( something amiss )
The moment the door shut behind them, Zhang Wei's patience snapped—not in anger, but in discomfort.
His fingers moved quickly to the fastening at his collar.
"…This thing—"
He tugged once.
Then again.
The knot loosened, and with a small, frustrated motion, he shrugged the coat off entirely, letting it slip from his shoulders and fall to the side.
The fur-lined fabric landed in a soft heap against the wooden floor.
Cool air touched his skin again.
He exhaled.
Relief immediate.
"…What was that for?"
His voice carried a faint edge now, not sharp—but honest.
His pale skin, now exposed again beneath the thin orange robe, was lightly flushed, especially around his neck and collarbone where the heat had gathered. The fabric clung faintly to him, softened further by his warmth.
His hand rose unconsciously to his wrist.
The bandage.
He stared at it again.
Longer this time.
"And this cut… how did I get it?"
No answer.
His brows drew together.
"And these—" his fingers brushed the sleeve of the robe, tugging it slightly outward, "—aren't mine. I don't remember having anything like this."
Still nothing.
His gaze lifted slowly, sweeping across the enclosed room.
No window.
Just walls.
Lantern light flickering softly against wood.
"And this room…"
A pause.
"…why are we here again?"
Silence.
Thicker than before.
Zhang Wei tilted his head slightly, studying them both now—Zhang Lin by the bed, Zhang Lie near the door.
Their expressions hadn't changed.
That alone said enough.
"…Something happened, right?"
He asked it quietly.
Not demanding.
Not fearful.
Just… certain.
But the silence that followed was deliberate.
Careful.
Chosen.
They would not tell him.
Not now.
Not like this.
Zhang Wei watched them for a moment longer.
Then—
"…No problem."
He said it softly.
Almost to himself.
"I'm not that curious."
The words were light.
But the way he sat afterward—
Wasn't.
He moved toward the bed, sitting upright, his posture smaller than before, his hands resting loosely in his lap. His expression held something new now.
Not confusion.
Worry.
Quiet.
Lingering.
"…Can you at least do something about Elder Mi?"
His voice broke the silence again, softer this time.
Zhang Lin's gaze shifted slightly.
Zhang Wei leaned a little closer toward him, almost instinctively seeking familiarity.
"I can't eat chicken," he muttered. "Or any meat… I'll just throw up."
His fingers fidgeted faintly with the edge of his sleeve.
"…It's not like I'm trying to be difficult."
Zhang Lin exhaled quietly.
"I'll speak to him," he said.
Zhang Wei nodded faintly, then added, almost as an afterthought—
"And while you're at it…"
His lips pressed together briefly.
"…can you tell him I'm still a kid?"
A pause.
"He shouldn't yell so much."
His voice dropped further.
"It's not a crime to be weak."
His gaze lowered.
"…I'm just saving my strength for the tournament."
Zhang Lin didn't respond immediately.
But something in his expression shifted—
Subtle.
Heavy.
—
Downstairs—
The moment Zhang Wei had been taken away—
The tension didn't fade.
It transformed.
The room, once filled with murmurs, now buzzed openly.
"…Did you see him just now?"
A woman in a flowing teal robe leaned forward, her long sleeves pooling over the table as she spoke, her voice hushed—but eager.
"He looks even better than yesterday."
Her companion, dressed in a layered gown of pale gold and white, smiled faintly, tapping a lacquered nail against her cup.
"That smile…" she murmured. "It doesn't belong here."
Another woman nearby laughed softly, her robe cut low at the neckline, adorned with thin chains that glimmered with every movement.
"That's what makes it interesting."
Across from them, a man dressed in dark embroidered silk scoffed lightly.
"You're all focusing on the wrong things," he said. "A face like that doesn't stay unclaimed for long."
"Then claim it," one of the women teased.
The man smirked—but didn't answer.
Because even he knew—
Some things here were not so easily touched.
—
Near the sisters—
The tone was sharper.
Lower.
"…Covered him too quickly…"
"…Afraid someone might take him?"
"…Or afraid someone already has?"
Soft chuckles followed.
The disciples standing guard didn't move.
But their hands had shifted.
Closer to their weapons.
Their posture firmer now.
Unyielding.
—
Sang Sang sat still.
Her peach robe flowed neatly around her, untouched despite everything. Her hands rested calmly in her lap now—but her fingers were slightly curled inward, tension hidden beneath elegance.
Her head was slightly lowered.
Listening.
Always listening.
Beside her, Fei Fei stood instead of sitting now.
Her lavender robe fell straight and sharp along her frame, the earlier softness gone. Her chin was lifted slightly, her gaze forward—cold, steady.
Unapproachable.
The two of them—
Guarded.
Protected.
But not weak.
—
At the edge of the room, the two elders stood together.
Their presence alone created a boundary few dared cross.
But even so—
The whispers reached them.
Every word.
Every tone.
Every intention.
Elder Mi's expression remained composed—but his temple pulsed faintly beneath the surface.
Irritation.
No—
Anger.
Controlled.
But burning.
"This place…" the second elder muttered under his breath.
Elder Mi didn't respond.
Because there was nothing to argue.
—
A disciple approached quietly, stopping just short of them.
"Preparations are being made," he said under his breath.
Elder Mi nodded once.
"Good."
His gaze swept the room again.
This time—
Colder.
"Be ready."
No more delay.
No more waiting.
Because every second spent here—
Was another second too long.The moment the door shut behind them, Zhang Wei's patience snapped—not in anger, but in discomfort.
His fingers moved quickly to the fastening at his collar.
"…This thing—"
He tugged once.
Then again.
The knot loosened, and with a small, frustrated motion, he shrugged the coat off entirely, letting it slip from his shoulders and fall to the side.
The fur-lined fabric landed in a soft heap against the wooden floor.
Cool air touched his skin again.
He exhaled.
Relief immediate.
"…What was that for?"
His voice carried a faint edge now, not sharp—but honest.
His pale skin, now exposed again beneath the thin orange robe, was lightly flushed, especially around his neck and collarbone where the heat had gathered. The fabric clung faintly to him, softened further by his warmth.
His hand rose unconsciously to his wrist.
The bandage.
He stared at it again.
Longer this time.
"And this cut… how did I get it?"
No answer.
His brows drew together.
"And these—" his fingers brushed the sleeve of the robe, tugging it slightly outward, "—aren't mine. I don't remember having anything like this."
Still nothing.
His gaze lifted slowly, sweeping across the enclosed room.
No window.
Just walls.
Lantern light flickering softly against wood.
"And this room…"
A pause.
"…why are we here again?"
Silence.
Thicker than before.
Zhang Wei tilted his head slightly, studying them both now—Zhang Lin by the bed, Zhang Lie near the door.
Their expressions hadn't changed.
That alone said enough.
"…Something happened, right?"
He asked it quietly.
Not demanding.
Not fearful.
Just… certain.
But the silence that followed was deliberate.
Careful.
Chosen.
They would not tell him.
Not now.
Not like this.
Zhang Wei watched them for a moment longer.
Then—
"…No problem."
He said it softly.
Almost to himself.
"I'm not that curious."
The words were light.
But the way he sat afterward—
Wasn't.
He moved toward the bed, sitting upright, his posture smaller than before, his hands resting loosely in his lap. His expression held something new now.
Not confusion.
Worry.
Quiet.
Lingering.
"…Can you at least do something about Elder Mi?"
His voice broke the silence again, softer this time.
Zhang Lin's gaze shifted slightly.
Zhang Wei leaned a little closer toward him, almost instinctively seeking familiarity.
"I can't eat chicken," he muttered. "Or any meat… I'll just throw up."
His fingers fidgeted faintly with the edge of his sleeve.
"…It's not like I'm trying to be difficult."
Zhang Lin exhaled quietly.
"I'll speak to him," he said.
Zhang Wei nodded faintly, then added, almost as an afterthought—
"And while you're at it…"
His lips pressed together briefly.
"…can you tell him I'm still a kid?"
A pause.
"He shouldn't yell so much."
His voice dropped further.
"It's not a crime to be weak."
His gaze lowered.
"…I'm just saving my strength for the tournament."
Zhang Lin didn't respond immediately.
But something in his expression shifted—
Subtle.
Heavy.
—
Downstairs—
The moment Zhang Wei had been taken away—
The tension didn't fade.
It transformed.
The room, once filled with murmurs, now buzzed openly.
"…Did you see him just now?"
A woman in a flowing teal robe leaned forward, her long sleeves pooling over the table as she spoke, her voice hushed—but eager.
"He looks even better than yesterday."
Her companion, dressed in a layered gown of pale gold and white, smiled faintly, tapping a lacquered nail against her cup.
"That smile…" she murmured. "It doesn't belong here."
Another woman nearby laughed softly, her robe cut low at the neckline, adorned with thin chains that glimmered with every movement.
"That's what makes it interesting."
Across from them, a man dressed in dark embroidered silk scoffed lightly.
"You're all focusing on the wrong things," he said. "A face like that doesn't stay unclaimed for long."
"Then claim it," one of the women teased.
The man smirked—but didn't answer.
Because even he knew—
Some things here were not so easily touched.
—
Near the sisters—
The tone was sharper.
Lower.
"…Covered him too quickly…"
"…Afraid someone might take him?"
"…Or afraid someone already has?"
Soft chuckles followed.
The disciples standing guard didn't move.
But their hands had shifted.
Closer to their weapons.
Their posture firmer now.
Unyielding.
—
Sang Sang sat still.
Her peach robe flowed neatly around her, untouched despite everything. Her hands rested calmly in her lap now—but her fingers were slightly curled inward, tension hidden beneath elegance.
Her head was slightly lowered.
Listening.
Always listening.
Beside her, Fei Fei stood instead of sitting now.
Her lavender robe fell straight and sharp along her frame, the earlier softness gone. Her chin was lifted slightly, her gaze forward—cold, steady.
Unapproachable.
The two of them—
Guarded.
Protected.
But not weak.
—
At the edge of the room, the two elders stood together.
Their presence alone created a boundary few dared cross.
But even so—
The whispers reached them.
Every word.
Every tone.
Every intention.
Elder Mi's expression remained composed—but his temple pulsed faintly beneath the surface.
Irritation.
No—
Anger.
Controlled.
But burning.
"This place…" the second elder muttered under his breath.
Elder Mi didn't respond.
Because there was nothing to argue.
—
A disciple approached quietly, stopping just short of them.
"Preparations are being made," he said under his breath.
Elder Mi nodded once.
"Good."
His gaze swept the room again.
This time—
Colder.
"Be ready."
No more delay.
No more waiting.
Because every second spent here—
Was another second too long.