Flipside

Chapter 32

Xichen leaned heavily against a gnarled tree, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The darkness of the forest pressed in around him, the frantic whispers of the Lan disciples swirling like restless spirits. The air was thick with the stench of soot, a grim reminder that his home had been reduced to ashes, and his clan had been slaughtered. 

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky smeared with the remnants of smoke and despair. 

The fact that they managed to get away was truly a miracle. Running, running and more, running, being pursued almost all the way and cutting Wen soldiers down while the rest of the party ran ahead. 

The abandoned temple they now were holed up in was a true godsend. But they couldn't stay here forever. Wens were crawling these lands like an infestation of locusts. 

The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, the fierce vermillion mixing in with the billowing smoke that rose from the mountain peaks. 

Sunshot Squad, oh Sunshot Squad. They were probably doing just fine, they seemed to know everything, and they saw this war coming from a thousand miles away. 

His thoughts raced, colliding with one another in a desperate search for clarity. How could this have happened?

 They knew what was going to happen, the Sunshot Squad had spoon-fed them information about the Wens, and yet Gusu burned all the same. If only Uncle and Wangji hadn't fought, if only he knew why they fought, if only Uncle hadn't Qi deviated. If only, if only, if only.

And Wangji, his baby brother, had been whipped and right now he didn't even know where he was. The thought clawed at him, but he forced himself to remain composed. Wangji was strong, and capable—he had to believe that. But doubt gnawed at him, a persistent whisper that refused to be silenced.

He glanced over at his uncle, slumped against a nearby tree. The older man's eyes were glazed, but beneath the haze, there was a glimmer of awareness. Despite the after-effects of his qi deviation, his strong golden core had spared him the worst. But that was cold comfort. Where was Wangji? Xichen gripped the bark of the tree, the rough texture grounding him, barely. A disciple hurried over, his steps uneven in the dim reddish-orange light.

 "Sect Leader Lan, he's awake."

Xichen straightened, his mind snapping back to the present. He nodded, his voice clipped. "Lead the way."

The wounded were scattered across a small, pebble-strewn clearing, their low groans and murmurs adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Xichen's gaze zeroed in on Su Minshan, a man whose face was a grotesque canvas of purple bruises and swollen flesh.

"Sect Leader Lan," Su Minshan muttered through gritted teeth, avoiding Xichen's gaze. Shame, pain and fury were etched into every line of his battered face.

Xichen's patience was thin, his voice sharp. "You were on your way to deliver Wangji's meal before the Wens attacked. What happened to him?"

Su Minshan let out a bitter laugh, a twisted sound that made the disciples nearby flinch. "The Wens? You think they did this to me? No, Sect Leader Lan, your deranged psycho of a brother did this!" His voice dripped with venom, each word a dagger aimed at Xichen's heart.

What?

The accusation hung in the air like a poisonous cloud, disbelief rippling through the gathered disciples. Xichen's face darkened, the polite mask he always wore slipping away, replaced by cold, seething anger.