The sun crept over the Azure Sky Sect, casting long shadows across its outer perimeter as dew clung to moss and stone. Xue Mo moved without urgency, his pace neither fast nor slow. He had completed a routine herb collection task early in the morning—a simple mission meant for outer sect disciples like himself. But as he returned through a narrow trail veiled by trees, a familiar pressure prickled along his spine.
It wasn't spiritual sense, not exactly. It was intuition honed through blood and betrayal—a sense that he was being followed. Not watched by some curious passerby, but observed with intent.
He didn't need to guess. The light, uneven footsteps. The occasional rustle when it should've been silent. The stifled breath held too long. Xue Mo already knew who it was. He had sensed the same presence two days ago near the Bloodfang Boar's corpse. Too faint to act upon then, but unmistakable now. The same unrefined stealth, the same scent of panic cloaked in effort.
He shifted his path deliberately, turning away from the main road and into a deeper stretch of forest, where shadows ran thicker and roots curled like watching serpents. He didn't appear tense. He didn't change his breathing. But internally, he traced his steps into a corner of the woods where voices didn't carry and shadows held secrets.
There were no enemies yet. No reputation. No gain to be had from bothering a weak outer disciple named Lin Feng.
Unless...
A short while later, Xue Mo paused in a shaded clearing beside a stream. The trickling of water masked all but the most obvious sounds. He crouched, seemingly inspecting a cluster of spirit moss on a fallen trunk, but in reality, his attention was locked on a crooked shrub just fifteen paces behind him.
The leaves there quivered out of rhythm with the wind. The footsteps were faint, almost trained—almost. But whoever followed him was still too green.
"You've followed long enough," Xue Mo said, tone flat, not even glancing back.
There was no movement. Just silence. He waited.
"I won't ask twice."
After another beat, the underbrush shifted. A boy stepped out slowly, face pale. He wore the outer sect's brown robes, though his sleeves were damp with sweat. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes darted like a trapped beast caught too close to its predator.
"I was just passing through," the boy blurted. "Didn't see anything. Didn't follow anyone. I was just looking for herbs, that's all."
Xue Mo finally looked at him. Not with anger, not even suspicion—just a measured gaze that made the boy shrink.
"You weren't at the beast corpse the other day? You didn't see blood move on its own?"
"No! I don't even know what you're talking about. What blood? What corpse?" The lies tumbled too quickly, too clumsily.
Xue Mo took a step forward, hands still at his sides. "Interesting. Because the beast I killed bled in a very particular way. I thought no one saw it. Perhaps I was mistaken."
"I swear I don't know anything!"
"You're sure?"
The boy swallowed hard. "I was never there. I never go near that part of the woods."
"But you do now."
He flinched.
Xue Mo walked in a slow circle around the boy. The younger disciple's posture tightened. His hands trembled slightly, and though he tried to stay composed, his shifting stance and shallow breathing betrayed the fear settling into his bones.
"What sect mission brought you here?"
"I... I was collecting dewgrass," the boy stammered. "It was on the herbal list posted at the hall this morning—"
"Which list? The one from Elder Qian or Elder Min?"
The boy's mouth opened. Closed. No answer came.
Xue Mo stopped.
The silence grew long and cold.
He stepped closer, raising two fingers.
"Wha—what are you—wait, I didn't mean—"
A pulse of soul force slid into the boy's mind. Not violent, not invasive. Just exact. The Whispering Vein Seal.
His body slackened. The fear melted from his expression, replaced by blankness. A breath passed.
Then his lips moved slowly, voice dazed.
"I saw it… the blood going into you. It wasn't normal. It crawled into your skin. I thought… maybe it was some forbidden art. I didn't know. I got scared. I only told one person. She didn't believe me at first. Then she told me to watch you again."
"Her name."
He said it clearly. Xue Mo did not respond.
He withdrew his fingers. A flicker of spiritual energy sealed the memory, wiping the moment clean from the boy's awareness.
The boy blinked rapidly. His gaze refocused.
"Did you say something, senior brother?"
Xue Mo gave a faint smile. "No. You were looking for herbs, weren't you?"
The boy nodded slowly. "Right. I should get back before curfew."
"That would be best."
The boy turned and walked toward the path, feet unsteady, eyes still glazed with confusion.
Xue Mo didn't move. Not yet.
He waited until the boy was gone, footsteps vanishing into the wind. Then he turned, walked deeper into the trees.
He didn't return to the sect immediately. Instead, he found a shaded hollow beside an old tree root. From beneath his robes, he withdrew a cloth-wrapped bundle.
Inside were dried plant leaves, blackened roots, and a tiny vial of transparent green fluid. He crushed the herbs against a flat stone with deliberate pressure, combining the powder with the liquid to form a waxy paste.
This mixture had no name. Only a purpose.
Quick-acting. Absorbable through skin or water. It wouldn't kill immediately, but it would weaken. Cloud thoughts. Slow limbs. Long enough for a blade to finish the job.
He sealed the paste in a tight packet and slipped it into a hidden fold in his belt.
The name echoed in his mind again.
Accidents were forgivable.
Threats were not.
He cleaned his hands in the dirt, hiding the scent, then rose, eyes clear.
Soon, he would begin watching her.
Soon, he would decide when and where she would die.
But not yet. Rushing led to loose ends. Loose ends bred exposure.
Xue Mo made his way back toward the outer sect's far edge, passing a group of disciples training near a stone platform. Their movements were unrefined, Qi flow erratic.
A few glanced at him as he passed, offering nods out of courtesy or disinterest. He returned each with one of his own—perfectly forgettable. Another shadow in brown robes.
Two disciples sparred under a crooked elm tree. Xue Mo paused for a breath, watching their footwork. One overcommitted a palm strike and lost balance. The other hesitated before capitalizing. Sloppy.
"You need to anchor your rear foot," he said quietly.
The two turned. One frowned. "What did you say?"
Xue Mo was already walking past.
"Nothing."
Further down the slope, he passed a disciple chatting about a nearby city—a merchant hub several days' journey from the sect.
"I heard the Qi Refinement pills there are cheaper," one said. "But the quality's all over the place."
"Still better than what we're getting," another muttered. "The sect keeps the good ones for the inner core."
Xue Mo stored the information away. Cities meant outsiders. Outsiders meant opportunities—buying or hiding.
He did not linger.
At the edge of the herb fields, he saw a senior disciple barking at a few slower ones.
"Your collection rate is half of yesterday! The sect doesn't pay slackers. Do you think you'll reach inner sect like this?"
The others muttered apologies and redoubled their efforts.
Xue Mo approached the edge of the field, squatted beside a cluster of cold-root grass, and pretended to examine it.
He overheard more.
"They say Elder Meng's going to open the trial again soon."
"Already?"
"Some say it's to test the new batch. Some say it's to recruit one for a special mission outside the sect."
Xue Mo plucked a blade of the grass, rolled it between his fingers. He filed that away as well.
Later that night, he sat in his cave alone, watching candlelight flicker across the wall.
The packet of poison rested nearby.
Not yet. But soon.
He blew out the flame and closed his eyes.
The hunt would begin with the next sunrise.