The Azure Wind Peaks were quiet that night, the pines heavy with mist. The Pavilion slumbered, lanterns dimmed to faint glimmers. Feng Xieyun sat alone in the hidden chamber, his robe stained faintly with blood that even the talismans had failed to erase completely.
For hours, he had tried to meditate, to refine Qi through the Shadow Veins. Yet his mind refused stillness. Every time he closed his eyes, images surged—faces twisted in betrayal, voices he had thought buried forever.
"Yu… forgive me."
It was her voice. On Earth, she had once whispered those words—soft, trembling, yet laced with poison. His lover, smiling as she signed the papers that transferred everything he owned.
In his dream, the fire raged again, skyscrapers burning as his best friend's hand pressed him down into the inferno. The heat tore at his skin, the flames consumed his lungs. And through it all, he had trusted them—trusted the family that had laughed when he burned.
---
He woke gasping, sweat soaking his robe. The chamber was cold, but the memory of fire clung like smoke. His fingers trembled.
The System's voice rang in his mind:
> [Trauma Memory Sequence Detected.]
[Path of Vengeance Progression: +12%.]
[New Ability: Memory Echo.]
"What is this?" Xieyun whispered hoarsely.
> [Host can summon echoes of past pain into present battles. Memory may inflict fear upon weaker souls.]
He sat still for a long moment, letting the words settle. His pain, his betrayal, his death—no longer a scar. Now it was a weapon.
---
Yet not all echoes were his own.
As he steadied his breath, another voice seeped into his mind—not the System's, nor his memories, but something darker. It spoke in a tongue older than any language he had learned, yet his Shadow Veins translated it into meaning:
Blood feeds the root. Hatred sharpens the blade. Drink, little vessel… drink deeper.
Xieyun's chest clenched. He pressed a palm against the veins glowing faintly beneath his skin. "You… what are you?"
We are your marrow. We are your inheritance. You cannot silence what you were born to bear.
His vision blurred with crimson light, and for a moment, he stood not in the hidden chamber but upon the battlefield he had seen in fragments before—horned warriors clashing with cultivators, the moon above bleeding endlessly. Corpses littered the ground, their blood rushing into a great black tree that pulsed like a heart.
When he blinked, the vision was gone. But the whispers remained.
---
The next morning, he forced himself into routine.
Training fields bustled with disciples, wooden swords clashing, elders barking corrections. To them, he was still the "stone-faced weakling," his movements clumsy, his aura faint.
Yet he noticed things no one else did. A disciple's heart raced too quickly—he had stolen something and feared discovery. Another's hand trembled when holding her blade—she had killed a fellow student during the trial and buried the plaque.
Everywhere he looked, secrets bled through flesh. The Blood Sense whispered constantly, revealing truths others wanted buried.
And Xieyun wondered if this was power or curse.
---
It was during these quiet hours that an unexpected voice reached him.
"You don't belong among them."
Xieyun turned. Mei Yulan stood by the training posts, her hair tied in a simple knot, eyes sharp as blades. She had watched him often since the trial, though she pretended indifference.
"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.
She crossed her arms. "You hide your skill too well. No one stumbles the same way twice in perfect rhythm. Either you are a fool who imitates mistakes—or you are something else."
Her words struck deeper than any blade. For the first time in years, Xieyun felt his mask crack.
He forced a smile. "Perhaps I am simply unlucky."
Yulan studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Unlucky men don't return alive from the trial realm when Xu disciples don't." She turned away, her voice low. "Be careful. Storms swallow even those who think they command the wind."
---
That night, alone once more in the hidden chamber, Xieyun let her words echo within him.
He stared at his reflection in the cracked crystal dais, at eyes too sharp, too red beneath the lamplight.
The System whispered:
> [Warning: Emotional attachments may hinder Path of Vengeance.]
[Optional Directive: Sever ties early to prevent weakness.]
He closed his eyes, fists clenched. Could he sever them? Could he let go of the faint warmth Mei Yulan's words stirred, the fragile thread of human connection?
The whispers from the Shadow Veins laughed. You will not sever. You will consume. All bonds are meat. All hearts are fuel.
He opened his eyes, and for the first time, his own reflection smiled back at him.
A predator's smile.
---
By fourteen, Feng Xieyun was no longer a child haunted only by betrayal. He was a vessel of two legacies—one of Earth, forged in flames of greed, and one of the Demon Bone, forged in rivers of blood.
And though he still wore the mask of silence, each night the echoes of past and future twined closer, weaving him into something the Pavilion could neither control nor destroy.
The storm Elder Mo had spoken of was not coming.
It was already here.
---
✨ End of Chapter Eleven