Morning arrived in Azure Peak City as a hesitant, grey wash, the sun struggling to pierce the lingering mist that clung stubbornly to the jagged peaks. At the western gate, the air was crisp and carried the faint aroma of wet pine and mossy earth. A ragged gathering of cultivators had assembled, their breaths puffing into the cold air like ghostly tendrils.
Uncle Hei occupied the center, his patched armor appearing even more worn in the muted dawn. He surveyed the group as they arrived: a towering, scarred man nicknamed Scar from the tavern; a wiry woman named Li, twin short swords at her hips; Fen, a quiet archer; and two other rough-looking men whose names Tianyao did not bother to memorize.
And then there was him. Lin Tianyao lingered slightly at the edge, his grey robes blending with the stone and mist, attempting a balance between eager anticipation and restrained nerves. He gripped a cheap iron dagger as though it were a talisman.
"Listen up," Uncle Hei's voice cut sharply through the fog, commanding attention. "We're headed to the Whispering Vale. The target is Shadowleaf Fern. It thrives in shaded gullies near the old spirit-spring. Wolves patrol the area—strong, coordinated, dangerous. Stick together. Watch each other. Spot the herbs, point them out, and harvest only as a team. No lone ventures. Got it?"
There were low acknowledgments from the group. Scar's gaze lingered on Tianyao, silently questioning his worth.
"The boy's our spotter," Uncle Hei said before Scar could speak. "Eyes sharp enough to save us from wolf fangs. Let's move."
The trek to the vale spanned several hours across rugged, rising terrain. Tianyao moved with an economical, practiced grace, carefully masking it as awkward fumbling over loose stones, yet never falling behind. Every sense was alert, mapping the surrounding forest. He felt the latent energy of plants, the subtle scurry of spirit beasts, and the faint, coppery tang of predation lurking deeper in the woods.
"The archer is the real threat," Old Man Kui murmured quietly. "Focused Qi, precise shots. The big one relies on brute strength. The woman is fast, reckless. The older man is the anchor. Balanced, yet unremarkable."
Tianyao silently agreed: balance is delicate.
Descending into the mouth of the Whispering Vale, the light dimmed beneath a thick canopy of twisted, ancient trees. A subtle hum vibrated through the air, giving the vale its name. It was the resonance of concentrated spiritual energy, interwoven with the consciousness of the flora and fauna feeding on it.
"Eyes open," Uncle Hei ordered, hand on the hilt of his knife.
They moved in loose formation along a narrow game trail. Tianyao stayed near the center, surveying the shadowed undergrowth. His perception, honed in the Abyss, surpassed that of the others. He could detect the faint discoloration of leaves that marked a beast's passage and the musky trail of a wolf on the wind.
"There," he whispered, nodding toward a damp, north-facing slope. "Shadowleaf Fern. Small patch, thirty paces up, between those mossy boulders."
The group followed his indication. Scar squinted. "I don't see anything."
Fen, however, narrowed his eyes, then nodded curtly. "He's right."
Uncle Hei grunted. "Good. Li, with me. Harvest carefully. The rest, keep watch. Boy, your work has only begun. Keep scanning."
Hours passed in repetition. Tianyao identified not just Shadowleaf, but other lesser spirit herbs, earning reluctant trust from the group. His worth was becoming evident.
During the fourth harvest, as Uncle Hei and Li carefully dug a cluster of ferns, Tianyao froze.
He didn't hear it—he felt it. A ripple of cold, malevolent intent emanated from the dense thicket to their left, coordinated, multiple presences.
"Wolves," he said, voice low but clear. "Left side. Close. A full pack."
Scar scoffed, hefting his broadsword. "I hear nothing. Nervous, kid?"
Uncle Hei rose, face grave. "He's been accurate before. Form a perimeter! Fen, take the high ground!"
They fell into practiced defensive positions. Silence lingered for a heartbeat, then a guttural growl broke from the shadows. Yellow eyes appeared—one pair, then three, then six.
Fanged Spirit Wolves emerged, size of small ponies, mottled grey to blend with rock and shadow. Their muzzles pulled back, revealing fangs capable of slicing bone. The alpha, larger than the rest, radiated elemental energy along its claws—its presence brushing the Foundation Establishment threshold.
"Damn, a large pack," Li muttered, twin swords ready.
The alpha's howl rang out, and the pack surged forward.
Chaos erupted.
Scar met the first wolf with a roar, swinging his broadsword into its shoulder without landing a killing blow. Li spun through the fray, her blades dancing defensively. Fen's arrows struck true, yet multiple shots were required for each wolf.
Uncle Hei moved with efficiency and precision, his knife slicing tendons and piercing throats.
Tianyao played his part flawlessly. He did not engage directly, dancing on the edges, dagger in white-knuckled grip. When a wolf lunged at Fen mid-reload, Tianyao "stumbled" into its path, shouting in feigned terror. His clumsy dodge was calculated, disrupting the wolf just long enough for Uncle Hei to strike it down.
But the alpha was intelligent. It circled, studying the weakest link—Tianyao.
With impossible speed, it charged. Its maw opened, energy swirling.
Tianyao's calculation was instant. To dodge at full speed would reveal his power. To die was unacceptable. Survival was paramount—but he needed a convincing performance.
Stepping forward shakily, eyes wide in "panic," he dropped the dagger and flung a small pouch of Spirit-Numbing Powder into the wolf's face. Harmless to a beast of its caliber, yet enough to obscure vision for a moment.
The alpha recoiled. Fen's arrow struck its eye. Scar's sword crushed its neck.
The alpha's death broke the pack. Remaining wolves fled, yelping into the forest.
Silence returned. Panting filled the air. The ground was strewn with wolf bodies and dark blood.
Scar leaned on his sword, chest heaving. He glanced at Tianyao, who knelt, pretending to recover his dagger. "Lucky throw, kid," he said, respect grudgingly entering his tone.
Uncle Hei approached, wiping his knife on a hide. "Not luck. Quick thinking under pressure. You kept your head. More than I can say for some seasoned mercs." He pulled Tianyao upright. "You've earned your place today. Name?"
"Tian," Lin Tianyao said, taking the first character of his given name.
"Well, 'Tian,'" Uncle Hei said, faint smile touching his lips. "If you want work, there's a place in my crew. Spotter with guts and keen eyes is rare."
Tianyao bowed. "Thank you, Elder Hei."
As the team harvested spirit cores and herbs, Tianyao's thoughts drifted elsewhere. The fight cemented his cover, but the Violet Soul Flame hungered for more. Release, destruction, proof of power—it craved blood.
Opportunity came sooner than expected.
Volunteering to scout ahead, he moved beyond sight. Instantly, posture shifted—slouch gone, movements silent and fluid. His senses expanded, detecting lingering wolf fear, the land's pulse, and… a discordant human spiritual signature, laced with pain.
The trail led to a small clearing. A Verdant Sword Sect cultivator slumped against a tree, robes bloodied and torn. Spirit-gathering pouch lay spilled, Frostbloom Orchids scattered.
The man's eyes opened faintly. "H-help… Ambushed… Zhao… Sun-Spark Root…"
The Zhao.
Tianyao knelt, expression neutral.
"Zhao… not main clan… serpent pin… went west… Serpent's Gulch… treaty broken…" the cultivator gasped. Blood bubbled at his lips. One convulsion, then stillness.
Tianyao's gaze hardened. His cover no longer mattered. This was opportunity.
He searched the body, retrieving a sect token and a folded letter sealed in Verdant Sword wax. Rising, he faced west toward Serpent's Gulch. A plan, precise and cruel, crystallized. He would act personally.
Returning to Uncle Hei's group, he reported, "Trail clear. Pack gone deeper into the mountains."
Uncle Hei nodded. "Good. Work here done. You've earned your pay, Tian."
The group began the trek back, laden with herbs and cores. Lin Tianyao walked among them, a specter cloaked in grey wool, mind on Serpent's Gulch.
The first blood of his private vengeance would not be of a Zhao elder, but arrogant lackeys—a message in crimson, delivered by a ghost.
The ember had left the Abyss, survived the city, and now, it would ignite its first fire.