[Vol. 1] Chapter 10 - So It's You
At this moment, the spirit-sapping trees were at work. Though not immediately lethal, their true danger was long-term: the cold seeped into the spirit, draining qi from within.
Chen Mingyuan grunted, feeling the exhaustion finally catch up to her. Xiaolan recognized the shift and scrambled away, letting her fall unassisted onto the ground.
One might think of rushing to support someone, but Xiaolan was just as exhausted. Besides, who knew how long this uncertain alliance would last?
One had to remember: Chen Mingyuan had cast a long, cold shadow over Xiaolan from their very first meeting. A psychological scar.
Now, Chen Mingyuan had gone still. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale against the gloom.
The spirit-sapping trees were doing their work, leaching warmth and will, leaving her limp on the damp ground. Her sword, still clutched in a weakening grip, looked heavy. Vulnerable.
Escape.
The thought was a clean, hard line. Run. Now.
This was the girl who'd severed a hand without blinking. The one who'd chased her through the fog with murder in her apricot eyes. Every sane instinct screamed to scramble up, to vanish into the grey while the psycho was down.
Xiaolan's body tensed, ready to move.
But her mind… her mind was a tangled mess.
And then what?
The question echoed in her mind. If she left Chen Mingyuan here, she'd be alone again. Just her, the fog, and the memory of those sound-blades cutting the air.
No one to deflect the next attack. No one to glare at her with that delicious, point-rich fury. No one whose emotions were a renewable resource.
Alone means being prey. Not to a rival, but to everything else. The Wusheng Yin Sect. Lin Zheng's grudge. The Xuánjīn Yáo-Lóng with its earth-shattering steps.
She'd survived so far by being annoying. Annoyance didn't work on monsters. It didn't work on assassins who only cared about a jade slip.
Chen Mingyuan shivered. A small, helpless tremor. It wasn't pity that stirred in Xiaolan's chest. It was calculation.
She's a known variable. Arrogant, direct, violently predictable. Her motives were simple: pride, vengeance, victory. Xiaolan could work with that.
The others… their motives were shrouded in clan politics and secret plots. Unknowns. And unknowns got you killed.
Her system screen hovered, a ghostly reminder in the mist.
[Charge Points: 65]
Most of that came from her. From Chen Mingyuan's anger, her flustered pride, her utter humiliation. Letting her personal Charge Point farm freeze to death wasn't just risky, it was bad resource management.
But deeper than the gamer-logic, quieter than the fear, was a truth that ached.
I have no one.
No allies. No family waiting. Just a past full of enemies she'd inherited and a future screaming warnings in her own handwriting.
Leaving meant trading a blade she could see for a thousand hidden ones.
Chen Mingyuan's fingers twitched, a weak attempt to clutch her sword. The cold qi was winning.
Xiaolan stared, caught between two kinds of dying: by a familiar hand, or by the faceless, swallowing unknown.
"Tch." The sound escaped her, sharp with frustration.
Moving hurt. The kunai wound protested, the paper-cut slashes stung. She didn't do it gently.
First, she kicked Chen Mingyuan's sword away. It skittered across the moss, well out of reach. Safety first.
Then, gritting her teeth, she hooked her hands under the other girl's arms and heaved. Chen Mingyuan was dead weight, solid and uncooperative.
Xiaolan dragged her backward, away from the densest cluster of draining trees, toward a thicker swirl of fog that promised some cover. The ground tore at her clothes, at her patience.
"Unbelievable," she grunted, sweat beading at her temple. "You try to kill me. I turn you into a romantic scandal in front of everyone. And now I'm your damn pack mule."
She adjusted her grip, her breath puffing in the cold. "If you wake up and stab me for this, I'm going to be so pissed."
It wasn't kindness. It was a cold, selfish calculation. For now, the psycho was more useful alive.
But as she felt the weight in her arms, Xiaolan knew the math could change in an instant. And next time, she might not hesitate.
The dense patch of fog offered no real shelter, just the illusion of it. Xiaolan propped Chen Mingyuan against a thick, gnarled root, then slumped beside her, breathing hard.
Every muscle screamed. The spirit-sapping cold still clung to the air, a persistent, draining presence.
She stared at Mingyuan's pale face. What am I even doing?
Then, Mingyuan's eyes snapped open.
Not groggily. Not slowly. They opened sharp and clear, and her hand flew out clamping around Xiaolan's wrist. Her grip was weaker than it should be, but still firm.
"You moved me," Mingyuan grumbled, her voice thin and edged with a shakiness she refused to let show.
"You were freezing," Xiaolan shot back, not pulling away. "And you're my heat source. Don't flatter yourself."
Mingyuan's gaze dropped to where her sword lay in the moss, several feet away. Her expression didn't change, but her fingers tightened slightly. "You took away my sword."
"Yeah. And I didn't run. Feel grateful."
Somewhere beyond their sight, a pair of cunning red eyes glowed in the dark. Before they vanished, they dispersed a trail of qi, tainted with something else, into the air.
A rustle. The sound of footsteps—too many, moving on four limbs, not two. Then came the low, hungry growls.
With her newfound body's keen senses, Xiaolan stiffened. "Monsters…"
"Give me my sword. I can take care of myself," Chen Mingyuan's voice cut in. Her posture was lax, almost languid, but her nerves were a live wire. No one wanted to be helpless, forced to depend on an enemy.
Xiaolan darted to grab the sword a few feet away. She did not, however, hand it over. Instead, she kept it for herself. Mingyuan watched, not panicked, only weary.
Under her rival's gaze, Xiaolan tried to unsheathe the blade. It wouldn't budge. Of course. To Mingyuan, the sight must have been like watching a monkey try to drive a carriage.
"Can you stop fooling around? You're an embarrassment," Mingyuan groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder her spirit didn't revolt. This version of Xiaolan was going to give her qi deviation.
Then the beasts arrived...mangled Yao creatures from the periphery of the high-tier beast's territory, driven mad by its aura. They surrounded the two exhausted girls, their forms twisted, their intent clear. Prey.
The Yao beasts that Chen Mingyuan once would have disdained were now a lethal threat. Her panic was a stark, helpless thing, visible only in her expression. Her body refused to respond, utterly limp on the ground.
Xiaolan's gaze flicked from her system screen, the one-minute lock finally over, to Chen Mingyuan's paralyzed form.
She dropped to her knees, grabbed Mingyuan's wrist, and forced her hand to the sword's hilt.
"Use qi!" Xiaolan hissed, her own hands steadying the scabbard.
Mingyuan understood. With begrudging effort, she pushed a thin stream of qi from her core into her numb fingers. Guided by Xiaolan, her hand twisted, and the blade rasped free from its sheath.
Shiiiiiing
The maneuver took less than twenty seconds.
But twenty seconds in a forest of predators was a lifetime.
A swoosh of wind passed, followed by the swift, rhythmic thud of arrows, each finding its mark in a Yao beast's forehead, precise and unerring.
The two girls were stunned, but Mingyuan adjusted first. Mingyuan's eyes, sharper than her body, tracked the newcomer's every movement the instant the arrows struck.
Xiaolan even felt she could hear the background combat music from the game, the opening guzheng strains of Divine Comedy: Fuxi Shentian.
A sleek white sword embedded itself in the earth before them, long and unyielding. Then, a figure clad in black landed soundlessly upon its hilt, the familiar emblem of the Shadow Guard visible on her back.
Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail. Heroic. A mask covered her face. In one fluid motion, she leaped, drawing the blade from the ground and sweeping it in a clean arc that felled the remaining beasts with lethal efficiency.
As if answering her qi, the leaves shuddered and swirled in her wake.
Then, she turned her head toward them.
To any other, she might have seemed a pillar of dependable strength. But when Xiaolan met the gaze through the mask's eyeholes, every hair on her body stood on end.
(It's Feng Yue!)
Of course she recognized her. Even if this woman were reduced to ashes, Xiaolan would never forget those eyes, a deep crimson like aged blood.
Feng Yue stiffened. The sword in her hand stilled, radiating a sudden, deep oppression. Someone had spoken her name. Yet neither girl's lips had moved.
(Why is she here? The plot isn't supposed to start this early! Shouldn't Feng Yue still be secluded on Mount Tianheng in the Vermilion Ridge? Ah, unless this is an early plot point I never unlocked?)
Xiaolan's thoughts raced, her heart pounding so violently it felt like thunder in her ears.
Feng Yue's gaze shifted slowly from Chen Mingyuan's face to Xiaolan's. Unhurried. Deliberate. Then it settled, pinpointing the source of the inner voice.
So it's you…
[Charge points +35]
[Current charge points: 100]