Night had long fallen, and the sect grounds lay in deep silence, disturbed only by the soft rustle of leaves. Yet Qinghui still trailed after Lan Zeyan, unwilling to be left behind.
"Wait! Can't Lan-gongzi take this one there tomorrow instead? I can't just sit here doing nothing," Qinghui protested, quickening his pace.
Lan Zeyan didn't slow his steps. "You heard the sect leader. You are to remain and rest."
There was no room for debate in his tone. He clearly had no intention of bringing Qinghui along and what irritated Qinghui most was that Lan Zeyan didn't even look back as he spoke.
"You think this one weak, do you not?" Qinghui snapped. "Perhaps Lan-gongzi is unaware, this one might be a cultivator as well. Who has said I am wholly mortal? I survived the Root of Sentiment's wrath, and that alone bears meaning. I might even be counted among the immortals, for I did not perish whilst there." He crossed his arms, arrogance swelling in the air.
"Being a cultivator avails little," Lan Zeyan replied, tone cool as still water. "Even so, you failed to free yourself from the Root of Sentiment's bind. What difference is there? Mortal or cultivator, in my eyes, Qinghui remains weak, and on this mission, a burden."
Qinghui froze where he stood. His fists clenched. Weak? The word struck deeper than he cared to admit. It was because I was unprepared... disoriented...
Seeing that Qinghui no longer followed, Lan Zeyan paused but did not turn. "It is best you do as you are told," he said, and continued on his way.
Bitter wind brushed past Qinghui as he stood beneath the night sky. His gaze drifted toward a sacred-looking tree not far away, the very one he had noticed earlier when he first entered the sect grounds. Unfair, he thought. The roots had drained him then, and he had not even taken food that day. No wonder he could not fight back.
Yet Qinghui was not one to yield easily. Clasping his hands once, he stretched his cheeks into a forced smile. "If Lan-gongzi did not wish this one to come along," he murmured with a smirk, "he should have chained me."
Lowering himself, he tiptoed across the sect grounds like a thief with a scheme.
The exit was far too easy to find...wide, prominent, and without a single disciple in sight.
"This sect is far too lax," Qinghui muttered. "What if an intruder barged in? Hmph. And they expect me to feel safe here?" He mockingly stretched, dusted his robe with exaggerated pride, and strode forward. "Very well, this one shall be on his way. Who knows how long it shall take to reach the forest?"
Yet the moment he neared the gate, a crackle of force struck him.
"AHHH!"
A surge of electrified Qi shot through his body, hurling him several zhang away. He crumpled to the ground, stunned, as golden arcs coiled about his limbs like glowing vines.
"What...? There is such a thing here?" he gasped. The energy did not fade, it bound him, tightening, draining his strength until his vision blurred.
Footsteps approached.
With effort, Qinghui lifted his head, only to find Lan Zeyan gazing down at him with a weary, bitter look.
"It is not what Lan-gongzi thinks! This one... was lost, and did not know.." Qinghui sneered while explaining.
"Of course you did not know there is a barrier here," Lan Zeyan said coldly. "This is Mt. Yaojing, the sect's cultivation grounds. You think you can come and go as you please? Did you not hear the First Master speak of the dangers this place has witnessed? Were you not listening? Or do you take the cultivators here for fools?"
"No, I do not take them for fools... I merely thought, I am sorry." Qinghui looked away, guilt flickering across his face.
Lan Zeyan noted the vulnerability in his expression and did not press further. "Only those with a token may leave. Since you hold none, stay where you are and keep away from danger."
"I... truly am sorry," Qinghui murmured. The golden Qi still sparked faintly through him, making his limbs twitch from time to time.
Lan Zeyan, however, found the sudden gloom in Qinghui unsatisfying, almost as if he had scolded him too harshly. So he chose to tease instead. "Mm. Since you broke the rules, Qinghui ought to be punished."
Qinghui's eyes widened. "Lan-gongzi, surely you're not serious...?"
Lan Zeyan's gaze narrowed faintly, a trace of wicked intent hidden within his calm expression.
"I shall never do it again! I am an esteemed guest! Lan-gongzi cannot be serious! My body is yet unhealed!" Qinghui's voice wavered, his eyes slightly teary.
"This master can already see Qinghui is the sort who will not give up easily," Lan Zeyan said. "You are... quite troublesome. Punishment is necessary. Moreover, was it not you who said I should have chained you?"
"W–WHAT?! You heard that?! N–no, I never—"
"At exactly the second kè, eight fēn, and forty-eight breaths of the midnight shíchen."
"You... you monster! You even memorised the time?!"
Without answering, Lan Zeyan stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Qinghui's waist.
"Wait—what are you doing?!"
In one smooth motion, Lan Zeyan hoisted him over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing.
"The jìng fù huán will last ten minutes. This master shall return you to your quarters."
"Put this one down! Gahh—!"
His protests echoed until a voice interrupted.
"Ruoxian."
The sect leader, Jing Xiao, approached with an amused smile. Behind him stood Lan Feirong, looking utterly stunned. To see the aloof Second Master carrying someone thus, and speaking so freely, was unheard of.
"This master never thought Lan Fu Zongzhu would be so... spirited when interested in someone," Jing Xiao remarked.
"Hey! It is not what you think!" Qinghui cried.
"I am merely returning him to his quarters. The esteemed guest is unwell and must be disciplined lest he exhaust himself further," Lan Zeyan said evenly.
Jing Xiao chuckled. "Is that so? Then best be quick, it grows late."
Lan Zeyan resumed walking, Qinghui still slung over his shoulder.
"Put this one down I said!" But no one pay any attention of Qinghui.
Lan Feirong stared after them, still processing. "Master Jing... is there not a penalty for attempting to cross the barrier without a token?"
"I know," Jing Xiao said lightly. "But tonight, let us pretend we heard nothing. The night is calm, why disturb it with punishment?"
When they neared the infirmary, most lanterns had gone out. Lan Zeyan suddenly halted, looking over his shoulder.
"What? Is something amiss?" Qinghui asked, momentarily forgetting to struggle. "Perhaps... a midnight ghost?"
"A ghost would not dare step foot here. But for now... we may call it one," Lan Zeyan replied, glancing at a shadowed corner before returning his gaze to Qinghui.
"D... do not jest with me," Qinghui muttered.
"Is Qinghui afraid of ghosts?" Lan Zeyan teased.