The morning after the oath, the valley was cloaked in a mist that glowed faintly gold with the rising sun. Dew clung to every leaf, and the river carried its ceaseless song down the mountain. For a moment, Yun Valley seemed untouched by death or shadow yet every villager who looked upon the ridge felt the difference.
There were not nine men standing there anymore. There were ten.
Chen Feng stood shoulder to shoulder with his Brothers, his sword sheathed at his side. Though his limbs ached from the weeks of brutal training, he held his back straight, refusing to bend. The memory of his mother's grave still weighed upon him, but today the air felt different. Lighter, yet sharper, as if the world itself waited to see what the Ten would do next.
Li Heng raised his gaze to the horizon, where mountains rolled like endless waves. His voice was calm but carried command. "Brothers. Our time in Yun Valley ends today. The world burns beyond these peaks. We can no longer wait for the fire to reach us we must walk into it."
Guo Tian cracked his knuckles, the sound like breaking stones. "About time. I'm tired of punching shadows in a mountain."
Zhou Ke smirked, tugging at the scarf around his neck. "Don't worry, old bear. In the world beyond, there'll be plenty of fools lining up to have their purses stolen… and their skulls cracked."
Wu Zhen struck the ground lightly with his staff. His eyes, serene yet sad, swept over them. "We walk not for glory, nor for blood. We walk for balance. The Crimson Lotus Sect seeks to unmake it. Our path is Heaven's will, though we must not mistake vengeance for virtue."
Chen Feng's throat tightened. His mother's words echoed in him once more: Not revenge. The truth. Find your path.
Luo Yan, silent until now, adjusted the blade at his hip. His voice was cold and final. "Balance or vengeance either way, the Lotus must bleed. Their shadow stretches farther every day. Delay is death."
Li Heng gave a curt nod. "Then it is agreed. We leave Yun Valley before the sun sets."
The villagers wept as they departed. Though the Brothers had never claimed to rule or protect the valley, their presence had been a shield, unseen but deeply felt. Farmers pressed bundles of rice into their hands, mothers bowed low, children followed until their parents dragged them back.
Chen Feng lingered at the grave one last time. He placed a single white blossom upon the stone, its petals trembling in the wind.
"Mother," he whispered, his voice low but steady. "I am leaving. But I will carry you with me. I will not let them erase your name."
He bowed three times, then rose, his eyes burning with unspoken fire.
When he turned, his Brothers were waiting. Together, the Ten Martial Brothers left Yun Valley, their figures vanishing into the folds of the mountains.
The road was harsh, winding through forests that whispered of beasts and men alike. By day, they marched in silence or traded stories. By night, they made camp, firelight casting long shadows across their weapons.
Chen Feng absorbed everything.
From Guo Tian, he learned to strike stone until his fists hardened. From Feng Wuyue, he learned to string a bow and breathe with the wind. From Zhou Ke, he learned the tricks of watching without being seen, listening without being noticed. Even Luo Yan, though cold, corrected his sword grip with silent gestures.
Each lesson was pain, but Chen Feng welcomed it. His body bore bruises and cuts, but with each wound he felt his weakness burn away.
Still, doubt gnawed at him in quiet hours. When the campfire dimmed, and the others' snores rumbled, he remembered his dream beneath the red moon. The throne of stone. The voice of fire that called him vessel.
Was he walking his own path or one carved by a fate he could not refuse?
Their first destination lay to the east: the borderlands of the Zhao Kingdom, where rumors told of Lotus raiders seizing villages. The journey took weeks, the land shifting from misted peaks to rolling fields scarred by old battles. Abandoned watchtowers dotted the hills, and travelers carried fear in their eyes.
It was near the village of Hanxi that they first tasted the world's chaos.
Smoke rose in the distance, thick and black. The Brothers rushed forward, weapons ready.
Hanxi was aflame. Homes burned, livestock scattered, and corpses lay in the dirt. Crimson robed figures stalked the streets, their blades dripping.
The Lotus had struck again.
Li Heng's voice was iron. "Form ranks. Leave none standing."
The Brothers charged.
Guo Tian tore through raiders with fists like boulders. Wu Zhen's staff whirled, scattering foes like reeds in a storm. Liu Jian's spear glittered, sweeping wide arcs that drove men back. Zhou Ke slipped into shadow, emerging only when his dagger found a throat.
Chen Feng followed, his sword trembling in his hand. He faced a raider twice his size, the man's eyes glowing faintly red. Fear spiked through Chen Feng but he remembered his mother's blood upon the floor, her last words. He raised his blade and met the man's strike.
Steel rang. His arm shook, his knees nearly buckled. But he did not fall.
The raider snarled, swinging again. This time Chen Feng sidestepped a move drilled into him by Luo Yan and drove his sword into the man's side. Blood sprayed. The man collapsed.
Chen Feng stared at his blade, his breath ragged. His first kill.
He wanted to vomit, but the fire inside him burned stronger. He shouted and plunged into the fray again.
The battle raged until dusk. The Lotus raiders fought like demons, their movements fueled by unnatural rage. But against the Ten Brothers, they crumbled. When the last of them fell, silence returned, broken only by the crackle of burning homes.
Villagers crept from hiding, their faces pale. They bowed low, tears streaming. "Thank you… thank you…"
But the Brothers' faces were grim. The fires had claimed too much, and the stench of blood lingered.
Chen Feng stood among the dead, his sword still wet. He looked at his Brothers. None praised him. None comforted him. They only cleaned their weapons and tended to the wounded.
Li Heng approached, his expression unreadable. "Your first kill."
Chen Feng swallowed, nodding. "Yes."
"Do you regret it?"
Chen Feng hesitated. The raider's face haunted him. But then he remembered his mother's final breath, her whispered plea. His voice was hoarse. "No."
Li Heng studied him a moment longer, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Good. Hold to that strength. But do not lose yourself. That is the line between man and monster."
That night, as the Brothers buried the villagers' dead and helped rebuild what homes they could, Chen Feng sat alone, staring at the red-streaked sky.
The world was burning. Just as the red moon had promised.
And for the first time, he felt not only grief, not only rage, but purpose.
He was no longer a boy hiding behind his mother's shadow. He was the Tenth Brother. The fire that would either save this broken land or consume it.
The fires of Hanxi burned for two nights. Even with every hand in the village carrying water and throwing sand, whole rows of houses were reduced to ash. The stench of smoke clung to the Brothers' cloaks as they worked alongside farmers, children, and widows, dragging beams from wreckage, pulling bodies from rubble.
Chen Feng's hands blistered, but he did not stop. The sword at his waist was heavy, but the buckets he carried felt heavier. Each charred beam reminded him of his mother's home, now gone forever.
At first the villagers shied away from him, whispering of the boy who had fought like a demon beside the Nine. But when they saw his sweat, his bloodied palms, his silent labor beside them, the whispers changed. Children began to follow him, tugging his sleeves, asking if he was truly the "youngest brother of the ten heroes."
He did not know what to say. He only nodded, his throat tight.
On the third night, they held a memorial.
Wu Zhen led the rites, his chants rising above the murmurs of mourning. Lamps were floated down the river, each carrying the name of one lost. The flames drifted slowly into the darkness, hundreds of tiny stars swallowed by the night.
Chen Feng lit one with trembling hands. He wrote only a single word upon the lantern: Mother.
As he set it upon the water, he whispered, "Forgive me. I could not protect you. But I will protect them."
The lantern floated away, joining the others. Tears blurred his sight, but his jaw remained firm.
Later, when the villagers slept, the Brothers gathered in the ruined council hall.
"The Lotus did not strike blindly," Luo Yan said, his tone sharp as his blade. He spread a scrap of crimson cloth upon the table a piece torn from one of the assassins' robes. Upon it was painted a sigil: a lotus in bloom, its petals dripping with blood.
"They are spreading these symbols everywhere," he continued. "Fear is their weapon as much as the sword."
Zhou Ke leaned back, arms crossed. "So what? They burn villages, spread rumors, frighten peasants every bandit troupe does the same."
"No." Li Heng's voice cut through the room. "This is not banditry. These raids are too precise, too widespread. Always on border villages. Always where the kingdom's patrols are weakest."
Wu Zhen nodded. "They are seeding chaos. Turn people against their lords, weaken the land, until rebellion grows like rot."
"And then," Zhao Ming added, adjusting his spectacles, "they strike when the kingdom is at its weakest. That is how a sect becomes an empire."
Silence hung. The weight of it pressed on them all.
Finally, Guo Tian slammed a fist on the table, splintering wood. "Then we cut their roots now. Before they spread further."
Li Heng's gaze turned to Chen Feng, who sat listening, fists clenched. "The boy must see this for what it is. Not revenge. Not blood for blood. This is war. And war requires patience."
Chen Feng's chest burned. He remembered the raider's face, his mother's blood, the voice from his dream. He wanted to shout, Then let me fight now! Let me kill them all!
But he swallowed the fire. His mother's words whispered back: Find your path. Not revenge.
So he said only, "Then teach me faster. So I can stand beside you when the time comes."
The Brothers exchanged glances. At last, Li Heng gave a small nod.
The next days were filled with training sharper than before.
At dawn, Chen Feng sparred against Luo Yan, whose blade seemed to come from nowhere, every strike punishing his hesitation. By midmorning, he was running the hills with Feng Wuyue, lungs burning as he chased arrows loosed into the sky. At midday, Guo Tian forced him to strike stone until his knuckles split, while Shen Kuan's bitter brews kept him from collapsing.
By night, Zhou Ke made him creep silently through the village, testing if he could steal from under guards' noses. Once caught, Zhou would laugh, cuff him, and make him try again.
And through it all, Wu Zhen's chants taught him to steady his spirit, to let grief be fuel, not chain.
The boy's body ached, but his fire grew steadier. His brothers no longer treated him as the child they had once sheltered. He was one of them now.
Yet shadows deepened.
One evening, as Chen Feng fetched water from the river, he noticed a lantern drifting back upstream. Impossible the current ran only one way.
He stepped closer. The lantern was painted black, its flame blood-red. Upon its side was the lotus sigil.
His blood chilled.
"Brothers!" he shouted.
The Ten gathered at the riverbank, watching as more lanterns appeared, drifting against the current. Dozens. Then hundreds.
Wu Zhen's face hardened. "An omen. The Lotus mocks the dead."
But Luo Yan knelt, dipping his fingers in the water. He brought them to his nose, sniffed, then spat. "Poison. Slow, subtle. They taint the river itself."
Zhao Ming paled. "This stream feeds half the villages of the borderlands."
Li Heng's hand gripped his sword. "They aim not just for fear. They aim for famine, for plague. The war begins sooner than we thought."
Chen Feng's heart pounded. The Crimson Lotus were everywhere, their reach beyond even what he had feared.
He clenched his fists, whispering, "Then I will grow stronger, no matter what it takes."
That night, he dreamt again.
The red moon loomed above a battlefield. He stood ankle-deep in blood, corpses stretching as far as the eye could see. The throne of black stone rose again, higher this time, as if fed by the dead.
The shadowed figure upon it leaned forward. Its voice burned in his marrow.
You cannot escape me, vessel. The fire within you is mine. The more you fight, the stronger I grow. When you stand at the height of your strength, you will deliver the world into my hands.
Chen Feng shouted, "No! I fight for my brothers, for my mother's will, not for you!"
The figure laughed, a sound like crackling flame. Then burn, boy. Burn until nothing remains.
He woke with a scream, the night air cold and heavy. His Brothers stirred, weapons in hand, but when they saw it was only a dream, they returned to sleep.
Only Li Heng lingered. He sat beside Chen Feng, silent for a long time.
Finally he said, "Dreams are not always lies. Sometimes they are warnings. Or chains."
Chen Feng stared at the stars, his fists trembling. "Then I will break them."
Li Heng gave a rare, faint smile. "Good. Hold to that. One day, you may have to burn your own fate to ash."
At dawn, the Ten prepared to leave Hanxi. The villagers wept, bowing low, begging them to stay. But Li Heng shook his head.
"We cannot guard only one village while the world falls. But remember this you are not alone. Protect each other. Fear is their weapon; unity is yours."
He left them with food, weapons, and what hope they could give.
As they set out upon the road once more, Chen Feng glanced back. Smoke still rose from Hanxi's ruins. Children waved from the riverbank, their eyes shining with desperate belief.
Chen Feng gripped his sword hilt. I will not fail them. Not again.
The Brothers walked into the east, toward a world unraveling and the fire in Chen Feng's heart burned brighter, rising with the dawn.
The road east was lined with withered fields. Farmers bowed to them, eyes hollow, bodies gaunt. Some clutched children whose lips were cracked with thirst. The river was poisoned; the crops withered without water. The Ten could give food from their packs, but each handout was a drop against a sea of suffering.
Chen Feng's chest ached. He wanted to scream that they would fix it, that they would protect them all. But he said nothing. His brothers had taught him silence could be stronger than promises.
At dusk, they reached the old shrine of Yunshan, once a place where travelers prayed to mountain spirits for safe passage. Now it lay defiled. The statues of guardian beasts were smeared with blood, their eyes gouged out. Ashes and broken incense littered the steps.
On the shrine door was painted the lotus sigil, larger than any they had yet seen, petals spread wide like a maw devouring the heavens.
Wu Zhen's brows furrowed. "A ritual site. They mock the spirits, twist faith to feed their shadow."
Luo Yan kicked the door aside. Inside, the air stank of rot. Animal bones littered the floor in strange patterns, and a single brazier burned with flame that was not flame, its light blood-red, its smoke curling like serpents.
Chen Feng's skin crawled. The brazier whispered in voices that were not voices, promising power, promising vengeance, promising surrender.
Guo Tian strode forward, raising his hammer. "I'll smash it to dust."
"Wait." Zhao Ming's hand shot out. "Destroy it carelessly, and the corruption may spread. Look" He pointed at the floor. Strange characters had been etched into the stone, lines and circles converging toward the brazier.
"It's a formation," he said grimly. "Not one of our schools. Something older. Darker. If my guess is right, they're weaving threads between all the villages they've attacked. A net. A trap."
Li Heng's jaw tightened. "Then this shrine is only one knot in the web."
Wu Zhen closed his eyes, murmuring sutras. "The brazier is a beacon. The more villages they poison, the brighter the beacon burns. When it is complete, it will call forth…" His voice faltered, for once unsure. "…Something not of this world."
Chen Feng shivered. The memory of his dream, of the throne of corpses, pressed against his mind.
They debated long into the night. Some wanted to hunt down every shrine and smash them all. Others urged caution without knowledge of the formation, they might trigger worse disasters.
Chen Feng listened, silent at first. But as the argument grew heated, he stepped forward.
"What if," he said, voice steady though his hands trembled, "we don't just destroy their shrines… but use them to find the heart of the web?"
All eyes turned to him.
He swallowed, then continued. "If each shrine is a knot, then there must be a center. A place where all threads lead. That's where their true strength hides. That's where the Crimson Lotus waits. If we strike there, we cut the root instead of the branches."
The Brothers exchanged glances. Some nodded, some frowned.
Zhao Ming adjusted his glasses, studying Chen Feng as though seeing him for the first time. "A reasonable deduction. Perhaps the boy has sharper eyes than we thought."
Guo Tian grinned, slapping Chen Feng on the back hard enough to nearly topple him. "A warrior's mind as well as a fighter's fists. Good!"
Only Li Heng remained silent, his gaze piercing. After a long moment, he said, "You speak as though you are ready to lead."
Chen Feng's face burned. "No. Only… ready to walk beside you. I want to fight, not just follow."
Li Heng studied him, then gave a single nod. "Then prove it. Destroy the shrine. If you falter, we cannot trust you in darker places."
The brazier's flame writhed, hissing, as Chen Feng stepped forward. The whispers grew louder, clawing at his mind. Revenge, power, blood take it, take it, take it
He gripped his sword. His mother's words rang in his ears: Not revenge. Find your path.
He drew a deep breath, raised the blade, and plunged it into the brazier.
The fire screamed. Not the crackle of wood, but a human scream dozens, hundreds of voices howling as one. The room shook. Crimson light exploded, flooding the shrine with burning shadow.
For a heartbeat, Chen Feng saw it the black throne from his dream, rising higher, its shadowed master laughing as flames devoured the heavens.
Yes, vessel. Burn with me.
"No!" Chen Feng roared, twisting his blade. His qi surged, raw but fierce, pouring through the sword into the brazier.
The flame shrieked again and shattered. The brazier collapsed into ash. The whispers died.
Chen Feng fell to his knees, panting, his body trembling as though scoured clean.
For a long moment, silence reigned. Then Luo Yan spoke softly. "He did it."
Wu Zhen placed a steadying hand on Chen Feng's shoulder. "Not just strength. Discipline. You resisted."
Guo Tian laughed, shaking the hall with his booming voice. "The boy truly is one of us!"
Even Li Heng's stern expression softened, just for a breath. "Perhaps. For now."
But the victory was not without consequence.
As the brazier died, a distant horn echoed through the mountains. Low. Ominous.
Shen Kuan's eyes narrowed. "They know."
Zhao Ming's fingers flew across parchment, sketching the patterns they had seen on the floor. "If this shrine is but one knot, the others are surely guarded. Now they will tighten their net before we reach the heart."
Li Heng stood, his cloak settling around him like steel. "Then we move swiftly. No more delays. The boy has lit the dawn but dawn is brief. Before long, the sun must rise, or darkness will swallow all."
Chen Feng forced himself to stand, though his body ached. He looked out the shrine's broken doorway, at the eastern horizon. The first rays of sunlight touched the land, gilding the scarred earth in fragile gold.
His fire had survived its first trial. But he knew this was only the beginning.
The Crimson Lotus were no longer shadows at the edge of rumor. They were an enemy with a plan, an army, a darkness spreading faster than fire.
And Chen Feng, though only seventeen, had sworn to burn brighter than them all.