The morning sun spread its pale light across the sect grounds, painting the stone paths in a muted gold. A faint chill lingered in the air, carried by a slow breeze that rustled the trees and tugged at the hems of passing disciples' robes. The Azure Sky Sect was awake, and its heart was already alive with motion. Voices rose and fell, some eager, others weary, while the metallic clang of training swords echoed faintly from the practice yards.
Xue Mo walked steadily along the path that wound toward the Mission Pavilion. His expression was calm and his pace unhurried. To others, he looked like just another outer disciple moving through the day's routine. Only the faint gleam in his eyes betrayed that his thoughts were elsewhere.
The body he now inhabited was weaker than what he was used to, yet he had no intention of staying idle. Every step he took here had to serve a purpose. Cultivation required resources, and in the Azure Sky Sect, resources were earned. For an outer disciple with little backing, that meant missions.
The Mission Pavilion stood near the eastern side of the outer sect grounds, a wide hall built of stone and dark timber. Its roof sloped upward with curling ridges, and a pair of carved stone beasts crouched on either side of the entrance, mouths open in silent roars. Disciples streamed in and out, most of them in the plain white robes of the outer sect. Some carried bundles of supplies or held slips of paper, while others left empty handed with frustration etched into their faces.
As Xue Mo approached, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Though he did not look directly at them, he felt their gazes. The original Lin Feng had left a certain reputation behind him. Reckless, impatient, desperate. His attempt to absorb beast blood had been the final mistake, and his peers had not forgotten.
"Is that Lin Feng? I thought he would be bedridden after what happened."
"He should have died. He wasted beast blood and nearly caused trouble for the sect."
"Why is he even here? He has one month left before expulsion."
The whispers reached his ears but drew no reaction. He neither slowed nor quickened his pace. His silence only deepened the onlookers' unease, as though the Lin Feng they remembered had been replaced by a stranger.
Inside the Mission Pavilion, the atmosphere shifted. The large hall was lined with wooden boards, each hung with slips of parchment detailing available tasks. Some bore red seals to indicate urgency, others blue for routine work. Disciples crowded around the boards, jostling to see the best assignments.
Behind a long counter, a pair of sect attendants in gray robes handled the constant flow of disciples. One recorded names in a thick ledger while the other issued jade tokens inscribed with mission details. The air smelled faintly of ink and sandalwood, undercut by the sharper tang of impatience from the waiting disciples.
Xue Mo moved toward the counter, his gaze sweeping the boards without pause. He was not interested in menial chores or low-risk errands. What he needed was a mission that offered enough contribution points to matter, yet not so dangerous that it would draw too much attention.
When it was his turn, the attendant glanced up at him with a flicker of recognition. The man's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, a subtle tightening around the eyes that hinted at disdain. Still, his voice remained formal.
"Name."
"Lin Feng."
The attendant's brush scratched across the ledger. "You have not yet completed your quarterly mission. You must take one before the deadline passes. There are several available. Hunting missions, supply escorts, herb gathering in the outer forest. Choose carefully."
He slid a thin stack of jade slips across the counter. Xue Mo picked one up and infused a thread of spiritual sense into it. Lines of writing flared across the surface.
Collect the cores of five Ironfang Wolves. Located in the outer forest. Reward: twenty contribution points and two Qi Gathering Pills.
His eyes narrowed slightly. Ironfang Wolves were dangerous in packs, but alone they were manageable. To an outer disciple at the fourth level of Qi Cultivation, the task would be daunting. But for him, it was an opportunity.
He returned the slip to the stack and selected another.
Harvest ten stalks of Moonshade Grass. Grows in shaded areas of the forest. Beware of toxic mists. Reward: fifteen contribution points.
Another slip read: Escort a supply cart to the inner sect storage. Potential ambush by bandits. Reward: thirty contribution points.
Xue Mo weighed the options in silence. The escort mission promised higher rewards but also carried too many uncertainties. Moonshade Grass required patience and luck. The wolf hunt, however, was direct and valuable. More importantly, it offered battle experience with beasts, something he would need to gauge the limits of this new body.
"This one," he said, sliding the Ironfang Wolf mission back to the attendant.
The man's lips thinned, as if suppressing a smirk. "Very well. You have three days to complete the task. Failure will be recorded."
A jade token was pushed toward him. Xue Mo took it, turning to leave without another word. Behind him, he heard faint laughter from a cluster of disciples who had been watching.
"He took the wolf hunt? He must be mad."
"With his cultivation? He will not last an hour."
"Better for us. One less failure crowding the sect."
The voices faded as he stepped outside. Sunlight washed over him again, and he slipped the jade token into his sleeve.
…
On his way back toward his cave dwelling, he stopped by the sect's supply outpost. The small building was less ornate than the pavilion, its purpose more practical. Rows of shelves held basic weapons and supplies, offered at set prices in contribution points. Outer disciples often gathered here before setting out on missions, some haggling for better blades, others pooling their points for shared gear.
A thin man behind the counter looked up when Xue Mo entered. His tone was indifferent. "Weapons, pills, rope, talismans. State what you need."
Xue Mo's eyes scanned the shelves. Swords of iron, sturdy but plain. Bows with quivers of arrows. Simple armor, more for show than real protection. He considered briefly. Lin Feng's body had possessed a sword, but it was dull and poorly maintained, barely suitable for combat.
He placed the old sword on the counter. "Sharpen this."
The man took it, examining the blade with a critical eye. "This is worn. Better to replace it."
"Sharpen it."
The attendant shrugged and set to work, grinding the edge against a whetstone until sparks flickered. The sound of metal against stone filled the air, rhythmic and steady. When he returned it, the edge gleamed faintly, though the sword was still a common one.
"Better. But do not expect miracles."
Xue Mo paid with a few of Lin Feng's remaining contribution points and left. Outside, the sect bustled with activity. Disciples hurried about, some preparing for missions of their own, others whispering in small groups. He noticed how their eyes slid toward him, then quickly away.
It did not matter. Their opinions were less than nothing. What mattered was strength, and strength would not be won in word.
By the time he returned to his cave, the sun had risen higher, the light stronger. He sat cross legged on the stone floor, placing the sharpened sword across his knees. His eyes closed, and he focused inward.
The Blood Deity Art stirred faintly within him, its presence like a quiet pulse beneath his consciousness. It had not vanished with his death. For reasons unknown, it had followed him here. The technique was unlike the others he had mastered in his former life, vast and profound, demanding blood as nourishment.
He exhaled slowly. The path ahead would require caution. Drawing too much attention would only breed enemies before he was ready. For now, he would move step by step, each one deliberate.
When the next morning came, he set out toward the outer forest.
…
The path to the forest wound past training grounds and down a gradual slope, where the air grew cooler and the trees denser. A checkpoint marked the entrance, manned by two inner sect disciples in darker robes. They checked jade tokens, recorded names, and warned against reckless behavior.
"Lin Feng," one of them said after glancing at his token. His brow rose slightly but he said no more, waving him through.
Beyond the checkpoint, the forest spread wide, its canopy filtering the sunlight into shifting green shadows. The air smelled of damp leaves and earth, carrying faint hints of wildness that could not be found within the sect's stone walls. Birds called from hidden branches, and somewhere deeper within, a beast growled low.
Xue Mo stepped forward, the sharpened sword in his hand. His gaze was steady, his breathing calm.
The forest awaited.