The safehold stank of damp stone, scorched oil, and blood that had not been scrubbed clean. We had survived the assassins. Barely. My wolves slept fitfully — Wei Lan clutching her gourd like a lover, Qiao Han grinding his teeth in half-dreams, Shen Yu muttering names as his brush scratched even in sleep.
I could not rest.
The dagger that had struck my wall still weighed in my thoughts. Not its steel, but the petal tied to it — proof that the Lotus saw me as both pawn and blade, leash and beast.
So when footsteps approached, I was already awake. Silent Reed entered with no more sound than the shifting of shadows, his eyes glinting in the candle's low light. He did not sit. He rarely did.
"You live," he murmured. "Good. The Lotus does not waste pieces lightly. Though…" His gaze drifted toward the sleeping forms of my wolves. "…pieces break all the time."
I said nothing. Silence was safer than agreeing, safer than denying.
Reed studied me a long moment, then drew a thin parchment from his sleeve. He unrolled it carefully, the wax seal cracking like a bone.
"News," he said. "The storm is no longer a whisper. It will break upon us soon. You must understand the board you play on, or you will be swept away."
He laid the parchment before me. Upon it were thirteen ink sigils, each more intricate than the last.
"The Thirteen Sects," Reed said softly. "Each led by a captain who commands more blades than your cell has fingers. They have been sharpening their knives in silence, but now? War. Their captains prepare to carve the world."
He tapped the first sigil — a jagged line shaped like a sword's edge.
* * * * * * * * *
The Sword Saint's Sect – Captain Jian Yuehai
"They call him the Sword Saint's shadow," Reed whispered. "A man who can cut falling snow into identical halves. His sect worships the blade as scripture. Each disciple is a fanatic, each stroke a sermon. Yuehai himself is said to have never drawn and failed — once his blade clears the sheath, blood will follow."
* * * * * * * * *
He moved to the next sigil, a curling flame.
The Crimson Flame Sect – Captain Huo Baizhan
"Baizhan bathes in fire. They say his body drinks heat, his palms sear steel. His sect's technique burns cities, their war banners leave nothing but ash. He is loud, brash, but the flames obey him as a hound does its master."
* * * * * * * * *
The third sigil, inked with dripping strokes.
The Venom Veins Sect – Captain Lady Ming Zhao
"A woman who has kissed every poison known to man, and lived. Her veins run with toxins. She drinks venom as wine. Her sect thrives on plague and powders, feared in every corner. They say even her breath is lethal if she wills it."
Wei Lan would worship her, I thought grimly.
* * * * * * * * *
The fourth sigil, carved with jagged lines like claws.
The Beast Taming Sect – Captain Wu Goryeong
"A savage from the southern jungles," Reed said. "He commands packs of tigers, snakes, vultures. Men obey him less loyally than beasts. His sect fights like a stampede — wild, unstoppable, crushing everything beneath claw and fang."
* * * * * * * * *
The fifth, a calm wave of ink.
The Flowing Cloud Sect – Captain Li Shenshu
"Scholar turned killer. They move like water, strike like rain. Their captain is said to duel with both ink brush and sword, each stroke identical. His disciples drift through battle, uncatchable, like clouds never seized by hand."
* * * * * * * * *
The sixth, a coiled chain.
The Iron Chain Sect – Captain Duan Heng
"Once a slave, now a master. He drags chains heavier than oxen, and wields them as whips. His sect believes in binding — not killing, but breaking spirit and bone. Men who survive their prisons never rise again."
* * * * * * * * *
The seventh, an eye painted black.
The Shadow Watchers Sect – Captain Hei Zhao
"Eyes everywhere," Reed murmured. "Whispers everywhere. They are assassins, spies, record-keepers. Their captain sees through walls, they say, through lies, through masks. No secret stays secret long beneath his gaze."
Shen Yu twitched in his sleep at those words, though he could not have heard them.
* * * * * * * * *
The eighth, a mountain peak.
The Iron Monks Sect – Captain Abbot Yuan Tong
"Bald giants who eat nothing but millet and stone. Their captain's skin turns blades, their fists split walls. They chant while they kill, and believe every drop of blood spilled brings them closer to enlightenment."
* * * * * * * * *
The ninth, a single sharp fang.
The Ghost Fang Sect – Captain Bai Lin
"Silent killers. Wolves on two legs. They move only at night, strike only once, but that strike is death. Their captain is said to chew raw steel until it snaps between his teeth."
* * * * * * * * *
The tenth, a broken sword.
The Fallen Steel Sect – Captain Zhang Ruifen
"Exiles and cripples. Once great warriors, now broken. But their captain teaches them to turn weakness into strength. Missing an arm? They fight twice as hard with the other. Broken leg? They crawl faster than most men run. Their creed: what does not kill me becomes the blade I sharpen."
* * * * * * * * *
The eleventh, a lotus blossom inked black.
The Lotus Society – Captain Silent Reed
My eyes flicked up. Reed's smile was thin.
"Yes. Even we count among the thirteen. You already know my face. But the other captains think of me as they think of the snake in the grass. Dangerous, yes — but never trusted."
* * * * * * * * *
The twelfth, a rising sun.
The Heaven's Radiance Sect – Captain Sun Kai
"Arrogant beyond words. They claim their techniques are heaven's will made flesh. Blinding light, radiant swords. Their captain fights as though the gods themselves lend him fire. His followers believe themselves untouchable."
* * * * * * * * *
The thirteenth, a coiled dragon.
The Black Dragon Sect – Captain Zhou Tianshu
"The oldest. The fiercest. Their captain is said to have drunk dragon blood and survived. His strikes crush stone, his roars shatter courage. His sect claims dominion over murim itself, and they mean to prove it in the coming war."
* * * * * * * * *
The parchment lay heavy between us, each sigil a shadow more suffocating than the last. Reed rolled it back, sliding it into his sleeve.
"Thirteen captains," he said. "Thirteen storms. And you, Lin Xuan, are but one fragile branch. If you do not grow teeth and roots, the first wind will snap you."
He stepped close, so close I smelled the faint musk of his robes. His whisper slid against my ear.
"Your body is weak. Scholar's flesh. Average at best. Against the coming tide, it will break. You weave clever webs, yes — but cleverness cannot block a sword."
He stepped back into the shadows.
"You have seen the board. Now decide. Will you remain spider? Or forge yourself into something more?"
Then he was gone, as if he had never stood there.
* * * * * * * * *
I sat long in the silence that followed. The candle burned low, wax dripping, shadows lengthening.
The names echoed in my skull — Jian Yuehai, Huo Baizhan, Ming Zhao, Wu Goryeong, Li Shenshu, Duan Heng, Hei Zhao, Yuan Tong, Bai Lin, Zhang Ruifen, Silent Reed, Sun Kai, Zhou Tianshu.
Thirteen storms.
And me.
My hands curled into fists. I was clever. Yes. I could twist greed, rage, loyalty, cowardice. I could weave leashes around wolves and call them mine. But when the storm broke, when sect armies marched, when captains carved mountains apart with their blades…
This flesh would not be enough.
It was time to forge my body.
A web is useless if the spider dies at the first drop of rain.
* * * * * * * * *
The night after Reed's warning, I stood alone in the courtyard behind the safehold. The moon hung high, silver bleeding across cracked stones and moss. My wolves slept inside. Even Shen Yu's scratching brush had gone silent.
Only I remained awake, staring at my hands.
Hands that once commanded battalions, carved generals apart, shattered sect halls. Hands that once bathed in blood until they no longer trembled.
Now they were… soft. The fingers thin, calluses faint. The strength within them equal to that of an average murim man — no more, no less. I flexed them, and the truth weighed heavy.
This vessel is fragile.
Reed was right. Cunning is a blade, yes, but a blade without an arm to swing it is nothing more than an ornament. The storm would not be swayed by words alone.
So I began.
* * * * * * * * *
The first morning, Qiao Han laughed at me.
"You? Training?" He smirked as I gripped a stone block, veins straining against arms not yet built for it. "Leader, you should leave strength to those born with it. A scholar cannot turn into a warrior overnight."
I ignored him. My back screamed as I lifted, sweat pouring, muscles quivering. I had trained once before — in another life, with a body already tempered. But this? This was rebuilding a broken house with bare hands.
"Mock if you wish," I told him, breath ragged. "But storms do not wait for strong men. They drown everyone."
His grin faltered, just a fraction. He said nothing more.
* * * * * * * * *
By the third day, blisters covered my palms. My breath rattled with every set of pushups, every squat until my knees screamed. My ribs ached as though knives had slid between them.
Wei Lan watched me with narrowed eyes. "Poison kills without sweat," she drawled, sipping at her gourd. "Why suffer like this?"
I met her gaze. "Because poison does not shield you when steel pierces your heart."
Her lips curled, but I saw the faintest flicker of unease.
* * * * * * * * *
By the seventh day, even Shen Yu began recording it. I caught him scratching notes about my "eccentric training," his brush whispering like a snake. I leaned close as he wrote, voice cold.
"Write it well, scribe. Write that Lin Xuan, the fragile scholar, is forging himself into iron. When your archivist masters read it, let them tremble at the thought of what I will become."
His hand shook. Ink smeared across the parchment.
The leash tightened.
* * * * * * * * *
But the truth was cruel.
I collapsed often. My body refused commands it once obeyed with ease. I vomited bile after running the length of the safehold walls. My vision swam when I tried holding stances past a minute.
Each night, I lay in the dark, chest heaving, muscles trembling, wondering if I had chosen folly.
But then I remembered their names. Jian Yuehai, Huo Baizhan, Ming Zhao… thirteen captains, thirteen storms. And I, a spider weaving webs in the mud.
No. I will not be washed away. I will forge this vessel, even if it breaks a thousand times.
* * * * * * * * *
The second week, I began striking practice.
Stones for fists. Buckets of water balanced on arms until my shoulders burned. Sandbags for kicks until skin split and blood soaked the cloth.
Qiao Han began watching more closely. Sometimes mocking, sometimes silent. One evening, when I split my knuckles open against stone, he spoke.
"You bleed like a child. But your eyes…" He paused. "…your eyes bleed like a wolf."
That was the first time he did not laugh.
* * * * * * * * *
The third week, I added endurance.
Holding stances until sweat pooled beneath me. Climbing the cliff beyond the river with fingers torn raw. Submerging in the icy current until lungs screamed for air.
Wei Lan shook her head. "You will kill yourself."
I smiled through cracked lips. "Better I kill myself forging strength, than let another kill me for lacking it."
Even she had no answer for that.
* * * * * * * * *
One night, Silent Reed appeared again. He found me drenched in sweat, body trembling from a hundredth strike against stone.
"You train as though chased by death," he murmured.
"I am," I said simply.
His gaze lingered. "Do you think flesh will save you against the thirteen? Against me?"
I straightened, breath ragged. "No. Flesh alone? Never. But flesh with cunning, with leash, with blade and web together? That will strangle storms."
Reed's lips curved in a faint, cold smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you will break before you reach that point."
"Then I break," I said. "And I rebuild stronger. Again. And again. Until even storms choke on me."
For once, Reed did not reply. He only watched, eyes glimmering, and then melted into the dark.
* * * * * * * * *
By the end of the month, my body had changed.
Not yet a captain's body, not yet steel — but no longer a scholar's. My strikes landed heavier. My stances lasted longer. My lungs burned slower.
I had carved the first foundation stone of armor around my fragile vessel.
The storm was still distant, but I felt it now — closer each day. The thirteen captains sharpening their blades, the sects preparing for war.
And me, Lin Xuan, spider and scholar reborn, weaving not only webs of cunning but also forging the vessel to endure them.
I gazed at my bloodied hands, calluses hardened, veins risen, and whispered to the night:
"Knives in the dark win battles. But storms… storms drown knives. So I will become storm, and spider both."
The leash tightened. But it was not around my neck anymore.
It was around theirs.