Azure Sky Inner Sect – Cloud-Water Courtyard
Day 97 – fourth straight day of rain that smells like metal and old blood
It's been four days since Wēi Hé Xuān kissed the ground.
Four days of nothing happening.
And that nothing is starting to feel like the loudest thing in the world.
Liàn Xing hasn't slept properly since the Ark.
He trains at night now, when the courtyard is quiet and the spear's humming is the only sound that doesn't feel like a lie. Shirtless, barefoot, moving through forms that don't have names yet. The half-formed spear shaft cuts the rain into perfect circles that hang in the air for three heartbeats before falling apart. Every missed step leaves a scar on the jade tiles that refuses to heal.
He's getting faster.
He's getting angrier.
He doesn't know which scares him more.
Lan Shuyin watches from the pavilion roof, knees drawn to her chest, hair loose and wet. She hasn't worn the hood since the Ark. The yin poison is gone, but sometimes she still reaches for her sternum like she expects the pain to come back. It never does. That terrifies her in a different way.
She hasn't slept either.
She sharpens her twin short-spears until the edges sing when they cut raindrops.
Zhao sleeps.
Zhao always sleeps.
He's sprawled on the grass under an overturned jade table, snoring loud enough to drown out the rain. One golden ring orbits his head like a lazy halo. The other eight are buried in the dirt somewhere—he lost them in a bet with Zhenxing and hasn't bothered digging them up.
Zhenxing is the only one who seems fine.
She floats above the spirit spring in loli form, kicking her feet, eating peaches that definitely weren't there yesterday.
"Rumour update," she announces, mouth full. "Top ten on the Celestial Ranking have formed a pact. They're calling it the 'Ghost-Slaying Alliance'. Very dramatic. They meet in secret, cry a lot, and pretend they're not pissing themselves every time someone says your name."
Liàn Xing doesn't stop moving.
A thrust.
A circle of rain freezes mid-fall, then shatters.
"Good," he mutters.
Zhao snorts in his sleep, rolls over, mumbles something about cutting someone's beard.
Lan Shuyin's voice is soft.
"They're going to try something at the monthly resource distribution tomorrow."
Liàn Xing pauses.
The spear shaft hums, eager.
"Let them."
He goes back to training.
Harder.
The rain gets heavier.
It's not rain anymore.
It's the sky trying to wash something away and failing.
–––
Day 98 – Resource Hall, Celestial Harmony Peak
The line for monthly resources is five thousand disciples long.
Everyone is soaked.
Everyone is watching the three figures who just walked in like they own the mountain.
Liàn Xing wears the same black coat, same blank expression.
Lan Shuyin walks beside him, hair loose, frost trailing from her footsteps even though the rain is warm.
Zhao brings up the rear, yawning, only seven golden rings visible (he still hasn't found the other two).
They don't queue.
They walk straight to the front.
The elder in charge (a nervous Core Formation woman who has been avoiding eye contact for four days) drops her jade tablet when she sees them.
"S-Senior Liàn, Senior Lan, Senior Zhao… your allotments are… are already prepared. Highest grade. No need to—"
Liàn Xing cuts her off.
"Show me the list."
She obeys instantly.
A holo-screen flickers to life: the official resource distribution for the month.
His name is at the top.
Allocation: 100 high-grade spirit stones.
Same as a ranked core disciple.
Same as someone who has earned it.
He stares at the number for a long time.
Then he reaches out and changes it.
With one finger.
To 100,000.
The elder makes a small, wounded sound.
No one stops him.
Lan Shuyin changes hers to 80,000 without looking up.
Zhao changes his to 150,000 and adds a note: "+1 crate of good wine, the expensive kind, or I start cutting things."
The screen accepts the changes without protest.
Because the formation recognises the spear shaft resting on Liàn Xing's shoulder and decides some fights aren't worth having.
They leave with three spatial rings full of resources that could bankrupt a small sect.
No one says a word.
–––
Night 98 – Cloud-Water Courtyard
Zhao is drunk.
Actually drunk.
He's lying on his back in the rain, seven golden rings spinning lazily above him, singing off-key.
"I cut a Nascent Soul when I was twelve," he slurs to the sky. "Thought that made me hot shit. Then you erased fifty-three with one swing and didn't even blink."
He laughs until he cries.
Lan Shuyin sits on the pavilion steps, knees drawn up, watching Liàn Xing train.
He hasn't stopped since the resource hall.
Thrust.
Circle.
Erase.
Again.
The spear shaft is starting to leave permanent scars in the air (thin silver lines that don't fade).
She finally stands.
Walks over.
Puts a hand on his wrist mid-thrust.
"Stop."
He does.
The spear hums, disappointed.
She doesn't let go.
"You're going to break something that doesn't grow back."
He looks at her.
Really looks.
Sees the frost in her eyelashes that isn't from cold.
Sees the way her hand trembles just slightly.
"I already did," he says.
She knows what he means.
The boy who used to flinch at raised voices is gone.
Something harder took his place.
She hates it.
She loves it.
She doesn't know which feeling to trust.
Zhao's voice drifts over, drunk and raw.
"We're monsters now. Real ones. Not the fun kind."
Liàn Xing looks at the spear shaft.
At the scars in the air that refuse to heal.
"Yeah," he says quietly.
"We are."
He sits down in the rain.
Lan Shuyin sits beside him.
Zhao crawls over and flops across both their laps like a golden cat.
Zhenxing lands between them, tiny, wings dim.
For a long time, no one speaks.
The rain keeps falling.
It sounds like the sky is crying for something it hasn't realised it lost yet.
Tomorrow the Ghost-Slaying Alliance will make their move.
Tomorrow someone will bleed.
Tonight, three monsters and one half-awake star sit in the rain and pretend they're still human.
The spear hums, soft and patient.
It knows tomorrow will be fun.