The sun hung low over the mountain ridges when Li Qiong walked through the gates of the sect.
He had not stood here in years.
Yet now, as his footsteps carried him across the polished stones of the courtyard, he moved like a man who had never left—silent, steady, and utterly unafraid.
The disciples tending to the lanterns glanced up—and froze.
Then the murmurs began.
"Who... who is that?"
"Wait... no... it can't be..."
"That's... that's Li Qiong?!"
Indeed, it was.
But the boy they remembered was gone.
The man who returned was taller now, his shoulders straighter, his black robe faintly tattered from travel yet clean. There was a weight about him, a quiet sharpness, that pressed into the air itself.
He stopped at the foot of the wide staircase to the inner palace, standing still before its towering doors.
His gaze didn't wander.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low but carried across the courtyard like steel on stone:
"Tell the Patriarch. Li Qiong has returned. to request his audience."
The disciples guarding the stairs exchanged nervous glances, their hands tightening on their halberds, unsure if they should obey—or even if they dared refuse.
The whispers grew louder, a quiet storm of speculation.
That was when two more figures arrived, their laughter cutting through the tension.
"What's all this noise?"
From one of the side walkways came Li Hongye and Li Wuji, clad in pristine azure robes embroidered with the sect's sigil. They walked with their usual arrogance, a small cluster of followers at their backs.
But as their eyes fell on the figure standing at the base of the steps, their smiles faltered.
For a beat, they simply stared.
Then Hongye sneered, recovering his poise, and let out a soft, mocking laugh.
"Well, well. Look who finally crawled back home."
Wuji chuckled darkly, his arms folding across his chest.
"I thought you'd rotted in some unmarked grave by now, brother. Shame. The worms must've spit you out."
Hongye's steps slowed as he came closer, circling around to get a better look.
"And now you're here... standing in front of the inner palace? As if you belong there? Li Qiong. You've always been just a shadow. A disgrace why stand now."
The crowd's laughter was uneasy this time, thinner.
Because Li Qiong did not move.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't even glance at them.
He stood there like a mountain planted at the base of the steps, his gaze fixed on the doors, his hands loose at his sides.
He stood like a spear.
Unwavering.
The more they spoke, the colder the courtyard seemed to grow.
Wuji leaned closer, voice dripping with scorn:
"What's the matter? Are you deaf? Or just too proud to answer? You think standing still makes you a man? Makes you... better?"
But his words fell into the stillness like stones into a bottomless well.
The man who stood there wasn't the same boy they remembered.
And even their cruelest jabs could not shake him.
He stood there—alone, silent, unbending—
Like a spear pointed straight at heaven.
The massive doors of the inner palace groaned open.
A line of elders in dark, imposing robes stepped out, their faces stern and inscrutable. At their head stood the Patriarch, his long white beard swaying faintly in the wind, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.
They did not descend the stairs.
Instead, they stood just above, looking down at Li Qiong as if he were some wild beast that had wandered into their sacred ground.
One of the elders spoke first, his voice cold and clipped.
"What is the meaning of this? Who let you in here? Why are you standing at the inner palace without being summoned?"
Another elder sneered faintly, his arms folded.
"Li Qiong. Even your mother know her place. why are you here."
Li Qiong bowed. Deeply.
When he raised his head, his voice was calm but cut through the murmurs like a blade.
"I have come," he said evenly, "to cut my ties with my family."
The words struck like thunder.
The courtyard fell silent.
The elders froze, clearly caught off-guard. They had assumed he had returned to beg. To grovel.
But instead... this.
Fury cracked the stillness.
"Presumptuous!" an elder barked.
"How dare you speak such nonsense?!"
In the crowd below, his brothers erupted in laughter, doubling over and clutching their stomachs as if they could not bear the hilarity.
Li Hongye pointed at him, gasping between fits of laughter:
"Hahaha—look at him! He finally figured it out, Wuji! He's unwanted! He actually thinks he has the right to sever ties. As if anyone here would care!"
Li Wuji snorted, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
"Good riddance. The clan will be better off without a dog underfoot."
But the elders did not laugh.
They stared at Li Qiong with dark, displeased eyes.
The Patriarch's deep voice finally rang out.
"If this is your idea of a joke, I will forgive it. Once. Take a broom and sweep the courtyard as penance. Then get out of my sight."
But Li Qiong did not bow this time.
His hands remained at his sides, his gaze steady.
"It is not a joke."
The Patriarch's brows snapped together. His sleeve flicked with restrained anger as he raised his palm.
"You insolent—!"
But before he could strike, a sharp crack! split the air.
A figure hobbled forward through the crowd—his mother, cane in hand, a maid nervously trailing behind her.
Her face was twisted in fury as she brought the cane down across his shoulder. Then again. And again.
"Ungrateful! Disrespectful!" she hissed through clenched teeth, beating him without pause.
"You bring shame to me! To this household! You dare stand here and speak so brazenly?!"
Li Qiong did not flinch.
He stood there, motionless, as if carved from stone. Not even the faintest sound escaped his lips.
At last, the Patriarch's hand dropped. His expression cooled into something darker.
"So. You truly wish to leave?"
Li Qiong looked up at him and nodded.
"Then break your foundation," the Patriarch said coldly.
"Destroy your cultivation and leave this place as nothing but a cripple. That is the price."
But Li Qiong's answer came swiftly.
"I have no foundation to break."
The Patriarch's eyes narrowed.
"...What?"
"I was never permitted to cultivate," Li Qiong said, his voice quiet but clear.
"The resources you instructed to be given to me never came. Not once."
The old man's gaze swung sharply to his daughter—Li Qiong's mother—who stood at the edge of the platform, her head now lowered, her hands trembling faintly.
Then to his subordinates.
Then to the servants, the guards, the crowd of disciples—none of whom would meet his eyes.
Understanding dawned in the Patriarch's face, and for a moment his proud bearing faltered.
Li Qiong knew.
He knew this man, his grandfather, might look cold and stern, but he was not cruel at heart. He had never favored him—but he had not intended for his life to be this...
And he also knew: the true architect of his misery stood just behind him, cane still in her grasp, her sons sneering at his back.
All of them her handiwork.
The whispers in the courtyard swelled to a quiet roar.
At last, after a long silence, the Patriarch exhaled and spoke:
"...Very well. If that is your choice, it shall be as you say. But you will not leave so easily."
His gaze sharpened again, the dignity of a clan head settling back over his shoulders.
"If you wish to sever your ties, then prove you have the strength to do so. One week from now, you will fight. If you win, you may leave this clan forever. If you lose... you will remain here. And you will sweep the courtyard for a year."
Li Qiong bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.
The Patriarch turned his piercing eyes to his daughter next.
"And you. From this moment until the day of the duel, you are confined to your quarters. None may see you. None may speak with you. Anyone who violates this order shall answer to me."
She stiffened, her lips tight, but did not dare protest.
With that, the Patriarch finally descended the steps.
"Take him to the guest quarters. He is not to be disturbed."
The crowd slowly parted as Li Qiong followed an attendant to the quiet, secluded rooms reserved for honored guests.
The last thing anyone saw before he vanished inside was the faintest glint in his dark eyes—like a blade being drawn.