The midday sun blazed relentlessly over the compound, its scorching heat turning the rocky ground of the Ashen Wastes into a near-furnace. The faint shimmer of heatwaves distorted the horizon, making the towering cliff walls around the Darkmoon Sect compound appear as if they rippled like water. Even the slight breeze that occasionally whispered through the air carried with it no relief—only the dry, stifling weight of dust.

  Nian Xuefeng grumbled as he walked. His perpetual scowl was deeper than usual. He spat on the ground, 'Waste of time patrolling this side," he muttered loud enough for the rest of the patrol to hear.

  One of the younger disciples, trailing near the back, shifted nervously, his grip tightening on his spear. “It was Elder Nian Yuezhi's idea. I think he wants to punish us.”

  “Coincidently, all of us are the ones that beat his waste of a grandson in the trials,” Nian Xuefeng mocked, his tone dripping with derision.

  The youngest disciple, still jittery, glanced over his shoulder as if expecting the elder to jump out at them. “Just don't let him hear us.”

  “Next trial, I'm going to give him a bigger beating,” snapped Nian Xuefeng.

  The group continued their slow march, sweat dripping from their foreheads. Beyond them loomed the Ashen Wastes, an endless void that seemed to swallow all sound.

  As they rounded a corner of the wall, Nian Xuefeng stopped abruptly. His hand shot up, signaling the group to halt.

  “What’s that?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

  A figure was kneeling a hundred paces from the wall, his wide-brimmed straw hat tilted low, obscuring his face. The shimmering heat gave the man’s ragged robes a ghost-like appearance. He seemed old and frail, a beggar who had stumbled far from civilization.

  Before any of the disciples could react, the man straightened slightly, his hand brushing the ground as if studying something beneath the soil. Then, in a voice hoarse with excitement, he declared, “I found it!”

  The patrol froze.

  “What… did he say?” the youngest guard whispered.

  Nian Xuefeng’s scowl deepened, his grip tightening on his sword. “He found what?”

  The man in the straw hat didn’t move, didn’t look up. His hand trembled slightly, his fingers brushing over an invisible marking in the dirt. For a long moment, he seemed completely absorbed in whatever he had discovered.

  One of the older disciples shifted uneasily, his gaze darting between the kneeling figure and the endless expanse of the Ashen Wastes. “Could it be… one of the ancient markings?” he murmured. “The ruins the elders are looking for?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Nian Xuefeng growled, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “How would some beggar know about that? He’s probably just mad.”

  “Mad or not,” another guard said quietly, “he’s too calm for someone lost out here. What if he’s… touched something? Found something?”

  The youngest disciple's voice cracked with unease. “What if it’s a trap? A test from Elder Nian Yuezhi?”

  Nian Xuefeng hesitated. His instincts told him that the man posed no immediate threat. But something about the stranger’s presence unsettled him—the stillness of his movements, the unshaken focus as he knelt before them.

  “Oi, you,” Nian Xuefeng barked, stepping forward cautiously. “What did you find? Speak!”

  The man in the straw hat didn’t answer. His breathing slowed, his fingers brushing over the dirt again. Then, suddenly, his body sagged forward as if the weight of his discovery had been too much for him to bear. He slumped sideways onto the ground, his straw hat rolling free to reveal an aged face lined with exhaustion.

  “He fainted!” one of the disciples exclaimed, rushing forward instinctively.

  “Stop!” Nian Xuefeng snapped, grabbing the man by the shoulder. “Don’t touch him. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

  “But—”

  “Look at him!” Nian Xuefeng’s eyes flicked toward the frail figure. “He doesn’t belong here. There’s no way an old man could survive out in the Wastes without… help.”

  “Help?” one of the older guards echoed, his voice low. “What kind of help?”

  Nian Xuefeng didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept the area around the man, searching for tracks and signs of anything out of place. The tension among the patrol was palpable, the silence pressing in like a weight.

  “Could he have found something buried here?” one disciple ventured cautiously. “An ancient artifact? Treasure?”

  The youngest disciple swallowed audibly. “We should dig it up. We’ve been guarding this side for weeks. It belongs—”

  “Quiet!” Nian Xuefeng barked, his voice harsh to cover his own unease.

  The patrol lingered in tense silence, the harsh sunlight casting shadows over the man’s still form. Finally, Nian Xuefeng straightened, his expression grim. “We'll take him to Elder Nian Yuezhi. If he knows something, we’ll find out soon enough. And keep an eye out—there could be more of them.”

  "We should get rid of him," one older disciple argued, "if we take him to the elder, we're just proving that this side needs patrolling, and we'll never get out of this duty."

  “Bring him!” Nian Xuefeng ordered.

  The disciples hesitated only a moment before carefully lifting the man. His frail body sagged against their grip, and his breathing was shallow but steady. One of the disciples retrieved the straw hat, glancing uneasily at the figure they now carried.

  As they moved toward the compound, their whispered speculations filled the air.

  “Do you think he’s a spy? Or a scavenger?”

  “What if he’s one of the ancestors’… I don’t know… their remnants?”

  “Shut up. Let the Elder deal with him.”

  From beneath his lowered lashes, the old man's lips curled into the faintest of smiles, hidden from the patrol’s view. His body remained limp as they hauled him toward the compound gates, their hushed voices betraying more fear and curiosity than they intended.

  The sword beneath Sect Master Qiu Lian glided silently through the sky, a streak of silver light weaving between peaks that rose like crimson teeth against the horizon. Verdant bamboo groves clung to the steep slopes, their emerald stalks swaying in the mountain breeze, whispering ancient secrets to the wind. Below her, the thirty-eight mountains of the Celestial Serenity Sect stretched in all directions. This was a domain of unparalleled beauty and strength, a sanctuary for one of the continent’s greatest sects—but today, Qiu Lian felt no comfort in its majesty.

  Her thoughts were a storm of unease. The situation beyond their borders was moving rapidly—sects were obliterated, envoys disappeared, and mercenaries moved with a coordination that defied explanation. All this suggested something far more dangerous than petty sect rivalries. She hoped the Ancestor’s guidance would provide clarity where her own instincts faltered. Perhaps it was her own fault for keeping the sect away from outside affairs for so long.

  As she neared the Ancestor’s cave abode, Qiu Lian slowed. She sensed an aura she knew, and then a figure stepped into the sunlight, robes fluttering lightly in the wind.

  What is Ying Yue doing here?

  The young disciple’s face bore a faint, serene smile, her expression unreadable. Qiu Lian stilled, lowering her altitude slightly and cloaking her aura out of instinct. Rarely did the Ancestor summon disciples directly, and Qiu Lian had received no word of such a meeting.

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  As Ying Yue passed below, her pace unhurried, Qiu Lian watched closely. Something about the girl had changed in recent weeks. She waited, silent and unseen, until the disciple disappeared around the lower peaks.

  Strange… Qiu Lian thought, frowning as she pushed the thought aside. She would question Ying Yue later. She adjusted her robes, steadying herself before stepping into the Ancestor’s presence.

  The air within the cave abode was cool and heavy, laced with the faint hum of spiritual energy. The walls shimmered with intricate formations that pulsed faintly, drawing in Qi from the mountain’s veins. The space was spartan, almost ascetic, with only a simple dais of white jade at its center. It suited the Ancestor—ancient, powerful, and utterly detached from the mortal trappings of comfort.

  Qiu Lian knelt at the entrance, folding her hands neatly as she bowed her head. She waited in silence until the Ancestor’s voice drifted from the shadows.

  “Enter little Lian.”

  She rose and stepped forward, her movements precise and respectful. The Ancestor sat cross-legged on the dais, her ageless face calm, her eyes half-lidded as though perpetually on the verge of meditation. Despite her stillness, her presence filled the chamber, oppressive and all-encompassing.

  Qiu Lian bowed again before speaking, her tone steady. “Ancestor, I’ve come to inform you of Elder Jing Fei’s progress regarding the disturbances beyond our borders.”

  The Ancestor raised a faint brow, signaling her to continue.

  “There are no major developments yet,” Qiu Lian said carefully. “However, mercenary activity grows bolder with each passing week. The Eternal Harmony Sect and the others may have been weaker than ours, but their destruction was too swift to be ordinary. Elder Jing Fei suspects a larger force is at work, though the details remain unclear.”

  The Ancestor tilted her head slightly as though weighing her words. For a brief moment, Qiu Lian thought she saw something flicker across their expression—amusement, perhaps? Or annoyance?

  “And what is it you wish of me, Little Lian?” the Ancestor asked, her voice smooth but edged.

  “I seek your guidance,” Qiu Lian said, meeting their gaze despite the unease curling in her stomach. “The pattern of these events troubles me. It feels too… deliberate. We could find ourselves drawn into chaos.”

  The Ancestor’s lips curved into a faint smile, though their eyes remained cold. “I'm surprised the Eternal Harmony Sect was still around. It should have disappeared after Old Qin Yu failed his third tribulation."

  She paused briefly as if remembering, "Chaos is the nature of the mortal realm, Little Lian. Let the weak devour each other—it is no concern of ours.”

  Qiu Lian blinked, stunned by their indifference. “But Ancestor—”

  “Little Lian?” The Ancestor’s tone was almost gentle, but the questioning look in her eyes stilled the air in the chamber. She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “Four tier-two sects are dust in the wind. They are as insignificant as ants crushed beneath a boulder. If you tell me a few mercenaries could endanger the Celestial Serenity Sect, then perhaps we should disband altogether.”

  Qiu Lian felt her stomach tighten. The Ancestor’s tone was calm, almost gentle, but the weight of her words carried the sting of a blade.

  Qiu Lian’s hands clenched at her sides, but she kept her expression calm, and her head bowed. “I understand, Ancestor.”

  “Do you?” the Ancestor murmured, her tone distant now, almost distracted. She waved a hand, dismissing her. “If this matter troubles you so greatly, handle it as you see fit. But do not waste my time with such trivialities again.”

  Qiu Lian stepped out of the cave into the sunlight, her face carefully neutral. Only when she was certain she was alone did she exhale, releasing the tension that had gripped her since the Ancestor’s first rebuke.

  She's changed, she thought, her brows furrowing. The Ancestor had always been aloof, but her apathy today felt sharper, more deliberate. It wasn’t just dismissal—it was contempt.

  Her mind drifted to Ying Yue, to the serene smile that seemed so misplaced. Could the two be connected? Was there something she was missing?

  Qiu Lian straightened, the light glinting off her sect robes as the wind swirled around her. Whatever the answers, she would find them. The stability of the sect—and perhaps the entire region—might depend on it.

  Far within the cave, the Ancestor remained seated, her expression unreadable. She clutched a jade slip—a message. Slowly, her lips curved into a faint smile.

  “Soon,” she murmured, the word barely audible as it faded into the stillness.

  Branches lashed at Shadow’s face as he tore through the forest, his breath ragged and shallow. Behind him, the ground shook with the thunderous steps of a Cloud Bear, its enraged roars rolling through the trees like distant storms. Shadow glanced over his shoulder—a mistake. The beast’s glowing eyes blazed with fury, locked onto him with deadly intent.

  He almost froze as the monster's muscles rippled beneath its ash-gray fur, and its glowing eyes burned with animal fury. It was more than a beast—it was a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless.

  “Focus, Shadow boy!” Lin Fen’s sharp voice cut through the pounding in his ears. She darted ahead of him, her smaller frame weaving effortlessly between trees. “Stop slowing down, or it’ll catch us!”

  Shadow gritted his teeth and pushed himself harder, his legs burning from hours of running. “This wouldn’t be happening,” he gasped, “if you’d let me lead!”

  Lin Fen shot him a glare as she leaped over a fallen log. “If I’d let you lead, we’d already be dead!”

  Shadow had no reply to that. His mind flashed back to the moment the bear had lunged from the undergrowth, its den disturbed by his careless footsteps. He’d missed the signs—tracks, claw marks on trees, even the faint musky scent in the air. Now, they were paying the price for his mistake.

  The forest suddenly thinned, giving way to a rocky outcropping. Lin Fen skidded to a stop, her chest heaving as her eyes scanned the jagged terrain ahead. Shadow stumbled to her side, nearly collapsing, but before he could catch his breath, the Cloud Bear’s roar shattered the momentary silence.

  “Lin Fen—”

  “There!” she cut him off, pointing toward a narrow crevice in the rock face. “We can fit through!”

  Shadow didn’t hesitate. The bear’s crashing footsteps grew louder, its snarls reverberating through the outcropping as it closed in. Lin Fen slipped into the crevice first, her movements swift and practiced. Shadow followed, his shoulders scraping against the jagged walls as he squeezed through the narrow gap.

  The moment he emerged on the other side, the noise of the bear dulled, muffled by the rock. Shadow pressed his back against the cool stone, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath.

  Lin Fen gestured sharply for him to follow her. “Come on,” she hissed. “It can’t reach us here, but we’re not safe yet.”

  Shadow nodded, forcing himself to move. The crevice widened into a cavernous space, and the air grew cool and damp. Faint echoes of rushing water reached his ears, mingling with the distant roar of the Cloud Bear outside.

  The cave was vast and dark, but patches of glowing moss clung to the walls, casting off a pale green light that illuminated the space in eerie, shifting patterns. Shadow stepped carefully behind Lin Fen, his eyes darting around the cavern.

  “Where does this lead?” he asked, his voice low.

  Lin Fen didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, studying the uneven surface with the wariness of someone who knew better than to trust unfamiliar terrain.

  “Lin Fen?”

  She turned to look at him—just as the floor cracked beneath her feet.

  “Lin—!”

  The word tore from Shadow’s throat as the ground gave way with a deafening snap. He saw Lin Fen’s eyes widen in shock as she fell, her outstretched hand grabbing nothing but air. A heartbeat later, the collapsing floor swallowed him, too, the world spinning as the sound of rushing water roared in his ears.

  The icy water hit Shadow like a hammer, stealing the breath from his lungs. He thrashed wildly, his arms and legs kicking against the torrent, but the river’s current was relentless, dragging him deeper into the underground darkness.

  “Lin Fen!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and barely audible over the deafening rush of the water. Panic surged through him as he scanned the river for any sign of her. The glowing moss on the cavern walls cast faint, flickering light across the water, enough for him to make out Lin Fen’s limp form bobbing ahead of him.

  “Hold on!” he yelled, though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

  Shadow fought against the current, his muscles screaming in protest as he clawed his way toward her. When he finally reached her, he wrapped one arm around her waist, keeping her head above the water. Her face was pale, her body frighteningly still.

  His heart sank as he caught sight of blood streaming from the gash on her forehead. For a horrible moment, he thought she wasn’t breathing. He shook the thought away, focusing on the weight of her in his arms. She wasn’t gone. Not yet.

  Shadow’s jaw clenched as the river surged, dragging them closer to the rocks. He wrapped his arm tighter around Lin Fen’s waist, his muscles trembling with the effort. His thoughts were a jumble of fear and stubbornness. The only thing that mattered now was keeping her alive.

  The river twisted and turned, throwing them against jagged rocks that scraped at Shadow’s arms and legs. His grip on Lin Fen never wavered, though every breath felt like fire in his chest. Time blurred into an endless, frigid nightmare, the only constant the rushing water and Lin Fen’s lifeless weight in his arms.

  The pale green light from the moss that covered the walls seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive. Shadow frowned. In the shifting patterns of the glow, he thought he could make out shapes—symbols, perhaps—but the current was too strong, and he couldn’t be sure.

  Finally, the current began to slow. The river's roar softened to a steady rumble, and Shadow felt his feet scrape against solid ground. He kicked hard, propelling them toward the riverbank.

  Shadow collapsed onto the rocky shore, dragging Lin Fen with him. His body trembled with exhaustion, every muscle screaming in protest as he rolled onto his back, gasping for air.

  Lin Fen lay motionless beside him, her face illuminated by the faint green glow of the moss on the cavern walls. Blood still seeped from the wound on her head, staining her dark hair. Shadow forced himself upright, his arms shaking as he tore at his shirt, ripping off a strip of fabric.

  “Don't you die on me, wood girl,” he muttered, pressing the makeshift bandage against her wound. His fingers trembled as he tied it in place, his breathing ragged.

  He slumped back, his vision swimming. His body screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn’t let him stop. Not yet.

  Through the dim light of the cave, Shadow’s eyes caught something—a faint outline in the distance. He squinted, trying to make sense of it.

  It was a structure, half-buried in shadow. Broken walls jutted from the rocky ground, their edges crumbled and worn with age. Strange patterns seemed to shimmer faintly on the stone, glowing green like the moss.

  Shadow’s chest tightened, a flicker of unease coursing through him. What was that place?

  But before he could think further, his strength gave out, and the world went dark.