Chapter 3 – The Bell That Calls for Blood

  The second toll of the bell shattered the morning calm.

  It wasn’t just sound—it was a vibration that ran through the bones of the village, a low, reverberating pulse that stirred something primal. Willow Hollow’s people froze mid-task. Merchants clutched their goods, mothers pulled their children close, and elders exchanged grim looks.

  They knew this sound.

  It was a death knell.

  Shen Mu remained still, watching the distant road leading into the valley. A thin dust cloud rose against the morning sun, disturbed by fast-moving figures.

  “They’re here,” Wei Jin whispered, his face pale. His fists clenched at his sides, though the trembling in his arms betrayed his fear.

  Shen Mu observed him carefully. It was not the fear of an ordinary cultivator—it was deeper, more rooted. This was the fear of someone who had already tried to fight and lost everything.

  He exhaled softly, then turned his gaze back to the road.

  Two figures emerged first, their robes billowing. Their movements were swift, disciplined. A sect’s enforcers. Behind them, a third figure rode a spectral beast—a translucent, four-eyed hound that left no tracks on the dirt.

  Wei Jin’s breath hitched.

  “…Senior Disciple Qiao Han,” he murmured.

  Shen Mu noted the way his voice wavered. This wasn’t just any pursuer. This was someone Wei Jin had known. Someone he had once called ‘senior.’

  The lead enforcer, a thin man with sharp features, stopped at the village entrance. His cold gaze swept over the gathered villagers before settling on Wei Jin. His lips curled in disdain.

  “So this is where you ran to,” he said. “Hiding among mortals. How fitting.”

  Wei Jin’s jaw tightened. “I am no longer of the Ironflow Sect. I have no quarrel with you.”

  The second enforcer, a broad-shouldered woman, sneered. “No quarrel? You stole from the sect and fled. Do you think such betrayal goes unpunished?”

  “I stole nothing.” Wei Jin’s voice was hoarse. “I was framed.”

  “Then face judgment and plead your case before the elders,” Qiao Han finally spoke. His tone was smooth, patient—like a teacher indulging a wayward student. “If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.”

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  Wei Jin flinched. “You and I both know the elders have already decided my fate.”

  Qiao Han sighed. “Then it is unfortunate.” He gestured lazily. “Take him.”

  The two enforcers stepped forward.

  Wei Jin’s body tensed, his breathing quickened. He wasn’t strong enough to fight them. He knew it. They knew it.

  And so did Shen Mu.

  He took a step forward.

  The enforcers paused. It was subtle—barely noticeable—but Shen Mu caught it. They had dismissed him before, but now they sensed something different.

  Not his aura. Not his presence.

  But the lack of it.

  The way he moved, like a ripple in still water. Unassuming, yet undeniable.

  Qiao Han tilted his head, studying him. “And you are?”

  Shen Mu didn’t answer immediately. He turned slightly, glancing at Wei Jin.

  “You have two choices,” he said. His voice was calm, measured. “You can go with them and accept your fate.”

  Wei Jin swallowed.

  “…Or?”

  “Or you can stand,” Shen Mu continued. “And face them as you are.”

  Wei Jin’s fists clenched. His eyes darted to the enforcers—trained cultivators, far beyond his current strength. He hesitated.

  Qiao Han watched with mild interest. “You speak as though he has a choice.”

  Shen Mu met his gaze. “There’s always a choice.”

  A quiet moment passed.

  Then, without warning, the broad-shouldered enforcer lunged.

  Her hand moved fast, fingers crackling with golden Ether, aiming straight for Wei Jin’s throat.

  Wei Jin barely had time to react—his body stiffened, but before he could move, before the attack could land—

  Shen Mu shifted.

  A single step forward.

  The movement was effortless, almost lazy. Yet the moment his foot touched the ground—

  The enforcer stumbled.

  Her balance wavered. Her strike, which should have been a killing blow, veered off course, missing Wei Jin entirely.

  A second of confusion.

  Then—she paled.

  The villagers gasped as she staggered back, her breath ragged. The other enforcer’s eyes narrowed. Qiao Han, for the first time, looked truly interested.

  “What did you do?” the woman hissed.

  Shen Mu didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

  For the briefest moment, as he stepped forward, he had touched a thread. Not a physical one, but a thread of reality itself. A ripple in the flow of causality.

  A single shift. A minor distortion.

  Enough to change an outcome.

  He exhaled slowly.

  Qiao Han’s lips parted slightly, then curled into a smile. “Fascinating.”

  He dismounted from his spectral beast, stepping forward with deliberate ease. “You are not an ordinary mortal.”

  Shen Mu held his gaze. “Neither are you.”

  Qiao Han chuckled. “It seems we are in agreement.” He gestured toward Wei Jin. “But this man belongs to the Ironflow Sect. Will you stand in our way?”

  A quiet pause.

  Then—Shen Mu smiled.

  “No.”

  Wei Jin’s head snapped toward him, eyes widening. “What—?”

  “I won’t stand in your way,” Shen Mu repeated. “But he will.”

  Qiao Han raised an eyebrow. “He is weak.”

  Shen Mu nodded. “Then let’s see if he’s willing to change that.”

  The words sank in. Wei Jin’s breath hitched. His hands trembled.

  But not from fear.

  Something else.

  Something deeper.

  A choice.

  Qiao Han chuckled. “Interesting.” He took a step back and gestured grandly. “Then let’s see if your words have weight.”

  The enforcers moved into position. Wei Jin swallowed hard.

  And Shen Mu, with his hands folded behind his back, simply watched.

  The threads of causality had begun to shift.

  It was time to see where they would lead.