The black-clad shape was a smudge of ink against the Jīn Yàn stone. He moved well, keeping to the dead angles where the torchlight didn't reach. He was fast, the kind of fast that came from a man convinced he was the only predator in the garden.
From the high crook of a tiled roof, Měi Lín watched him. She was seven, wrapped in ice-blue silk that felt like a second skin. Her fingers rested on the hilt of her sword; the metal stayed slick with a frost that never melted, no matter the season.
"Who are you?" she breathed.
She didn't use the stairs. She blurred, a soft rustle of silk against the ridge of the roof. She moved with the silent, heavy efficiency of something that hunted for a living.
The intruder didn't look back. He walked toward the central hall with a stiff, military gait. His eyes were locked on the massive doors ahead.
"He smells like trouble," the girl whispered.
She tracked him until he reached the hall.
Inside, the air was stagnant. It smelled of rendered fat and the kind of dust that only settled in places where power lived. Yáng Zhān, the Sect Master, stood by the far wall. His back was a sheet of white hair that flowed to his waist like a frozen river.
"My Lord."
The cloaked man dropped to one knee. One arm extended, head bowed—a posture of forced, perfect politeness. Outside, Měi Lín pressed her ear to the cold stone of a pillar.
She slowed her pulse, letting her breathing go shallow so she could catch the vibration of the wood.
"What brings you back, Huò Jié?" Yáng Zhān asked. He didn't turn around.
"Information, My Lord. Real weight."
"Then quit wasting my time."
"Lord Lǐ Yúnzhōu has blinked. He scrapped the strike. They're digging in, waiting for us. Our timeline is compromised."
Yáng Zhān let out a breath that sounded like a saw on wood. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if looking for a crack in the sky.
"Let them wait. Do they think they can stand against what I have coming?"
"My Lord, Jìng Xū is back."
The name hit like a stone. Yáng Zhān spun, his face twisting into a sharp, jagged mask of irritation. "The monk is back in the Green Pine?"
"Yes. And he brought a kid. Claims the boy is something special."
Yáng Zhān's chest expanded. He took a sharp, shallow breath and let it go. A wave of Qi hammered outward, a shockwave of raw temper that made the lanterns hum.
"Go," the Sect Master hissed. "I want to know every time that boy draws a breath. Give me a full report."
"Understood."
"Wait," Yáng Zhān barked, hand raised.
"Watch yourself. Jìng Xū is a wall. And the boy... watch him closest."
Huò Jié nodded and turned for the exit.
Měi Lín didn't stay to see the rest. She slipped from the pillar, her boots barely touching the ground as she circled toward the entrance. She watched the informant walk past. A gust of wind caught his cloak, pulling the fabric taut. For a split second, the black cloth shifted. Beneath it was a flash of grey and green silk.
Traitor.
Morning at the Green Pine Sect was the sound of steel on steel. The training grounds were crowded, the air vibrating with a dull roar of spiritual energy that Lei Ze could feel in the soles of his feet.
He'd been awake for hours. Ever since the fire, sleep felt like a trap.
He sat by the stream, legs crossed, back straight. He was trying to force his Qi to move, but it felt like pushing mud through a straw. He was still in the Qi Condensing stage. Everyone else around him was mid-level Foundation Establishment. To them, he was a fly on the wall.
"Lei Ze!"
He didn't move. He was too deep in the rhythm of his own lungs. Jìn Wén, one of the older disciples, walked over and peered at him. He looked like he wanted to kick the boy's shoulder, then stopped himself.
"Sect rules. Don't break a session," Jìn Wén grumbled.
He sat down to wait. Hours passed. By the time Lei Ze opened his eyes, Jìn Wén was slumped against a tree, snoring. Lei Ze watched him for a moment. He didn't wake him. He just stood up and walked toward the senior grounds.
He wanted to see what real power looked like.
The sparring in the senior ring was a blur. High-speed swordplay that made the air hiss. Lei Ze watched, eyes wide. It was terrifying. He knew he wouldn't last a second against a technique that fast.
A crowd had gathered. In the center was a young man sprawled on a bench, looking like he was about to fall asleep. Three girls sat beside him, fanning him with steady, rhythmic strokes.
"Who's that?" Lei Ze whispered to nobody.
Hú Yì. Nephew of Supreme Elder Gāo Fēng. The sect's golden boy. His grey hair was tied back with a silk band, and his smile was a cold, amused line.
Suddenly, a shoulder slammed into Lei Ze. Two senior disciples pushed past, sending him stumbling into the dirt.
"Watch where you're standing, brat," one barked.
Lei Ze didn't answer. He didn't even look angry. He just stood up and started brushing the dust off his new robes. He turned to go, but a voice stopped him.
"Hey."
Lei Ze turned. Hú Yì was beckoning with a single finger. The air around the bench felt heavy. Lei Ze walked forward, the weight of a dozen stares pressing into his back.
"Senior," Lei Ze said. He saw the look in the older boy's eyes—the kind of look a cat gives a mouse.
"Sit, little brother," Hú Yì said. He sounded pleasant, but it was the pleasantness of a man who knew his uncle's name was a shield.
Lei Ze hesitated.
Hú Yì stood up, leaving the girls behind. He walked into the middle of the ring and raised his hands. The sparring stopped.
"Our newest junior," Hú Yì announced.
"What's the name?"
"Lei Ze."
"Right. Lei Ze is going to show us what he's learned today."
Panic was a cold spike in Lei Ze's chest.
"Senior, I'm supposed to be at the lower grounds."
Hú Yì's grin didn't reach his eyes. "You walked onto our grounds, Lei. That's a choice. In this sect, we train. Let's get to it."
Lei Ze had no choice. He stepped into the ring. His opponent was Yǔ Dà, a thirteen-year-old with arms as thick as Lei Ze's waist. A child in Qi Condensing against a Foundation brawler.
"Begin," Hú Yì said.
He gave Yǔ Dà a look. Break him.
Yǔ Dà roared and drew his steel. Lei Ze pulled his practice sword, his hands shaking. Yǔ Dà slammed a foot into the earth. The spiritual force made the ground ripple, throwing Lei Ze off balance.
The big boy didn't hesitate. He swung his blade down in a crushing arc.
The air hissed. A cloud of dust swallowed the ring. The spectators leaned in, waiting for the sound of bone snapping.
They didn't get it.
When the dust settled, Lei Ze was still standing. A dome of shimmering golden light—the Diamond Aegis—surrounded him like a cage of amber.
"What is that?" Yǔ Dà yelled, eyes bulging.
"Buddhist Qi!" someone shouted.
Lei Ze stared at the shield. He didn't know how he'd made it. It wasn't his power; it was a seal Jìng Xū had left, triggered by the pressure.
The seniors backed away. The golden light made them look small. Lei Ze didn't wait for a second round. He dropped his sword and ran, disappearing into the trees before they could move.
Hú Yì's face went a dark, bruised purple. He reached out to grab the boy, but a junior caught his arm.
"Let him go, Senior. The elders will notice the Qi."
Hú Yì gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into a white-knuckled fist.
High above, hidden in the mountain mist, Jìng Xū watched. He didn't smile. He just nodded once.
"The path is already red," the monk whispered.
He turned and melted into the clouds.