The Qingyun Sect slumbered under a shroud of mist, its pavilions like silent sentinels in the predawn gloom. Li Wei moved through the fog, a shadow among shadows, his gray tunic blending with the haze. The cold intent pulsed within him, a steady rhythm born from the void's touch, sharpening his senses to a blade's edge. Every creak of bamboo, every distant birdcall, registered with unnatural clarity. His broom leaned against the shack, abandoned for the night. Tonight, he was no servant. Tonight, he would seize what the heavens denied.
The infirmary crouched at the sect's edge, a low structure of weathered stone, its windows dark. Elder Huo lay within, his qi fading like a guttering flame. Li Wei had scouted the place for days, slipping in as a water bearer, noting the guards' lax patrols. Righteousness bred complacency; the sect assumed no one would dare disturb a dying elder. Fools. Li Wei's plan was set nightshade to hasten Huo's end, runes to channel the death surge, a chant to force qi into his barren meridians. Failure meant death, either by backlash or the sect's lash. Success meant power. He cared only for the latter.
His hand grazed the vial in his sleeve, the nightshade tincture odourless and lethal. Another sleeve hid a scrap of bark, etched with ash, ink runes: circles for containment, jagged lines to direct the flow. The chant hummed in his mind, memorized from stolen scrolls: "Storm of the end, bind not the spirit, carve the path anew." The cold intent thrummed approval, a whisper from the void urging him forward. No fear clouded his thoughts, only purpose.
The infirmary's side door was unguarded, its lock a rusted formality. Li Wei slipped inside, footsteps silent on the stone floor. The air was heavy with the scent of medicinal herbs and decay. A single lantern flickered in the main hall, casting long shadows. Huo's room lay at the end, door ajar. Li Wei paused, ears straining. A guard's boots scuffed faintly outside, moving away. He glided forward, a ghost in the dark.
Elder Huo lay on a cot, skin pale as ash, breath rattling like dry leaves. His eyes, half open, stared at nothing. Qi leaked from his dantian, faint pulses Li Wei could sense even without cultivation, a side effect of the void's taint, perhaps. He knelt beside the cot, voice soft as silk. "Esteemed Elder, water to ease your rest."
Huo's lips twitched, a weak rasp escaping. "Boy… kind…" His trembling hand reached for the offered cup, laced with nightshade. He sipped, throat working slowly, then sank back, eyes fluttering shut.
Li Wei waited, pulse steady despite the stakes. The poison worked subtly, mimicking Huo's decline. Minutes passed, the elder's breathing slowing, qi flickering erratically. The moment neared. Li Wei traced the runes on his forearm, their faint glow visible only to his heightened senses. He placed a palm on Huo's chest, over the dantian, feeling the faint warmth of fading power. The chant began, low and rhythmic: "Storm of the end, bind not the spirit, carve the path anew."
Huo's body twitched, qi surging in a final, chaotic burst, a storm of yin and yang clashing as life ebbed. Li Wei's voice rose, steady, guiding the energy. The runes on his arm burned, not with pain but with purpose. The surge hit, a torrent of raw qi flooding from Huo's dantian into Li Wei's palm. His meridians, long dormant, screamed as the force tore through, etching channels where none existed. Pain lanced through him, bones grinding, blood pounding in his ears. He gritted his teeth, the cold intent anchoring him. Hold. Direct. Carve.
The surge peaked, then faded. Huo lay still, truly dead. Li Wei gasped, collapsing to his knees, sweat soaking his tunic. His body trembled, but within, something stirred, a faint pulse of qi, fragile but real, circulating through newly forged meridians. He clenched a fist, feeling the spark. It was his. Stolen, but his.
A sound, boots on stone. Li Wei snapped upright, the cold intent sharpening his focus. A guard, drawn by some instinct, approached the hall. Li Wei slipped the cup into his sleeve, smoothed his expression, and stepped into the shadows. The guard entered, lantern raised, eyes narrowing at Huo's still form. "Elder?" No response. He muttered, checking the body, then shrugged. "Old man's gone. Figures." He left to report, oblivious to Li Wei's presence.
Li Wei exhaled, slipping out the side door. The mist swallowed him, his heart racing not with fear but triumph. He'd done it. The heavens could choke on their fairness.
Back in his shack, he sat cross-legged, probing the new qi. It was weak, barely a trickle, but it flowed. He drew in ambient spiritual energy, testing the meridians. Each breath stung, the channels raw, but they held. The cold intent pulsed, darker now, laced with an aura of death. Killing Huo had deepened the taint, and with it, his awareness sharpened further. The world felt vivid, every crack in the bamboo, every whisper of wind, etched in stark detail.
Sleep eluded him. The void's echo lingered, a reminder of his deaths. How many times had he crossed that threshold? Four? A hundred? It didn't matter. Each plunge had stripped away hesitation, leaving only resolve. He would cultivate, grow stronger, and tear power from anyone who stood in his way.
Dawn broke, fog thicker than ever. Li Wei resumed his servant duties, broom in hand, face a mask of humility. But the courtyard felt different, smaller, less oppressive. Chen Xiu and Su Lan sparred nearby, their qi flashes trivial now. Li Wei's own spark, though faint, burned hotter. He swept silently, listening as Chen boasted of his upcoming breakthrough. "Third layer's mine, Junior Sister. The trials will kneel before me!"
Su Lan laughed, deflecting a strike. "Keep dreaming, Senior Brother. Your form's still sloppy."
Li Wei's lips twitched. Sloppy indeed. He could sense their qi flows now, crude and wasteful. The cold intent stirred, urging action, but he suppressed it. Patience. Huo's death would draw scrutiny soon. He needed to move carefully.
At noon, the sect buzzed with news. "Elder Huo passed in the night," a disciple whispered. "Natural, they say. His qi was failing." Li Wei ladled porridge in the servants' kitchen, head bowed, ears sharp. Wang Lao sat beside him, slurping. "Heard about Huo, Wei? Poor sod. Sect will forget him by tomorrow."
Li Wei nodded, voice meek. "A pity, Uncle. May his spirit find peace." Inwardly, he smirked. Peace? Huo's qi was his now, a stepping stone.
Afternoon brought a summons. Elder Mei, her face stern as carved jade, stood in the grand hall. "Servant Li Wei," she barked. "You delivered water to Elder Huo. Speak."
Li Wei knelt, forehead to the floor. "This lowly one served as instructed, Esteemed Elder. Elder Huo requested water, and I provided it, praying for his recovery." His voice was smooth, deferential, betraying nothing.
Mei's qi probed, a faint pressure testing his words. "Hmph. His death was expected. But the timing…" Her eyes lingered, sharp as daggers. "Return to your duties. Fail, and you'll regret it."
"Yes, Esteemed Elder." Li Wei rose, retreating. The cold intent kept his pulse steady, but he knew: suspicion lingered. He needed to act faster.
That night, in the library's shadowed alcove, he sought more scrolls. Arrays of the Final Breath detailed a technique to stabilize qi surges. He memorized it, fingers tracing forbidden runes. The cold intent hummed, darker, urging him to push further. Another death, another surge, stronger qi to solidify his foundation.
But as he closed the scroll, a presence loomed. Su Lan stood at the aisle's end, her gaze curious. "Servant, what's a water bearer doing among cultivation texts?"
Li Wei's heart skipped, but the cold intent steadied him. He bowed, smiling humbly. "Junior Sister, this lowly one was tasked with dusting. I lingered, awed by the sect's wisdom."
She tilted her head, unconvinced but amused. "Curiosity's dangerous for your kind. Stick to buckets." She turned away, robes swishing.
Li Wei exhaled, the scroll hidden beneath his tunic. Su Lan's words stung, but they fuelled him. Dangerous? You have no idea.
Days passed, Li Wei refining his qi in secret, each breath strengthening his fragile meridians. The taint grew, its deathly aura seeping into his thoughts. During a courtyard sweep, he tested it. Facing a sparring disciple, he let the aura slip, a faint, chilling pressure. The disciple faltered, eyes wide, then retreated, muttering about bad omens. Li Wei hid his satisfaction. The taint was a weapon, unpredictable and raw.
Rumours spread of Huo's death, some whispering of foul play. Li Wei kept his head low, but the sect's eyes tightened. He needed to leave. The Qingyun Sect, with its hollow righteousness, would crush him if they learned the truth. An evil sect, where power trumped morality, was his next step. The Black Lotus Clan, whispered of in servant gossip, thrived in the northern wastes. They'd welcome a talentless nobody if he proved his ruthlessness.
On the seventh night, Li Wei packed his Meager belongings: the vial, ash for runes, a stolen dagger. The cold intent surged, a promise of chaos. As he slipped into the fog, a scream shattered the silence, Huo's body had been examined, traces of nightshade found. The sect was waking.
Li Wei ran, the mist his ally, the void's whisper his guide. The Black Lotus awaited, and with it, his ascent.