Li Fan stumbled back toward the village, the weight of the night's actions pressing heavily on his shoulders. His steps were slow, deliberate, almost as if he were afraid of what lay ahead. The quiet rustle of leaves and the distant croak of a frog were the only sounds, but his mind was deafening.
He had done what needed to be done. Wu Yanshi was a monster—he had hurt people, ruined lives, and deserved every inch of his end. But still, the weight of the blade in his hand felt heavier than he had imagined. The screams, the desperation, the last flicker of life in Wu's eyes—it all lingered.
Was I any better than him? Li Fan asked himself, though he already knew the answer. He had killed. For justice. But would anyone ever see it that way? Would he ever truly believe it himself?
When Li Fan returned to the hall, the door creaked open, and the cold, empty space greeted him like an old friend. It was still and silent, just like his thoughts. He dropped the sack of herbs on the table, though his body ached from exhaustion. The long hours in the mountains, the struggle with Wu Yanshi, the weight of it all...
He sat down by the window, staring out at the village. The small homes were bathed in the dim light of oil lanterns. People were inside, safe, but at what cost?
"Fan, you've been busy."
Li Fan didn't have to look up to know who was standing in the doorway. Zhao Liang, his old friend. The one person who had never doubted him—until now.
Zhao stepped into the room, his heavy footsteps echoing. Li Fan finally turned to face him. There was no anger in Zhao's eyes—only concern, and maybe something else, something deeper. Fear. But fear for him, not for the world.
"I did what had to be done," Li Fan said, his voice rough, almost foreign to his own ears.
Zhao lowered his gaze to the floor, chewing on his words. "I know you, Fan. You've always been the one to do what's right—even when the world turned its back on you. But... this? This is different."
Li Fan glanced at him, meeting his gaze. "You think I don't know that? You think I wanted this?"
Zhao shook his head slowly. "No, but you've changed. I can see it. That Hall... it's not just a place. It's becoming a weapon." His voice dropped, a trace of sadness slipping through. "And I'm not sure it's the right kind of weapon."
Li Fan sighed, standing and walking to the window again. "I didn't ask for any of this. But the truth is, Zhao, the world doesn't care about good hearts anymore. People are dying. Innocent people. And I'm just one man. One man who has to make sure they don't die for nothing."
Zhao stepped forward, placing a hand on Li Fan's shoulder. "But at what cost, Fan? What happens when the innocent start to see you the way they saw Wu Yanshi? As a monster in your own right?"
The question lingered in the air, heavy, pressing down on Li Fan's chest. He didn't have an answer.
The silence stretched between them. Finally, Zhao sighed and took a step back. "I won't stop you. I can't. But just promise me you won't lose yourself in all this. Promise me you'll stay you."
Li Fan nodded, though his heart was far from reassured. Stay me? he thought. Who was I even anymore?
Zhao gave him a final, lingering look, then left, the door closing softly behind him. Li Fan stared at the space he had vacated, feeling the weight of his own loneliness creeping in once more. It wasn't the first time Zhao had questioned him, but this felt different. The unease in his voice, the worry—it made Li Fan feel something he had been trying to ignore.
Maybe Zhao's right. Maybe I'm not the person I thought I was. Maybe I'm becoming the very thing I've hated.
Later that night, Li Fan was alone in the hall when the door opened again. This time, the figure was unfamiliar—a young woman, looking tired, scared, but determined. Her clothes were worn and torn from travel, and her eyes—wide, frantic—held a quiet plea.
"I... I need your help," she said, voice trembling.
Li Fan studied her for a long moment, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his blade. He wasn't sure why she had come to him, but the look in her eyes told him it was something urgent. Desperate. She's desperate.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice cautious but steady.
"My name is Mei Xiu. My family... they're being targeted. By the Violet Serpent Sect." Her voice cracked. "I don't know where else to turn."
Li Fan didn't move. The Violet Serpent Sect—a name that was enough to send a chill down anyone's spine. They were notorious for their cruelty and power. If they were after her family, there was little hope left.
"What exactly do you want from me?" he asked, his tone sharp, though not unkind.
Mei Xiu's eyes filled with tears. "Please, I beg you. They've already taken everything. Our lands, our reputation. And now they're coming for our lives."
Li Fan leaned against the wall, his hand gripping the edge tightly. He had vowed to stop the cycle of corruption, to protect the innocent. But facing the Violet Serpent Sect was a different matter entirely. This wasn't something a single assassin could handle. Not without consequences.
Still, the desperation in her eyes stirred something deep inside him. It reminded him of his own helplessness when he had first returned to the village. I can't turn her away. Not again. Not after everything I've seen.
"Stay here tonight," Li Fan said, his voice softening slightly. "I'll come with you tomorrow. But understand this—I'm not here for revenge or to restore your family's wealth. I'm here to make sure they don't die."
Mei Xiu's face lit up with relief, and she bowed her head, but Li Fan couldn't shake the feeling that something about this woman—and her story—wasn't quite what it seemed.
Li Fan stood by the window, the weight of her plea still heavy on his chest. Tomorrow, they would go after the Violet Serpent Sect. And he would once again walk down a path where the dead didn't stay quiet.