Chapter 42
Her hands moved again, slower this time, deliberate. Her fingers shifted into structured forms—first pressing palm to palm, then separating slightly as if pulling apart invisible threads, then folding inward, knuckles aligning before extending her index and middle fingers together while the others curled tight. Each movement was controlled, practiced, and almost ritualistic. She brought those two fingers down sharply against Wuming's chest once more.
He choked, blood spilling past his lips.
But the orbs stabilized—just slightly.
Not calmer.
Just… contained.
Her breathing grew heavier, shoulders rising and falling, yet her voice did not waver. She pressed both palms flat against his chest, directly over the chaotic glow, and began chanting again, the strange language flowing from her lips with a rhythm that felt older than memory. It was not loud, yet it filled the space entirely, as if the forest itself was forced to listen.
The wind circled her.
The orbs pulsed.
And Wuming lay there between them all—between darkness and light, between destruction and control—his existence balanced on something far more fragile than life itself: a will that refused to break, even when the world inside him already had. Wei Zhi did not hesitate after the orbs revealed themselves; hesitation, after all, belongs to those who doubt, and doubt had long been carved out of her. Her hands moved again, both palms facing each other, and between them a soft oval of white light began to form—at first faint, like breath on glass, and then steadily brighter, until it looked like she was holding a small, compressed moon between her hands. The light did not flicker; it was controlled, disciplined, obeying her will like a trained beast.
She lifted her hands slightly, aligning them with the first of the floating orbs above Wuming's chest. The orb pulsed—black and white clashing within it, unstable, resisting. Wei Zhi's eyes narrowed just a fraction.
Then she moved.
Her right hand pushed forward gently, not with force but with precision, guiding the oval light into the orb. The moment the two touched, the reaction was immediate. The orb trembled violently, cracks of white light splitting across its dark surface like lightning trapped inside glass. For a second, it resisted—as if it had its own will—but Wei Zhi pressed harder, her fingers tightening, her palm flattening against the resistance.
"Break," she whispered, not loudly, but with absolute certainty.
The orb shattered.
Not explosively—but cleanly, like something being erased rather than destroyed. It broke into fragments of light and shadow, each piece dissolving into the air before it could fall. No debris remained. No sound lingered. It was simply… gone.
She did not pause.
She moved to the next.
Her hands flowed in the same motion—forward, press, contain. The oval light expanded slightly each time, adjusting, learning, adapting to the resistance of each orb. One by one, she took them—pressing, compressing, and then breaking them apart. Each orb cracked, split, and dissolved into nothingness under her control. Fourteen unstable Nova Burn orbs—each one capable of tearing apart a weaker cultivator's body—reduced to fragments like dust brushed from a sleeve.
Her breathing grew heavier.
Her shoulders trembled faintly.
But her movements never lost precision.
From a distance, Weiyang and Yinghua could not see the details—only the motion. They sat far enough away, the box of almond cookies between them, watching vaguely. Weiyang chewed slowly, tilting his head. "What is she even doing…?" Yinghua squinted, trying to make sense of it, but all she saw was Wei Zhi's figure moving steadily while Lin Yi stood nearby, doing nothing. She popped another cookie into her mouth, frowning. "Whatever it is… it looks serious."
Back at the center, the last orb remained.
It pulsed more violently than the others, as if aware of its impending end.
Wei Zhi stepped closer.
Her palms pressed forward again—this time slower, heavier. The oval light dimmed for a fraction of a second before flaring brighter, as if pulling the last of her strength into it. The orb resisted harder, cracks forming and healing repeatedly, refusing to collapse.
Her fingers trembled.
Her jaw tightened.
And then—
She pushed through.
The orb split.
A sharp flicker of black and white scattered outward before dissolving completely, leaving nothing behind. The air stilled. The pressure vanished.
Silence.
Wei Zhi lowered her hands slowly, her fingers loosening as if she had been holding something unbearably heavy. Her eyes closed on their own, not in peace, but in exhaustion. The strange energy faded, the wind settling, the world returning to its ordinary rhythm as if nothing unnatural had occurred.
Behind her, Wuming's body shifted.
The unnatural pallor that had drained his face began to recede. Color returned slowly, faint at first, then more steady. The tightness in his chest eased, his breathing stabilizing. The bruising that had spread like dark stains beneath his skin softened, no longer deepening. He looked… alive again.
Wei Zhi opened her eyes halfway and looked at him.
"Thank you… for your qi," she said quietly, her voice calm again, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Lin Yi stepped closer, his silver eyes fixed on her, sharper than before. "What did you do?"
She looked down at her hands resting on her lap, her knuckles pale from the strain. "Nothing," she replied simply. "I just crushed the poisonous orbs from his body. They were present in both his body and soul. His soul was collapsing before… I stopped it." Her fingers curled slightly. "But I didn't expect it to damage his body as well. The attack was… clever. It targeted both at once. I couldn't detect it properly."
Her hands tightened further.
For a brief moment, something like frustration flickered across her face.
Lin Yi watched her, then spoke more gently. "You did well. For someone your age, this is beyond most."
She shook her head slightly, her tone turning colder—not toward him, but toward herself. "Those children are not my comparison. I am above their level… and I will rise further. This…" she glanced briefly at Wuming, "…this is the easiest thing for someone like me. He did something like this when he was five."
Lin Yi did not respond immediately.
Instead, he studied her.
Then he exhaled lightly and stood up. "It's getting late. We should call it a day."
She didn't answer.
Her eyes had gone distant—empty in a way that was not weakness, but isolation.
What an unusual pair of children, Lin Yi thought.
As he turned to leave, he added, "Wei Zhi, using someone else's qi and then forming a Zhen… it's exhausting."
Still no response.
But before the silence could stretch further, movement broke it.
Weiyang stood up abruptly, tossing the cookie box aside without thinking. Yinghua followed immediately, closing the lid and dropping it as well. Both of them were already running before Lin Yi could say anything, their expressions no longer confused—but concerned.
They reached just as Wei Zhi's body swayed.
Her head tilted weakly, balance lost.
And then she collapsed forward.
Her forehead fell against Wuming's chest, her body giving in completely, too exhausted to even remain standing.
Weiyang reacted instantly, catching her before she could fall fully, lifting her into his arms without hesitation. Yinghua knelt beside Wuming, pulling him gently onto her lap. No one asked questions. No one wasted time.
Yinghua wiped the sweat from Wuming's temple, her movements careful, almost instinctive. His robe had loosened during everything—she adjusted it quickly, covering his chest properly, her fingers steady despite the worry in her eyes. He remained unconscious, his breathing slow but stable.
Weiyang adjusted Wei Zhi in his arms, noticing the cold sweat on her skin. "What the hell happened to them?" he muttered, his usual brightness dimmed. "Why are they both like this…?"
Yinghua didn't look up. "Wei Zhi exhausted her qi… and Wuming…" she paused briefly, "…he's not well."
Lin Yi watched them quietly.
A faint smile appeared on his face—not amused, but understanding.
This team doesn't need to be taught teamwork, he thought. They move toward each other without being told.
He stepped closer. "They're just exhausted. Take them home."
Weiyang nodded immediately. "Okay."
Then Lin Yi added, almost casually, "You're not going to ask what she was doing?"
Weiyang shifted Wei Zhi slightly in his arms, holding her more securely—almost like a promise rather than just support. He glanced at Lin Yi and smiled, simple and genuine. "If she wants to tell me, she will. I don't mind her keeping secrets for now. I know she'll tell me when it's time."
He looked down at her briefly, then added with a softer tone, "And… Wei Zhi and Wuming… they understand each other without words. One look is enough. You'll see it too someday."
Lin Yi watched him.
There was no doubt in that smile.
"Weird," Weiyang added lightly, "but kind of amazing. Makes me a little jealous."
Lin Yi exhaled quietly. "They still need you. More than you think. Support like yours… isn't something they can replace."
Weiyang grinned again. "See you tomorrow, shi fu."
Yinghua adjusted Wuming onto her back, lifting him into a piggyback position with surprising ease. "I'm good at carrying weight," she said, half laughing despite everything.
Lin Yi raised a brow slightly. "Clearly."
His eyes wandered over her hands, small petite soft hands bleeding and brushed from carrying the log. Her hands firmly held the back of wumings knees.
She smiled wider. "Laugh all you want. It's a skill."
And just like that, the heaviness lifted slightly.
They began walking away together.
Weiyang and Yinghua talked as they went, their voices rising and falling, light again despite what had just happened. Their laughter echoed faintly through the trees—clumsy, loud, real.
Behind them, Lin Yi stood still, watching.
Not as a teacher.
But as someone witnessing something rare.
A bond not formed by lessons—
—but by instinct.
The path toward the Xuan estate had grown quieter as they approached, the sounds of the forest fading into a strange stillness, as if even the wind knew it was nearing a place of authority. Weiyang walked ahead, steady despite the exhaustion lingering in his limbs, Wei Zhi resting unconscious in his arms, her head tilted slightly against his shoulder. Yinghua followed beside him, Wuming slung across her back, his weight uneven but firmly held as she adjusted him every few steps to keep him from slipping.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence was not awkward—it was heavy.
Yinghua finally broke it, her voice low, almost uncertain. "What… happened to them?"
Weiyang didn't look back. "Don't know." A pause. Then, more firmly, "Don't ask."
She glanced at him, then nodded slightly.
They were still unconscious.
That was all that mattered.
Soon, the towering gates of the Xuan estate came into view—grand, silent, and imposing, standing like a boundary between two worlds. But what caught their attention was not the estate itself.
It was the figures standing before it.
Three of them.
Weiyang slowed.
Yinghua's steps faltered slightly.
Standing at the center was a man who seemed carved out of shadow and authority itself. He was tall—easily towering over most—with a straight, unyielding posture that carried the weight of command without effort. His long black hair flowed freely down his back, strands shifting faintly with the breeze, yet never disorderly. His robes were dark—deep black layered with subtle patterns that shimmered only when light touched them just right—rich, refined, and unmistakably belonging to someone of power.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
Sharp features, defined like strokes of ink—eyes dark, onyx-brown, but not dull. They were alive in a way that felt dangerous, observant, like a predator that never truly rested. There was no visible emotion in them, yet something about that stillness made it clear—this was not indifference. It was control.
Absolute control.
This was Xuan Katsuro.
End of 42