Starveil Sword Sect
Main Peak
In the meeting hall of the Starveil Sword Sect — the grand chamber where the most vital decisions of the sect were made — the air buzzed with conversation. Rows of elders filled the long hall, seated in two parallel lines that faced the throne-like seat at the front.
Upon that seat sat a man who looked no older than twenty-five. His black hair cascaded like a flowing river, his pupils shone faintly like distant stars, and his bearing was calm yet commanding.
This was Liang Xianyu, the sect master of the Starveil Sword Sect, and a powerhouse at the Nascent Soul realm.
The meeting had begun with routine matters. Elder Feng, a lean man with blonde hair and glasses — the finance elder — stood at the center, scrolls in hand.
"Cough, cough." He adjusted his glasses.
"I welcome all esteemed elders to this month's resource check. Let us begin with the list of newly acquired resources…"
He began to recite in a professional, steady tone, but before he could continue—
Scree—
The massive doors of the hall creaked open. A young disciple in patrol robes stumbled inside, his face pale, his breaths ragged.
"I— I apologize, elders!" he stammered, bowing low. "But… there is a mortal man climbing the main peak. He… he says he wishes to meet the Sect Master!"
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
The disciple's thoughts raced in panic. Shit, I should've kept my mouth shut! Why did I run all the way here? If I'd let him arrive on his own, I wouldn't be standing before these wolves now!
Elder Feng's brows furrowed in irritation.
"Hmph. It seems our training has been too lax. For a disciple to burst into a meeting unannounced… it is a slap in the face to all of us."
"I agree," said Elder Jian, a stern man whose sharp eyes gleamed like blades. His qi stirred faintly, pressing down on the trembling disciple.
Like a storm uncaged, pressure crashed down. The boy collapsed to the floor, his limbs refusing to move.
'Fuck, fuck, I'm dead. I'm so fucking dead!' his mind screamed.
"Enough."
The single word cut through the suffocating atmosphere like thunder. Instantly, the crushing pressure vanished.
The disciple's heart pounded as he gasped for breath. He didn't dare raise his head — he knew only one man could silence every elder in the room: the Sect Master himself.
"Thank you, Sect Master!" he said quickly, bowing lower.
Liang Xianyu's starry eyes remained calm.
"You said a mortal comes to meet me? Why is it no one has stopped him?"
The disciple gulped.
"W-we tried, Sect Master. But… he walked through every formation like they weren't even there. He didn't trigger a single one. It's like… he's a ghost."
"Oh?" Xianyu's lips curled into the faintest smile. "Now that is interesting. Let's see for ourselves."
With a wave of his hand, qi in the hall swirled and condensed into a massive screen of light. It revealed the middle path of the main peak.
There, a plain mortal man in an ash-colored shirt and simple pants walked leisurely, hands tucked in his pockets, humming faintly to himself as though strolling through a marketplace.
The elders gawked.
"You're telling me," Elder Feng snapped at the disciple, "that none of you could stop this mortal with a few simple tricks?"
"Look again, Feng," Elder Jian said sharply, his gaze narrowing. "Not with mortal eyes. With your spirit sense."
Elder Feng frowned, extending his perception. But what he sensed made his throat go dry.
"His body… it's too perfect. Not by appearance, but by state. No blemishes, no old injuries, no hidden flaws. Even the greatest of geniuses have scars left from childhood before cultivation tempered them. But this man… he has none. It's unnatural."
A murmur spread across the hall.
A female elder leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "His hair, his skin, even his breath… all too clean, too new. I've seen constructs with less symmetry. Could it be—"
"A puppet," Elder Feng finished grimly.
The word hung in the air like poison. Puppets crafted by high-level cultivators could imitate humans almost perfectly. But this man… this was different.
"No," Sect Master Liang Xianyu spoke at last. His deep voice silenced the hall. "He is alive. Not construct, not illusion. But his essence… is too clean. Too free of chains."
The elders stiffened, exchanging wary looks. What they were seeing wasn't just odd — it was terrifying.
And yet, they could not look away.
Meanwhile, John strolled casually up the peak. The grassy fields, dotted with vibrant flowers and elegant pavilions, were undeniably beautiful. He noted how every structure seemed positioned with deliberate precision, clearly part of a vast formation.
The qi in the air was thick, nourishing, nearly intoxicating. But John's gaze was fixed on the massive building at the center, where all qi seemed to converge.
He chuckled softly to himself.
"I can already see they're waiting. No need to keep them waiting."
Step by step, he approached the grand doors.
Boom—!
Without him even touching them, the massive doors swung wide open.
With hands still in his pockets and a faint smile playing on his lips, John walked straight down the center aisle of the hall. The elders on either side stiffened, their sharp gazes tracking him like drawn blades.
Yet he seemed utterly unfazed.
He came to a stop before the throne, looking up at the black-haired sect master who watched him with equal calm. The hall was silent, the tension heavy enough to break stone.
John grinned.
"Hey," he said casually. "Can you make me an elder?"
In that moment, not a single elder in the hall smiled.
Only two men did — one with eyes like stars, and one with hands in his pockets.