The signal flare painted the night sky a bruised purple. It was the signal for "Sect Invasion"—a call usually reserved for rival armies. Seeing it rise from a woodshed in the servant quarters was absurd.
But the silence that followed was not.
Wuxu sat in the doorway of the shed. He had dragged the corpse of Li Feng to the threshold, propping it up so the dead eyes stared out into the darkness.
He checked his internal clock.
[Shift Cooldown: 5 Days, 21 Hours.]
He was a sitting duck. A stationary target in a world of flying swords. But he knew the nature of cultivators better than they knew themselves. They were suspicious creatures. To them, the unknown was more terrifying than a dragon.
Rustle.
The wind changed. The heavy, metallic scent of ozone filled the courtyard. They were here.
"Surround the perimeter," a voice commanded from the darkness. It was deep, resonating with the power of Foundation Establishment.
Wuxu didn't move. He sat cross-legged, exactly one inch inside his 3-Chi radius. To an observer, he looked like a statue framed by the rotting wood of the doorframe.
A figure emerged from the moonlight. Elder Han of the Law Enforcement Hall. He floated three inches off the ground, his hands clasped behind his back, surrounded by a dozen disciples with drawn swords.
Elder Han looked at the signal flare dying on the ground. He looked at Li Feng's corpse. Then, he looked at the cripple sitting in the dark.
"Wei Wuxu," Elder Han said. His voice carried a suppressive mental wave intended to crush a mortal's will.
Inside the Domain, the mental wave ceased to exist. Wuxu heard the words, but felt no pressure. He didn't even blink.
"Elder Han," Wuxu replied, his voice calm, cutting through the tension. "You're late. The tea has gone cold."
Han narrowed his eyes. A mortal should be foaming at the mouth under his pressure.
"Disciple Chen said you used a demonic art to erase a man from existence," Han said, drifting closer but stopping a safe twenty feet away. "I see no formation flags. I sense no Qi fluctuation. You are empty."
"I am," Wuxu agreed. "So why do you hesitate?"
Han sneered. "A lion does not hesitate to crush a bug. It simply checks for poison."
Han raised a finger. "Burn him out."
Three disciples stepped forward, forming hand seals. Fire Snake Technique.
Wuxu's pulse didn't quicken, but his mind raced.
Calculation: Fire flows. If the heat accumulates outside the Domain, the oxygen will burn. I will suffocate even if the fire doesn't touch me.
He had to stop them from attacking. He had to bluff.
"Stop!" Wuxu commanded.
It wasn't a shout. It was a statement of fact.
The disciples paused, looking at the Elder.
Wuxu reached into his robe—slowly—and pulled out a small, jagged stone. It was nothing. Just a piece of gravel he had picked up. But he held it like it was the heart of a god.
"This shed," Wuxu lied, his voice dripping with boredom, "sits upon a spatial fault line. My 'demonic art' is simply me triggering the collapse."
He tossed the stone up and caught it.
"Fire brings heat. Heat expands energy. If you cast those spells, you won't just kill me. You will destabilize the fault. The resulting void tear will swallow the entire Law Enforcement Hall."
He pointed at the empty space where the previous disciple had vanished.
"Ask the survivor. Did his friend explode? Or did he simply... cease to be?"
Silence.
The disciples lowered their hands. The description matched. Instant erasure. No blood. That sounded exactly like a spatial tear—a phenomenon that terrified even Nascent Soul cultivators.
Elder Han frowned. He scanned the shed with his spiritual sense. He found nothing. But that was the problem. If it was a spatial fault, it would feel like nothing.
"You are bluffing," Han growled. But he didn't order the fire.
"Am I?" Wuxu smiled. It was a cold, razor-thin smile. "Then come inside, Elder. Step across the threshold. Prove me wrong."
He gestured to the open door. The 3-Chi line was right there, invisible and waiting.
"The door is open," Wuxu whispered.
Han hovered. The air grew thick. If he backed down, he lost face. If he entered and it was a trap, he lost his life.
"Disciples," Han barked, his face twisting. "Sword formation. Do not use elements. Cut him to ribbons from a distance."
Physical swords. Steel.
Wuxu's heart stopped.
Physics.
If a steel sword entered the Domain, it lost its magical enhancement, but it was still a sharp piece of metal moving at high velocity. He couldn't dodge twelve swords.
He had one card left. The Absolute Law of the Domain.
"Wait," Wuxu said. He stood up.
He took a step forward.
He stopped exactly at the edge, his nose almost touching the invisible barrier between Godhood and mortality.
"If a single sword enters this room," Wuxu said, "I will trigger the collapse myself."
He raised his hand, hovering it over his own heart.
"I am the key. If I die, the anchor breaks. The Void opens."
He looked Elder Han in the eye.
"Do you want to trade your thousands of years of cultivation for the life of a cripple? Is my life worth that much to you, Elder?"
Han's sword hovered in the air. The tip trembled.
Greed. Fear. Self-preservation. These were the true laws of the cultivation world.
Han gritted his teeth. He couldn't take the risk. Not with a spatial tear involved.
"Seal the courtyard," Han ordered, his voice tight with rage. "Erect a confinement barrier. If he wants to sit in his hole, let him rot. We will starve him out."
The disciples sheathed their swords, relieved. They began placing flags around the shed, creating a glowing blue dome of isolation.
Wuxu watched them. He didn't move until the barrier was fully formed, cutting him off from the outside world.
Only then did he sit down.
His back was soaked in cold sweat. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. The bluff had worked. They were besieging him instead of rushing him.
He looked at the calendar in his mind.
[Shift Cooldown: 5 Days, 20 Hours.]
He had bought time. But now he was trapped in a cage within a cage.
"Five days," Wuxu whispered to the darkness. "To find a way to eat, sleep, and kill them all."