Chapter CXLIV: Nightwalker
The hallway had quieted.
Not empty—but quieter. Footsteps came slower now, voices lower, the buzz of the tavern fading into a soft hum beneath the wood and stone.
Yanwei's door remained wide open.
He sat just inside the room, far from the doorway, legs crossed, posture straight. His expression was calm, almost bored—eyes resting low, as if meditating or waiting for something forgettable.
But every few minutes, he moved.
Smoothly. Casually.
He stood up—no urgency in it, just the kind of rise a man might do to stretch his limbs after sitting too long.
Then he walked, slow and measured, toward the threshold—the open space between his room and the corridor.
He didn't step past it. Not once.
He simply reached the edge, leaned slightly forward, and let his gaze drift—just briefly—across the hallway.
To the base of a door on the other side.
To a small, gray stone pressed neatly against the frame.
He didn't stare. Didn't linger.
Just long enough for his eyes to catch the shape of it.
Still there.
Then he turned. Walked back.
Sat down again.
Silent.
Still.
From the outside, it looked routine. A man standing, stretching, pacing slowly to the door, watching the tavern life wind down.
But it wasn't routine.
Not at all.
Because every movement was wrapped in rhythm. Measured. Intentional.
And every time he walked to the doorway, his attention returned—not to the people, not to the noise—
—but to that tiny, unnoticed stone across the hall.
It hadn't moved.
Yet he kept checking.
Again and again.
Because he wasn't just watching the hallway.
He was waiting.
And that small, forgettable shape at the foot of the door…
…was the only thing worth noticing.
This had been his rhythm for hours.
Sit. Wait. Walk. Glance.
Return. Repeat.
Not once had the pattern broken—not for boredom, not for fatigue. Even after three long hours, the same routine played out like a quiet ritual.
Wuyan had long since finished her food. Now she slept beside the wall, her body curled tightly, tail twitching every so often in dreams only she understood.
Outside, the tavern had settled into its late-night lull. It wasn't quite 2 a.m., but it felt close. The hour where even the bold became drowsy, and silence was less a choice, more a weight pressing down on everything.
Yanwei stood once more.
Another "routine."
Another slow step toward the threshold.
Another short, practiced glance.
Except—
The stone had moved.
Slightly.
It was no longer flush against the frame. Just a finger's width shifted to the right. Subtle. Barely visible. But to Yanwei's eyes, it was immediate. Clear.
And just like that—the pattern ended.
He didn't sit again.
Didn't wait another minute.
Without a word, he walked across the room and scooped Wuyan up, holding her gently but securely against his chest. She stirred faintly in his arms, ears twitching once, but didn't wake.
Then he stepped out of the room.
No urgency in his steps. No wasted motion.
Just a calm, unbothered pace—like a man taking a casual stroll through quiet halls.
But inside, his mind was twisting with pressure.
The stone had moved.
And that was the point of it—because he couldn't afford to just keep watching her door directly. He had considered it—standing there, waiting, pacing.
But what if she stepped out and saw him?
Standing still. Staring.
She'd know.
She'd bolt.
He didn't want to startle the prey.
Not yet.
Not when he was only fifty percent sure it was her.
But that fifty percent weighed heavier by the hour.
Because time was running out—not the kind measured in candles or footsteps—but the kind that came with consequences.
He was still weak. His body hadn't recovered. His cultivation was barely stable. He didn't have the strength to waste on wrong paths, or the luxury of ignoring gut instinct.
And the signs around him—shifting air, whispers in the wind, fragments of rumors and movements—they all pointed to the same truth:
The storm was coming.
Soon.
And if he was right about her…
If she was who he thought she might be—
Then she wasn't just another piece on the board.
She was the direction.
His only way forward.
And if he let her slip now?
Then when the storm hit—
He'd drown.
….
He stepped out of the lodging hall.
No rush in his movements. Just calm, composed strides.
From the edge of his vision—he saw her.
Not directly ahead, not close. But far enough to not be obvious, and just close enough to confirm what he'd timed this entire night for.
She had exited only moments before.
That was the plan all along—his pacing, his timing, every few minutes spent walking to the threshold and back. Not just out of habit, but by design.
So that if she ever left—
He would see it.
No need to chase.
No risk of missing the window.
And now, there she was.
Still in plain robes. Still walking softly.
But something had shifted.
Her steps remained quiet, her face still wore that same polite calm… but there was a difference. A slight tilt to her chin. A subtle ease in her stride, like the weight of pretense had been lifted just enough to stretch.
She wasn't hiding her superiority anymore.
Not completely.
Her presence didn't shrink now—it stood. Without being loud. Without needing to declare itself.
That sense of humility she wore earlier?
It was blurred now.
Was she still polite?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Who knew?
But her body had already spoken—her spine straighter, her hands more relaxed, her pace deliberate in a way that no longer tried to blend in.
She was heading toward the edge of the market district. Slowly. Without caution, without concern. As if the night itself parted for her convenience.
And Yanwei?
He followed.
Not in a rush.
Not hidden.
Just walking. Like any other nightwalker enjoying the quiet streets.
No tension in his shoulders.
No darting glances.
Just a quiet presence trailing behind hers—
as if fate itself had decided to walk in step.