Li Wuxin woke slowly, as if pulled from a dream too dense, too distant. His heavy eyelids struggled to rise, his breath was calm, but his mind was still blurred, numb from fever and jumbled memories.

For a moment, he no longer knew who he was. Or where he was. Everything around him seemed silent, as if suspended in another reality. He tried to move, but his body protested, not with sharp pain, but with a deep fatigue, the kind that clings to the bones. It was the smell, much more than sight or sound, that brought back a sliver of lucidity. A familiar fragrance, almost imperceptible, but terribly persistent: pine. Fresh, resinous, subtly woody. A scent he knew better than he wanted to admit. It clung to Xu Moyao's clothes, his shoulders, his sleeves... It had often enveloped him during moments of closeness that were too intimate or accidental. And now, it had seeped into the fabric of the sheet against his skin. Like an invisible presence.

It unsettled him. His heart sped up, and his fingers clenched the blanket. He turned his head slowly and saw Xu Moyao sitting beside the bed, head bowed, visibly asleep on a chair. His hair was tousled, arms crossed, breathing slow. He seemed to have been watching over him for hours. Perhaps all night.

Li Wuxin looked at him for a long time. It wasn't mere gratitude. There was something else. Something he had refused to name for months. Something he thought he had buried long before all of this began. But there, in the silence of the room, while his own body was slowly recovering from the burn of fever, that something began to take a clearer shape.

Xu Moyao stirred slightly, as if he had felt the gaze. "You're awake," he said in a hoarse voice, without lifting his head. Then he opened his eyes, clear, sharp despite the fatigue. "Finally. I thought you'd sleep until the next solstice."

Xu Moyao came closer, briefly placing the back of his hand on Li Wuxin's forehead. "I had to carry you all the way from the tent to the pavilion."

Li Wuxin blinked slowly. Xu Moyao's hand had left his forehead, but the warmth of the touch lingered. "You carried me?"

Xu Moyao gave a faint smile, almost tender. "I figured a room would be more comfortable for you."

A silence passed. Li Wuxin wanted to respond, but the words remained stuck somewhere between his throat and his chest. He closed his eyes briefly.

Before Li Wuxin could break the silence, a distant rumble echoed. The ground vibrated slightly. Then another explosion, closer, shook the walls. Shouts rose, followed by a metallic sound: weapons. Xu Moyao froze. His expression changed instantly.

"Stay here," he said, already at the door.

"You're going to alone?" Li Wuxin asked, trying in vain to sit up, his jaw clenched, features frozen by a worry he couldn't suppress.

"I'm just going to scout the area. I'll be back."

He disappeared into the gray light outside.

On the battlefield, chaos reigned. Arrows rained down like a deadly storm. The trees on the northern flank were already burning, the flames devouring the foliage like ravenous beasts. The ground, blackened by soot and blood, vibrated under the fighters' feet. At the heart of the tumult, Commander Jiang Lingxian led the defense with iron resolve. His blue cape was soiled, his armor dented, but his gaze remained clear, ruthless. To his right, Lan Boxiao, slashed through the air with lightning speed, her blades dancing like twin streaks of lightning.

"Don't fall back!" shouted Jiang Lingxian. "Form the wall! Hold the line!"

A few dozen steps away, Lu Xiaoquian moved among the wounded, treating them in haste, applying healing powders, pressing her hands to wounds too deep to ignore.

"Lu Xiaoquian, fall back, you're in danger!" the soldier shouted.

"And you're bleeding too much to be talking!" she snapped, pressing on his wound.

But suddenly, a scream tore through the air.

"Commander!" 

A whistling arrow shot from the shadows, cutting through enemy lines. Jiang Lingxian turned a moment too late. The spear struck his left chest. He fell heavily, one knee to the ground, breath knocked out of him.

"Master!" Lan Boxiao screamed, rushing to him.

Lu Xiaoquian joined her, dropping to her knees beside the commander's body.

"Is he alive?" Lan Boxiao asked, her voice strained.

Lu Xiaoquian placed two fingers on his throat, searching for a pulse. "Yes, but... very weak. I have to stabilize him right away, or he'll..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She opened her leather kit, mixed herbs with trembling hands, applied a paste directly to the wound. Then she closed her eyes, focused, chanting the ancient incantations Li Wuxin had taught her. Lan Boxiao wept softly, a hand clutching her master's.

"You can't die, Commander..." she whispered. "You promised you'd watch me grow... You can't..."

Around them, the battlefield tightened. Enemy reinforcements were arriving, chaos resumed.

Xu Moyao burst forth like lightning, his sword felling three enemies in a single stroke. Behind him, a squad of Silent Sky Blades elite followed.

"Protect them!" he ordered. "Defensive circle around the commander! No one gets through!"

He knelt beside Lu Xiaoquian, "Can you save him?"

Lu Xiaoquian, her gaze steady, her hands red. "I have to. He's... important."She turned around and offered a faint smile to the one who held her heart, who smiled back, understanding the unspoken weight of her words.

"Then do it. I'll hold the line."

And Xu Moyao, rose to face the enemy tide.

Lu Xiaoquian watched Xu Moyao as he stepped into the fray, her heart swelling with a deep, quiet gratitude. In that fleeting moment, she understood the full weight of his decision. He was not only fighting to protect them, but he was willing to stand against his own people—against everything he had ever known—for their sake. The magnitude of his sacrifice hit her with a sharp clarity.

With a soft, but fervent breath, she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "Thank you, Xu Moyao... for everything."

The clash of steel rang through the air, drowning out all other sounds as the battle raged on around him. Xu Moyao moved like a shadow among the chaos, his blade a silver streak through the dim light, cutting through the bodies that stood between him and his objective.For what he believed. Each strike was precise, each motion an embodiment of his years of training, and yet there was something else beneath it all: something colder, more detached. It wasn’t just skill that propelled him, but an unwavering conviction that had crystallized in his chest. He was no longer fighting for his comrades, no longer fighting against his past. He was fighting for a cause that transcended everything he had once believed.

In the midst of this chaos, the face of a man he had once called a brother appeared in front of him, emerging from the blur of enemy ranks. Cheng Xu, a soldier he had fought alongside for years, a man who had shared not only battles but moments of laughter, trust, and camaraderie. Their bond had been forged in the crucible of war, and yet now, standing across from him, there was nothing but a stranger’s face. Cheng Xu was holding a spear, his eyes hard, but there was confusion there, too. Confusion and a hint of disbelief.

"Xu Moyao," Cheng Xu called out, his voice cutting through the roar of the battlefield. "What are you doing? Are you really going to stand against us? Against your brothers?"

Xu Moyao didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. His sword was still raised, as though the moment of recognition hadn’t even slowed him down. He knew Cheng Xu. They had fought together, bled together. But that was before.

For a moment, Xu Moyao said nothing, his gaze unwavering, as if searching for something in Cheng Xu’s eyes. Perhaps a hint of understanding, perhaps a flicker of the brother he had once known. But there was nothing there. Just the same confusion, the same pain. Cheng Xu’s hands tightened around his spear, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though he was debating whether to lower it or to strike. But then, the moment passed.

I don’t want to fight you," he said, his voice strained. "Can’t you see? None of this make sense. We have to stop—before it’s too late.

"What happened to you, Moyao?" Cheng Xu asked again, his voice tinged with something else—perhaps hurt, perhaps betrayal. "We fought together for years. We shared everything. What happened to that man I knew? You were always the one who believed in our cause, in our mission. Why are you doing this? You’re fighting against your own people now. You’re fighting against us."

Xu Moyao’s grip on his sword tightened, the muscles in his arm flexing with the effort of keeping it steady. His gaze remained fixed on Cheng Xu, unblinking, cold. The words that came out of his mouth were not words of hesitation, not words of doubt. They were decisive, like the edge of his blade.

"You’re wrong," Xu Moyao said, his voice low but resolute. "I’m not fighting against you. I’m fighting for what I believe is right. You’ve forgotten the ideals that we swore to uphold. This war… this war is about something much bigger than us. And if you can’t see that… then you’re the one who’s lost."

Cheng Xu recoiled slightly, the shock of Xu Moyao’s words evident in his face. He glanced around, as if the battlefield itself had somehow changed around him, and then his eyes returned to Xu Moyao, searching desperately for something—anything—that might explain this transformation. But all he saw was a man he no longer recognized.

"Is that really it?" Cheng Xu’s voice cracked, the disbelief seeping through. "You think that this is the only way? To kill your own brothers? To throw away everything we were fighting for, everything we built together? What happened to you, Xu Moyao? You were never like this. You… you can’t just turn your back on us. On everything we’ve fought for."

Xu Moyao’s expression hardened, and in that moment, something shifted in his eyes, a resolve that had been forged in the fires of a choice he had already made. His voice was low, but unyielding.

"You think I haven’t made this decision a thousand times in my mind?" Xu Moyao’s words were sharp, each syllable a nail in the coffin of the past he had buried. "You think I don’t remember everything? I remember every battle, every victory, every loss. I remember the men who died for what we thought was right. But I also remember the lies,  the compromises we made, the things we turned a blind eye to. Do you think I can stand by and watch as everything we fought for becomes nothing more than a tool for those in power to control us all?"

Cheng Xu’s expression faltered, torn between the man he had known and the reality of what Xu Moyao had become. He stepped back, lowering his spear slightly, as if trying to process the weight of Xu Moyao’s words.

"You... you’ve changed," Cheng Xu muttered, more to himself than to Xu Moyao. "This isn’t you. You can’t just walk away from everything we were, everything we believed in. I won’t let you do this, Xu Moyao. I can’t let you betray us."

Xu Moyao’s gaze didn’t waver. His sword remained steady at his side, a symbol of the conviction that had already replaced any trace of hesitation. He took a step forward, and the action was simple, but it was enough to remind Cheng Xu that this wasn’t a negotiation. This was a battlefield, and Xu Moyao was no longer the man he once was.

"I haven’t betrayed anyone," Xu Moyao said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that pressed down on the air between them. "I’m fighting for the future. A future where we can rebuild what was destroyed by those who don’t care about what’s right. I’m not asking you to understand. I’m asking you to see it."

The moment seemed to stretch out, hanging in the air, suspended between them like a fragile thread. Cheng Xu’s hand shook, and for the first time, Xu Moyao saw something like fear in his eyes. Fear not of the battle, but of the man standing before him.

"You’ve made your choice," Cheng Xu said, his voice a whisper, barely audible over the clamor of the fight. "And I’ve made mine."

Without another word, Cheng Xu lunged forward, his spear aimed directly at Xu Moyao’s heart.

But Xu Moyao was ready. He moved with a speed and precision that could have been a blur to anyone watching, parrying Cheng Xu’s strike with a swift, powerful motion. His sword met the spear with a resounding clash, sparks flying from the contact.

"I’m sorry," Xu Moyao murmured, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

With a swift motion, Xu Moyao twisted his blade, disarming Cheng Xu in a fluid arc. The spear flew from his hands, and before Cheng Xu could react, Xu Moyao’s sword was before his throat, its edge just grazing the skin.

Cheng Xu stared at him, his chest heaving, his expression one of shock, of disbelief, and perhaps even a hint of sadness. But Xu Moyao didn’t flinch.

"I won’t fight you," Xu Moyao said, his voice steady, "but I will not let you stop me."

With that, he lowered his blade, stepping back, leaving Cheng Xu standing there, trembling with the weight of the decision he knew he couldn’t undo.

And with that, Xu Moyao turned, rejoining the fray without a single glance back. There would be no second chances, no regrets. Just the battle that would shape the future.