Chapter Text
Wei Changze opened his eyes to the sky above him. His entire body ached from the battle, his muscles sore and a deep gash burning along his right side. He knew something was wrong the moment night had fallen—too quiet, too still, not a single trace of the Yao boar they had been tracking. Even A-Yue, his wife who rarely lost her spirit, had grown tense and serious.
Then the ambush came.
Thirty-five cultivators at once.
Even with their combined strength, taking on so many without collapsing alongside them was nearly impossible. After only a few exchanged blows, it became clear who the attackers were—disciples from Yunmeng, Lanling, and Meishan. They had come for one purpose only: to kill.
Wei Changze knew immediately who had sent them. Jiang Fengmian.
Of course the man would act once he learned about their daughter—Wei Ying, their baobei, their little moon. Of course Fengmian would try to eliminate anyone who threatened his and his son’s position.
He let out a tired sigh and looked around. His wife lay unconscious beside him. Carefully, he pushed himself up and checked his spiritual reserves—at least half had returned, and his wounds were slowly knitting themselves closed. The gash had stopped bleeding. It would be enough for now. Enough until they reached safety.
He checked A-Yue next and felt relief wash over him. She was bruised but stable. He roused her gently, and together they hurried to gather their swords and scattered belongings before rushing back toward the inn to retrieve their daughter.
It was still early. The inn staff hadn’t woken yet. They slipped into their room, washed quickly with the water left in the tub from the night before, burned their blood-stained robes, and changed into clean garments. A-Yue was quick to clear the room of their things and tuck everything into the qiankun pouch. Wei Changze lifted their sleeping daughter from the bed.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. One thing was clear: they couldn’t remain in Yiling.
Before they stepped outside, Cangse Sanren pressed a concealment talisman over them.
“A-Yue,” he murmured.
“We can’t let anyone see us leave. They deceived us, and it led to the ambush.”
“Mn.”
As they slipped through the still-dim streets, they noticed rows of Yunmeng Jiang disciples heading straight toward the inn they had just vacated—Jiang Fengmian himself at the front. Husband and wife exchanged a knowing glance. Wei Changze tightened his hold on his daughter instinctively.
They quickened their pace, and once they reached the outskirts of the town, they mounted their swords and shot south—toward the imperial capital.
“A-Yue… are you sure?” Changze asked quietly, though he already knew her answer.
“I’m sure, A-Ze,” she replied, her voice steady with anger and resolve. “We need to reach Father and Mother. They’re the only place I trust. As for the others… let them be damned.”