Corpse Puppet Master

When they returned to their small stone abodes, the weight of the courtyard still clung to them like wet cloth. They walked in silence, each step drawing fresh pain from bruises that had already begun to darken beneath the loose fabric of their robes. Gu Muye's breath rasped shallowly in his chest, ribs stabbing with every movement; Zhou Min's lip was split, swelling purple, and he winced each time his boot struck the stone too hard.

The narrow passage that divided their quarters smelled faintly of moss and old ash. A cracked lantern hung overhead, its light barely more than a shimmer, casting their shadows in long, uncertain shapes along the corridor walls. By the time they stepped inside, the pale light of dusk had begun to slip across the cracked floor, painting dull streaks of orange and gray against the cold stone.

For a while, neither spoke. The silence was thick, pressed down by the memory of Wu Yuan's voice, of the sharp sound of fists against flesh, of laughter echoing in the courtyard from those who had looked through them as if they were already gone.

Then, in a voice low and unsteady, Zhou Min broke the stillness.

"Are you... are you alright?"

Gu Muye sat down slowly on the edge of his thin straw mat, the dry grass crackling beneath him, feeling each bruise complain. "Still breathing," he murmured, and tried to offer something that might have been a smile but fell flat. "You?"

Zhou Min let out a slow, shaky breath and lowered himself to sit opposite, wincing as the motion pulled at his side. "Hurts like hell. But I've had worse." He paused, gaze flicking toward the narrow window as if checking for movement in the courtyard beyond. "Not often, though."

The silence returned briefly, filled only by the faint rustle of robes and the uneven sound of their breath.

Gu Muye looked down at his hands. Small cuts lined his knuckles, the skin raw from when they had shoved him to the stone. "We can't let this happen again," he said quietly, his voice flat and cold.

"I was thinking the same," Zhou Min admitted, the words coming faster now that the silence had cracked. "If we just keep waiting, they'll keep doing it. And next time, maybe they take more than powder. Maybe they break something that won't heal."

Gu Muye met his friend's eyes, saw not just fear there, but something harder, more determined. It wasn't the panic of someone who wanted only to hide. Zhou Min was afraid, but he wasn't blind.

"We can't fight them head-on," Gu Muye said.

"I know," Zhou Min nodded. "We'd last about as long as corpse grass in fire. But maybe we can do something else."

They spoke in low voices, words halting at first, then gaining shape. Ideas half-formed, discarded, reshaped again. Watching Wu Yuan and his two shadows, learning when they left the dorms, when they visited older disciples. Seeing if there were places they walked alone, places where no eyes watched.

Maybe they could find scraps of corpse-refining powder left by careless hands. Maybe they could hide part of their own share next month before it was stolen again. Maybe they could make it look as if they were weaker than they really were, so no one bothered to steal what seemed worthless.

"And what if they still come?" Zhou Min asked, voice barely above breath.

Gu Muye looked down, breath catching as a bruise flared sharp under his ribs. "Then we move first," he said at last. "Before they can."

They fell quiet again, each lost in the knot of thought and fear that tangled behind tired eyes. Gu Muye felt the ache in his bones deepen, a slow, dull throb. And somewhere beneath that ache, in the dark place where his dantian lay coiled around that silent black bone, he felt a faint, fleeting warmth — no bigger than a breath, gone before it could be named.

He didn't dwell on it. Pain made thoughts heavy, slow. But it lingered in the back of his mind, like the echo of a heartbeat.

The night had begun to stretch long and cold when a soft knock came at the doorway. Gu Muye stiffened, pain forgotten for a breath, but the voice that followed was low and cautious.

"It's us," Hui Yan murmured, stepping into the narrow light cast by a single guttering candle. Behind him, Qiu Sheng loomed in the doorway, and Lian Ru slipped silently past, her robe hem whispering against stone.

"You two look like you've been chewed and spat out," Hui Yan offered, words trying for humor but falling flat beneath the tension.

"Feels about as good as it looks," Zhou Min managed, forcing a thin smile.

Qiu Sheng glanced at Gu Muye's bruised face, the swelling at his temple. "They took your powder?"

Gu Muye nodded once, sharp and small.

"Bastards," Qiu Sheng spat, his voice low but edged with quiet fury. "If it had been anyone else watching…"

"But it wasn't," Hui Yan finished quietly. His gaze flicked to the shadows beyond the door, then back. "They pick moments carefully."

"They always do," Lian Ru murmured, her eyes fixed on the flickering candle rather than any of them. "Older disciples look away when it suits them."

The candle's flame danced in the draft, shadows crawling up the pitted wall.

"We came to see if you needed anything," Hui Yan said finally. "I've a bit of powder left — not much, but..."

"No," Gu Muye shook his head, voice soft but firm. "Keep it. You'll need it."

Zhou Min looked as if he might protest but bit back the words, jaw tightening instead.

"It won't always be like this," Qiu Sheng said, though it sounded more like a hope than a promise.

"Maybe," Hui Yan murmured. "Maybe not."

Lian Ru glanced at the door, then back. "Careful," she warned. "They might come again. Not tonight — but later."

"We know," Gu Muye said. "Thank you… for coming."

Hui Yan gave a quick nod, then stepped back, motioning to the others. "Rest. Tomorrow is still tomorrow."

As they left, the room felt smaller, the candlelight fainter, but the quiet they left behind was not as heavy as before.

When the door had closed and their footsteps faded into the cold stone corridor, Zhou Min let out a slow breath.

"They didn't have to come."

"No," Gu Muye agreed, his voice low. "But they did."

Zhou Min leaned back against the wall, wincing as bruises pulled skin tight. "Still… if we want to survive, waiting for kindness won't save us."

Gu Muye didn't answer at first. The pain in his ribs had settled into a slow, throbbing burn. Each breath reminded him of the moment Wu Yuan's fist had driven the air from his lungs.

"We plan," Gu Muye said at last, the words heavy with exhaustion but edged in something harder. "We watch. We learn. And when the moment comes — we act first."

Zhou Min's nod was slow, but certain. "Together, then."

"Together," Gu Muye echoed, quieter, but no less sure.

They sat in silence after that, breath slowing, the candle burning low. Beyond the walls, night pressed close, cold and thick as corpse mist.

In the quiet, Gu Muye felt again the faint warmth in his dantian — quick, barely there, then gone. He did not know what it meant, and pain made thinking too heavy.

But the thought that settled in his mind was simple and steady.

Fear alone would not save them.

And tomorrow, they would begin to change that.