It wasn't arrogance that made Seventh Senior Sister act that way.
She was simply hiding her weakness. As a woman, her body contained far less yang energy—two uses of Yang Fire were already her limit. She pretended to be composed only to keep Gao Yang from noticing.
Gao Yang watched her hands intently, his gaze unwavering. Every movement she made imprinted itself in his mind. As she finished, his own fingers mimicked hers, slow and deliberate.
She stopped, stepping behind him to correct his stance. "Your seals are too stiff. Don't just mimic the form—move your qi with it." She traced thin lines across his shoulders with her fingers. "When you channel yang energy, guide it to your throat, not your mouth."
As she adjusted him, Gao Yang felt a strange current stir inside. Something deep within his chest twisted, rising fast. Heat—or was it cold?—gathered behind his tongue.
He exhaled.
A gout of black flame burst from his mouth.
The air froze solid.
The flame crawled across the ground, leaving frost instead of ash. A wooden beam brushed by it shattered instantly into icy powder.
Seventh Senior Sister leapt back, her expression turning grim. Even from several paces away, she could feel the deathly chill biting through the air.
When the black fire finally died, she crouched and touched the residue. Her fingers came away dusted in glittering ice crystals—not ash.
She looked up sharply, eyes wide with alarm. "What are you?"
Humans could only produce yang fire. What Gao Yang had just unleashed was the exact opposite—pure yin and sha.
Gao Yang's mind reeled. The woman's voice from the well echoed through him—Senior Brother… we possessed the living and forgot who we were.
Could it be true?
Was he… one of them?
He forced calm into his voice. "Senior Sister, I don't understand. I followed your instructions exactly. Did I do something wrong?"
"Impossible!" she snapped. "I never make mistakes. Even if I did, you'd never produce yin fire!"
She stepped forward, pressing her palm against his chest. Gao Yang tensed but forced himself to stay still as her qi probed through his meridians.
Her frown deepened.
His body was human—blood, pulse, yang energy, everything in its place. And yet…
Why yin fire?
Finally, she withdrew, muttering, "Forget it. Everyone has secrets. We'll let Master decide when she returns."
Gao Yang's heart skipped, though his face remained composed. "Yes. I'd like to know myself."
She yawned, stretching her arms lazily. "Enough for tonight. Let's go."
As she walked away, completely unguarded, Gao Yang's eyes darkened. He had been planning to flee—but he could feel their eyes on him at all times. The steward, the senior sister… one of them was always watching.
So this trip was a test.
The snake spirit, the steward, the sister—they all probed him, gauged whether he'd run. When the Immortal Mistress returned, she'd use him for her pills. Why waste effort if he couldn't escape the steward's leash?
If that was true, he still had time.
He dropped his gaze, masking the cold glint in his eyes. When he looked up again, his expression was simple and docile. "Senior Sister, wait for me."
The next morning dawned gray and heavy. The sun was little more than a pale smear behind the clouds, and the air stank faintly of rot.
From the distance came the mournful wail of suonas and drums—funeral music.
After breakfast, the three of them headed for the village gate. The new chief—his face framed by long, ratlike whiskers—was leading a procession carrying a charred corpse toward the woods.
As they passed, the chief shot Gao Yang a venomous glare, so quick most would've missed it. Gao Yang didn't.
"Heading back already, honored ones?" the man asked with forced cheer. "The carriage is ready, waiting at the gate."
Those narrow, beady eyes made Gao Yang think of one thing: rats.
He stepped closer. "We need a driver."
The chief blinked, hesitating. He glanced at the steward for permission but received none.
"There's an old driver in the village—" he began.
"I want you," Gao Yang interrupted.
Seventh Senior Sister's lips curled in amusement. She didn't know why Gao Yang was toying with the man, but the tension pleased her.
The steward only watched, uninterested. His orders were simple: observe Gao Yang. If the boy didn't flee, he didn't care what else happened.
Sweat broke across the chief's forehead. "Did… did I offend you, honored one?"
Gao Yang didn't answer. He lunged.
The man shrieked. A rush of black wind exploded outward, leaving behind nothing but his clothes crumpled on the dirt.
Gao Yang's expression hardened. "So it's true."
Forming a quick seal, he summoned the energy he'd practiced the night before. He opened his mouth—and spat a jet of seething black flame.
The gust of wind twisted midair, condensing into a giant black rat. The flame struck its back, scorching its fur. It screamed, thrashing. "It burns! It burns!"
The rat stumbled, its tail tearing loose and dropping to the ground as it shifted back into human form—the whiskered chief clutching his scorched backside.
Gao Yang charged, but the man spun, eyes flashing with malice. He flung a handful of black powder.
The dust hit Gao Yang's arm, searing his skin like acid. His vision blurred, head spinning. He staggered back, covering his nose and mouth.
By the time he regained focus, the rat spirit had vanished into the forest.
He pursued, crashing through the underbrush—until a whip lashed out from the shadows.
The strike cracked like thunder. Gao Yang barely raised an arm before it hit.
Pain exploded across his body. He tumbled backward, rolling hard against the roots.
When he looked up, his sleeve hung in tatters, his forearm split open and bleeding.
And through the trees, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure retreating—the so-called healer.
The forest pressed close and dark around him. Gao Yang didn't chase. He flexed his hand, blood dripping onto the leaves, his expression grim.
No one noticed the faint crimson shadow that slithered up the healer's whip—vanishing beneath the folds of his gray robe.