The seasons turned upon the Azure Wind Peaks, painting the Pavilion's pine groves first with the silver of winter and then the jade of spring. Disciples trained year-round, their chants and sword cries echoing like waves against stone cliffs. In the outer courtyards, boys became men and girls became women, each trying to carve a path toward greatness.
Feng Xieyun, though newly recognized, still wore the mask of frailty. His blade work remained hesitant in public, his Qi circulation "flawed." Some laughed, others pitied, but none looked twice. To them, he was only a boy fortunate enough to catch Elder Mo's interest.
Only in solitude did the truth unfold.
Deep beneath the Pavilion grounds, Xieyun had discovered a forgotten chamber carved into the mountain's roots. Its entrance was hidden behind collapsed stone, sealed from disciples' eyes for decades. He had found it not by chance, but by the System's guidance.
> [New Sub-Quest Unlocked: Hidden Chamber of the Exiled.]
[Reward: Shadow Veins Refinement Method.]
The chamber reeked faintly of incense, long extinguished. Ancient talismans lay cracked on the ground, and faint murals adorned the walls—depicting warriors with twisted horns and crimson halos kneeling before a burning star.
In the chamber's center rested a stone dais. Upon it, carved into the rock, were veins of dark crystal that pulsed faintly with residual Qi.
"Shadow Veins Refinement…" Xieyun whispered, reading the System's prompt.
When he pressed his palm upon the crystal, the energy surged into him, cold as winter rain and sharp as knives. It coursed through his meridians, threatening to tear them apart. Yet the Dao Bone within his chest drank deeply, stabilizing the flood.
The System purred.
> [Shadow Veins Integration: 12%...]
[Soul Strength increased.]
For the first time since arriving in this world, Xieyun felt truly dangerous. The Mask of Thousand Faces let him hide his surface strength, but the Shadow Veins carved invisible circuits through his body—veins that enhanced demonic cultivation without leaving a trace.
But every blessing came with a curse.
The more Qi he absorbed from the veins, the more he felt whispers echoing in his mind. They were faint, like voices carried on a distant wind. Sometimes cries of war, sometimes laughter too cruel to be human.
He clenched his fists. "Not now. Not yet."
---
The next morning, during training, he hid his growing strength as always. Yet even while stumbling with his sword, his senses sharpened. He could hear the blood rushing in his sparring partner's veins, smell the faint anxiety hidden under sweat.
It was intoxicating.
At the edge of the field, Elder Mo watched. His eyes lingered not on Xieyun's blade but on the rhythm of his breath. The boy exhaled too slowly, too deliberately—like someone suppressing a fire.
Mo said nothing, but later that evening, when the disciples filed into the dining hall, Xieyun found the elder waiting near the doorway.
"You walk two paths," Mo said quietly. "One of silk and one of knives."
Xieyun bowed, lowering his eyes. "I do not understand, Elder."
Mo smiled faintly, but his gaze was too sharp to match. "You will. Storms cannot hide forever."
---
Life in the Pavilion continued, but Xieyun's world grew stranger.
One day, while practicing in the mountain groves, he crossed paths with another disciple: Mei Yulan, a girl of the outer sect known for her grace in movement arts. She was not from a grand clan, nor blessed with talent. But she had a sharpness in her gaze, the look of someone who had seen hunger before wealth.
"You're the quiet one," she said when she caught him watching her footwork.
"I listen better than I speak," he answered, mask intact.
Yulan tilted her head. "Then listen closely: those who look too weak are eaten first."
She left before he could reply, but her words lingered. For the first time, Xieyun wondered if someone saw through him—not his cultivation, but his act.
---
That night, as he meditated within the hidden chamber, the whispers from the Shadow Veins grew louder. His vision blurred, showing him a crimson battlefield where horned figures clashed with armored cultivators beneath a burning moon.
The System's voice rang sharply:
> [Warning: Shadow Veins are fragments of an ancient war. User may inherit echoes of memory.]
Xieyun gasped, sweat dampening his robe. Ancient war…?
He remembered Elder Mo's words. He remembered the jade tablet. The Pavilion was no mere sect—it was tied to the Demon God World in ways hidden from its disciples.
And now those threads tangled within his own veins.
"System," he whispered, voice low. "Tell me the truth. What am I becoming?"
The reply was neither comforting nor kind:
> [Host is no longer mortal. Host is a vessel. Classification: Inheritor of the Crimson Veins.]
---
At thirteen, Feng Xieyun had grown beyond the boy of fragile smiles and clumsy swordplay. Beneath his quiet mask, veins of shadow pulsed with demonic resonance, connecting him to a past sealed away by blood and fire.
And in the distance, on the far side of the Pavilion's walls, emissaries of the Xu Clan plotted vengeance for Xu Liang's disappearance.
The storm Elder Mo had warned of was coming.
And Feng Xieyun, though cloaked in silence, was already sharpening his blade within.