The moon hung low over Blackwind Mountain, its pale light washing over seven headless corpses sprawled around an extinguished campfire.
The smell of blood lingered thick in the night air.
Ling Xiao crouched beside Zhao Hu's corpse, movements calm and precise. One by one, he opened the storage pouches of the fallen disciples, inspecting their contents with cold efficiency.
Spirit stones.
Low-grade pills.
A handful of crude martial techniques.
Pitiful.
"Outer disciples," he muttered, unimpressed.
He swept everything into Zhao Hu's pouch—the only one worth keeping. As his spiritual sense brushed against it, a faint spatial ripple responded.
Fifty cubic meters.
Enough—for now.
Qinglong's voice echoed in his mind, heavy with disdain.
"Petty scraps. These ants hoarded nothing worthy of a dragon's heir."
"Leave this place. The sect will soon notice their absence."
Ling Xiao straightened, wiping the blood from his blade onto his already ruined robes. The mountain wind carried the metallic scent of slaughter down the winding paths.
"Not yet," he replied quietly.
His gaze drifted toward the distant sect peaks, half-hidden by mist.
"I want them to see me return."
A faint, chilling smile touched his lips.
"I want them to wonder how the trash they discarded crawled out of the abyss alive."
WHOOSH—
He vanished down the mountain trail, movements silent, body gliding like a shadow. With Core Formation cultivation coursing through him, every sense was razor-sharp. Even the rustle of leaves could become deafening if he wished.
By the time he reached the mountain's foot—
Dawn had broken.
The Flowing Cloud Sect's main gates loomed ahead—towering stone arches carved with drifting cloud motifs, ancient and imposing. Two inner disciples stood guard, both at late Foundation Establishment, their auras steady.
As Ling Xiao approached, one guard frowned.
"Ling Xiao?" he said slowly. "Weren't you assigned to herb gathering on Blackwind Mountain three days ago?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Why are you covered in blood?"
The other guard's hand slid toward his sword.
"And where is Zhao Hu's group? They were with you."
Ling Xiao stopped ten paces away, hands clasped behind his back.
His aura was perfectly concealed.
To them, he looked exactly as he always had—
A frail Qi Condensation nobody.
"Senior brothers," he said politely, bowing slightly.
"Zhao Hu and the others encountered a powerful demonic beast. I was separated during the chaos."
His expression carried exhaustion—but not fear.
"I searched for days before finding my way back."
The guards exchanged glances.
Herb-gathering missions ended in death all the time.
The first guard snorted. "Lucky trash."
He waved Ling Xiao through.
"Report to the Outer Affairs Hall immediately. If you're lying—"
The threat went unfinished.
As Ling Xiao passed beneath the gates, Qinglong chuckled darkly.
"They sense nothing."
"Your Dragon Concealment Art is flawless. Even I would miss it without our blood bond."
"Amusing."
The sect sprawled across floating peaks connected by massive chain bridges. Morning mist curled around pavilions and training grounds. Outer disciples hurried through their routines—tending spirit fields, practicing basic forms, lining up for daily resources.
Heads turned as Ling Xiao walked the main path.
Whispers followed.
"Isn't that the orphan trash?"
"He looks half-dead."
"Zhao Hu probably beat him again."
No one approached him.
In three years, Ling Xiao had never made a single friend.
He preferred it that way.
He entered the Outer Affairs Hall.
Inside, a bored deacon at Foundation Establishment barely looked up from his ledger.
"Name and business."
"Ling Xiao," he replied evenly. "Outer disciple. Returning from herb gathering on Blackwind Mountain."
"The team encountered danger. I was the only survivor."
The deacon's brush froze mid-stroke.
"Zhao Hu's team?" His brow furrowed. "All dead?"
Ling Xiao nodded solemnly.
"Yes, Deacon Wang. An Demonic creature emerged unexpectedly."
Deacon Wang frowned and activated a transmission talisman.
"Wait here."
Heavy footsteps approached.
THUD. THUD.
A burly elder stormed in, robes fluttering with barely restrained fury.
Elder Liu.
Core Formation.
Zhao Hu's uncle.
"My nephew is dead?" he roared. "You dare claim that?!"
BOOOOM—!
Spiritual pressure crashed down like a collapsing mountain, aimed squarely at Ling Xiao.
Crushing. Suffocating.
Yet—
Ling Xiao didn't move.
The pressure slid off him like water off dragon scales.
Elder Liu's eyes widened.
"Impossible," he snarled. "You were Qi Condensation trash. How—"
"I was fortunate," Ling Xiao said calmly. "I broke through in crisis."
He reached into his robes and tossed something onto the counter.
THUD.
"A pouch," he added lightly.
"Perhaps Senior Brother Zhao can explain better."
Elder Liu seized it, divine sense sweeping inside.
Then—
His face went pale.
Inside was Zhao Hu's personal jade slip.
The final recording played.
Laughter.
Mockery.
Ling Xiao being dragged to the abyss.
Talk of framing his death.
The pouch cracked under Elder Liu's grip.
"You—!" His aura exploded. "You killed them!"
Killing intent flooded the hall.
Deacon Wang stumbled back in terror.
Ling Xiao met the elder's gaze without flinching.
For an instant—
Crimson flickered in his left pupil.
"Proof, Elder Liu," Ling Xiao said softly.
"The sect forbids private killings."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Even elders must obey the rules… unless you plan to murder a disciple in broad daylight?"
Outside, disciples had already gathered.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
Elder Liu trembled with rage—but he hesitated.
If he acted now, he would lose face.
Possibly his position.
"Detain him!" Elder Liu roared. "Confinement until investigation!"
Deacon Wang hesitated. "But Elder, the jade slip—"
"DO IT!"
Two enforcement disciples rushed in, seizing Ling Xiao.
Ling Xiao didn't resist.
He smiled faintly.
As he was dragged toward the confinement cliff, murmurs followed him.
"He survived the abyss?"
"He has Zhao Hu's pouch?"
"Elder Liu looks like he wants blood…"
They threw Ling Xiao into a stone cell etched with restriction arrays.
CLANG—!
The door sealed shut.
Darkness.
Ling Xiao sat cross-legged, perfectly calm.
Qinglong's voice echoed, amused.
"Patience, heir. You let them cage you?"
"For now," Ling Xiao replied.
"Let them tear themselves apart over rules and evidence."
His blade extended slightly.
SKRRRK—
Stone peeled away like soft clay.
"When they least expect it…"
"…I'll collect interest."
Far above, atop a distant peak—
A white-robed figure descended from a flying sword.
Bai Xue.
Silver hair flowed like moonlight. Her icy blue eyes fixed on the confinement cliff below.
That faint aura again.
Azure.
Ancient.
And beneath it—
Something darker.
"Asura…" she whispered.
For a fleeting moment, a Frost Phoenix shadow flickered behind her—an illusion only she could see.
Her master's prophecy echoed in her mind:
When the Dragonfall heir awakens, the last phoenix shall guide him… or perish with him.
Bai Xue tightened her grip on her sword.
"I need to meet this person."
She turned toward the Outer Affairs Hall, expression calm as winter snow.
But within her heart—
A storm had begun to brew.