Zhao Feng stood in the Grand Martial Hall, bathed in incense smoke and praise.
Elders applauded his latest cultivation breakthrough—Qi Sea Realm, Third Stage—a feat he conveniently achieved a week after Ye Tian was cast down.
Applause. Smiles. Deference.
Exactly what he always wanted.
Exactly what Ye Tian used to have.
He bowed respectfully before Elder Mo, the Sect Master's brother and his new patron.
"With talent like yours, Zhao Feng, it's only a matter of time before the sect names you heir," Elder Mo said.
Zhao Feng smiled. Perfectly. Politely.
But inside?
Tightness.
A hollow ringing in his ears he hadn't been able to shake since last night.
"I think Ye Tian's alive…""A man with red eyes… like fire…"
He had overheard the outer sect fools talking near the herb garden. At first, he laughed.
But then came the silence.
The cold silence.
The kind Ye Tian used to carry behind his calm expression—the kind that didn't shout threats… but made you feel them coming.
That night, Zhao Feng meditated. Tried to reassure himself. Logical, composed.
"He fell into the Abyss. Even if he survived the drop, he had no qi. No body. Nothing. It's impossible."
But…
What if it wasn't?
He snapped his fan shut with a sharp crack, turning to his personal guard.
"Send someone to the Abyssal Ravine. I want… confirmation."
The guard hesitated. "With respect, Young Master Zhao… no one who's gone in there has ever—"
Zhao Feng's eyes narrowed. "Then send someone you don't mind losing."
Later that night…
Zhao Feng sat alone in the Moonlight Pavilion, sipping chilled spirit wine. The city lights shimmered below.
And yet, he felt no comfort.
He stared at the sword hanging across the room—Ye Tian's old blade, the one he'd "confiscated" during the trial.
It hadn't responded to him.
It didn't recognize him.
Worse… it had grown cold.
He rose and approached it. Touched the hilt.
Ice shot up his fingers.
Suddenly, the wine glass in his hand shattered.
A drop of blood ran down his palm.
The wind howled through the open balcony. No doors had moved. No one was near.
And yet… he felt watched.
He turned slowly.
No one there.
But in the polished mirror, for just a second…
He saw a figure behind him.
Black hair. Tattered robes. Crimson eyes burning like judgment.
Ye Tian.
Zhao Feng spun, heart hammering.
The room was empty.
But the chill in the air remained.
"He's dead," Zhao Feng whispered."He's dead."
But in his heart…
He wasn't so sure anymore.