The night came down like a curtain, black and velvet, and the sect settled into the ritual softness of clocks and low breath. Li Wei lay awake longer than usual, not from fear but from the ledger in his mind—rotas, witness names, aftercare windows—each detail a small bright stone he did not trust himself to lose. The Obsidian Heart pressed warm and private beneath his ribs. The envoy's talisman ticked like a distant metronome in his pocket.
At midnight a shout cut through the hush.
"Raid! Western approach! Scouts in the underbrush!"
It was the sort of cry that turns ritual into immediate work. Li Wei was on his feet before the echo finished. He slid on his robe, palms already opening into the short, steady counts Hua Lin had taught him. The system's blue rectangle flashed into his vision with brisk efficiency:
[ALERT]
Host: Li Wei
Event: External Threat — Minor Black Ridge Raid (Confirmed).
Recommended Action: Mobilize Guardianship Rota; deploy non-lethal perimeter traps; preserve relic integrity.
Risk Level: High. Reward on success: +400 Qi; Envoy favor increase.
The words were a ledger entry made audible. He moved through the courtyard like a current—no swagger, no panic—finding Mei Ling at the herb garden gate, eyes wide but composed, Yun Shuang already hefting a training pole like an axe, Hua Lin at the veranda with the slate of rotations in her hand.
"Positions," Li Wei said, crystal clear. "Follow the rota. Do not engage to kill—capture or repel. Protect the western wing and the Obsidian Heart. Lianxi, prepare emergency poultices at the herb shed. Ruo Yan, stand by the archive entrance—document anything we capture. Master Han—"
Master Han's silhouette filled the doorway, staff already in a hand made steady by years of usefulness. "Lead," he said simply.
They moved. The plan had not been invented that night; it was the careful architecture of days when Li Wei had insisted on rosters and practiced responses. Strings of lanterns were snuffed; the outer guards took their pre-assigned hides. Li Wei and his guardians slid into the shadows like practiced hands into gloves.
From the underbrush came the whisper of movement first—too many feet, too purposeful for anything but intention. Figures ghosted forward: young, skilled, Black Ridge patches half-hidden beneath rough cloaks. They aimed for the western wing—likely the same rumor the scouts had hinted at last month—but the sect had not been idle. Li Wei's crew was ready.
He had prepared three layers: entry traps to trip and disorient; Qi-cushion zones to blunt momentum; and containment corridors that funneled intruders toward positions where non-lethal restraint could be applied. The Heavenly Groping Hand, in short, had uses beyond scandal. Tonight it would be a tool.
At the first break of brush, Yun Shuang moved like a boulder across a stream—direct and uncompromising. She swung a pole that thunked into a scout's shoulder with controlled force; the man tumbled and cursed but did not cry out fatally. Mei Ling was a whisper at the flank, slipping a binding cord that looped and tightened until hands were still. Li Wei met a charging figure mid-arc: the attacker lunged, momentum mean and practiced. Li Wei widened his stance, planted his feet, and used the Heavenly Groping Hand as a dissipater—an artful palm that met force with folded Qi and sent the man's arc into harmless skid. The assailant hit ground, more confused than broken.
They worked in concert. Lianxi's emergency poultices were passed like sacred bandages, not for healing only but to show the raiders that the sect did not want blood to be the story of the night. Ruo Yan's quick notes would later make the evidence the elders needed: bloodless restraint, numbers of intruders, their crude patches. Master Han and Hua Lin coordinated containment; Elder Ji's patrols, summoned by the alarm bell, moved in like a measured tide.
At one narrow clearing a more skilled attacker broke free and launched a probing Qi strike, a needle of cold pressure meant to test will. Li Wei felt it like a bite against the ribs. He closed his eyes for half a breath and matched the strike—not by mettle but by form. He threaded a minor redirection, the sort Hua Lin had calibrated in private lessons, and the strike unfurled aside. The attacker staggered, eyes wide with the surprise of someone practicing on better prey.
There was a moment—thin as a blade—where everything else paused and the system wrote a small line to his account.
[COMBAT LOG]
Action: Non-lethal neutralization of 7 scouts; 2 captured for questioning. Host used Heavenly Groping Hand as Qi dissipater and coordinated containment. Reward potential: +400 Qi. Envoy favor: pending.
They pushed the scouts toward the containment nets Li Wei had set—simple woven traps sunk into the path that turned speed into an end to momentum. Two got snagged, cries muffled and infuriated. Li Wei's team did not bayonet; they restrained. Later, the captured scouts would be questioned under watch; their map scrap and whispered names would be handed to the envoy.
Lan Yue arrived at the edge of the fray as the last scout attempted flight. There was no theatrical swordplay; her skill was a closing hand—a cut of competence that sealed a path and offered no room for deception. She nodded once at Li Wei. "You did well," she said, voice a blade sheathed in approval. "You made us look like a sect with roots."
He bowed, a small, human gesture. Around him, the yard was messy—boots, snapped twigs, the odd smear of dust—but not ruined. No inner wing had been breached. The Obsidian Heart, safe beneath the mattress, had not been touched; its faint pulse felt like something grateful.
When the elders convened after the raid—Master Han, Elder Ji, the envoy's acolyte, and a perimeter of inner deputies—Li Wei presented the ledger, the signed witness statements, and Ruo Yan's notes. The evidence was clear: the intruders had intended to probe and steal relic intelligence. Their capture yielded a map sliver annotated with the mark of Black Ridge.
Elder Ji did not praise in florid tones; he cataloged instead. "You and your guardians acted within the bounds of our discipline," he said finally. "You captured rather than squandered. That will be recorded."
The envoy, who had watched the containment from a distance and had sent a quiet acolyte to observe, inclined his hood. "The Black Ridge scent is confirmed," he said. "You have done well to protect the relic and to avoid bloodshed. The envoy's office notes increased favor and will consider additional defensive instruction to the sect."
The system chimed once—swift, pleased data.
[NOTIFICATION]
Result: Raid Thwarted. Reward Granted: +400 Qi (Host). Envoy Favor: +2. Reputation: Significant increase among Inner & Outer cohorts. Advisory: Expect retaliatory interest; reinforce wards.
Word of the raid spread the next morning in the crisp, factual way a fired bell carries news. For Li Wei the shift was palpable: the "Junior Pervert" title he had once worn like a joke felt strangely useful—now it was a footnote to a new ledger: Protector. Outer disciples nodded in a tone edged with respect rather than smirk. Chen Bo clapped him on the shoulder with a grunt that served as praise. Even some inner eyes, previously cool, looked on with a new, reluctant measure.
But the system's final note was not unalloyed celebration: rewards made enemies as much as friends. The notification's advisory—expect retaliatory interest—sat like a cold line at the bottom of a page. Li Wei understood the arithmetic. The Obsidian Heart was a magnet; Black Ridge would not stop with a thwarted raid.
That night, as he recorded the event in the ledger—names, times, which herbs soothed which bruises—Mei Ling sat with him and traced a palm along his arm with the simplicity of a healer. "You did well," she said. "We all did."
He pressed his forehead to hers in a brief benediction. "We did. But we'll need to sleep in shifts for a while."
She nodded. "Then we sleep in shifts. I'll be first."
He looked at the Obsidian Heart and then at the signatures already filling the page. Protection, he had learned, required people as much as technique. The Perverted Dao had given him paths to power; tonight he had proven he could use one to keep others safe. The ledger grew heavier—not with gold, but with names and evidence—and reputation rose like a tide that could lift them all, if they kept their feet planted and their hands steady.
End of chapter 25