Jian knelt on the cold floor, his insides seething with pain as if molten iron had been poured into his veins. His vision blurred, but he refused to collapse completely.
Mo Yin quickly crouched beside him, her hand steady on his shoulder, trying to calm his spasming breath.
He flinched at her touch and immediately tried to shrug her off, staggering to his feet on shaky legs. Pride burned in his eyes even as his body screamed in protest never had he been treated this way in his entire life.
But Mo Yin's grip tightened. Her voice was sharp, cutting through his stubbornness.
"You can't be weak and prideful at the same time. It doesn't work that way."
Before he could resist again, she pressed her palm to his chest, sending a gentle stream of spiritual energy to stabilize his battered organs.
His body shuddered under the warmth, some of the tearing inside beginning to mend. Without hesitation, she drew out a recovery pill from her spatial ring and placed the pill against his lips.
"Swallow."
Jian obeyed, the bitter taste flooding his mouth before dissolving into a cool, soothing current that spread through his body.
Mo Yin rose to her feet, brushing off her robes. Her tone hardened as she looked down at him.
"I don't know how you ended up as Fairy Mei Lian's disciple, but you're in for a world of hell here. Liang Chen won't let this go."
With that, she turned and began walking away, her steps echoing against the courtyard walls.
She had only gone a few paces when a muffled voice carried after her.
"…Thank you."
Mo Yin stopped. She turned just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. For a moment, something unreadable flickered across her face—but she said nothing.
With a flick of her sleeve, she continued on, vanishing into the path that led into the inner court.
Maria's eyes were swollen and red from crying, her cheeks damp with the traces of her tears. Jian reached out, steadying her trembling hands before pulling her gently to her feet.
"It's fine," he murmured, forcing a smile onto his face.
The calmness in his gaze washed over her like a steady tide, easing the storm inside her chest. She sniffled, her breathing slowly evening out, and for the first time since the encounter, she stopped trembling. Together, they made their way back toward the quarters.
On the path, disciples they passed cast their own verdicts with their eyes. Some looked at Jian and Maria with pity, others with thinly veiled disgust—especially when they noticed the faint trace of Yang qi still lingering on Maria.
She lowered her head, unable to meet their stares, while Jian pressed forward silently, his face unreadable.
By the time they reached their quarters, exhaustion weighed heavily on Jian's body. Even with the pill Mo Yin had forced him to take, its low tier quality could only speed up the healing process but it could not completely erase it. Every step reminded him of his vulnerability and his ambition to grow stronger.
As Yun Ji nobody looked down on him as he wasn't the strongest but he always has the upper hand preparing leverage ahead of time in case he encountered a sticky situation.
He washed the dust and sweat from his skin, the cool water running over him, before collapsing onto his bed. His mind churned despite his fatigue.
What now? How am I supposed to survive in this place? The question pressed like a blade against his thoughts.
For someone like Liang Chen, he was nothing more than a play thing Liang Chen would come to if he got bored.
Moments later, a soft knock broke the silence. Before he could answer, the door creaked open, revealing Maria standing timidly in the frame.
She slipped inside, closing the door with care, as though afraid the sound would wake the whole sect.
Wordlessly, she crept toward his bed, her steps hesitant, until she finally crawled onto it.
"I don't want to stay alone," she whispered, her voice fragile. She snuggled against him, her body trembling as if chased by unseen monster.
Jian felt the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat, rapid and uneven, like that of a rabbit fleeing from a predator.
He closed his eyes, the weight of her fear sinking into him.
Inwardly, disappointment gnawed at him—not toward her, but toward himself. She was clinging to him for safety, yet all he could give was fake comfort.
He could feel her fear, and he knew it was not only for herself, but for him as well.
He tightened his arms around her, silently vowing that one day—when his strength was enough—no one would dare make her cry again.
Meanwhile seven thousand kilometers away, in The Hidden Lair of the Blood Mist Assassins young man that looked to be in his mid twenties sat in a big cushion that almost resembled a throne.
The soft glow of the lanterns lit his features, making his handsome face appear both divine and demonic.
He held a scroll in one hand, his sharp eyes scanning the words without a ripple of emotion.
When he finished, he let it slip from his fingers to the floor. The parchment landed with a dull sound, and the chamber sank into silence so thick it suffocated as this man was a very ruthless and unpredictable.
At last, he spoke. His tone was calm, but it was the type of calm to be weary of.
"What a waste of time and resources." His gaze shifted toward the shadows, as though staring through the walls of the lair itself. "And Lady Xue… how much does she know?"
From the darkness, a voice answered, low and respectful.
"My Lord, she knows little. Nothing substantial. As we speak, our spy in the royal capital monitors her closely. Should she revail anything worth mentioning, we will know."
The man on the throne leaned back, his lips curving faintly—neither smile nor frown.
"why not kill her already," he asked.
"My lord Eleanor of Grigein has already arrived at the royal capital any hasty attempt might not be advisable." the voice responded
"And what of this… Lou Jian? Why is he still alive? He was the root cause of their deaths. You know the rules."
The voice from the shadows hesitated before replying.
"Lou Jian fled the royal capital, My Lord. His exact whereabouts remain elusive. He has… slipped the net for now."
The air in the lair thickened. A terrifying killing intent erupted from the man on the throne, so fierce the stone walls seemed to groan under its weight. Yet, just as suddenly, it vanished.
"Haa…" He exhaled, his expression smoothing back into unreadable calm. "Then his death must wait. But it will come. Sooner or later, because in the blood Mist sect all debts are collected."
He lifted a cup of wine, blowing across its surface as though dispersing the memory of his fleeting rage as he was in a happy mood which was rare.
This was Lord Cang Yue, the one the world recognized as the Devilish Monarch or Evil doer as some preferred to call him.
Though he looked no older than a blooming scholar, he had lived more than three hundred thousand years which we achieved by human furnace usage and life force absorption techniques which was highly frowned upon.
Every corner of the continent bore the stain of some plot, massacre, or war he had orchestrated.