Li Xuan sat on the ridge above the Serpent Moon Abyss Sect, the night wind brushing past his black robes. The compound below sprawled like a miniature city, each lantern-lit corridor casting soft pools of light onto the stone-paved courtyards. Crimson banners, their silver serpent emblems shimmering faintly under the twin moons, swayed lazily.
He had no hurry. The city of the living below him, with all its petty rivalries and arrogance, was predictable. That was enough. Patience was a weapon, sharper than any blade.
Every movement of the sect's disciples was deliberate, though they did not know they were observed. The faint rustle of their robes, the soft echo of footsteps along corridors, even the occasional whisper of a laugh carried to him. He noted all of it. Nothing escaped him.
He breathed quietly, air tasting faintly of wet stone and incense drifting from the courtyard below. The scent of burning oils, mingled with the cold night, made his senses sharper. Life, fragile and fleeting, was spread out beneath him like prey.
Li Xuan entered the outer courtyard the next morning. His appearance was that of a weak, unremarkable disciple — shoulders slightly hunched, eyes lowered, movements hesitant. The outer disciples passed him by, some casting derisive glances. A few smirked at his apparent feebleness.
"You're still alive?" one girl sneered, brushing past him. "I thought you'd have collapsed under the elders' training already."
Li Xuan's lips curved faintly. He made no reply. He simply observed. Her qi fluctuated subtly, the slight tension in her shoulders revealing her reliance on intimidation over skill. She would be useful later — perhaps. For now, she was nothing more than data.
The sect, with all its pride and arrogance, had no idea that the weak figure they mocked would soon become a shadow weaving through their ranks.
Days passed. Li Xuan did not rush. He spent long hours observing. He memorized every patrol route, every shift change, every secluded corner where one might hide or strike unseen. His first nights were spent silently moving among the lantern-lit corridors, listening, watching, testing the limits of his senses.
He discovered where the younger disciples trained, where the senior disciples meditated, and where the elders gathered. Every detail was etched into his mind. Even the flicker of candlelight against stone walls told him more than it should have. Shadows, he realized, could hide anything if one knew how to move with them.
By the end of the week, Li Xuan's movements were nearly ghostlike. He could step past the outer patrols without leaving so much as a footprint in the dust. And yet, outwardly, he remained the weakling the sect expected him to be.
One evening, he observed Xu Lei, a Second Meridian disciple whose arrogance had led to Ren Tian's death. Xu Lei stood alone on a balcony, the wind lifting his robes as he gazed at the distant mountains. Li Xuan waited, hidden behind the latticework of shadows, studying him. Every heartbeat, every exhale, was an opportunity.
He did not strike immediately. There was no need. The value of waiting was always greater than the value of hasty action. Xu Lei's ignorance of the danger surrounding him made him an easy target, but his potential cultivation made him a reward worth careful planning.
When he finally moved, it was like the night itself had swallowed him. One step along the shadowed wall, a breath against the cold air, and he was beside Xu Lei before the man could sense him. A brief flick of the hand, precise and unhesitating, and Xu Lei's body crumpled silently to the stone floor.
Li Xuan knelt, placing a gloved hand over the pulse of the fallen man. The stolen cultivation flowed into him, warming his veins, solidifying his meridians. He absorbed it carefully, savoring the surge of energy, letting it fortify the body he now commanded.
When he withdrew, there was no sound, no trace of his presence. Only the faint rustle of his robes as he melted back into the shadows, leaving the world unaware that a predator had passed through.
The following days were spent in meticulous observation. Li Xuan did not move hastily. He trained quietly in empty courtyards, strengthening the weak body he now inhabited. His first breakthrough since entering the sect came not from fighting, but from patience — the careful alignment of meridians, the subtle absorption of ambient energy, the quiet strengthening of his soul.
He explored every corner of the sect, every stairwell, every hidden chamber, committing to memory where the weak and arrogant alike would falter. Each corridor, each lantern, each stone told him a story if he was willing to listen.
It was not enough to merely survive. He wanted control. Quiet, absolute, invisible control.
Li Xuan moved through the sect with careful efficiency. He noted the social hierarchies, the grudges, the subtle rivalries that ran like threads beneath polite words. In the future, these threads would become ropes, pulling enemies into traps they could not escape.
He discovered small details that would serve him later — an outer disciple who slipped when angered, an elder who lingered in the wrong hall at the wrong time, even the exact angle at which sunlight struck the training ground at dawn. Everything mattered.
For now, Li Xuan cultivated patience. His power would grow naturally through absorption of enemies and careful observation, not reckless confrontation. There was no rush.
The sect, proud and arrogant, assumed their prey was dead.
At night, Li Xuan returned to the ridge overlooking the compound. The wind carried the faint scent of incense and wet stone. The moonlight reflected across the crimson banners, and the silver serpent emblem glinted faintly. The scene was serene, almost beautiful — yet beneath it, he sensed the lurking violence, the fragile ambitions of all who lived and schemed below.
He breathed in the night air, letting it sharpen his senses. Every shadow, every whisper, every distant footstep was cataloged in his mind. Slowly, inevitably, the sect would learn what it meant to underestimate the dead.
Li Xuan's lips curved faintly, barely perceptible, and he allowed himself one thought, quiet and patient.
Everything had a time. Every life, every kill, every advantage. And one day, he would claim them all.
For now, he waited.
And the night held him, a silent predator, surveying the world he would soon bend to his will.