The sound of the first strike wasn't a ring of steel; it was a dull, heavy boom that rattled the teeth.
Lei Ze didn't watch the sword. He watched the air. Years had sharpened his face into something lean and hard, his dark hair pulled back tight with a crimson band that looked like a dried bloodstain. His eyes, a blue so deep they were almost jarring, tracked the blur of the Light Step Charm.
He moved. His legs didn't just step; they flowed, a micro-burst of Qi hitting the soles of his feet. He felt weightless, a leaf caught in a gale, as the flurry of explosive strikes tore through the space he had occupied a millisecond before.
"Formless Boundless Sword Sea!" Fēng Xiāo's voice cracked with the strain.
The air didn't just turn cold; it turned sharp. Thousands of shimmering sword-projections spun into existence, a wall of spiritual metal that hemmed Lei Ze in from every side. Fēng Xiāo stood back, chest heaving, his eyes narrowed to slits.
"You're too arrogant, Lei," Fēng Xiāo spat.
He threw his hand forward. The sea of swords moved as one. Each projection that hit the ground left a jagged crater. To touch one was to lose a limb.
Lei Ze didn't answer. He crossed his arms, his mind filtering out the light and the noise. There, he thought. The anchor.
He didn't wait. He dived into the rain of lethal light, twisting his torso as a blade hissed past his ear. He didn't close the distance to his opponent; he closed the distance to the center. His hand blurred to his hip. He drew and threw his sword in a single motion—not a slash, but a desperate, precise dart.
The steel struck a faint, pulsing point in the air. The "sea" didn't break; it vanished, the spiritual pressure snapping back like a broken rubber band.
Fēng Xiāo stumbled. The fear hit his face before he could find his footing. Lei Ze was already there. A blur of grey and green, a boot connecting with Fēng Xiāo's jaw. The sound was wet and sickening. The boy went down in the dust, sprawling like a broken doll.
"Lei has gotten strong," someone whispered from the edge of the grounds. "Mid-Foundation? It doesn't look like it."
Lei Ze didn't look back. He walked away, his breathing steady, his robes clean of the red dirt.
"I'm telling Brother Hú Yì!" Fēng Xiāo wheezed from the ground, clutching his broken face.
The spectators went still. The name was a cold shadow that didn't belong in the morning sun. Lei Ze stopped. He turned, walked back to the shivering boy, and planted a heavy, dismissive kick into his ribs.
"Idiot," Lei Ze said. The word was flat. Heavy.
A disciple scrambled up to him, hands shaking. "Brother Lei, stop. Hú Yì will kill you for this. That's his blood."
Lei Ze tilted his head, a slow, dangerous smile pulling at his mouth. It wasn't the smile of a student. "He started it," he said, tapping his chin as if trying to remember a joke. "His brother. His problem."
He turned and headed for the heights.
Nine years is a long time to spend in a cage of stone and mist. The Green Pine Sect had changed—new faces, new grudges, a structure that felt increasingly like a coiled spring. Lei Ze had lived in the gaps. While the others slept, he trained with Jìng Xū, learning the quiet, heavy secrets of the Buddha and the sharp, cutting Dao of Lǐ Yúnzhōu.
He had a spot. A clearing under a tree where the wind tasted like pine and old power. Lán Tíng was the only one who knew where it was. She was the only one who didn't look at him like a target.
He sat cross-legged, pulling the Spiritual Pearl from his robes. Jìng Xū had given it to him with a look that suggested it was a burden, not a gift.
"What do you actually do?" he muttered.
He closed his eyes and pulled at the pearl's core. It didn't flow. It erupted.
A torrent of unrefined, white-hot Qi slammed into his meridians. It felt like swallowing molten lead. His spine arched, his teeth grinding together to keep a scream behind his lips. It was too much. His foundation groaned, stretching, forcing a breakthrough that felt less like growth and more like a bone snapping and resetting.
When the world stopped spinning, he opened his eyes.
Six men stood in a circle around him. Senior disciples. Their faces were shadows against the sun. Lei Ze stood, his legs still tingling from the surge. He didn't reach for his sword. He just waited.
Hú Yì stepped through the gap. He looked older, his grey hair tied back with gold thread. He didn't look angry; he looked bored. That was the dangerous part.
"Well, Lei Ze," Hú Yì said. The smoothness of his voice was a threat.
Lei Ze let out a long, slow breath. "Hú Yì."
"You embarrassed me in front of the Elders. You ignored my word. And now," Hú Yì stepped closer, the boredom vanishing.
"Now you break my brother's face."
"I was defending myself," Lei Ze said. His voice was steady, but his pulse was jumping.
"Defending yourself?" Hú Yì's face twisted.
"You son of a bitch."
The air broke. The six seniors moved at once.
Lei Ze was fast, but he wasn't a god. He fended off a strike from the left, drove an elbow into a chest on the right, but the weight of them was a tide. He felt the Diamond Aegis flicker—that old instinct Jìng Xū had planted—and he managed to slam two of them into the dirt.
"Impressive," Hú Yì sneered.
Then Hú Yì moved. He didn't use a sword. His fists were hammers, hitting Lei Ze's chest in a rhythm that left no room for air. Lei Ze's ribs sang with pain. He coughed, a spray of red hitting the grass. His vision blurred, the world turning into a smear of grey and green.
Hú Yì didn't stop. He stepped into a final, crushing kick.
Lei Ze felt the ground vanish. He was in the air, a weightless moment of silence before the roar of the river hit him. He plummeted.
The valley walls rushed up, and then the Forbidden Stream—dark, violent, and cold—swallowed him whole.
Hú Yì stood at the edge, peering down. The water churned, white foam over black depths. No one came up.
"He's gone," one of the seniors muttered, wiping blood from his mouth.
Hú Yì stared a moment longer. He wasn't thinking about the boy. He was thinking about the story. He turned, his face shifting into a mask of frantic, sweating grief.
"Quickly," Hú Yì commanded. "To the hall."
He burst through the great doors, sliding onto one knee before the assembly. Lǐ Yúnzhōu and the Elders were mid-sentence, discussing the treasure hunt. The silence that followed Hú Yì's entrance was absolute.
"Lord Lǐ Yúnzhōu!" Hú Yì cried out. His body shook. He even managed a few tears, his voice breaking. "It's Lei Ze. He fell. The Forbidden Stream... he's gone."
Lǐ Yúnzhōu's face went pale. He had seen something in the boy—a spark of his own younger self. He stood, his chair scraping loudly against the stone. Jìng Xū didn't move. The monk just sat, his eyes fixed on Hú Yì with a look that felt like a blade pressed to the throat.
"Go," Lǐ Yúnzhōu roared, pointing toward the gorge. "Find him! Alive or dead, bring him back!"
The elders vanished in a blur of silk and power.
"Jìng Xū," the Sect Master said, his voice trembling. "Why are you sitting there?"
The monk sighed. It was a tired sound. He settled back into his seat, his gaze never leaving the floor. "Lǐ Yúnzhōu, you worry about a boy who has lived through fire. He is more than a student. His time isn't up."
Hú Yì, still kneeling, frowned. What does that mean?
"He isn't dead," Jìng Xū said simply. "He'll be back."
Deep in the dark of the stream, Lei Ze wasn't fighting. He was sinking.
The water was thick, heavy with a cold that felt like iron. Around his limp body, something massive shifted. Scales the size of shields caught the dim light. A dragon, old as the mountain, began to circle him, its eyes like golden moons in the murk.
Far away, in a place where the sun never reached, a pair of eyes snapped open.
The figure had hair the color of fresh blood. His teeth were sharp, his face a beautiful, terrible thing. He was bound in chains of celestial iron, pinned to a world of ash. He had been there for thousands of years, waiting for a vessel that wouldn't shatter the moment he touched it.
He looked at a bubble of light in the air, a window showing a boy sinking into the dark water.
The Demon King smiled.
With a sound like a mountain cracking, the chains shattered. He stood, the ash swirling around his feet. His voice didn't just speak; it echoed across the void.
"Finally," Kun Zhan whispered. "I'm coming for what's mine."