reset,” I muttered. “And you flicked that pebble way too hard. You practically yeeted the boy into reverse physics.”
Lian smiled coldly. “If you’re so capable, you try.”
A breath later, the fire collapsed and the world folded back to the start.
This ti Hua jumped in. “Let handle the talking. I’m nimble enough. I’ll go inside the hut and negotiate with them—maybe we can rewrite the event.”
Lian narrowed his eyes. “This illusion reacts strangely. If you see them, just say you’re there to negotiate. No fighting.”
“Got it.”
Hua slipped inside the hut.
He made it half a step.
A loud snap. A wooden stake shot down, smacking him right in the forehead.
He flew backward like a sack of grain and landed six feet outside the door.
“Oh hell.” I rushed over, kneeling beside him. “Still breathing?”
Hua lifted a shaky hand. “Alive… barely…”
“As a Left Protector, your job benefits are tragic.”
“Shut up… go save the scene…”
But inside, the hut was already ablaze again. The two children ran out.
They spotted Hua lying flat on the ground and froze.
Hua managed to croak, “Block… the sword…”
The children squinted at each other.
“Block what sword?” little Lian asked, baffled.
Those few seconds of confusion were enough.
The pursuers arrived.
Startled, the children bolted instinctively, dodging the strikes remarkably well thanks to Hua’s warning, and slipped into the side tunnel.
“We did it?” I almost clapped.
But the mont the tunnel closed, the entire illusion trembled, then collapsed.
Reset.
Lian said flatly, “Fail. Still no triggered block.”
After two disastrous attempts, we stepped up the strategy.
“This ti Mu Cangli and I go,” I declared. “Brains and brawn—flawless combo.”
Mu Cangli didn’t even blink. “You said that last ti.”
“I wasn’t ward up. This ti? Guaranteed.”
The plan was simple: I reenact my fall that originally blocked a spear; Mu Cangli diverts the blade; Hua Xiang gets pulled into place to shield young Lian.
Simulation perfect in theory.
The hut burned.
The soldiers charged.
The kids ran.
I took my cue, leaping forward dramatically and crashing into the pursuers. The spear carrier stumbled; the sword wielder’s strike went wide exactly as planned.
Then Mu Cangli suddenly shouted, “Watch the back!”
I spun.
A wave of arrows whistled through the air.
Three dull thuds—
The two children collapsed with arrows through their chests.
The whole illusion froze. Even the fire seed to pause mid-fla.
“…They can die like this?” I whispered.
Mu Cangli remained unruffled. “We accounted for the front row. Not the rear.”
Reset.
Lian’s expression darkened further. “Again.”
Fourth attempt. Full deploynt.
Lian and Hua jointly set up a small formation to block the rear archers and slingers.
Mu Cangli and I handled close-range interference.
Plan: airtight.
Flas. Running. Pursuers.
Lian and Hua moved first.
Mu Cangli and I shepherded the children forward.
Everything aligned perfectly.
Even Hua Xiang’s movent path fit the predicted trajectory.
Mu Cangli spun around mid-run, leaping toward the children with a dramatic shout. “I’m coming!”
The children froze; the pursuers paused.
Brilliant setup.
We were seconds from success.
Sword flashed.
Except—
Hua Xiang suddenly grabbed and yanked into place.
“Hey—!”
A piercing strike.
A cold shock spread through my chest. The blade sank straight through .
I stared at the sword lodged in my body and exhaled slowly. “You… have… got… to be kidding…”
Darkness swept over .
In the last instant before I blacked out, I saw young Lian’s face distort, as though ripped from within.
That expression—I knew it too well.
The sa as when I slipped off a cliff years ago, and Lian couldn’t reach in ti.
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