The tremors through the ground grew clearer and clearer. Not aftershocks—footsteps.
Chen Wuya leaned against the rock wall, his meridians still twitching from exhausting his Misaligned Force. Eyes closed, he regulated his breathing, each breath heavy. Mo Feng sat collapsed amid a pile of rubble, clutching the half-charred copper handle as he stared up at the gray sky, his lips cracked and dry. Bai Zhi sat cross-legged, her right hand braced against the ground. Red seeped faintly through the bandages on her left shoulder, but she did not move. She merely held her flexible sword horizontally before her, its tip aimed outward.
Just then, Mo Feng abruptly cocked his head.
"There's a disturbance in the airflow." His voice was hoarse, nearly squeezed out from his throat.
Before the words had faded, a shrill tearing sound erupted from concealed holes on both sides of the rock wall. Dozens of black sleeve arrows shot out like a swarm of venomous bees, their angles viciously precise as they flew straight for the trio's vital points.
The instant Chen Wuya opened his eyes, a short dart had already sliced past his ear, leaving a streak of blood.
"Move!" Mo Feng roared, flinging the broken copper handle from his hand. Metallic clashes rang out in rapid succession as several arrows were knocked aside, throwing sparks from the stone.
Bai Zhi reacted swiftly. Her left hand swept the sword across, and with a flash of steel, she blocked three arrows that had come within arm's reach. But the old injury in her right shoulder limited her strength, making her half a beat too slow. Two more arrows skimmed past her blade and shot straight for Chen Wuya's back.
She did not hesitate.
With a twist of her body, she threw herself directly into the poisoned short