The rise&fall

Of course! Here's the full, corrected Chapter Eight in plain text form

Snowflakes drifted through the mist as the group finally stepped into the edge of the Village of Xi. The buildings leaned on stone stilts over narrow frozen canals, and paper lanterns glowed a pale blue through the fog. The mountain wind moaned softly through hanging laundry and crooked signs.

"I hate how quiet it is," Gogjen muttered. "Villages should be noisy. Smell like spice and burnt sugar."

"Keep your voice down," Leeyang said sharply. "We're deep in enemy territory."

"Not enemies. Just... not allies," Rangi corrected. "The Nation of Water has its own rules."

They passed a woman drawing water from a well, who paused to watch them with wide, unreadable eyes. Her hand clenched the bucket handle tighter when Gogjen waved.

Soon, they reached a weathered inn near the village's center — a two-story lodge with creaking wooden frames and a faded sign that read: House of Winter Peace.

Inside, warmth struck them immediately. A hearth glowed at the far end, and a quiet host with white eyebrows welcomed them with a nod.

"One room for the ladies," Rangi said quickly, "and one for the rest."

No names were given. The host asked no questions. In places like Xi, silence was respect.

Their rooms were small but clean. The boys' room had a low table, two futons, and a narrow window overlooking the back alley. Gogjen tossed down his satchel and sighed with theatrical exhaustion.

"If I die tonight, bury me with steamed buns," he groaned.

Rangi raised an eyebrow. "That's your last wish?"

"No," he said, standing again. "My last wish is to eat one right now."

He disappeared down the stairs and returned ten minutes later, triumphant, holding a small paper bag.

"Nikuman!" he declared. "Two for me. One for backup. Half for Huwue."

"You got me half?" Huwue blinked as she passed them in the hallway.

Gogjen held out a soft, steaming bun with a grin.

"A good nikuman doesn't judge who you are," he said.

"It just fills the silence."

She took it hesitantly. When she bit into it, her shoulders dropped, and for a moment she looked like a normal girl.

Later that night, they sat in the common hall eating fish soup made with frost-root and bitter herbs. It warmed the gut but stung the tongue. Rangi sat nearest the window, always watching. Gogjen slurped loudly and tried to get a smile out of Leeyang by claiming the soup tasted like "boiled socks from a noble general."

To everyone's shock, Leeyang snorted once. Just once.

"Progress," Gogjen whispered.

After dinner, they returned to their rooms. Rangi and Huwue shared a futon and a single lantern. For the first time in days, there was no fire crackling nearby — only warmth from heavy quilts and layered walls.

Huwue looked up at the ceiling.

"You were really strong yesterday," she said.

Rangi didn't respond at first. "Strength isn't always control."

"I wish I had your kind of strength."

Rangi turned her head slightly. "And I wish I had your silence."

That made Huwue blink. "What?"

"I didn't mean that as an insult," Rangi said quietly. "You move through the world like you're not even asking permission. That's power too."

Huwue didn't respond. But for the first time, she didn't feel like a shadow in the group.

In the other room, Gogjen was already asleep, mouth open, arms stretched. Leeyang remained awake, seated against the wall, sword across his lap. His eyes stared toward the window, his thoughts far beyond it.

Outside, snow fell steadily.

Up on a rooftop across from the inn, a figure crouched — wrapped in black, his mask cracked with frost. A curved fang symbol was etched into the back of his glove. His eyes followed the flickering light behind the girls' window.

He whispered:

"The cursed child walks among them. She won't leave this land."

And like mist swept by moonlight, he vanished.