Morning mist still clung to the courtyard when Li Qiye pushed open the door.
The dew shone like cold stars along the railing.
"Come," he said simply. "Huairen, walk with me. Let's see what passes for heritage in this Nine Saint Demon Gate."
Nan Huairen's heart sank.
He knew that tone — the same one his senior used before turning silence into chaos.
Still, he could not refuse. Until the trial was over, he was responsible for keeping this 'Chief Disciple' alive.
They hadn't crossed more than two arcades when a group of men blocked the path.
The Confrontation
At their front stood Du Yuanguang, the outer‑hall prodigy whose name carried like thunder through the sect.
A circle of Demon Gate disciples flanked him, their gaze sharp with covetous hostility.
"Du Brother!" Huairen forced a smile, stepping forward. "I've heard much of you—"
Du's eyes never deigned to meet his. "Nan Huairen," he snapped, "this has nothing to do with you.
Step away, unless you wish to share his fate."
The words were cold knives. Huairen stiffened but kept his tone smooth.
"Brother Du, what is the meaning of this?"
Du's gaze slid past him and locked onto Li Qiye — flat, bright, merciless.
Li Qiye did not flinch.
"Good dogs move when told.
If you're not a dog, then step aside."
The courtyard froze over.
Huairen's smile died on his lips.
"Presumptuous!"
"Courting death!"
"Just a mortal—and he dares insult a core 弟子 of the Nine Saint Gate!"
Shouts flared. Even Du Yuanguang's face darkened, the air around him tingling with killing aura.
He smiled thinly instead of answering.
"Our sect rarely receives guests," he said slowly. "But coincidence strikes — a precious artifact has gone missing."
The statement dropped like a stone.
Huairen's heart lurched. "Brother Du, surely you don't mean —?"
Du's voice turned razor‑sharp.
"In these days, only outsiders walk our halls. Who else could it be?"
A bald accusation.
An insult to their entire sect.
Huairen's temper flared despite himself.
"Take care of your words, Brother Du. Slander is a grave‑ "
"'Grave'?" Du cut him off with a sneer. "Your Cleansing Dust Sect is already a shattered relic. A sect that crowns a mortal as chief — what worth can its disciples hold? Rats breed rats."
Huairen's fists tightened. But before he could speak, Li Qiye's quiet voice threaded through the air.
"Is that your opinion … or your sect's?"
Du snapped, "What does it matter?"
Li Qiye smiled faintly. "The one you idolize is the Demon Gate's female prodigy, yes?"
The younger man's jaw clenched. He said nothing.
"You truly have affection," Li Qiye continued, tone almost amused. " But you lack eyes. If she were forced to marry me, it would raise her worth—
With your talent, even as a servant of my servant, I'd still need to think twice."
The Rage
"Boom!"
Du Yuanguang's aura erupted, a crimson halo bursting behind him.
A spiritual sword coalesced in his palm, its light piercing the fog.
"Arrogant worm! You dare mock her?"
Huairen threw himself forward. "Brother Du—calm yourself! This isn't —"
Du smiled coldly. "Then I'll cut you first — and him next!"
The swordlight rose.
But Li Qiye merely set a hand on Huairen's shoulder and pushed him aside.
"Step back."
His voice was quiet as rain. "He wants my life? Then I'll take his myself."
Even the Demon Gate disciples hesitated at that utter serenity.
Du Yuanguang laughed outright.
"A mortal playing hero! You've trained three days and think you can kill me?"
He pointed the blade to the sky. "Fine. A duel, then — on the Great Arena. Come die properly."
"Agreed."
Without another word, Li Qiye turned and walked away, his figure straight as a spear.
"Senior Brother—don't!" Huairen's cry echoed.
"It's nothing." Li Qiye glanced back with a half‑smile.
"One Palace‑Stage punk — not yet a lord — offends me? Then I'll crush him."
Huairen stared in shock.
For a moment, he thought the world had madness in its air — or perhaps his senior did.
The Summons of Blood
Across the training grounds, Du Yuanguang flicked his blade.
"So be it," he said coldly. "If he insists on death, let him learn the distance between Dao and dust."
Laughter crashed around him.
"A mortal dueling a spiritual cultivator? Hilarious!"
"One strike will do — leave the corpse for the dogs!"
Ridicule rippled like a storm.
Yet through it all, Li Qiye's back remained still — unhurried, unchanged — as he walked toward the massive black arena of the Great Sage.
Nan Huairen's hands shook. He glanced around—faces like wolves, eyes like knives — and made his choice.
He turned and ran.
To Protector Mo, he thought, if I don't stop this, he'll die—and take our sect's honor with him.
Wind rose over the Nine Saint mountains,
carrying the scent of iron and storm.
Somewhere in the clouds, fate tightened its strings—
the first note of blood and fire had just begun to play.