The council chamber was silent save for the crackling of the brazier. Shadows writhed along the walls, drawn thin by the faint light. Elder Mo leaned forward, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"Suppression has failed," he hissed. "The boy does not bend. Instead, he grows bolder. He shames our disciples, commands whispers among the sect, and worst of all—the Sect Master watches him with interest. If we allow this to continue, it will no longer be a matter of control, but survival."
A gaunt elder, his voice rasping like brittle parchment, gave a humorless chuckle.
"Then we step past suppression. Storms are not denied with walls. They are broken with blades."
Elder Yun's brow furrowed, but he did not object. Instead, he spoke carefully.
"If it must be blades, then it must be without trace. The Sect Master's eyes are sharp, and Bai's loyalty burns brighter than ever. A clean death, in silence, before his flame spreads too far."
One by one, the elders around the brazier nodded, their faces lit by the flickering fire. The decision was made.
That same night, Haotian sat cross-legged within his quarters.
The chamber was dim, lit only by a single jade lamp. His body glowed faintly, golden threads pulsing along his meridians as he cycled through the Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture. With every breath, his core thrummed like a silent drum, qi surging and folding in spirals that stretched through his dantian, his heart, his mind.
Sweat glistened along his brow, but his expression remained calm. The scripture was brutal, its flows like rivers clashing against mountains, threatening collapse with each cycle. Yet within the chaos, he found clarity.
Stronger. I must become stronger. Not for glory, not for whispers… but to live without chains.
A sound.
Soft. Too soft. Like silk cutting the air.
Haotian's eyes snapped open.
From the corner of the chamber, a shadow detached itself, dagger flashing in moonlight. The blade struck like a viper, silent and merciless.
CLANG!
Sparks lit the room as Haotian raised his palm, qi bursting outward. The blade skidded aside, carving into the stone wall.
His eyes narrowed. He rose in a single fluid motion, robes snapping, chi roaring faintly in his veins.
More shadows stirred outside. Too many.
Without hesitation, Haotian burst through the window, shards of wood scattering. He landed lightly on the courtyard stones, but the moment his feet touched ground—shapes flickered into existence, circling him.
Nine.
Nine figures, each cloaked in black, weapons gleaming faintly under the moon. Their auras were sharp, cold, disciplined. These were not petty rivals. These were trained killers.
Haotian's chest rose once with a heavy breath. He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.
So they've moved from whispers to blades. They will not let me breathe. Very well.
He reached over his shoulder. The Fenglong Spear slid into his grip, its polished shaft humming faintly with suppressed energy. The moonlight kissed its steel, making it gleam like a dragon's fang.
Haotian planted the spear's butt against the stone with a sharp crack. His voice was calm, yet it cut through the night like thunder.
"If you've come for my life, then I'll answer in kind. Starting with you nine."
The assassins lunged as one, blades flashing in synchronized arcs.
Haotian's grip tightened. He inhaled deeply. His core surged. Then—
BOOOOM!
The Fenglong Spear slammed against the stone. Golden chi exploded outward in a shockwave. The assassins froze mid-stride—then nine sharp stabs resounded in the same breath.
PCHHK! PCHHK! PCHHK!
Nine bodies collapsed. Each bore a clean hole through the heart, blood spraying across the courtyard before soaking into the stone. Their eyes stared wide, but life had already fled.
Silence returned. Only the faint wind stirred the leaves.
Haotian stood still for a moment, the spear's tip glowing faintly, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Slowly, he lowered the weapon, his gaze sweeping across the fallen.
One by one, he stripped their corpses of treasures, tokens, pouches. Then he gathered the bodies into the courtyard's center, chi igniting in his palm.
FOOOOSH!
Flame erupted, devouring cloth and flesh alike. The air filled with the stench of burning, the shadows of the assassins dissolving into ash. Within moments, no trace remained.
Haotian exhaled, leaning on the spear for a heartbeat before straightening. His eyes turned upward, toward the faint stars above.
"How long?" he murmured quietly. "How long before I can refine in peace, without blades at my back?"
The night offered no answer. Only silence, and the faint scent of smoke.
The North Wing chamber was thick with smoke, the brazier spitting sparks as though it too tasted their frustration.
Elder Mo's palm struck the jade table, the crack echoing like thunder.
"Useless!" he spat.
"Nine of our blades—gone. Not a single trace left but ashes. Do you understand what this means? The boy not only lives, he cleanses his trail! Already the disciples whisper he is untouchable."
The gaunt elder's smile was thin and poisonous.
"Then we send more. Ten, twenty, a hundred. Enough shadows will bury even the brightest flame."
Elder Yun's eyes glinted cold.
"And what of the Sect Master? What of Bai? We risk suspicion with every failure. But… perhaps that is no longer our greatest danger. If this boy continues to rise, suspicion will be the least of our fears."
The chamber fell silent. The brazier hissed.
Then Elder Mo leaned forward, eyes alight with venom.
"Then it is decided. We strike again. Harder. Deadlier. Until there is nothing left to whisper about."
That night, Haotian sat again in his quarters, the Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture thrumming through his veins. His chi rose and fell like tides, his body vibrating faintly with its brutal flows.
He sensed them before they struck.
Shadows moved beyond the paper walls, silent as smoke. His eyes snapped open, golden flecks burning in their depths.
Again.
The first blade pierced through the wall. Haotian twisted aside, the dagger slicing cloth but not flesh. He leapt through the breach, spear flashing into his grip.
The courtyard erupted.
Not nine this time—twelve figures surged from every angle, their blades gleaming cold under the moon. Together with the first nine, they formed a net of death.
Twenty-one assassins.
The air filled with their killing intent, suffocating, a black tide crashing down upon him.
Haotian's lips pressed into a thin line. He tightened his grip on the Fenglong Spear, the polished wood thrumming with his chi.
"So be it," he whispered. "If the sect will not let me breathe, then I will answer you with the Heart of the Spear."
He inhaled. Deep. His chest swelled, his veins lit with golden threads. He exhaled—and the world shook.
BOOOOM!
The butt of the spear slammed into the jade tiles. A sound like a dragon's roar burst outward.
In an instant—PCHHK! PCHHK! PCHHK!
Twenty-one sharp stabs resounded. The assassins froze mid-step. Then, one by one, they collapsed. Each bore a neat hole through the heart, their blood staining the stones black beneath the moon.
The courtyard reeked of iron. The night trembled in silence.
Haotian stood amidst the corpses, the spear in his hand still humming faintly, his breath calm though his eyes burned. Slowly, methodically, he stripped the dead of their treasures, storing jade slips, weapons, talismans into his pouch. Then he raised his hand. Flames roared to life, devouring the corpses until only ash remained.
When the last ember died, Haotian leaned on the spear and closed his eyes.
Enough.
He had bent under suppression, endured shadows, deflected blades. But now the sect itself had revealed its intent. It was no longer jealousy. It was extermination.
He lifted his gaze to the stars. His chest rose and fell once, steady, then he whispered, barely audible beneath the night wind: "I only wanted to refine pills. To walk the path of peace, to carve runes where none dared. Yet you force me into blood at every step."
His hand tightened on the spear. His expression softened—not with weakness, but with weary resolve.
"Very well. If the sect cannot allow me peace, then I will leave. The heavens are vast. Somewhere, the fire of my cauldron will burn without chains."
At dawn, the disciples murmured of a silence heavier than usual. Some whispered that Haotian had secluded himself again, others that Elder Bai kept him hidden. But by the second night, his quarters stood empty. Only cold ashes marked the place where assassins had once bled.
And by the third dawn, word spread like wildfire through courtyards and pavilions:
Haotian has left the Cold River Sect.
Some called it cowardice. Others called it freedom. But to those who had seen his eyes in the arena, steady and unyielding, they whispered something else entirely:
The sect has lost a storm it could not contain.
Three days after the duel, the Cold River Sect stirred with unease.
Whispers rippled across the courtyards like a rising wind. Disciples gathered at the gates of the eastern quarter, staring at the silent pavilion that had once housed Haotian. Its paper doors stood ajar, its training field swept clean. No cauldron fires burned. No qi pulsed from within. Only cold ashes in the courtyard pit, remnants of some unknown blaze.
"Senior Brother Haotian hasn't returned since that night…"
"Did he leave the sect?"
"No one leaves the Cold River Sect. Not unless—"
The words trailed into fearful silence.
By the second bell, the rumors had reached the upper halls. By the third, the elders convened.
The council chamber was thick with tension.
Elder Mo leaned back in his seat, lips curling into a thin smile he did not bother to hide.
"So. The boy has vanished. A pity, is it not? But perhaps the heavens themselves corrected our mistake."
A few elders chuckled under their breath, relief gleaming faintly in their eyes. No more whispers to challenge their authority. No more dangerous light burning beneath their shadow.
But Elder Bai's staff slammed against the floor with such force the chamber shook.
"Enough!" His voice cracked like thunder. "Do you fools not see? He did not vanish by whim. He was driven out! Your shadows, your schemes, your blades in the night—you've bled the sect of its brightest flame!"
Mo's smirk deepened. "Bright flames often consume their masters. Perhaps his departure spared us from such disaster."
Bai's eyes burned, his beard bristling as his fury radiated. "Spared? You blind, petty men. Do you not feel the chill? The disciples whisper his name still. They will not forget. And when the heavens raise him higher, do you think he will return as friend?"
His words cut deep. Several elders shifted uncomfortably, but pride shackled their tongues.
At the highest seat, the Sect Master sat in silence. His eyes were half-lidded, his hands resting calmly upon the armrests carved into the likeness of river serpents. The hall waited for his voice.
Finally, he spoke, his tone soft yet heavy enough to weigh upon every chest.
"Haotian has left."
The words fell like stones into still water.
The Sect Master's gaze swept across the chamber slowly, unreadable.
"He will walk his path. The sect will walk its own. Do not waste your breath on what cannot be caged."
Bai's jaw clenched, but he bowed deeply, his shoulders trembling with contained fury.
Mo and his allies exchanged faint glances of satisfaction, hiding their triumph behind lowered heads.
And so it was decided—not by vote, not by decree, but by silence. Haotian's name would no longer be spoken in open halls. His absence would be buried beneath duties, routines, and lies of stability.
But outside the elder chamber, in the courtyards and training grounds, the disciples still whispered his name.
Haotian.
The boy who had carved runes into pills. The youth who had shattered Han Yexun's spear. The genius who vanished beneath the moon, leaving only ashes behind.
And in the Cold River Sect's marrow, where rivers of qi flowed through its bones, a wound lingered—a wound carved not by enemies, but by their own hands.
The mountains of the Cold River Sect faded behind him, swallowed by mist and memory. Haotian did not look back. Each step carried him farther down the winding paths, his spear strapped across his back, his heart heavy yet resolute.
For days he roamed without destination, following rivers that glistened beneath the sun, crossing valleys where the cries of beasts echoed through forests. He avoided cities at first, preferring silence. Each night he set his cauldron upon cold stone, refining small pills for himself — not for profit, not for show, but because the steady rhythm of flame and rune soothed him.
This is what I wanted, he thought one evening, watching sparks rise into a star-filled sky. To refine without chains. To breathe without shadows.
But the world, as always, was not so simple.
Weeks later, Haotian arrived at a bustling city. Its gates towered high, carved with motifs of cranes and flowing rivers. Merchants shouted from stalls, children darted through crowded streets, and cultivators of every stripe moved with swagger and purpose. The noise pressed in on him, but he endured, weaving through alleys until he reached the city square.
There, a great commotion stirred.
Banners of pale silver and lotus emblems hung high over a raised platform. Dozens of cultivators crowded the square, most of them men, their voices filled with excitement. An elder in white robes stood atop the dais, speaking with authority as attendants prepared jade slips and testing stones.
"Recruitment?" Haotian murmured, arching a brow.
He caught fragments of conversation as men pressed past him.
"They're opening their gates for the first time in years!"
"If I pass, I'll be set for life!"
"An elite sect, treasures, techniques, even their pills are renowned—"
Haotian's interest stirred. A sect nearby, accepting disciples? If nothing else, it might offer resources. Perhaps even peace.
And so, curiosity tugging at him, he approached the line.
When his turn came, an attendant handed him a jade slip. Her eyes flicked up to his face — and for a moment, something like surprise crossed her features, quickly hidden beneath neutrality.
"Place your qi into the slip," she instructed.
Haotian complied, golden chi flowing steady into the jade. The slip glowed brightly, far brighter than the men before him. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
The elder on the dais leaned forward, his expression caught between astonishment and unease.
"Name."
"Haotian," he replied calmly.
The elder's eyes sharpened, then softened as though suppressing a laugh. He cleared his throat. "Very well. Proceed to the next stage."
Haotian passed through a series of trials with ease — qi resonance, rune comprehension, spiritual focus. His movements were calm, efficient, far outstripping the other candidates. By the end, the attendants whispered to each other in tones they thought were discreet, though Haotian's ears caught them clearly.
"He's stronger than half our inner disciples already."
"But… he's a man."
"Shhh!"
Haotian frowned faintly at their odd hesitation, but dismissed it. Perhaps they expected weaker recruits.
Finally, after the last test, the elder on the dais announced, voice carrying across the square:
"Those who have passed, follow the lotus banners to the sect grounds."
The crowd erupted with cheers. Dozens of men pushed forward, jostling each other with laughter and excitement. Haotian moved with them, his spear slung calmly across his back, his face impassive.
It wasn't until the group left the city, following a winding road up a mist-wreathed mountain, that Haotian finally saw the truth.
The sect's gates loomed ahead, flanked by towering stone lotuses. Beyond them stretched courtyards filled with disciples… all of them women. Graceful, poised, radiating refined qi as they moved in coordinated drills. Their robes shimmered in silver and pale blue, each marked with the lotus crest.
Haotian slowed, blinking once. His gaze swept the training grounds, the courtyards, the gates, the banners. Women. Everywhere. Not a single male disciple in sight.
Behind him, the men who had come from the city slowed too, their laughter faltering into nervous silence.
One of the attendants stepped forward, her expression cool and sharp."Welcome, candidates… to the Moon Lotus Sect. An all-female sect."
A stunned hush fell over the crowd.
Haotian stood still for a moment, his face calm as ever. Then, inwardly, he sighed.
So this is the twist the heavens offer me. I only wanted rest… and pills. And instead, I've walked into this.
The gates of the Moon Lotus Sect towered above, silver lotuses etched into the stone, their petals shimmering faintly with spiritual light. From within the courtyards came the clear cries of disciples sparring, their voices bright, their movements flowing like water and blade. Every figure within the walls was a woman—strong, graceful, and disciplined.
The group of male recruits stood frozen just outside the gates, their excited chatter dying like candles in the rain. Nervous laughter rippled, quickly cut off when the gate wardens' sharp gazes swept over them.
One attendant cleared her throat delicately. "For clarity… the Moon Lotus Sect has always been, and shall remain, an all-female order."
A wave of embarrassed mutters broke out among the men. Some cursed under their breath, others chuckled weakly as if it were some joke at their expense.
Haotian remained silent. His gaze lingered on the lotus crest carved into the gates, then drifted to the line of female disciples who had gathered, whispering and giggling behind raised sleeves.
So it was never meant for me… He exhaled softly, shoulders easing. Perhaps I should leave quietly and seek another road.
But before he could step back, the elder on the dais from the city spoke again, his expression carefully neutral."Since the trials were conducted publicly, and all candidates have passed the initial tests, it is customary to proceed to the rejection trials for those… unsuitable."
"Rejection trials?" one man blurted nervously.
The elder's eyes flicked toward the gates. "A chance to demonstrate that you are not completely without merit, before being dismissed. It spares face. For you, and for us."
Laughter bubbled from the women watching inside the gates, some amused, others curious.
Haotian tilted his head faintly. He could already see what this was: an excuse to humiliate the men before sending them away. Yet for reasons he could not name, his feet did not move.
Let them test me. If it spares trouble, I will oblige.
The rejection trial began at the courtyard's edge. The male recruits were ushered inside, standing awkwardly as female disciples in pale silver robes formed a circle around them. Their eyes sparkled with amusement, but also a sharpness that spoke of discipline and pride.
One senior disciple stepped forward, her voice clear as a bell."Test of balance, test of qi, test of will. Survive three rounds, and you may leave with dignity. Fail, and you leave crawling."
The men bristled, muttered protests, but the trial began nonetheless.
The first round: balance. Platforms of qi were summoned above the training pool. The men leapt and floundered, most tumbling into the water to peals of laughter.
The second round: qi resonance. Jade crystals were brought forth, each one flaring weakly under the men's meager output. Disciples whispered among themselves, unimpressed.
Finally, the third round: will. A formation arrayed itself, pressing spiritual pressure down like a mountain. Several men dropped to their knees instantly, faces pale.
Haotian stood unmoving, arms folded calmly behind his back. The pressure pressed harder, but compared to the storms of the Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture, it was nothing but a breeze. His golden chi flared faintly, stabilizing his body until the formation itself began to hum strangely around him.
Gasps spread among the onlookers.
"That one…""He isn't even straining.""His qi—it feels… refined, like tempered steel."
High above, within the pavilion overlooking the courtyard, a figure watched in silence.
She wore flowing robes of pale silver, embroidered with lotus blossoms at the hem. Her hair was pinned high, streaked faintly with white, her bearing sharp yet graceful. Elder Ziyue — Mistress of Discipline, one of the Moon Lotus Sect's highest-ranking elders.
Her gaze fixed on Haotian, narrowing slightly.
"That boy… he carries himself like still water, but his chi burns like a dragon's heart," she murmured. Her fingers tapped the railing softly. "Why would a man of such strength stoop to enter here of all places?"
An attendant behind her bowed low. "Elder Ziyue, shall I remove him immediately?"
She shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving Haotian."No. Let him linger. There is no mistake in what I saw. He walks with weight beyond these other fools. Perhaps the heavens dropped him here for a reason."
Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes remained sharp."Watch him. Quietly. If he endures, I want to see how far this river runs."
Below, the rejection trial ended in chaos—men sputtering from the pool, others clutching sore limbs as disciples laughed openly. But Haotian stepped calmly from the formation circle, his robe unruffled, his expression unchanged.
The crowd of female disciples grew quieter, their amusement dimming into wary curiosity.
Haotian exhaled softly, turning toward the gate. Enough of this. Let them keep their sect. I seek no place here.
But even as he prepared to leave, the weight of Elder Ziyue's gaze followed him, like moonlight that could not be shaken.
And so, unbeknownst to him, the Moon Lotus Sect's fate had already entangled itself with his path.