The emerald slopes of the Green Bamboo Sect had not changed, yet to Fang Lin, every swaying leaf and every whistling gust of wind felt like a ghost of a life he had left behind nearly a year ago.
Eleven months.
It had been eleven months since he had walked down these very paths, a suppressed Qi Conjunction disciple carrying a broken spear and a heart full of cold calculation. Since then, he had walked through the blood-soaked valleys of the Demon Immortal Continent, survived the grinding pressure of the Black Stone Mine, and sat upon a throne of chaos in the heart of an ancient Sovereign's jar. He had been a hidden hunter, a legendary swordsman named Shen Mo, and an heir to a power that predated the very stars.
But as the familiar, clean scent of spirit bamboo filled his lungs, the "Shen Mo" mask was put away. He was back.
He was home.
"Ooh, so much green!" The Dark Flame Spirit's voice rang in his mind, vibrant and annoyingly energetic. "Is this where you grew up, Loud-Boy? It's a bit... damp. And these sticks are very tall. Do they burn well? They look like they'd make a lovely popping sound."
Fang Lin didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the soaring stone arches of the Main Gate. A wave of nostalgia, sharp and bittersweet, washed over him. He remembered the cold nights of hunger in the Outer Sect, the sneers of disciples like Zhou Yan, and the silent, grinding work he had done just to earn a handful of spirit stones. Back then, the gate had looked like a fortress he was barely allowed to inhabit. Now, it looked like a small, fragile toy.
He adjusted the sleeves of his Outer sect disciples' robe. His aura was pulled tight, suppressed with the precision of a Peak-Solid Soul to the modest ripples of an **Early Spirit Foundation** realm. To the world, he was a disciple who had somehow survived the wild. To himself, he was a shadow returning to the forest.
He didn't use his **Phantom Existence** to slip past the defenses. He didn't use **Moonless Shadow Step** to vanish into the bamboo. Instead, he walked directly onto the main marble thoroughfare, his boots clicking against the stones with a deliberate, steady rhythm.
He wanted to be seen. He wanted to be officially "back."
The reaction was instantaneous.
The two gate disciples were leaning against the stone pillars, whispering about the latest news from the Rivercloud region. As Fang Lin stepped into the light of the morning sun, their conversation died a sudden, strangled death.
"Wait... that face..." one guard muttered, squinting.
"No way," the other said, his spear tip lowering. "That's... that's the one who went missing after the Outer sect disciple competition. The one the sect wrote off as a casualty."
Fang Lin stopped ten paces away and performed a standard junior's salute, his posture humble and his head slightly lowered. "Outer Sect Disciple Fang Lin returns to the sect. I apologize for the delay in my report."
-
The silence that followed was broken by the frantic ringing of the signal bell.
Within minutes, the quiet morning was shattered. The news of the "dead" disciple's return spread through the lower slopes like a fire in a dry forest. As Fang Lin walked through the main thoroughfare, heading toward his old cultivation room, he was met with a literal wall of eyes.
Disciples of all ranks crowded the balconies and doorways. The whispers were no longer quiet; they were a dull roar of confusion, shock, and—to Fang Lin's intense discomfort—wild speculation.
"He's at the Early Spirit Foundation Realm! How is that possible?"
"He was gone for less than a year! He must have found a life-saving herb!"
"Wait, didn't you hear? The rumors from Rivercloud say that 'Shen Mo'—the Silent Mountain Sword—was also a youth from our continent. Do you think..."
"Don't be stupid! Shen Mo vanished into the deepest, most forbidden depths of the ruins, reaching places where even the elite disciples of the major sects were spat out! Some say he fought ancient entities that the world has forgotten! Look at Fang Lin—he's barely at the Early Spirit Foundation. He probably just hid in a hole for a year to survive."
Fang Lin's lip twitched into a wry smile. The irony was a physical weight. He listened as a group of inner disciples further up the path engaged in a "bravado speech" to a crowd of wide-eyed newcomers.
"...and then, Shen Mo drew his black blade!" the speaker shouted, gesturing wildly with a wooden training sword. "A pressure so heavy it cracked the stone itself erupted from him! He looked at the ancient monsters and said, 'Your blood will be the ink for my legend!' And then, with one strike, he shattered their formation!"
*"'Your blood will be the ink for my legend'?"* the Dark Flame Spirit cackled in his head. "Did you really say that, Loud-Boy? That's so cheesy! I should have burned your tongue off when I had the chance. Please tell me you have a secret collection of dramatic speeches under your bed."
"I never said that," Fang Lin thought, his ears turning a faint shade of red. "I didn't talk that much."
"Whatever you say, 'Silent Mountain Legend,'" she teased, her flickering embers brushing against the edges of his spiritual sea. "I think I like it here. There are so many stories about you, and all of them make you sound like you're ten feet tall and have three heads."
The awkwardness intensified as he reached the residential corridors. He saw familiar faces—disciples who had once pushed him aside in the dining hall, now staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe. He saw the "Friends" he had left behind, their eyes wide with disbelief.
He didn't stop to talk. He needed the privacy of his room. He needed to settle the restless energy of the Dark Flame Spirit and the echoing questions of his own soul, when he saw his mother during the 3rd stage of the trial.
He reached the wooden door of his cultivation room. It looked smaller than he remembered. Older. The dust on the handle told him that no one had expected him to ever return. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly with a warmth he couldn't quite suppress.
But he never touched the handle.
The air in the corridor didn't just change; it vanished.
A sudden, crushing spiritual pressure slammed into the hallway, a weight so immense that the wooden walls began to groan and the nearby disciples were instantly driven to their knees. It was a pressure of the Core Formation realm—but it carried a sharpness, a protective ferocity that Fang Lin recognized instantly.
"You have a lot of explaining to do, boy."
The voice was like the cracking of ancient wood.
Fang Lin turned slowly. Standing at the end of the corridor was a tall, imposing man with hair as white as the peaks of the Rising Phoenix mountain. He wore robes of a deep, dark green, embroidered with the crest of a grandfather tree. His eyes were not the eyes of an administrator; they were the eyes of a guardian who had watched a thousand storms.
It was *Elder Feng.*
The Grandfather of *Senior Sister Feng*
Fang Lin didn't resist as the Elder's divine sense swept over him like a tidal wave. He maintained his humble posture, his head bowed. "Elder Feng. Junior returns."
The old man didn't waste time with greetings. He walked forward, each step making the floorboards shiver. He reached out and grabbed Fang Lin's shoulder with a grip that felt like an iron vice. His eyes bored into Fang Lin's, searching.
"Your soul... it's too heavy for an Early Spirit Foundation," Elder Feng narrowed his eyes, his voice a low growl. "And you smell like something that shouldn't exist in a normal forest. Come. My granddaughter has been a ghost for months because of the mess you left behind. You will speak to her. Now."
Before Fang Lin could even offer a word of defense, the world turned into a blur of green wind.
***
A few minutes later, Fang Lin was standing in a private, shielded courtyard atop the highest peak of the sect. The view was breathtaking, a sea of white clouds hiding the world below, but the atmosphere inside the stone walls was tense.
Elder Feng had vanished into the shadows of the bamboo groves, leaving Fang Lin alone.
*Feng Jiu'er.*
She was sitting at a stone table, a cup of tea in front of her that had long since gone cold. She was dressed in her crimson robes, her hair tied back in a sharp, practical tail. She looked up.
For a long time, she said nothing. She just stared at him, her gaze traveling from his face to his boots and back again.
"She's looking at you like you're a puzzle she can't quite solve," the Dark Flame Spirit whispered, her voice tinged with childish glee. "Be careful, Loud-Boy. This one is sharp."
Fang Lin bowed respectfully. "Senior Sister Feng. It has been some time."
Feng Jiu'er stood up slowly. She walked toward him, her steps silent on the stone. She stopped barely a foot away. The scent of peach blossoms and tempered steel was overwhelming.
"Before it was 'Fairy', now its 'Senior Sister'? Tch....The rumors are a storm outside, Fang Lin," she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "They say a man named 'Shen Mo'—the Silent Mountain Sword—vanished into the most forbidden depths of the ruins. They say he was the only one who didn't come out before the gates sealed."
She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from the collar of his disciple robes.
"I was there when the ruins opened. I fought alongside Shen Mo. I saw a man who moved like a shadow and fought with a cold, ruthless calculation that felt... incredibly familiar. And now, nearly a year after you were presumed dead, you return to the sect, looking like an Early Spirit Foundation disciple who simply got lost in the woods."
She leaned in even closer, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intensity.
"Tell me, Fang Lin. Why is it that every time this 'Shen Mo' does something impossible, it seems like you always?"
Fang Lin's heart remained steady, protected by his Peak-Solid Soul, but he knew he had to play his part perfectly. He looked at her, his expression twisting into a mask of wry, almost bitter confusion, shaking his head vehemently.
"Senior Sister, you overthink," Fang Lin said, his voice rising in defensive disbelief. "Me? Shen Mo? I don't even own a black sword! I was trapped in a collapsed tunnel in a dead valley for months! I barely survived eating moss and blind cave-fish. How could I be this legendary Shen Mo who fights monsters in the deep ruins?"
"Don't lie to me," Feng Jiu'er snapped, her voice cracking with a sudden, hidden emotion. "I shared life and death with you in that valley. I treated your wounds. I know the rhythm of your breath. If you are him... then you are playing a game that will burn this entire sect to ash."
"Senior Sister Feng," Fang Lin said, taking a half-step back and raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I am just Fang Lin. I was lucky to survive the outer rim of the ruins. That is the only truth I have."
"Ooh, you're a very good liar, Loud-Boy!" the spirit giggled in his mind. "But she doesn't believe you. Not one bit."
Fang Lin maintained his vehement denial, his gaze meeting Feng Jiu'er's without flinching. He was home, but the silence of the Green Bamboo Sect was gone.
The storm he had left behind in the ruins had finally caught up to him.
-