The river was different the next morning.
Mist still clung to its surface, but the air had grown heavier, pressing against the chest as though the water itself wished to pull breath from the lungs. Xu Liang stood at the bank, eyes scanning the currents for the shimmer he had seen in the spirit bride's release, the faint glint of something alien lodged beneath the silt.
Wei Zhen stood at his side, posture rigid, one hand resting on the hilt of his jian. His eyes never stopped moving: from the reeds to the river, from the water to the treeline, tracing every possible path of threat. He did not speak, but his proximity was a shield in itself, a physical statement that nothing would touch Xu Liang without first passing through him.
Rong Yue knelt at the water's edge, fingertips barely grazing the surface. His eyes had shifted into the cloudy depths of perception, reading the layers of qi as one might read lines of ancient script. The current beneath was not free-flowing, it spiraled, coiling around something fixed.
"There," he murmured, pointing to where the light bent strangely under the ripples. "Something metal. Old. Bound in silt."
Ning Xue approached with the quiet certainty of someone who knew the river's moods. She crouched beside him, squinting at the spot. "Not a natural deposit," she confirmed. "The chains I saw before were like this, blackened, resisting the flow. This is no river-forged relic. This was placed here."
Xu Liang's cough came then, sudden and sharp, doubling him forward. Rong Yue reacted instantly, one arm around his back, as Wei Zhen adjusted the heavy traveling cloak over Xu Liang's shoulders. The wool was still faintly warm from his body, smelling faintly of sandalwood and iron. Xu Liang let himself lean into the warmth for a moment longer than propriety might allow, eyes closing until the fit passed.
"You should not be this near the water today," Wei Zhen murmured low enough for only them to hear.
"If I am not, we may miss our chance to retrieve it," Xu Liang replied, voice hoarse but steady. "Objects like that are seldom patient."
Rong Yue tightened his grip on Xu Liang, water dripping from his fingers. "If we disturb it recklessly, we risk waking whatever force bound the spirit in the first place. Xu Liang, can your seals stabilize it long enough for Wei Zhen and I to remove it?"
Xu Liang drew a slow breath, feeling the ache in their chest. "Yes. But I will need to be close."
Wei Zhen's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He simply adjusted his stance so that his shadow fell over them entirely, a quiet declaration that wherever Xu Liang moved, his protection would follow.
---
The preparation was slow, deliberate. Xu Liang withdrew his talisman box, arranging the fu zhi sheets on a flat stone by the bank. Each stroke of the brush was measured, the ink thick with protective intent. The symbols were old, predating even the Han court's standardized script, and they shimmered faintly as they dried in the cool morning air.
Rong Yue's role was to map the qi currents, identifying the lines of resistance that threaded through the riverbed. He moved with the same elegance he displayed in court dances, though here each step was a precise adjustment to maintain the alignment of his perception.
Ning Xue fetched a bamboo pole fitted with a hooked iron tip from her boat. "You will not want to put your hands in the water if the chain resists," she advised.
Wei Zhen took the pole from her without a word, testing its weight and balance. He stood just behind Xu Liang as he began the ritual, his free hand hovering close to their shoulder in case their knees faltered.
Xu Liang moved to the water's edge, knees folding into a crouch that kept his robes from soaking. He pressed the first talisman to the bamboo hook, murmuring an invocation in a voice so soft it blended with the wind. The ink flared briefly, then dimmed to a steady glow, its protection extending down the length of the pole.
When Wei Zhen lowered the hook into the water, it met resistance almost immediately, not the pull of weeds, but something rigid. The chain.
Rong Yue's voice was low, steady. "Hold there. The current is shifting, the chain resists in three directions at once. It is aware of what we are trying to do."
The word "aware" settled over the group like a shadow. Xu Liang reached out, his fingers brushing Wei Zhen's wrist briefly before pressing another talisman into his palm. "Bind the resistance. Do not fight it directly. If it feels force, it will bury deeper."
Wei Zhen obeyed without question, affixing the talisman to the chain with the pole's hook. The water shuddered, rippling out in unnatural patterns, but the chain's pull lessened enough for him to lift a fragment clear.
It broke the surface with a hiss, blackened metal, etched with characters half-erased by time, the links thicker than a man's thumb. Water steamed off it as though it had been drawn from boiling depths.
Xu Liang reached for it, fingertips hovering just above the surface of the metal without touching. "This is no mortal chain. The script is… inverted. Protective seals rewritten to imprison."
Ning Xue's expression darkened. "Then there is more than one prisoner in that river. And whoever forged this had knowledge equal to or greater than any sect alive today."
Wei Zhen wrapped the chain fragment in oiled cloth, sealing it within a lacquered box Ning Xue provided. "Then we keep it hidden," he said flatly. "No one outside this bank sees it until we know its nature."
Xu Liang nodded, though the effort of the ritual had drained them visibly. His cough returned, softer but more persistent, and Wei Zhen's gaze flicked to Ning Xue.
She moved closer, slipping a small porcelain vial into his hand as if passing a coin under the table at a gambling hall. "Boil this with clean water," she whispered. "A sip before sleep. It will not cure, but it may slow the poison's spread. It's stronger than the one I gave you before"
Wei Zhen closed his fist around it, the weight of the tiny vessel far greater than its size. His eyes softened briefly as they met hers, a soldier's acknowledgment of another's quiet act of care.
---
By the time they returned to the tea house, the village had begun to stir, though the fishermen still avoided the river with wary eyes. Xu Liang sat by the window, the lacquered box resting on the low table beside their talisman kit. Rong Yue poured tea in precise arcs, the pale steam curling between them, carrying the faint scent of roasted millet.
Wei Zhen remained standing by the door, gaze fixed outward, the porcelain vial hidden within his sash. The knowledge of Xu Liang's condition weighed on him more heavily than the chain fragment itself.
The three sat in silence for a long time, each caught in their own thoughts — of the chain's origin, of the unseen hands that had forged it, of the river's quiet menace. Outside, the water flowed on, deceptively calm, guarding its remaining secrets.
When Ning Xue joined them, she carried a small clay pot of fish broth. "Eat while it's hot," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for polite refusal. "The river will not give up the rest of its chains easily. You will need your strength."
Xu Liang accepted the bowl, fingers brushing hers briefly in silent thanks. The warmth seeped into their hands, grounding them against the lingering chill from the river. Rong Yue, ever attuned to the subtler threads, watched the exchange with quiet respect — aware of how rare it was for Xu Liang to accept such care openly.
Wei Zhen did not eat until Xu Liang had finished. Only then did he sit, setting his sword against the wall within arm's reach. His eyes never strayed far from the lacquered box.
---
That night, sleep came uneasily. Xu Liang dreamed of chains twisting in the current, of voices whispering from the depths, each syllable a knot in the water's flow. Rong Yue woke once, sensing the disturbance, and crossed the room to rest a hand lightly on Xu Liang's shoulder. The tension in his breath eased under Rong Yue's touch, though his eyes did not open.
Wei Zhen sat in the corner, the lamplight catching the edge of his blade. He did not speak, but in the soft scrape of whetstone against steel was the unspoken vow: Whatever comes from that river, it will reach me before it reaches you.
By dawn, the mist had thickened again, curling low over the water like a hand drawing a veil. The chain fragment lay sealed in its box, but its presence was a weight in the room, a reminder that the river's story was far from told, and that the poison in Xu Liang's veins was a clock ticking in silence.
The search for a cure was no longer a distant thought. It had become a shadow walking at their side.