Chapter 3

The storm broke two days later.

It wasn't just rain; it was violence. The sky turned a bruised purple, and water hammered the earth with enough force to strip leaves from trees. The red dirt of the mountain roads turned to slurry.

I was at the checkpoint near the village entrance, monitoring the evacuation route, when the mountain groaned.

It was a sound like the earth’s bones breaking.

"Landslide!" someone screamed.

I looked up. High above the winding road, a massive section of the cliff face detached. Mud, boulders, and uprooted bamboo trees cascaded down toward a tour bus that was idling on the switchback.

There was no time to run. No time for magic.

I watched, paralyzed by the scale of the disaster. The mud wave was seconds away from sweeping the bus into the ravine.

Then, a shadow detached itself from the forest.

It was massive. A black shape, four-legged and sleek, moving faster than the falling rock. It leaped from the ridge, landing on the road between the landslide and the bus.

The Wolf. The *Tian Gou*.

It was bigger than I imagined. It stood as tall as the bus, its fur matted with rain, its eyes burning gold.

It didn't attack the humans. It slammed its shoulder into the side of the mountain, bracing its feet against the road.

*Roar.*

The sound wasn't a growl; it was a sonic boom. The wolf channeled energy—*Qi*—into the earth. I saw the air ripple. A barrier of golden light erupted from its fur, forming a shield.

The landslide hit the shield.

The impact shook the ground beneath my feet. The wolf buckled, its paws sliding in the mud. I heard the sickening crack of ribs breaking, loud as gunshots. But it held.

The rocks diverted around the bus, crashing harmlessly into the ravine below.

The dust settled. The rain kept falling.

The wolf collapsed. It shimmered, its form shrinking, condensing.

I ran. I ran faster than I had ever run in my life. I didn't draw my weapon. My mind was reeling. *It saved them. The monster saved them.*

When I reached the switchback, the wolf was gone.

Lying in the mud, half-buried in debris, was a man.

Lang.

He was unconscious. His left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. His chest was a mess of bruises.

I knelt beside him, my hands shaking. I checked his pulse. It was thready, weak.

"Wei..." he rasped, his eyes fluttering open. They were hazy, unfocused.

"Don't speak," I ordered, ripping off my shirt—my pristine, white shirt—to bind his arm. "I’ve got you."

"Did I..." he coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. "Did I preserve the garden?"

My heart stopped. He was mocking my Code even while dying.

"You saved them," I whispered. "Why?"

He smiled, blood staining his teeth. "Hungry wolves... don't eat rocks."

I lifted him. He was heavy, dead weight against my chest. I carried him not to the hospital, but to his shack in the orchard. I couldn't let the doctors see him. I couldn't let the Order see him.

I told myself I was interrogating him. I told myself I needed answers.

But as I carried him through the rain, holding him close, I knew I was already compromised.

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