The Four-Leaf Clover Sect still smelled of blood—not on the ground, but in the air.
It was in the way the disciples avoided looking into the shadows of the trees, and the way even the birds seemed quieter. Lin Yu was dead. And the Sect remembered.
---
Lin Residence — Pavilion of Mourning
Incense burned. The smoke rose slowly, thick, as if the air itself hesitated to leave this place.
Lin Xue was kneeling, hands pressed against the floor, his body hunched. He didn't sob or scream; it was worse. His eyes were wide, bloodshot and dry, as if his tears had been torn away before they could be born.
Before him, the jade coffin was sealed. There was no body inside, only symbols. The poison had left nothing behind. And that hurt more than it should.
Behind him, the Lin Patriarch spoke in a low voice. "He was an Elder, of both the family and the Sect. We will honor him."
Lin Xue didn't answer. He stared at the incense as if it were the only living thing left.
Another family Elder, with a long beard and a calculating gaze, approached. "We reviewed Lin Yu's belongings."
Lin Xue raised his head for the first time, his eyes distant. "And?"
The Elder hesitated. "There were documents."
Lin Xue went still. "About what?"
"About a disciple."
The Patriarch's expression hardened. "No." The word came out like a blade before the Elder could finish.
The Elder swallowed hard. "Patriarch, if this is connected—"
"I said no."
Silence. The Patriarch breathed deeply, controlling his irritation.
"Lin Yu had ambitions. All families do," he said slowly. "But I will not allow the Lin family to be dragged through the mud because of a dead man."
Lin Xue felt something tighten in his stomach. "Was he defaming someone?"
The Elder avoided the Patriarch's gaze—that was answer enough. Lin Xue clenched his teeth. "Who?"
The Patriarch stared at him, his gaze heavy with authority. "A disciple of the Guest Elder."
The name wasn't spoken; it didn't need to be. Lin Xue felt the world sink an inch. His mind began pulling threads he wasn't ready to pull: disciple, Guest Elder, death, rumors.
"Lin Yu intended to send this disciple to the border, to the mines," the Patriarch continued. "To die."
The Elder added quickly, almost fearfully, "He had contacts. He was trying to negotiate with the Flaming Battle Sect. Promises in exchange for an 'accident'."
Lin Xue remained silent for a few seconds. His voice came out raspy. "Then he dug his own grave."
The Patriarch didn't respond. Truth doesn't diminish grief.
"Erase it," Lin Xue said.
The Elder's eyes widened. "Lin Xue—"
"Erase everything," he repeated.
The Patriarch narrowed his eyes. "Do you understand what you are asking?"
Lin Xue stood up, his body trembling with contained rage. "I understand. If they find out he was plotting this, they will say he deserved it. Worse, they will call us traitors. I will not accept that. I will not have my grandfather buried as a traitor."
The Patriarch went silent, then nodded. "Very well. Erase it."
The Elder breathed a sigh of relief. But Lin Xue did not. There was a question growing in him like poison: If he was going after someone, then who benefited most from his death?
Lin Xue looked into the shadows of the pavilion and thought with cold, emotionless resolve: If it was him, I will find out.
---
Mountain of the Four Tributaries — Yan Li's Cave
The brush trembled. Yan Li gripped the wood so hard it nearly cracked. Ink dripped, staining the paper, the stone, and herself. She tried to trace a simple, beautiful line. It came out crooked, violent.
She tore the sheet, threw it to the ground, and took another. She tried to breathe as Sai taught: comprehension, Dao, correspondence.
Nothing came. Her mind was a whirlwind. She stopped and looked at the paper. It seemed to scream.
I can't do this.
The brush snapped between her fingers. She stared at the broken piece as if it were a small corpse. Her throat ached with impotence.
Wang Tao. The brother who trained beside her. Who helped her when she understood nothing. Now, she didn't know what he was. She didn't know what to feel.
She picked up another brush, but her hand wouldn't obey. A dense, dark drop of ink fell onto the white paper, spreading into an imperfect circle.
Suddenly, something inside her pulled—like an invisible rope being stretched. A tightness in her chest, her head, in a place she couldn't name. She pressed her hand to her heart.
Inside... it was as if something that had always been sleeping had opened an eye.
It wasn't Qi. It was something quieter, deeper. For the first time, she felt herself separate from her body—not as a thought, but as a presence.
I am here. I have always been here. But I never noticed.
The sensation lasted only seconds, leaving behind a strange void. As if a door had opened inside her, and now she knew it was there, even if she didn't know how to cross it.
Is this how the soul awakens? Not with an answer, but with a question?
---
The Plateau — Wei Lian and Sai
Wei Lian walked beside Sai. He tried to maintain a normal posture, but his eyes kept searching for something.
"Master," he said finally.
Sai looked sideways. "Hm?"
"I wanted to ask something. If someone does something terrible, but was forced... is that person evil?"
Sai didn't answer immediately. He countered with another question: "If a starving person, near death, steals to live... is that person evil?"
Wei Lian looked perplexed.
"In the world of cultivation," Sai said after a pause, "there are no good or bad people. There are choices and consequences."
"But if there was no choice—"
"There is always a choice," Sai cut him off. He stopped and turned to Wei Lian. "The question is: what price are you willing to pay for it?"
Silence.
"Your brother chose to live," Sai said directly. "And he paid for it."
Wei Lian felt the air leave his lungs. "You..."
"Are you willing to live with his choice?" Sai asked, his eyes narrowing.
Wei Lian didn't know how to answer. Sai began walking again.
"Master..." he hesitated. "What about identity?"
Sai stopped again. "That question is not yours. That question belongs to someone who doesn't know if they are what they do or what they feel."
Wei Lian's throat tightened. He knows.
"Identity is a mask," Sai continued.
"Just that?"
"Just that. The problem is that people fall in love with the mask."
Wei Lian bit his lip. "And if the mask is necessary?"
"Then you wear it."
"And if the mask hurts people?"
Sai tilted his head. "Then you decide what is worth more: being seen as good, or being useful."
Wei Lian felt a shiver. Sai spoke without looking back: "Sometimes, Wei Lian, a person doesn't choose to be something. They only choose not to die."
---
Recovery Cave — Wang Tao
Wang Tao opened his eyes in the dark. His body ached, but he was used to pain. What bothered him was the silence—the kind that comes before a debt is collected.
He tried to sense his meridians. It was like trying to hold water with his hands. There was a void, an absence.
Resources. I need resources.
The Sect wouldn't give them—not yet, not with suspicion looming.
Wang Tao stood up with difficulty. He suppressed the pain, donned a simple tunic, covered his face, and stepped out.
---
Forest at the Foot of the Mountain
The shadow emerged from among the bamboo, as still as ever.
"You are alive." It wasn't a compliment; it was a statement.
"I need resources," Wang Tao said, stopping two paces away.
"For what?"
"To survive."
The shadow spoke: "You completed the mission. You shall have your reward."
Wang Tao narrowed his eyes and handed over a list. The shadow scanned it. "This exceeds your reward. What is this for?"
"Research. Efficiency. Poisons require materials," Wang Tao answered coldly. Inside, he was tense.
"You dare ask for more?"
Wang Tao gave a humorless half-smile. "You dared to send me against a Core Elder."
The shadow approached a step, its voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "Remember your leash."
Wang Tao felt the poison burn slightly—a warning. He replied calmly: "I haven't forgotten. I am simply charging the price of my blood."
The shadow went silent, then nodded. "It will be delivered. Two days. This is not kindness."
"I know," Wang Tao said. "It's an investment."
The shadow remembered something. "And the treasure?"
Wang Tao's lips broke into a twisted smile. "I had no time. It was flee or die."
"You will have another chance. Find it and bring it to me. You have two weeks."
"Bring it to me," the shadow had said, not "bring it to us." The bastard wanted it for himself.
Wang Tao's expression didn't change. "I will not fail."
The shadow vanished into the wind. Wang Tao stood alone with the chains around his neck. He looked at the distant, indifferent stars.
I survived, he thought coldly. But the price is not yet fully paid.