Chen Wuya's steps paused for half a breath before the courtyard gate. He lowered his head and glanced at his own shadow. The outline cast slantwise across the ground was indeed crooked, as if some invisible thing had tugged at it. He said nothing, merely tightening his grip on the short staff at his waist.
Bai Zhi followed at his side, her steps light yet steady. Mo Feng trailed half a step behind, the bronze ring around his wrist faintly glowing—his mechanism had clearly been activated. The three spoke no more and headed straight up the mountain path toward Soul-Ending Cliff.
Before midnight arrived, twelve dark figures were already standing in formation atop the cliff. They wore blood-red robes, their faces uncovered, with only pairs of dark crimson eyes gleaming like spent embers. They neither moved nor made a sound, like a row of blades planted in the wind.
One person stood alone in the open space at the center.
His black robe was like the night, and a bronze mask covered his face. Only his eyes shone with scarlet light, like a rift in the abyss. He stood there, his aura gathering rather than dispersing, forcing the surrounding grass and trees to bow low—even the wind curved around him.
"You came." Blood Without Trace spoke, his voice seeming to crawl up from the bottom of a well, carrying a damp, cold echo.
Chen Wuya stopped, still seven steps away from him. "You said you wanted to see me, so I came."
"Very good." Blood Without Trace slowly raised his right hand, palm upward. "Hand over the Heavenly Machine Scroll, along with that thing inside you—that thing that can twist martial arts. I won't make things difficult for your family."
Chen Wuya smiled faintly. "You're not qualified to negotiate terms."