Secret Training in the Forest
The Nightfang wolf's corpse had rotted away, leaving only bleached bone under the dripping cedars. Shen Lian knelt beside it night after night, cross-legged, hands clasped over his chest.
The black lotus in his dantian had unfurled three petals now. Each burned with a different voice: Lu Chen's arrogance, the dagger-boy's fear, the wolf's predatory hunger.
He listened. He learned. He ordered them like unruly soldiers.
But control was fragile. When he pulled qi into himself, sometimes the voices drowned his thoughts. Sometimes his body moved as if guided by them instead of him.
One night, as he pressed his palm to the wolf's bones, trying to draw the last traces of qi, the voices surged louder.
Kill again.
Hunt. Tear. Drink.
More. More!
His vision blurred. For a heartbeat, Shen Lian wasn't himself — he was the wolf, crouched and snarling, staring at prey. He shook violently, slamming his fist into the earth.
"Enough!" he hissed, forcing the lotus to still.
But when he lifted his hand, the ground beneath had cracked like glass, blackened veins spreading outward like roots.
He stared, breath ragged. The power was intoxicating. Terrifying.
⸻
The Challenge
Word of his fight with Lu Chen and the others had spread. Whispers followed him wherever he walked: Demon… devourer… cursed.
And soon enough, someone decided to test him.
It happened at dusk, in the training grounds. An inner disciple named Zhao Kun—broad-shouldered, green sash, his family line favored by the sect—stepped into his path. A crowd gathered instantly.
"You've frightened enough of the weaklings," Zhao Kun sneered. "But today, you'll learn your place."
Shen Lian regarded him calmly. "My place?"
Zhao Kun's lips twisted. "On your knees."
Without warning, he struck—his palm glowing with venomous qi, a technique honed through years of cultivation. The air hissed, grass wilting where his qi passed.
Shen Lian's body moved instinctively. His hand rose, catching the strike. Qi tore free, rushing into him, feeding the lotus. Zhao Kun's eyes widened.
But this time, the lotus didn't stop.
It surged.
Whispers roared in Shen Lian's head—Lu Chen laughing, the wolf snarling, Zhao Kun's own fear bleeding through. His palm tightened, pulling harder. Zhao Kun's skin sagged, veins blackening, his mouth opening in a strangled scream.
"Stop!" voices from the crowd cried.
Shen Lian's own voice whispered inside him: Take him. Add his strength. One more petal.
For a moment, he wanted to. His hand trembled, qi flooding his veins, intoxicating, endless.
Then he saw Su Rou at the edge of the crowd, her eyes wide, her lips whispering silently: Remember yourself.
His jaw clenched. With a snarl, Shen Lian released Zhao Kun, shoving him back.
The inner disciple collapsed, gasping, alive but gray-faced, his qi half-emptied.
The crowd erupted in horrified murmurs. Some fled to report to elders. Others stared at Shen Lian as if he were already no longer human.
Shen Lian stood in the center, chest heaving, his hand trembling with the effort of restraint. His eyes glowed faintly, and for an instant, his shadow stretched unnaturally long, like petals unfurling.
⸻
An Unfamiliar Stranger
That night, Shen Lian slipped back into the forest to regain control. But he wasn't alone.
As he moved through the mist, a figure stepped out from behind a cedar. Robes of pale blue shimmered faintly under the moonlight, embroidered with sword patterns. A jade token gleamed at his waist—Azure Sky Pavilion.
The stranger's hand rested lightly on his sword. His expression was calm, too calm, but his eyes glinted like steel.
"You," the stranger said. "So it's true. A devourer walks among the Serpent Hall."
Shen Lian froze, muscles coiling. "And who are you to care?"
The swordsman smiled faintly. "Xiao Yichen. Core disciple of Azure Sky Pavilion. I came hunting a rumor… and found you."
Shen Lian's eyes narrowed. "Then you found trouble."
Yichen drew his blade in one smooth motion. Moonlight shimmered along its edge. "No. I found prey."
⸻
Clash in the Mist
The sword moved like lightning, cleaving mist in two. Shen Lian barely twisted aside, the blade grazing his sleeve.
The lotus inside him surged. He struck forward, black roots of qi crawling along his arm, reaching for the swordsman's body.
But Xiao Yichen's qi flared, burning bright and righteous. His sword cut the roots as though severing real vines. Sparks of qi scattered into the mist.
"Demonic art," Yichen spat, eyes cold. "You reek of corruption. Better to end you here."
Shen Lian's lips curled. "Try."
They clashed—sword against devouring palm, light against shadow. Each strike burned Shen Lian's veins, each counter drained Yichen's energy. For a moment, they were evenly matched.
But Shen Lian's body trembled. The lotus demanded he take more, open fully, devour the swordsman whole. His vision blurred, the whispers roaring.
One petal more. Take him. Do it.
His hand reached forward, qi surging—
But suddenly, Yichen stepped back, blade lowered. His eyes narrowed. "No. Not tonight. You are not yet ripe."
He sheathed his sword in one motion. "Grow, devourer. When you bloom, I will cut you down."
And then he vanished into the mist, leaving Shen Lian trembling, his body burning with hunger unfulfilled.
⸻
Cliffhanger
Shen Lian fell to his knees, clutching his chest. The lotus inside him pulsed, four petals now trembling on the edge of opening.
His breaths came ragged, his hand shaking with the urge to finish what the fight had started.
For the first time, he realized something terrifying.
The lotus didn't just want to devour others.
It wanted him too.
And if he wasn't careful… it would succeed.