Chapter 47 · I’ll Go Hunting

  The camp lay hidden in a natural hollow.

  Mountains rose on three sides, gray-white cliffs crouched like slumbering beasts. Behind stretched the dark, endless reach of Blackpine; southeast, a narrow cleft offered the only exit. Spirit Energy here was thin. The night wind, half-smothered by stone, whispered hollow across the ground.

  YiChen knelt, pressing crystalline stones into the soil. Faint blue bled from each, threads weaving into a barrier.

  Then his hand froze.

  That cracked boulder. Those three pines rooted in a triangle. This hollow—he knew it.

  Five years ago, he had pitched his first tent here. Two rookies: himself, and ChengYu. No strength, no certainty. Just a sleepless night, an axe across his lap, and ChengYu curled in a sleeping bag, clutching a stick that shook in his hands.

  And even now, he could still hear that whisper:

  “Brother… I think I hear someone walking outside the barrier.”

  A voice that would never return.

  YiChen stayed crouched, shadow drowning him like a shroud.

  Han Yue passed nearby. Soulwhisper stirred, violet perception flaring with unease. He looked toward YiChen—

  And felt it.

  Not fear. Not fury. Something worse.

  A silence so heavy it crushed the air. A presence that swallowed light. Like the wreck of a ship, rotting unseen in the blackest trench of the sea.

  For a heartbeat, Han Yue felt him unraveling. Quiet. Without sound.

  Words rose—Are you all right?—but died on his tongue.

  Then—

  “Hey! What are you two doing just standing there?”

  Logan’s voice cracked the moment like stone through glass.

  YiChen straightened. The suffocating weight vanished, as though it had never existed.

  “I’ll go hunting.”

  The words were low, clipped. He turned without another glance and stepped beyond the barrier into mist.

  Logan frowned. “What’s with him?”

  Han Yue watched the silhouette fade between trees. His voice was quiet, almost reluctant:

  “Nothing.”

  But he knew.

  It wasn’t nothing.

  It was a man splitting apart.

  ?

  Dusk bled into night.

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  YiChen stopped beneath a black pine. Above, clouds burned orange and violet; below, silver veils of Spirit Mist drifted like wandering souls. No moon. No stars.

  His chest ached.

  Memories surged like floodwater breaching a dam—ChengYu’s grin at sixteen, his nervous laughter under a thin tent, the way his hands shook after their first Fiend kill. Each memory cut sharper than steel.

  Don’t think.

  Nails dug into his palms. Spirit Force surged through the Taiwei Guiyuan circuit, every cycle a wire dragging him back from collapse.

  Rustle—

  Grass convulsed. An elk-shaped beast burst from the brush, half-grown, hooves gouging earth.

  The axe was already moving.

  Silver flashed—shhk!

  A clean arc. The head rolled. Blood fanned hot across YiChen’s boots, copper stench thick in the air.

  He stood over the twitching carcass, face unreadable.

  No words. No wipe of the blade. Only silence.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Blood pattered on dead leaves. His pulse slowed. The flood sank again, buried under heavier stone.

  At last, he bent, seized the beast by its legs, and turned back toward camp.

  Chapter 48 · Return to the City

  When YiChen returned, the fire was already lit.

  He said nothing. Only crouched beside the flames, knife flashing—skinning, butchering, skewering. Firelight painted his face in red, but never reached his eyes. The scent of roasting meat drifted slow, thick. He passed skewers out one by one. Kept none for himself.

  His gaze never left the fire.

  Han Yue approached, holding one out. “You should eat.”

  Before YiChen could answer, Logan shoved the skewer into his hand. “What, you think you can swing that axe on fumes? Chew.”

  YiChen obeyed. The meat tasted like ash.

  ?

  Night deepened. The watch order stayed unchanged. YiChen still claimed the last shift.

  Han Yue lingered near his tent, words caught in his throat. In the end, he said nothing.

  YiChen sat cross-legged, Spirit Force threading his veins, steady as stone.

  Then—

  A faint pink glow wriggled from his jacket pocket.

  The rabbit-shaped Light beast.

  She climbed onto his knee, curled small, and rubbed against him. Almost by instinct, YiChen let a thread of Spirit Force wrap around it. The glow pulsed with his breath. The creature purred softly, then slipped into sleep—snoring like a blade of grass trembling in wind.

  YiChen stared for a long moment. Then exhaustion dragged him under.

  He toppled back onto the mat. The pink glow shifted into the crook of his arm, still purring.

  For the first time since that day—since ChengYu had been torn from him—YiChen slept without dreams.

  ?

  Two hours later, Han Yue rose to change shifts.

  Through Soulwhisper’s senses, he felt the warmth within YiChen’s tent: steady breath, unguarded peace, the faint glow of a rabbit curled to his chest.

  He opened the flap a sliver—then closed it again.

  I’ll take his watch.

  The thought never left his lips. He turned back toward the barrier.

  ?

  Morning.

  YiChen opened his eyes to pale light bleeding through canvas. His body felt lighter, as though some stone had been lifted off his chest. The rabbit still nestled against him, stubbornly asleep.

  Outside, muffled voices drifted:

  “Shhh—Captain’s still out.”

  “Unbelievable—it’s eight already!”

  He lay still, listening. Dust drifted golden in the sunlight. The warmth pressed against his chest. The laughter of comrades beyond the canvas.

  For a moment, it felt too vivid. Too fragile. Like a dream that would shatter if he breathed too hard.

  ?

  When he finally stepped out, sunlight spilled over his shoulders. The pink rabbit hopped at his side, ears tipped with tiny suns.

  “She didn’t leave him all night,” someone whispered.

  YiChen sat by the cold firepit. Max handed him a cup of hot water. “Thanks,” YiChen murmured. Steam blurred his outline.

  From where he leaned against the cliff, Han Yue felt it clearly—

  The storm raging inside YiChen had quieted. Not gone, but drawn behind a curtain.

  Logan grinned wide. “Once City Hall hears humans can contract with Light beasts? They’ll lose their minds! Finally—a real chance!”

  YiChen lifted his head. His voice cut through the camp like steel across frost:

  “Light beasts are not a blessing.”

  The laughter died. Silence swallowed the air.

  YiChen’s gaze fixed on nothing, as though staring at a world long lost.

  “The last time humans discovered contracts…” His voice slowed, heavy. “Crowds knelt at the forest’s edge. They swore oaths in blood. They dragged out cubs, forcing bonds.”

  His nails dug into his palm.

  “And the backlash tore them into fragments.”

  The air froze. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

  “Remember—” His gaze swept across them, sharp as a blade. “Aside from the City Hall officials, this must never be disclosed to anyone.”