Dawn broke quietly. A thin veil of mist hung low between the trees, and beads of dew clung to the leaves. The air in the forest was damp and cold enough to bite through flesh.
Hu Wei awoke to the faint echo of a scream that shattered the silence. His eyes snapped open, heart pounding violently—only to freeze in terror.
Right before him stood Mo Long, upright and calm, holding a severed human head dripping with fresh blood. The lifeless eyes of the head were wide open, locked in eternal fear.
"M-Master Mo Long…" Hu Wei's voice quivered, his face turning pale. "What… what happened?"
Mo Long turned toward him, a faint smile touching his lips.
"They were too noisy last night," he said evenly. "So, I slaughtered them all."
Hu Wei's stomach lurched. Only then did he notice the carnage surrounding them—dozens of corpses scattered across the ground. Some were burned to blackened husks; others torn apart beyond recognition. The air reeked of iron, smoke, and charred flesh.
Hu Wei swallowed hard before stammering, "Master, if it's like this… people will find out it was done by the Shadow Dragon Clan! The traces of your Shadow Qi are clearly left on their bodies. These men were from the Night Forest Bandits—if their group discovers this, it could cause serious trouble!"
Mo Long chuckled softly, his voice carrying a cold, cutting tone.
"That's true… if there were any traces of Shadow Qi left."
He arched an eyebrow, then stepped toward the pile of bodies. "But if the trail dies with the flames—who will dare accuse us?"
Hu Wei blinked in confusion, but his breath caught as Mo Long calmly picked up several torches and lanterns, lighting them one by one before hurling them onto the corpses.
Fwoosh—!
Flames burst forth, devouring flesh and cloth alike. The fire roared to life, spreading across the clearing. The stench of burning blood filled the air, thick and nauseating.
Mo Long stood with his back to the inferno, his black robe fluttering in the rising heat. The firelight painted his face crimson, his eyes reflecting the flames like twin embers. He looked—terrifyingly—like a devil risen from the depths of hell.
Seeing the horror in Hu Wei's eyes, Mo Long spoke softly, without turning around. "There's no need for remorse. Killing them only means there's less filth in the Jianghu."
A chill ran down Hu Wei's spine. 'He… he's truly ruthless!'
Mo Long turned, tossing a heavy cloth sack toward him. It hit the ground with a muffled thud, the metallic clink of coins echoing from within. "Take this."
Hu Wei glanced inside—and his jaw nearly dropped. Gold and silver gleamed under the dim morning light, an amount that could easily buy several estates. "M–Master… what is all this for?"
Mo Long's faint smile lingered as his eyes gleamed with something sharp and unreadable. "To purchase something… expensive."
Hu Wei shuddered, wisely keeping his questions to himself. He knew there were truths better left unknown.
They departed soon after, leaving behind the forest clearing now blazing like a pyre. Thick black smoke rose into the sky, blending with the pale morning mist.
Moving swiftly with their Qinggong, the two figures darted through the forest, crossed winding rivers, and passed by quiet villages without stopping. Only when night fell again did they finally slow their pace—entering a small, quiet town to rest beneath the veil of darkness.
The night was deep, but the small town still buzzed with life. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, scattering trembling halos of light over the cobblestone streets.
Mo Long and Hu Wei entered a two-story inn; the tavern below was crowded and loud. The mingling scents of wine, sweat, and pipe smoke clung to the air. Laughter, shouting, and the clatter of wooden mugs blended into a chaotic symphony of night.
Amid the noise, Mo Long's sharp ears caught fragments of conversation.
"I heard the Night Forest bandits were burned alive…"
"Yeah, rumor says it was a turf war between two groups…"
"No, no—it was the Demon Law Hall! They're cleansing the region of those filthy robbers."
A faint smile curved on Mo Long's lips. He pulled his hood lower over his face.
'Good. No one's accusing the clan. The fire erased everything—every trace gone.'
Hu Wei leaned closer, whispering under his breath, "Master, this town's close to Long Ya. Many travelers stop here before the qualification trials. No wonder the place is so packed."
They pushed their way through the crowd until they found a small, empty table tucked near a window. Mo Long sat down calmly, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword. "Order some rice wine," he said lightly. "Two jars."
Hu Wei nodded and slipped away toward the counter.
Left alone, Mo Long opened a small wooden lunchbox—Min Mao's parting gift. Inside were rice, steamed dumplings, and a small piece of roast chicken.
He lifted the box to his nose, intending to check if it had spoiled during the journey. But then—something familiar hit him. His expression shifted. 'That scent…'
Before he could think further, a large shadow loomed over the table, blotting out the lanternlight.
"Hey."
The voice was rough and dripping with arrogance. A tall, broad-shouldered man with tangled red hair stood before him, veins bulging along his bare arms. "This table's mine. Move before I make you."
Mo Long looked up slowly, meeting the man's glare with cold, unreadable eyes. He didn't budge an inch.
Behind the red-haired brute, a bald man with a barrel chest stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Kid, don't get smart. We're participants in tomorrow's warrior trial. I'm dead tired after the journey, so get up before I break that skinny neck of yours." His thick finger tapped impatiently on Mo Long's table.
A third man approached—a lean fighter with short hair and a scar slashing across his jaw. He jabbed a finger toward the lunchbox. "That food's mine. I left it here earlier. Hand it over and leave if you don't want trouble."
The tavern's noise began to dim. The laughter and chatter faded into a wary hush as several patrons turned their heads toward the confrontation.
Hu Wei, who had just returned carrying two jars of wine, froze mid-step. 'Damn it… if he snaps now, this whole place will burn.' He hurried forward, bowing slightly.
"My friends, please—let's not fight in here. If there's a dispute, take it outside."
But before he could say more, Mo Long raised his hand lightly, signaling him to stop.
He turned his gaze back to the three men, eyes calm and voice smooth.
"You're right," he said softly. "This table belongs to you. I apologize for the inconvenience."
He stood, placed the lunchbox into the short-haired man's hands, and without another word walked away from the table.
Hu Wei froze, scarcely believing his eyes. 'This morning he was cold and cruel, massacring bandits without hesitation. Now… he simply yields?' The dissonance left him unsettled.
Unable to contain himself, Hu Wei followed him out of the tavern and blurted the question. "Young Master… why didn't you beat them? With your strength, they're nothing."
Mo Long paused, turned, and offered a faint, chill smile. "I'm not interested in stirring up unnecessary trouble. Besides," he tapped his satchel, "we have plenty of coin. We can sleep in much more comfort elsewhere."
Hu Wei went still. 'Cold, but calculated,' he thought, his confusion growing deeper as he bowed his head and trailed after his lord.
They threaded through crowded streets until they reached a three-story inn with polished wooden pillars that glowed warmly in the lantern light. Mo Long chose the top floor, where the roof opened to the night sky. They sat opposite each other at a round black table, a jar of wine between them and a plate of warm meat buns steaming softly.
Hu Wei took a deep draught. Half tipsy, he lowered his gaze and a wide grin spread across his face. "Young Master… I've served as a guard for years—never have I been treated like this."
Mo Long raised an eyebrow, watching him without comment.
Hu Wei snorted, then swore under his breath. "Life as a clan guard… often means losing your dignity. I escorted Master Mo Feng a dozen times. Hah… truly—" He spat the memory away.
Mo Long leaned forward slightly, his stare calm and sharp. "What sort of man is Mo Feng?"
Hu Wei exhaled, flicking his hand as if to shrug off the recollection. "Arrogant, violent—big mouth, heavy hand. He won't hesitate to strike, even with Qi." He slipped back his sleeve; the lamplight gleamed across the scars littering his chest. He pointed at a darkened bruise. "This—Mo Feng's blow. It's years old but the mark remains. Still… I'll admit, his fighting skill is strong."
Mo Long's face remained unreadable. "How strong?"
Hu Wei reflected for a beat, then answered quietly, "Judging by his energy and technique… he's at the Expert Realm. And—seeing your energy and what you've done these past two days—I think if you faced each other, the outcome would be close."
Silence settled between them. Then Mo Long chuckled—soft, low.
Hu Wei snapped his head up, startled. "Why are you laughing, Young Master?"
Mo Long's grin widened, eyes glittering with a fierce eagerness. "I'm looking forward to breaking his face."
Hu Wei blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing. "In that case… may I ask you to land one punch for me, Master? Just one!"
Mo Long gave a small nod, his smile cold yet sincere. "You can ask for as many as you like."
Their laughter mingled beneath the open night sky—two men bound by different purposes: one seeking to reclaim his dignity, the other to avenge the wounds of a past life.
Elsewhere, laughter echoed just as loud. The same tavern that had quieted moments ago was once again filled with raucous noise as the night deepened.
At one of the tables sat the three burly men who had driven Mo Long away earlier. Faces flushed red with wine, they feasted greedily, devouring the food Mo Long had left behind.
"Hahaha! Delicious!" bellowed the red-haired brute, slamming his cup on the table. "You're a smart one," he said, turning to his companion. "Who would've thought that brat carried food this good? It really adds flavor to our stew!"
The short-haired man with the scarred jaw laughed, gulping down more wine. "I was starving after the journey. Damn that Qinggong training—it drained every bit of my strength. Good thing that kid was easy to scare, or I'd have fainted before tomorrow's trial."
"Pity, really," muttered the bald one, wiping grease from his mouth. "His skin was soft, clean… clearly some pampered noble's son. Probably lived a good life before ending up stuck in this harsh Jianghu." He snickered and popped another of Mo Long's dim sum into his mouth.
"Hah, idiot," the red-haired man sneered. "If you weren't so slow, I'd have squeezed him for more. He gave up his meal without hesitation—he's probably carrying plenty of silver."
The bald man nodded, but added warily, "Still, that bodyguard of his—the one with the ponytail—had sharp eyes. He looked dangerous."
"Heh!" The scarred man snorted, pounding his chest. "If the three of us work together, what's one bodyguard? He wouldn't last a breath!"
Their loud, drunken laughter filled the air once more.
After a while, the red-haired man leaned in, lowering his voice but grinning broadly. "So, after we pass the warrior qualification trial tomorrow… are you both still set on joining the Shadow Dragon Clan as guards?"
The bald one straightened, confidence blazing in his expression. "Of course! The Shadow Dragon Clan's on the rise. They're recruiting fast—way easier to join than those bigger sects."
The short-haired one barked a hoarse laugh. "Who knows, maybe some lady from the clan will fancy us! Then we'll be real members, not just guards!"
The three erupted into another fit of laughter—loud, crude, and blissfully ignorant.
They had no idea that the young man they mocked and dismissed as a weak, pampered fool was Mo Long—the reborn prodigy of the Shadow Dragon Clan. And before long, their laughter would be nothing more than a fading echo beneath his shadow.