The Bentley moved like a shadow through the waking world.
Inside the car, the air felt different. Heavier. As if the forest they had left behind had followed them, pressed itself into the leather seats, into the silence between breaths.
No one spoke for a long time.
Zhao Liren sat rigid, hands folded too tightly in his lap, knuckles pale. The image of the refrigerator still flickered behind his eyes every time he blinked. The absence of hands. The wrongness of it. He had seen bodies before. Crime scenes. Autopsies. But ONLY in movies and shows. This had been domestic. Casual. Stored like leftovers.
Shen Lian leaned back, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded as he stared at the passing road. His mind replayed every smile Lian Zhen had given them. Every polite word. Every moment that should have felt safe.
Beside him, Qin Yuelin rested against his shoulder again, quiet, almost serene. Too serene.
Shen glanced down at him. "You okay?"
Qin nodded slowly. "I feel… lighter."
That word sent a shiver through Shen.
Across from them, Wen Jun watched everything without seeming to watch at all. His gaze rested on the windshield, on the road unraveling ahead, yet nothing escaped him. Not the way Zhao's knee bounced uncontrollably. Not the way Qin's fingers curled slightly, as if remembering something they should not.
After nearly an hour, Zhao finally broke the silence.
"That man," he said hoarsely. "Lian Zhen. He knew we would come."
Wen Jun answered without turning his head. "Yes."
Shen frowned. "You brought us there on purpose."
"I needed confirmation," Wen Jun replied. "And now I have it."
Qin tilted his head. "Confirmation of what, brother Wen?"
Wen Jun's eyes flickered briefly toward him. Something unreadable passed between them.
"That some doors do not close once opened."
The car continued on.
The road slowly changed. Asphalt gave way to stone. Tall buildings disappeared, replaced by rolling hills and ancient trees twisted with age. The signal bars on Shen's phone vanished one by one until there were none left.
A few hours later, the Bentley slowed.
They had arrived.
The village was small. Old. Nestled between mountains like something hidden on purpose. Stone houses lined narrow paths, their roofs curved and darkened with moss. Red paper charms fluttered from doorframes, faded by time but still carefully replaced.
As the car entered, villagers stopped what they were doing.
An old woman sweeping her doorstep paused and bowed deeply.
Two men carrying baskets stepped aside, heads lowered.
A group of children fell silent, watching with wide eyes.
Shen stiffened. "Why are they staring like that?"
"They are not staring," Wen Jun said calmly. "They are paying respect."
The Bentley rolled forward, slow and deliberate.
Whispers followed them.
"That's him."
"He's back."
"The guardian returned."
Zhao swallowed. "What exactly are you to these people?"
Wen Jun did not answer.
They drove uphill, past the clustered homes, toward a structure that rose above the village like a forgotten myth.
It was not a house.
It was a fortress.
Stone walls climbed skyward, wrapped in ivy and age. Tall gates carved with ancient symbols stood open, as if they had been expecting him. Lanterns hung from iron hooks, unlit yet immaculate.
Shen stared. "You live here?"
"For now," Wen Jun said.
The car stopped before the gates.
As they stepped out, the air felt colder. Older. The kind of cold that seeped into bone rather than skin.
Qin Yuelin froze.
His hand flew to his pocket.
His face drained of color.
"I… I left my wallet," he whispered.
Shen frowned. "What?"
"At that house. In the forest."
Zhao snapped his head toward him. "What do you mean you left it there?"
"I remember putting it on the table," Qin said, voice trembling. "I forgot to take it."
Wen Jun turned sharply. "You are certain."
Qin nodded. "Yes."
Before anyone could respond, the sound of an engine cut through the quiet.
Another car approached the gates.
A black sedan.
It stopped beside them.
The door opened.
And the man who stepped out made the world tilt.
Zhao's breath caught painfully in his throat.
Qin staggered back a step.
Shen Lian felt his blood run cold.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark coat that looked too modern for this place. His hair was neatly tied back. His face was sharp, familiar in a way that hurt.
"Yuelin," the man said softly.
Qin's lips parted. "Brother…?"
Zhao whispered, disbelief cracking his voice. "Qin Yuchen."
Qin Yuchen.
The older brother who had disappeared years ago. The one declared missing after an unsolved case. The one Qin Yuelin mourned in quiet, sleepless nights.
Shen stared at him. "You're supposed to be dead."
Qin Yuchen smiled faintly. "So I've heard."
He stepped closer, eyes never leaving his younger brother. "You shouldn't have come here."
Qin's eyes filled with tears. "You're alive. Where have you been?"
Qin Yuchen's gaze flicked briefly to Wen Jun, then back. "Somewhere between staying and leaving."
Wen Jun spoke at last. "You followed us."
"Yes," Qin Yuchen replied evenly. "Someone had to make sure he came back."
Qin Yuelin shook. "Came back from where?"
Silence stretched.
The gates behind them creaked softly, closing on their own.
Shen felt it then.
That same feeling from the forest.
That they had crossed something invisible.
Wen Jun turned toward the castle doors. "We will talk inside."
Qin Yuchen's eyes darkened. "You always say that."
The villagers below watched, unmoving, as the gates sealed shut.
And somewhere deep beneath the stone, something old stirred.
Waiting.
END OF THE CHAPTER.