The Search

Li Chenwei walked back from training, his muscles pleasantly sore, the lingering satisfaction of hard work settling into his bones. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the sect's courtyards, and he felt, for once, a flicker of calm. He'd spent hours drilling with Master Zhao, working on his forms, feeling the familiar weight of the sword in his hands, grounding himself in the movements he knew by heart.

Zhao Tiansheng had teased him relentlessly, of course, poking fun at his "obsession" with Wen Yuhan. "If you spent half as much time focused on your forms as you do trailing after Young Wen," Zhao had chortled, "you might actually become a competent swordsman." But even the teasing couldn't sour Chenwei's mood. He was making progress—he could feel it in every muscle, every small improvement in his stance. For a brief moment, he almost believed he could leave his fears and obsessions behind.

But as he walked through the peaceful, sunlit paths of the sect, the quiet murmur of the other disciples passing by, he felt the familiar coil of anxiety begin to tighten in his chest. There had been no whispers, no rumors of the mission he knew should be approaching. He tried to remember the specifics, but it had been years since that fateful day in his timeline, and his memories were hazy, fragmented.

Am I missing something? he wondered. His steps quickened, his pulse beating faster. He needed to find Wen, to see him, to reassure himself that nothing had changed.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Wen's routine is predictable, he reminded himself. I know where he'll be.

But as he checked Wen's usual haunts—the secluded gardens, the quiet corners of the library where he sometimes practiced calligraphy, the training grounds—he found each place empty. Every absence sharpened his unease, his calm cracking and splintering under the weight of rising panic.

Where is he?

Chenwei paced through the courtyards, his gaze scanning the groups of disciples lingering in the shade, hoping to catch sight of Wen's familiar figure. The more he searched, the more uneasy he grew. It felt like something was missing, some detail he couldn't quite remember, but the memory was just out of reach, slipping away every time he tried to grasp it.

He was nearly ready to give up, to regroup and rethink his approach, when he spotted Zhou Yingjie, Fourth Young Master of the sect, standing with his arms crossed, an irritated look on his face. Chenwei's heart leapt. Yingjie might know something. If Wen and Lianyi have disappeared together…

He approached quickly, trying to mask his urgency with a casual tone. "Fourth Young Master," he greeted, bowing his head respectfully.

Yingjie glanced up, his expression still sour. "Junior Brother Li," he replied curtly, then paused, as if something about Chenwei's appearance piqued his interest. "You look troubled."

"I'm… looking for Senior Brother Wen," Chenwei said, his voice tight. "I can't seem to find him anywhere."

Yingjie sighed, exasperated. "Well, you won't find him today. Or my brother, for that matter. They both canceled on me without warning."

Chenwei's pulse quickened. Both?

Yingjie looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed. "It's not like them to disappear like this," he muttered. "One of them, maybe, but both?"

A prickle of dread crept up Chenwei's spine. "Did they say anything to you?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Anything about… where they were going?"

Yingjie raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "Why are you so interested, Junior Brother Li? Afraid they left without you?" His tone was mocking, but Chenwei barely noticed, his mind racing.

"It's… just strange," Chenwei said, trying to sound casual but hearing the tremor in his own voice. "They're both… important figures in the sect. It's odd that they'd leave without informing anyone."

Yingjie scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, please. They don't need to tell you every little detail of their lives, Junior Brother. Maybe if you didn't spend all your time lurking around them, you'd have something better to do."

Chenwei felt a flash of irritation, but he kept his expression neutral. "I see. Thank you, Fourth Young Master." He gave a short bow, then turned, leaving Yingjie standing there with a look of smug satisfaction.

As he walked away, Chenwei's mind spun, his unease growing into full-blown panic. Wen and Lianyi, both missing. No explanation, no rumors, no signs of a mission. Why would they vanish together without telling anyone?

He quickened his pace, moving through the sect compound with increasing urgency, stopping to ask anyone he saw if they'd seen Wen or Lianyi. Each answer was a dismissal, a brush-off, often laced with mockery.

"You still haven't given up on Senior Brother Wen, have you?" one disciple snickered, shaking his head. "You really are persistent, Junior Brother Li."

Another disciple raised an eyebrow at his question, a smirk playing on her lips. "Trying to get his attention by chasing after him, are you? You know, it's not exactly subtle."

Chenwei's fists clenched, his cheeks burning as the disciples around him whispered and laughed. He could hear their words, fragments of scorn and amusement that only fueled his growing frustration.

"He's finally gone mad," someone murmured as he passed. "All that unrequited pining, it was bound to crack him eventually."

"Someone should call Elder Zhao," another voice said, more concerned than mocking. "His disciple's completely lost it. Asking about forbidden artifacts and spells… talking about the end of the sect…"

The words made Chenwei's blood run cold. They think I'm mad. If they truly believed that, they could lock him away, "for his own good." They could restrain him, keep him from doing anything to interfere.

I have to act now, he thought, his panic spiraling. If they find out I'm serious, they'll stop me.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. Where would they go? His mind raced through memories, fragments of the story he'd pieced together over the years. They went somewhere secluded. Somewhere dangerous. And Lianyi…

Then it hit him—the gorge. The rocky pass they'd crossed in the original timeline, where Lianyi had met his tragic end. If I go there, I can intercept them. It was a risk, but he couldn't stand by and do nothing.

His mind flashed back to the sect in ruins, the poisoned air of the Glass Hell, and the lifeless bodies littering the courtyards. He could almost hear Wen's mocking voice, echoing from the depths of his memory. I won't let it happen again.

Without a second thought, he broke into a run, heading for the outer gates of the sect, the path toward the gorge fixed firmly in his mind. Every step felt like a race against time, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. He could feel the weight of his mission pressing down on him, every doubt, every fear coiling together in his chest.

This time, I'll save him, he vowed silently. This time, I won't be too late.

As Chenwei slipped through the outer boundary of the sect, the sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting the landscape in deepening shades of orange and purple. The path to the gorge stretched out before him, shadowed and ominous, but he steeled himself, pushing forward.

The quiet around him felt heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come. And as he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that every step was bringing him closer to a fated moment, one he could no longer avoid.

With each stride, he felt his resolve harden, the image of the future he'd come back to change burning bright in his mind. He was no longer a spectator, helplessly watching as tragedy unfolded. This time, he would act.

And nothing—no rumors, no mockery, no dismissals—would stop him.