CHAPTER NINE
Elder Mo's Suspicion
Zheng Wen Te awoke to the smell of bitter herbs.
For a moment, he thought he was back on Earth.
A hospital.
A cheap clinic.
The kind of place where people went when life had already broken them.
But then—
he heard it.
Wind chimes.
Not metal.
Jade.
Soft, musical, impossibly clear.
His eyelids fluttered open.
The ceiling above him was wooden, carved with flowing cloud patterns. Thin threads of spiritual light ran along the beams like veins.
He lay on a clean bed.
A white curtain swayed beside him.
This was no mortal infirmary.
This was the sect's medical hall.
Zheng tried to sit up.
Pain lanced through his entire body.
It felt as if someone had poured molten iron into his veins.
He hissed and fell back.
A calm voice spoke immediately.
"Don't move."
Zheng froze.
He turned his head.
An old man sat near the window, hands folded inside his sleeves.
His hair was silver.
His robe was simple, but not servant-grey.
It carried faint embroidery of medicinal herbs and mountain streams.
His eyes were half-lidded, like someone watching a storm from far away.
Zheng swallowed.
"Who…?"
The old man replied evenly.
"Elder Mo."
The title hit Zheng harder than the pain.
Elder.
Not steward.
Not outer disciple.
A true cultivator.
Someone above him like heaven above dirt.
Zheng forced himself to breathe.
"I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble."
Elder Mo's gaze remained steady.
"Trouble does not begin because someone intends it."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Tell me, Zheng Wen Te…"
Zheng's fingers curled into the bedding.
"How did you survive?"
Zheng blinked.
"…Survive?"
Elder Mo's voice did not change, but the air in the room seemed heavier.
"That spirit-scaled boar is a second-rank beast. Even outer disciples avoid entering its pen alone."
Zheng's throat tightened.
"I didn't know."