Silence.
That was what greeted Yan Zhi as he stepped out of his cultivation chamber that morning.
No birdsong. No chirping insects. Not even the wind dared to stir through the sect's courtyards.
He stood in the center of the stone training grounds, where the clamor of disciples usually filled the air. Today… everything felt wrong. There were still disciples there, moving through their formations, but something made the hair on his neck stand on end.
Their movements were too precise. Too perfect. Like puppets forced to repeat a lifeless dance.
Yan Zhi walked forward slowly, eyes sweeping across the courtyard. Every building seemed to be watching him. Not with eyes, but with their shadows. The walls stretched longer than they should, hiding something beneath their stone skins.
He stopped when he saw a young boy crouched on the ground. The boy—no older than twelve—was scratching something into the dust with his finger.
That symbol. Branching lines, like cracks spreading through glass… exactly like the one Yan Zhi had seen in the ritual chamber days ago.
"Hey, what are you drawing?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.
The boy flinched and looked up at him with empty eyes. Then, glancing back at the ground—
The symbol was gone. As if it had never been there.
"I… don't know," the boy whispered, before bolting away.
Yan Zhi stared at the blank ground for a long moment, lips tightening. This has gone too far.
---
He sought answers from those he once trusted.
"Senior Li," he called out, spotting one of the older disciples he used to train with.
The man turned, but his gaze was hollow. "Our sect is safe. Nothing is wrong. Our sect is safe."
Yan Zhi froze. "What?"
"Our sect is safe. Nothing is wrong. Our sect is safe."
The same words. The same tone. No matter what Yan Zhi asked, the man only repeated that phrase… until he turned away and walked off, leaving Yan Zhi standing there with a growing sickness in his gut.
He hurried to the elder's pavilion.
---
Elder He was there, the man who had once shielded him when he first joined the sect. Relief washed over Yan Zhi at the sight of him.
"Elder He," he said quickly. "Something's wrong with the sect. The disciples—"
"—You've seen something?" Elder He interrupted, voice too soft.
Yan Zhi faltered.
The elder lifted his head and stared at him. Too long. Too deep. And there, within those aged pupils, Yan Zhi saw it—a hairline crack.
The elder's shadow on the floor… moved. Even though his body hadn't shifted an inch.
"If you think something is wrong…" Elder He finally said, a thin smile spreading across his lips, "…perhaps you are what's wrong, Yan Zhi."
Yan Zhi took a step back. Something screamed inside his skull. He wanted to shout, but his voice died in his throat.
---
That night, he sat in his chamber, trying to steady himself. But the whispers returned. Louder this time. Using the voices of those he knew.
"Trust me, Yan Zhi…"
"They're all dead…"
"Let me protect you…"
He clamped his hands over his ears, but the voices weren't coming from outside. They were blooming inside his mind.
Am I losing my sanity? he thought. Or… am I the only sane one left?
When he opened his eyes, his heart froze.
Across the room sat himself.
A perfect copy of him, meditating with closed eyes. As Yan Zhi staggered toward it, the figure slowly dissolved, melting into the shadow on the floor.
He collapsed to his knees, breath ragged.
---
The next day, a young disciple ran up to him in the corridor. A boy he had once saved during the sect's entrance trial.
"Yan Zhi!" the boy whispered urgently. "I know you're right. There's something wrong with this sect. Come with me, quick!"
Without hesitation, Yan Zhi followed. Through corridor after corridor, deeper and darker, until they entered an empty hall.
"Here? What are we—"
The boy turned. His smile was too wide. His eyes—entirely black.
"You've arrived," he said, but his voice… layered, as though countless voices spoke through him. "We have been waiting."
The hall's shadows stretched and slithered, encircling Yan Zhi.
All the doors slammed shut at once.
---
He escaped. Somehow. He didn't know how—only that his shadow technique had saved him once again.
But when he emerged into the open, the world seemed… normal. Disciples trained. Elders lectured. The wind rustled softly through the trees.
Yet Yan Zhi knew.
In every shadow he saw, there were eyes. Watching. Waiting.
"They haven't just poisoned the sect… they've turned the entire outside world into a mask."
---