The path back to the outer disciple huts was quiet at dusk. Lanterns were beginning to glow faintly in the distance, but most disciples were still gathered around the training grounds or busy with evening chores. Lao Xie walked unhurriedly, hands clasped behind his back, as if the day had left him in no rush.
But the faint ripple of qi behind him said otherwise.
Three of them—sloppy in their concealment, their breathing uneven. Outer disciples, no doubt, though they carried the faint air of someone with backing.
"Finally," Lao Xie thought, the corner of his lips curving faintly. "I was wondering when the dogs would come sniffing."
He didn't quicken his pace. Instead, he hummed softly under his breath, stepping lazily toward a narrow path that cut between a cluster of unlit huts. Few passed through here at this hour. Perfect.
The shadows behind him grew restless.
He could almost hear their whispers—hesitation, eagerness, fear. When the path darkened fully, the sound of feet shifted. They closed in.
A sneer touched his mouth. "Impatient pups."
Three figures stepped out, surrounding him. Their eyes darted around nervously before hardening into a practiced glare.
"You've been making quite the name for yourself lately," one said, his voice rough, clearly trying to sound braver than he felt. "Our senior brother wants to know… who you really are."
Lao Xie tilted his head, studying them as though they were insects crawling too close to his boot. "Oh? And which 'senior brother' would that be? Or did he send you here without even giving his name? That's rather careless of him."
The three exchanged glances but said nothing. Their silence spoke louder than words.
"Mn. Dogs indeed," Lao Xie chuckled softly. "Sent to sniff, but not to bite."
That small laugh seemed to ignite them. With a shout, the one in front lunged, blade flashing while the other two tried to flank him.
The blade whistled down, gleaming under the faint lantern light.
Lao Xie didn't even bother lifting a hand. He shifted a step to the side, the strike missing him by a hair's breadth. His smirk never wavered.
"So slow," he said flatly, voice cutting sharper than steel.
The disciple gritted his teeth and swung again, faster, desperate to hit something. Lao Xie tilted his head back this time, letting the blade pass harmlessly before him, so close it brushed a strand of his hair.
A low laugh slipped from his throat. "Mere early Qi Refinement… and you dare to mess with me?" His eyes glinted coldly. "Hah. Ridiculous."
The other two shifted uneasily, their formation growing ragged as they watched.
The attacker roared and pressed forward, his sword flashing in a frenzy. Lao Xie's feet barely moved, his body flowing lazily between each strike, sidestepping with the grace of a shadow. Every miss only deepened the disciple's panic.
"Too slow," Lao Xie drawled, stepping past another slash with his hands still clasped behind his back. "Even a cripple could dodge better."
The disciple's breathing grew harsh, his strikes wilder. Then, with a sudden twist, Lao Xie finally moved. His hand shot out, not for the hilt—but for the blade itself.
Steel screeched as his palm clamped tightly around the edge. Sparks scattered, qi rippled, and blood began to drip steadily from between his fingers, spattering the dirt below.
The disciple froze mid-swing, his eyes wide, trembling with disbelief.
"You—are you insane?!" one of the others stammered, voice breaking.
A low chuckle slipped past Lao Xie's lips, calm and almost playful. "Insane? No. Just bored. Mere early Qi Refinement… and you thought you could bite me? Pathetic."
The disciple holding the sword tried to yank it back, but the blade wouldn't budge—Lao Xie's bloodied grip was like iron. His mocking eyes lifted slowly, pinning all three of them in place.
The other two disciples staggered backward, faces drained of color. One whispered hoarsely, "H-he really is a lunatic…"
At that moment, a faint glimmer lit at Lao Xie's side. With a flick of his will, a sword of his own slipped free from his storage ring, humming faintly with suppressed qi. The crimson droplets from his torn hand stained its gleaming edge as he raised it lazily.
"You brought steel against me," Lao Xie said with a mocking smile, "then you should be ready to lose flesh."
Before the disciple could react, the blade whistled through the air. A sharp arc of light—and the arm holding the sword was severed cleanly at the elbow.
The disciple screamed, collapsing backward, clutching at the bloody stump as his weapon clattered uselessly to the ground.
The other two staggered, faces drained of color.
Lao Xie twirled his sword once, letting a bead of his own blood drip from the tip. His eyes gleamed coldly as he stepped toward them. "Now… who's next?"
The disciple's screams tore through the narrow path, raw and desperate. He writhed on the ground, clutching his severed arm, blood spilling into the dirt.
Lao Xie tilted his head slightly, watching the convulsing figure with a cold amusement. "So noisy."
One step. Then another. His sword rose—and with a clean stroke, the cries were silenced.
The other two staggered back, their faces ashen, eyes wide with terror. One dropped to his knees immediately, hands trembling. "Wait! Please—spare us! It wasn't our idea!"
"Yes, yes!" the second added in a rush, his voice cracking. "We—we weren't here to kill you! We were only told to follow, to watch! It was his plan," he jabbed a shaking finger at the corpse, "he insisted we draw blades—!"
Lao Xie's sword tip dragged against the ground as he walked toward them, the sound grating like bones scraping stone. His lips curved faintly, his gaze sharp as a blade. "So you wagged your tails at his command, but now that he's dead, you bare your necks like sheep. Do you not consider the consequences before moving?"
The kneeling disciple's forehead struck the dirt. "We— we didn't know you were this strong! We thought at worst you were another first-stage cultivator like us! If we knew—"
Lao Xie laughed softly, the sound chilling. "So, if I were weak, you would've cut me down without hesitation. But because I am strong… now you beg." His sword lifted, gleaming faintly in the dusk. "How convenient."
The standing disciple's voice cracked into a raw, animal sound. "No—please—!" He flung himself forward, hands clawing uselessly at Lao Xie's boots. "Help me—don't— I don't want to die—please, I have a mother—"
Lao Xie's eyes never left the kneeling youth. The air between them felt thin, as if every breath might snap. The boy flailed, claws scraping the ground in a panic of pleading.
"Please—please—" he begged, voice shredding. "I don't want to die—my mother—please—"
The words still trembled in the air when Lao Xie closed the distance.
He didn't rush, but each step felt heavy, crushing what little hope was left. The boy grabbed at Lao Xie's sleeve, then at the edge of his hanfu, as if holding on might somehow save him.
Lao Xie's sword flashed.
It was clean, quick—no theatrics, no wasted motion. The strike found its mark before the boy could finish his plea. He went silent in an instant, body folding like a snapped reed, the life gone from his eyes before he hit the ground.