The news of the massacre in the Serpent's Gulch spread through Azure Peak City like wildfire fanned by a gale. A Verdant Sword disciple and two Zhao clansmen—dead. A third Zhao, found alive but with his dantian shattered and his mind broken, babbling of "cold fire" and a "vengeful ghost." The evidence was damning; the treaty, shattered. The air in the city grew thick with tension. The casual arrogance of the Zhao was replaced by wary suspicion, while the Verdant Sword disciples moved with a new, sharp-edged purpose.
Lin Tianyao observed it all from the shadows, a silent architect watching his construction take shape. He had returned to the city before dawn, the Sun-Spark Root a heavy, golden secret in his pouch. He did not go back to Uncle Hei. That chapter of "Tian" was closing. He found a new, more secure hiding place—a cramped, empty space beneath a dilapidated bridge in the Driftwood Sector—and there, he shed his old skin completely.
He was no longer Tian, the lucky spotter.
He was Mo Ye, the ghost with a purpose.
His plan was set. He would use the tragedy he had engineered as his key into the Verdant Sword Sect. But to do that, he needed an audience with someone of consequence—not just a low-level gatekeeper.
He waited for the right moment, when the scandal was at its peak. Then, he walked toward the Verdant Sword Sect's Recruitment Pavilion in the central plaza. He moved not with the hesitant steps of "Tian," but with a calm, deliberate purpose that made people instinctively step aside. His aura was suppressed to a pitiful first-stage Qi Condensation flicker, but his eyes—carefully dulled—held a gravity that belied his cultivation.
The plaza was packed with hopefuls. At the center, Elder Guo, a stern-faced man with a long gray beard and a Foundation Establishment aura that quieted the crowd, presided over the assessments.
Tianyao waited for a lull. Then, he walked forward, ignoring the disciples who moved to intercept him. His gaze was locked on Elder Guo. The elder raised a hand, stopping his subordinates.
"Who are you, and why do you disrupt our proceedings?" Elder Guo's voice was low, carrying easily over the sudden quiet.
Tianyao stopped at the base of the dais. He did not bow. He reached into his robe and pulled out two items—the jade token of the dead disciple, Lin Feng, and a blood-stained letter. He held them up, his hand perfectly steady.
"My name is of no consequence," Tianyao said, his voice clear and cold. "I am but a wanderer. I found a dying man in the Whispering Vale. His last words were of a Sun-Spark Root, of the Zhao, and of a broken treaty. He asked me to deliver this to his sect."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. Elder Guo's eyes widened. He gestured, and a disciple hurriedly brought him the items. The elder examined the token, his face hardening. He read the letter, his knuckles whitening.
"Disciple Lin Feng," Elder Guo said, his voice dangerously quiet. He looked down at Tianyao. "You found him? Tell me everything."
Tianyao layered a veneer of shaken courage over his core of ice. "I was hunting for herbs. I heard fighting in the Serpent's Gulch. I hid. I saw three men with serpent pins. They argued with Lin Feng, demanded the root he had found. He refused. They cut him down." He allowed his voice to hitch. "After they left, I went to him. He was still alive, but only just. He gave me these and begged me to warn his sect. He said… 'The Zhao have no honor.' Then he passed."
Elder Guo's spiritual sense pressed down on him, probing for falsehood. Tianyao's soul was a fortress, his aura a perfect lie. The elder found nothing but the story he expected.
"You have done this sect a great service," Elder Guo finally said. "What do you wish for? Spirit stones? A treasure?"
Tianyao shook his head. He let a raw, desperate longing show in his eyes. "I have nothing. No family. No clan. I saw the strength of your disciple, even in his final moments—his courage. I wish for a chance. A chance to become strong. A chance to have a purpose. I wish to join the Verdant Sword Sect."
The request hung in the air—audacious. A first-stage Qi Condensation vagrant asking for entry.
"Your foundation is pitiful," Elder Guo said bluntly. "You would start at the very bottom, as a menial laborer. The work is hard, the treatment harsh. Are you prepared for that?"
Tianyao bowed his head. "Any hardship within the sect's walls is better than a meaningless death outside them. I am prepared, Elder."
Elder Guo gave a curt nod. He inscribed a token with the character Mend—the lowest rank of outer sect disciple. "You have shown loyalty to this sect before you were even a part of it. That has value. Take him to the outer sect quarters. Assign him to the Spirit Herb Gardens. He will report to Overseer Zhang."
A disciple gestured for Tianyao to follow. "This way… what is your name?"
The boy who had been "Tian" needed a name for the sect records—a name that held a sliver of his truth.
"Mo," he said, the word tasting like iron and ashes. "My name is Mo Ye." Demon Night.
The disciple shrugged. "Fine. Mo Ye it is."
As Tianyao—now Mo Ye—followed the disciple away, he did not look back. The first, most difficult gate had been crossed. He was inside.
The Verdant Sword Sect's outer sect was a machine designed to grind down ambition. His new home was a long, noisy dormitory that stank of sweat and despair. His overseer, Zhang, was a bloated man whose spirit had curdled—his Foundation Establishment cultivation stagnant, his soul reeking of bitterness.
His duty was simple: tend to the low-grade Spirit Moss and Luminous Roots. It was back-breaking, mind-numbing work, perfect for crushing spirit. For the others, it was a prison. For Mo Ye, it was a perfect hiding place. No one looked twice at a menial laborer.
That night, as the dormitory echoed with snores, Mo Ye lay on his hard bunk, staring at the ceiling. The coarse blanket scratched his skin. But within him, a profound sense of rightness settled. He was a wolf who had donned the fleece of a sheep and walked into the heart of the flock.
He was here.
The ghost was in the house.
The path of his revenge was now a narrow, treacherous trail winding through the heart of his enemy's world.
He closed his eyes, and in the darkness behind his lids, the Violet Soul Flame flickered—a patient, hungry star in a night sky of vengeance.
The night had just begun.