The Storm Still Whispered, The fire had died down to glowing coals, casting long shadows across the ruined chamber. Outside, the rain beat against the stone like a war drum, steady and unrelenting. Lightning split the sky again—followed by the slow, deep growl of thunder overhead.

  Zhang Tian sat upright, his breath ragged, his sweat cooling too slowly beneath his damp robes. He ran a trembling hand over his face.

  Even with six months behind him, even with his new body, new power, and sharpened senses, fear hadn’t left him.

  He felt weak. Out of pce.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  The thought came unbidden. But it lingered.

  He didn’t notice the footsteps until they were nearly beside him.

  “Nightmares?”

  Zhang Tian flinched slightly, turning.

  Jin Yuan stood a few feet away, his arms folded in his sleeves. The glow from the embers lit his profile—high cheekbones, narrow eyes, and an expression that was sharp but not unfriendly. His long dark hair was tied back, and though his robes were worn from travel, his posture was still composed.

  Despite his razor-like features and intimidating strength, Jin Yuan’s voice was gentle. He didn’t prod. Just waited.

  Zhang Tian hesitated. Then nodded once. “Yes… senior.”

  Jin Yuan stepped closer and slowly sat beside him, folding his legs near the fire, his eyes drifting to the crackling coals.

  “There’s no shame in it,” he said after a moment. “You’ve seen more in six months than most mortals do in a lifetime. And that… thing you saw on the battlefield—Yan Hǔ? He’s no small matter.”

  Zhang Tian swallowed. His voice came out quieter than he liked. “He felt like death.”

  Jin Yuan nodded. “Good. That means your instincts are working.”

  Zhang Tian blinked. “...What?”

  Jin Yuan turned his gaze slightly, the edge of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

  “You felt fear. That’s what’s supposed to happen when someone stronger, faster, and more vicious tries to kill you. If you hadn’t been afraid, I’d worry you’d already lost your sense of self-preservation.”

  Zhang Tian gave a short, shaky breath—half a ugh, half a sigh. “That’s… not how I imagined cultivators thinking.”

  Jin Yuan shrugged. “There’s a difference between fear and cowardice. Fear keeps you alive. Cowardice is when you let it stop you from protecting others—or from moving forward.”

  Zhang Tian looked down at his hands. “He killed one of us. And I just… sat there. I couldn’t even move.”

  “You were never meant to move,” Jin Yuan said calmly. “You’re an immortal seedling, not a frontline disciple. You’ve been thrown into chaos. And yet, you’re still alive.”

  He paused, watching the embers flicker.

  “I’ve seen true cowards. They’re the ones who survive and pretend it didn’t happen. You… you’re still thinking about it. That’s the difference.”

  Zhang Tian fell silent.

  For the first time in hours, his heartbeat began to slow.

  “You remind me of myself,” Jin Yuan said suddenly, surprising him.

  Zhang Tian gnced up.

  Jin Yuan's expression had turned distant. “When I was an outer disciple, I used to vomit after every battle. Hid it, of course. I thought real cultivators didn’t flinch.” He chuckled softly. “Turns out they flinch, bleed, and cry. They just don’t quit.”

  Zhang Tian looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Thank you… senior.”

  “Just Jin Yuan will do.” He stood slowly, dusting off his robes. “You don’t have to become fearless, Zhang Tian. You just have to keep walking.”

  With that, he stepped away into the shadows, leaving Zhang Tian sitting in the soft glow of the fire, the storm still rumbling beyond the walls.

  The fear was still there.

  But it wasn’t choking him anymore.

  And that was something.

  The rain still whispered against the stone, a low chorus echoing through the broken structure. Zhang Tian sat near the dwindling fire, its soft glow flickering in his eyes, his thoughts turning like coals in the ash.

  He hadn’t returned to sleep.

  He simply watched the fmes. Quiet. Thoughtful.

  Behind him, footsteps approached.

  Jin Yuan moved through the shadows with unhurried grace, his presence silent but assured. His robes, dark and slick with the mist from the cracked roof, clung faintly to his frame. He stopped a short distance from Xiao Fang, who sat cross-legged near the entry arch, surveying the formation with a steady gaze.

  She didn’t look up.

  “Daoist Jin,” she said calmly, but there was a subtle edge to her voice, like the drawn wire of a bow. “Be careful not to poach juniors.”

  Jin Yuan’s smile was faint but sharp—like the curve of a crescent bde.

  “I merely spoke with him,” he said. “Offered crity. The boy needed reassurance. Surely there's no harm in kindness.”

  Now her eyes lifted.

  They were clear and dark. Unblinking.

  “You’ve been kind to quite a few juniors,” she replied, voice lower now. “Many of whom don’t seem to st long on the path.”

  Jin Yuan chuckled softly, csping his hands behind his back. “You wound me, Lady Fang. Misfortune stalks everyone in this world, especially those with ambition. I never force them. They ask for challenges. I simply… facilitate.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “You mean you hand them talismans and send them into tombs and beast dens in exchange for promises of contribution points.”

  Jin Yuan tilted his head. “And many of them have found fortuitous encounters.”

  “Many of them are dead.”

  The air between them grew heavy for a moment.

  A shard of thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “I’ll say it only once, Jin Yuan.” Xiao Fang’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “These seedlings are not yours to gamble with. Not yet. Not while I’m breathing.”

  Jin Yuan’s expression didn’t falter. But his eyes gleamed in the firelight—cold and distant.

  “You misunderstand me, truly,” he said smoothly. “I only invest in potential. It would be a shame for someone like Zhang Tian to remain unnoticed.”

  He gnced past her toward the firepit.

  Zhang Tian hadn’t moved.

  Xiao Fang’s eyes followed his line of sight. She said nothing, but her fingers brushed her storage pouch.

  A silent warning.

  Jin Yuan bowed ever so slightly, the gesture polite and mocking all at once.

  “I’ll be off, then. May the rain clean our path.”

  And with that, he vanished into the shadows of the ruined building, his footfalls fading into the storm.

  Xiao Fang watched the darkness where he’d gone, lips pressed in a thin line.

  Not all monsters growl.

  Some smile.

  The fire crackled softly behind her, but Xiao Fang’s eyes never left the rain-soaked dark beyond the archway.

  She sat with her back straight, hands resting atop her knees, still as the formation stone glowing faintly beside her. The hiding formation had held. The seedlings were safe—for now. Yet the storm outside felt like more than weather. It stirred old instincts.

  Her shoulder still ached where the beast’s cw had grazed her, and the gash across her waist throbbed each time she shifted. But she didn’t reach for a healing pill. She didn’t even wince.

  Pain was a companion by now. Familiar. Endurable.

  Her thoughts, however, were not so easily silenced.

  She had seen Zhang Tian stir by the fire, his face lined with sleep and fear, the edge of a nightmare still clinging to his expression. She’d left him to Jin Yuan’s words. Not because she trusted the man—she didn’t—but because she wanted to see how far Jin Yuan would press his mask.

  He was charming when he wanted to be. Reassuring. But the stories that trailed behind him… they didn’t fade.

  She had buried too many bright-eyed juniors who had once walked behind Jin Yuan’s shadow.

  And still, the elders did nothing. Because sometimes… the treasure those juniors brought back was worth more than the lives that found it.

  Her gaze drifted to the arch again. She didn’t expect an attack during the storm, but that wasn’t why she watched. She wasn’t afraid of beasts tonight.

  She was afraid of men like Jin Yuan.

  Not because Zhang Tian was special. Not yet. But because he reminded her of those who had once followed her—before she wore the robe of command. Before responsibility carved lines into her hands and sleepless nights into her memory.

  Zhang Tian was hesitant. Still human, under the surface of his new body. Not dulled yet by cultivation’s long grind.

  He wasn’t ready for the games Jin Yuan pyed.

  She knew what the other disciples said when they thought she wasn’t listening. That she was strict. Cold. Distant.

  They didn’t know what it cost to keep them alive.

  They didn’t see her every night—counting heads. Remembering names.

  They didn’t carry the weight of those who didn’t make it.

  So she bore their compints. And their distance. And she guarded them anyway.

  Because they weren’t just seedlings. They were children.

  Children on the path to become monsters or corpses—or, if they were lucky, something better.

  Her fingers lightly brushed the formation stone, checking the bance.

  Still strong. Still holding.

  The rain thundered above, relentless.

  And Xiao Fang… kept watch.

  Day broke across the battered ndscape, the first pale light bleeding through the dissipating storm clouds.Small critters scurried across the broken stones of the ruined outpost, their tiny cws scratching faintly against the weathered surface.

  Xiao Fang was the first to rise.

  Silent and composed, she moved among the slumbering entourage, counting heads by the fading firelight. Thirteen immortal seedlings remained—each one a fragile ember of potential in a world that demanded blood and spirit to grow.

  Once she confirmed their number, she activated a muted communication talisman at her wrist. Short pulses of light flickered as scouts reported in: no direct pursuit, no disturbances beyond the lingering unease left by the storm.

  With a soft gesture, she gave the order.

  They moved out.

  Each immortal seedling was paired with a senior Water Serenity Sect disciple, riding together on their desert beasts—an extra precaution Xiao Fang herself had ordered. None would travel alone. Not now. Not ever.

  The caravan stretched into a thin line across the wastend, dragging itself steadily toward the forest's edge.

  For the next four days, their journey remained grim but steady.

  No rge ambushes came.

  Only small, persistent threats: corrupted spirit bugs, sand wraiths, wild beasts twisted by demonic qi.Sleep was broken, food tasteless, and the water spells stretched thinner with each passing night.

  Even the strongest seniors moved with heavier steps.

  Even the beasts they rode plodded forward wearily, muscles tight from the endless march.

  Zhang Tian rode near the center of the formation, pressed tight against his senior guide. His body ached, his mind dulled by exhaustion, and even his qi circuted sluggishly.

  Each evening, the stars seemed dimmer.Each morning, hope seemed smaller.