Nán Tiān's contracted spirit trembled visibly—an unmistakable sign of fear.
Li San, sensing the shift, hurried forward to smooth over the tension. "It's all a misunderstanding," he proclaimed with feigned benevolence. "Let us end this here."
"Be gone," he added loftily.
But Mo Lin and his companions remained rooted in place. Retreat now would surely invite Li San's wrath; everyone knew better than to flee under such circumstances. Li San, recognizing his precarious footing, adopted a gracious mask—yet none were deceived. All eyes turned to Mo Lin, the true arbiter of the moment.
Mo Lin's voice cut through the uneasy hush. "Pardon me?"
Li San smiled, crimson charm masking his calculation. "This was merely a mistake—no need to press the matter further."
"Consider yourselves fortunate," Nán Tiān snarled, "our young master shows mercy. Depart swiftly."
Mo Lin's mocking retort came like a whip-crack:"If a carriage careens, do you lament the steering wheel?When a cart shatters, do you fuss about the brake?And I, a man slighted, must cower at your threats?"
Pointing at Nán Tiān, he sneered, "If I do not end you today, may my name be worthless."
Nán Tiān faltered. He had never expected such brazen defiance.
Li San's lips curved in a cruel delight. "Bind away your phantom."
Nán Tiān hesitated, then bowed stiffly. "At once, Master," he muttered, recalling his spirit.
Mo Lin's three nightmare-class wraiths glided forward, encircling Nán Tiān in ominous silence. His bravado drained; sweat beaded his brow.
Li San's voice was ice: "Watch as your own spirits perish."
With a press of a remote, the ebony skylight retracted. Blinding sunlight flooded the courtyard, scorching the air. Even the sun-wary phantoms would surely falter.
"Ha! Your precious wraiths shall wither!" Nán Tiān crowed.
Yet the three wraiths stood unmoved, their forms unmarred by rays of gold.
Mo Lin's laugh rang cold and clear. "How do you intend to vanquish what the sun itself cannot harm?"
Among the onlookers, astonished relief rippled. Fu Wansan's grin shone brighter than the sun; Red Yánxūn exhaled in wonder.
Nán Tiān's gaze flickered with dread. "Master—retreat!" he gasped.
Mo Lin shook his head. "No one leaves."
A bodyguard darted for the gate—but was cleft in two by unseen force, collapsing in a crimson spray. Hóng Yè drifted before the sole exit, hair like sable mist, baring her teeth in silent menace.
Nán Tiān staggered, hand clutching a newly torn wound in his chest, eyes widening in horror. He sank, life ebbing in a silent gasp.
Mo Lin stepped past the dying man. Li San came forward next, hurling a final warning. "I am of the Li clan—harm me and you bring down my family's fury!"
Chén Xī advanced, blade aloft. In a single, merciless arc, Li San's protest ended—his head rolling at Mo Lin's feet.
None survived. Mo Lin's three nightmare wraiths swept the courtyard, extinguishing every last spark of resistance.
At the end, Mo Lin gathered his phantoms into the Soul-Book and let out a quiet breath. "Fearless," he murmured. The art sustained their presence under the sun—but only for ten precious minutes, before even they must vanish.