The sky was slate gray, clouds churning low over the mountain spires of the Ninefold Sect.
It was going to rain.
Fitting, Xian Lei thought.
The heavens are weeping for what's about to happen.
He adjusted the sleeves of his robe as he stepped through the outer training yard, walking calmly toward the open sparring platforms. Dozens of outer disciples filled the area—some engaged in drills, others resting, gossiping, or testing minor techniques.
And at the heart of the commotion, one figure stood out.
Lin Zhen.
Elegant. Cold. A robe stitched with inner sect insignia clung to his lean frame like silk over steel. Long fingers brushed a jade fan, half-opened with theatrical grace.
Xian Lei's lips curled at the sight.
The same fan…
The memory hit like a flashfire.
Lin Zhen, standing over his broken body in the burning ruins of the servant quarters. That same lazy smile. That same fan, flicking open with a snap as he delivered the order to kill Xian Lei's little sister for "insubordination."
And no one had stopped him.
Not even the elders.
Because Lin Zhen was a protégé of the Thunder Vein Pavilion. Gifted. Connected. Ruthless.
In his past life, Xian Lei had cowered. Had bled. Had begged.
But not today.
Not in this life.
Today, the debt came due.
Lin Zhen was addressing a crowd of outer disciples with a condescending smile.
"—so if you dullards actually wish to progress, you might consider real instruction. You're not going to make it with half-baked swings and breathing errors."
The crowd laughed nervously. None of them dared to speak against him.
And then a voice cut through the air, calm and unshaken.
"Strange. I thought real instruction came from someone who actually understood how to cultivate beyond boasting."
Heads turned.
Xian Lei stood at the edge of the sparring platform, arms crossed.
The crowd stiffened.
Whispers rose instantly.
"Isn't that the guy who beat Ren Kuo?"
"Xian Lei… the one rising like crazy…"
"What's he doing picking a fight with Lin Zhen?!"
But Xian Lei didn't care about the whispers.
His eyes were locked on Lin Zhen's.
The inner disciple blinked.
For a heartbeat, he didn't recognize him.
And then… he did.
Something in his eyes changed.
A flicker of confusion.
Of vague recognition.
Then came the sneer.
"Outer disciple," Lin Zhen said, his voice suddenly sharp, "do you wish to be punished for insubordination?"
Xian Lei stepped onto the platform.
"You once said something similar," he replied. "Right before you murdered someone under protection of the sect."
Gasps erupted.
Lin Zhen narrowed his eyes. "You dare accuse me?"
"I dare remember," Xian Lei said softly. "Even if the rest of this sect chose to forget."
System NotificationBound Entity Emotion: Mild AlertnessObservation confirmed. Proximity within 200 meters.+189 Qi Points Gained
So, she was watching.
Even better.
He wanted her to.
Let her see the first man she would one day appoint as Thunder Sect Executioner—humiliated, undone.
Let her question her future loyalties.
Lin Zhen's smile vanished.
"So you want a lesson, then?" he said, closing his fan. "Very well. As an inner disciple, I am permitted to accept a challenge. You'll learn your place."
"Don't go easy on me," Xian Lei said. "I insist."
The crowd retreated from the platform's edge. An instructor hurried forward, panicked.
"Disciple Lin, please reconsider—he's not even at Foundation realm!"
Lin Zhen waved him off.
"I won't kill him. Just break his legs."
They stood facing each other.
The clouds above darkened.
Wind hissed through the courtyard.
Lin Zhen moved first—fast, clean, and cruel. A thunder-art technique snapped through the air, crackling along his palm as he shot forward like a striking serpent.
"[Piercing Bolt Palm]!"
Xian Lei didn't move.
He didn't need to.
System Surge TriggeredBound Entity Emotion: Sharp Interest+601 Qi Points Gained
The tether throbbed.
Qi surged.
His feet shifted just enough to pivot—and he let Lin Zhen's strike pass through empty air.
Then he twisted.
Dropped low.
And punched upward.
Right into Lin Zhen's exposed ribs.
Crack.
The inner disciple let out a strangled breath and stumbled back, the impact echoing through the stone platform.
Gasps filled the air.
One hit.
He'd landed one clean hit on an inner disciple.
"Impossible," someone muttered.
But it was only the beginning.
Lin Zhen growled, throwing off the pain with a surge of lightning-infused qi. His next technique spiraled into a sweeping arc of blue energy that cracked the tiles on contact.
Xian Lei parried it with a palm redirect, his body flowing like water. Every motion he made was guided by the tether's insight, by the echoes of Yue Qianlan's own internal cultivation rhythms—refined, precise, unshakable.
He struck again.
Once.
Twice.
A knee into Lin Zhen's thigh.
An elbow to the jaw.
A stomp to the shin.
The crowd was dead silent.
Xian Lei was winning.
Lin Zhen howled.
"You dare—!!"
He drew his fan again—this time charging it with thunder-elemental qi until it hissed with volatile power.
"[Thunder Vein Cascade]!"
A Tier 2 technique.
Deadly.
But Xian Lei had baited it.
The moment Lin Zhen cast it—charging blindly forward—Xian Lei spun under the wave of force, stepped inside the attack radius, and slapped him.
Hard.
Across the face.
A sound like a whip crack rang through the courtyard.
Lin Zhen froze.
Not from injury.
But from humiliation.
He staggered backward, clutching his cheek, eyes wide.
"You—"
Xian Lei stepped forward.
And slapped him again.
Harder.
Slap.
The crowd flinched.
System NotificationBound Entity Emotion: Flash of Shock. Quiet Amusement.+984 Qi Points GainedSynchronization: 18.2%
The tether pulsed with warmth.
She was watching.
And she was laughing inside.
Lin Zhen tried to speak.
Tried to rally.
But Xian Lei simply walked forward.
Step by step.
"I remember the way you watched them burn," he said softly, so only Lin Zhen could hear. "I remember the orders you gave. The screams. The names you erased."
Lin Zhen stumbled.
"Who are you…?"
"Someone you once stepped on," Xian Lei said. "But not anymore."
Then he raised his hand—
—and delivered one final slap across Lin Zhen's face.
The inner disciple crumpled.
Unconscious.
Face bruised.
Thunder Vein bloodline humiliated.
Silence ruled the yard.
Until someone whispered:
"…He slapped an inner disciple unconscious."
Then the noise erupted.
By sunset, the story had spread like wildfire.
A nameless outer disciple had publicly humiliated Lin Zhen—without techniques, without a weapon, without mercy.
In a single afternoon, Xian Lei's name became legend.
And Yue Qianlan, far above in her meditation chamber, sat still with her eyes closed—yet a single breath escaped her lips.
A smile?
No.
But something close.