The morning mist rolled down from the high green peaks of the Green Bamboo Sect, thick and damp, wrapping the Rising Phoenix Mountain in a grey shroud. The cold moisture rising from the deep mountain valleys had condensed in the spring air, blocking all vision and dampening the sound of the wind. The silence on the mountain was heavy, broken only by the slow, rhythmic tolling of the brass bell in the Myriad Halls.
Within the Rising Phoenix Courtyard, the atmosphere was cold and somber. White linen banners hung from the tall wooden pillars, fluttering lazily in the chilly breeze. The white linen banners, the color of cold frost, had been hung to honor the disciples who had perished during the Seven Demon Sealing Ruins expedition. Heavy bronze cauldrons stood at regular intervals across the stone courtyard, their mouths releasing thick columns of grey cedar smoke. The scent of the burning wood was sharp and bitter, mixing with the smell of wet grass and cold stone.
Along the eastern edge of the courtyard, a row of newly carved stone tablets stood in the damp grass. These memorial stones had been erected for those whose bodies could not be recovered from the ruins. Because the spatial collapse of the outworld ruins had disintegrated their physical remains, the sect had carved their names into basalt plates to serve as a symbolic resting place where incense could be burned and their memories recorded in the registries.
Feng Jiu'er stood quietly before one of the newer tablets. She was dressed in her deep red-and-white robes, the red showing her fire affinity, while the white silk ribbons tied around her sleeves and waist represented her formal mourning. The slender green bamboo leaf emblem on her collar was embroidered with a faint, thin crimson thread, a mark of her high status as the granddaughter of Elder Feng.
Her face was pale and calm, but her dark eyes were sharp and still as she looked at the name carved into the stone. The characters were fresh, the edges of the cuts clean and unweathered: "Fang Lin."
"You were supposed to be clever," Feng Jiu'er thought, her fingers tightening slightly against the hilt of her Crimson Bamboo Sword. "An outer disciple who managed to slide through the cracks of the sect, yet you had to stand in front of a mountain."
In the language of the cultivation world, standing in front of a mountain meant facing an overwhelming force. This meant that Fang Lin, a simple outer disciple who had shown only the Early Spirit Foundation stage in their records, had faced the descending strike of the Mount Sumeru Sect powerhouse head-on, sacrificing his own survival to block the blow and protect the retreating disciples.
She remembered the way he had walked, always a step behind, his eyes quiet and observant, never showing the panic that ordinary outer disciples felt when facing danger. She remembered the strange, resilient warmth of his life force during their escapes, a green, vibrant energy that seemed to defy the cold poison of the ruins. And now, all that remained of him was this cold piece of basalt, sitting in the damp grass under the mountain mist.
"He was only an outer disciple," she thought, her gaze tracing the cold characters. "He never even completed the required merits to enter the inner halls. The elders write his name here, but to them, he is just a number on a scroll. If he is still alive..."
The sound of heavy boots on the stone paving broke the silence of the courtyard.
A group of Faction-side disciples walked toward the eastern edge, their dark-green robes embroidered with the silver bamboo leaves of the Chen clan. At the head of the group was Chen Hao, his face carrying a light, irritating smile as he looked at the mourning banners. Behind him, Chen Yueshan walked with slow, measured steps, his posture restrained and calculating. Chen Yueshan was a Peak Spirit Foundation cultivator who led the Faction side alongside Chen Mingyuan, and he kept his hands tucked into his sleeves, his eyes scanning the gathering with cold indifference.
Chen Hao stopped a few paces away from the memorial stone, his eyes landing on the incense sticks burning in the sand cauldron before Fang Lin's name. He let out a loud, mocking laugh, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet courtyard.
"An outer disciple who died in the outer borders," Chen Hao said, his voice dripping with false pity. "The Alliance side must truly be desperate if they must hold such a grand ceremony for a mere outer disciple who never even earned the right to step into the inner mountain. If we erect a stone for every missing servant and outer disciple who died in the wilderness, we will run out of space on Rising Phoenix Mountain before the winter."
The Alliance disciples standing nearby stiffened, their faces turning red with anger as they glared at Chen Hao. Their hands instinctively moved to their weapons, but they hesitated to speak. Chen Hao's faction held great influence within the sect, and his clan elders controlled the distribution of cultivation resources in the Myriad Halls, making it dangerous for ordinary disciples to offend them.
Feng Jiu'er did not draw her sword. She turned slowly, her movement as silent and smooth as a crimson leaf falling on still water. This meant that she shifted her body without releasing any sound, her steps balanced by her Crimson Bamboo Sword Step movement art, keeping her posture perfectly poised.
She looked at Chen Hao. Her eyes were completely dark, devoid of any warmth or anger, resembling two pools of cold, deep water.
"Say that again," Feng Jiu'er said, her voice quiet but carrying a sharp, ringing chill that cut through the sound of the wind.
Chen Hao's smile faltered for a second. He felt a sudden, cold prickle of fear at the base of his neck, but he quickly recovered, looking back at his clan brothers for support. He straightened his back, trying to appear confident in front of the crowd.
"I only spoke the truth, Senior Sister Feng," Chen Hao said, his voice rising as he gestured toward the stone. "The archives in the Myriad Halls list this Fang Lin as a simple outer disciple. He had no special bloodline, no legacy master, and his shown cultivation was only at the Early Spirit Foundation stage. Honoring him with a formal memorial stone in the courtyard is a waste of the sect's resources, resources that should go to the living geniuses who actually contribute to our sect's strength."
Feng Jiu'er did not argue with him. She did not explain what Fang Lin had done in the ruins, nor did she mention the strength he had hidden from them. Instead, she released her Qi.
Her crimson aura erupted from her body, a bright, boiling wave of fire energy mixed with the pale green of her bamboo wood foundation. The heat was so intense that the morning mist around her was instantly vaporized, turning into white steam that hissed loudly against the cold stone floor.
This meant that her Crimson Flame Spirit Art was condensing her spiritual energy into a physical heat wave, forcing the moisture in the air to dry up and creating a heavy, burning pressure that pressed down on the chests of the surrounding disciples. Her Green Bamboo Heart Sutra acted as her core anchor. This meant that the defensive wood-aligned technique she practiced stabilized her spiritual sea and allowed her to maintain absolute control over her emotions, keeping her flame from running wild while focusing its full weight on Chen Hao.
Chen Hao gasped, his face turning pale as the hot pressure hit his chest. He took three quick steps back, his boots scraping against the stone, his hand instinctively grasping the hilt of his sword. The silver bamboo embroidery on his robes shivered under the heat, the threads turning slightly brown at the edges.
"Junior Sister Feng!" Chen Yueshan stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he felt the intensity of her aura. He was a Peak Spirit Foundation expert, but the heat of her crimson flame made his own green wood Qi feel dry and unstable. "This is the Rising Phoenix Courtyard. Drawing weapons or releasing hostile Qi during a memorial service is a violation of the sect's laws."
"Laws?" Feng Jiu'er stepped forward, her red robes rustling, her eyes locked on Chen Hao. Every word she spoke was clear, sharp, and heavy with contempt. "While the ruins crumbled, and the outworld beasts swarmed the retreat path, you and your clan brothers hid in the rear chambers of the valley, waiting for the Alliance elders to clear the path. You dared not even look at the gates he stood before. He blocked the strike that would have crushed the entire path, allowing you to walk back to this mountain alive. If he is a useless outer disciple, then what are you? A coward who barks only in the safety of the courtyard?"
Chen Hao's face went from pale to a deep, burning red. He opened his mouth to speak, but the hot pressure of her aura choked the words in his throat. The surrounding Alliance disciples watched with bright, silent satisfaction, their chests rising as they stood taller in the mist.
"Senior Brother Chen," Chen Yueshan said, his voice tightening as he stepped between her and Chen Hao. He kept his hands in his sleeves, but his own cold green wood Qi began to rise to resist her heat. "We respect the sacrifice of those who fell. But the sect is run by the elders and the master, not by personal sentiment. Fang Lin was an outer disciple, and his status is fixed in the records. We cannot change the hierarchy of the Green Bamboo Sect for one missing junior."
"The hierarchy," Feng Jiu'er repeated, her voice soft, almost whispering. She looked past Chen Yueshan, looking at the tall, white jade hall of the Myriad Halls that rose above the mist, its grand pillars shining under the dim morning light.
Inside those white jade walls, the grand elders sat on their high thrones, discussing the division of resources, the alliances with the Thousand Leaf Sect, and the preservation of their own clans. They had called off the search for Fang Lin because the cost of maintaining the flying ships was too high. They had agreed to erect this stone only to appease the Alliance disciples who had survived the ruins, turning a soldier's sacrifice into a political bargain.
She looked back at the memorial stone. The name "Fang Lin" was quiet, untouched by the arguments of the living. The thin thread of grey smoke from the incense stick rose straight up, disappearing into the cold mist.
A deep, cold disgust rose in her heart, spreading through her spiritual sea like black frost. She had spent years carrying the responsibility of the Alliance group, leading them through the dangerous ruins, fighting for their place against the Chen clan, and trying to protect the disciples under her grandfather's faction. And for what? To see a brave junior mocked by cowards, while the sect's leaders stood by in silence to maintain a false peace.
"This place is too small," she thought, her crimson aura slowly receding, leaving the air dry and smelling of burnt stone. "Too cold, and too rotten."
She realized that staying on this mountain would only suffocate her fire. She could not break her current bottleneck while surrounded by the constant, petty factional struggles of the Green Bamboo Sect. If she stayed, she would eventually become like Chen Yueshan, calculating the cost of every life and hiding behind the rules of the Myriad Halls.
"Keep your hierarchy, Senior Brother Chen," Feng Jiu'er said, her voice flat and devoid of any emotion. She turned her back on them, not giving them another look. "Keep your rules. You will need them to hide behind when the wind changes."
She walked away from the memorial stone, her red-and-white robes disappearing into the rolling grey mist. Chen Yueshan watched her go, his eyes dark with suspicion and anger, while Chen Hao let out a shaky breath, his hand slowly releasing his sword hilt.
That night, the Rising Phoenix Mountain was silent. The moon was hidden behind thick, dark rain clouds, casting the green bamboo forests into absolute obscurity.
Within her private courtyard, the rooms were dark and cold. Feng Jiu'er did not light the oil lamps. She stood in the center of her bedroom, her simple traveling bag resting on the wooden table. Inside the bag were only her cultivation manuals, a few common changes of clothing, and her personal savings of spirit stones. She did not take any of the sect's medicinal pills, nor did she take the high-grade talismans she had received from the Myriad Halls.
She picked up her disciple jade token, the white stone cold against her palm. This jade token was her identity within the Green Bamboo Sect. This meant that the token held her registered soul imprint, granting her access to the library halls, the resource vaults, and the protection of the sect's mountain array.
She placed the white jade token on the dark wooden table, leaving it in the center where it could be easily seen. Beside the token, she laid a small, folded piece of paper addressed to her grandfather, Elder Feng. The letter contained only a few characters written in her sharp, elegant hand: "I am leaving to seek my own path. Do not look for me."
She picked up her Crimson Bamboo Sword, the pale-green hilt familiar in her hand. The crimson lines along the blade glowed faintly in the dark room, responding to the tiny trickle of fire Qi she allowed to flow through her fingers.
"A sword should not rust in a cage," she thought as she sheathed the weapon and secured it to her waist sash.
She stepped out of her bedroom, closing the wooden door quietly behind her. The spring wind was cool and wet, carrying the scent of rain. She did not use the main mountain paths, choosing instead to descend through the steep, rocky cliffs of the eastern peak.
Her movements were silent, her red-and-white robes turning into a faint blur as she utilized her Crimson Bamboo Sword Step. She suppressed her Qi to the absolute limit, keeping her spiritual sea completely still to avoid triggering the defensive arrays of the outer mountain. The guards at the lower gates were huddled under their wooden shelters to escape the cold rain, their divine senses focused only on the main roads, completely unaware of the crimson silhouette slipping past the cliffs.
When she reached the lower mountain road, she stopped and looked back.
The lights of the Green Bamboo Sect were dim and distant, scattered across the dark peaks like cold, green stars. The mountain rose into the dark sky, a massive, silent wall of stone that had bound her life for as long as she could remember.
"There is nothing left for me here," she murmured, her voice carried away by the wind.
She turned her back on the mountain, walking into the dark forest that lined the valley. She did not know where her path would lead, nor did she have a destination in mind. She only knew that she had to leave this place behind to find her own strength, disappearing into the vast obscurity of the continent, leaving no trace behind.
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