Jade Throne Realm – Central Mainland – Flying Sword Sect Territory
Year of the Jade Rooster – Shining Phase
10th Feather. Friday the 9th.
It was a peaceful night.
Too peaceful.
Suspiciously peaceful.
The Flying Sword Sect, nestled in its usual halo of formation arrays, sat bathed in the glow of moonstone lanterns and snoozing koi. The sacred fog around the sect curled gently, lulled into a rare hush. Within the main residence hall, even the war beasts were sleeping dreaming, presumably, of bloodshed and belly rubs.
All 10,000 members of the sect?
Asleep.
Except… not.
Because everyone in Flying Sword Sect knew the first rule of being powerful in the Jade Throne Realm:
"If you feel safe, someone is already trying to kill you."
Elsewhere in the sect grounds…
A shadow crept past a wind-chime talisman. It did not chime.
Then another shadow.
Then another.
Then forty-nine.
Their movements were well-practiced, sleek. Their clothes were coated with spiritual dust to block sound. They wore talismans dampening aura, scent, thought, and bizarrely fashion sense.
They were ascended nobodies from the lower realms.
Believing themselves to be one-in-a-million cultivators.
Not knowing that in the Jade Throne Realm, they were cabbages in a field of lotus-eating dragons.
Their objective?
Kill the babies.
The padded-jacket darlings of the Flying Sword Sect.
Cripple the sect's future.
Break morale.
Reap the chaos.
Ascend in influence by descending in morals.
Their flaw?
Everything.
Inside the grand nursery, two cribs sat near the enchanted hearth.
Baby One, Xu Meilin, was dreaming of extremely structured tea ceremonies.
Baby Two, Xu Lihua, was mentally organizing the concept of revolution.
Then—
The twins stirred.
Not fully awake.
Just… rolled over.
Their eyes opened—one pair crushed sapphire, the other burning garnet.
No crying.
No shrieking.
Just… judgment.
In unison.
From the darkened corner of the nursery came a voice.
Low.
Smooth.
Deadpan.
"I was wondering when you idiots were going to crawl out of the woodwork."
A soft chime echoed.
From the shadows stepped Xu Zhenyan, barefoot, bladeless, terrifying.
Blind? Yes.
Helpless? Ha.
"I assume the potato that formulated this plan is now fertilizing his own ambitions?" he continued mildly, cracking his knuckles. "Ah, never mind. You're all going to die here anyway."
One assassin, visibly shaken, managed to rasp, "Why aren't you all asleep?!"
Zhenyan smiled.
It was a terrible smile.
"You mean the sleeping powder you tried to use? That spiritual trash might work in the outer realms. But this is the Jade Throne Realm, darling."
He gestured vaguely toward the hallway.
"We were asleep on purpose. You see, nothing draws out sycophants like the illusion of vulnerability. And you took the bait."
Elsewhere, other siblings awoke with synchronized grace.
Xu Anyue opened her eyes from her embroidery slumber, looked at the glowing alert rune on her bracelet, and sighed, "Finally."
Xu Liang yawned, grabbed his spear, and said, "Alright, time to take out the trash."
The sect's rotation guards a mere 200 had already prepared their ambush. They had not let their guard down. They had feigned sleep.
Because Flying Sword Sect didn't just train cultivators.
They trained predators.
Back in the nursery…
The assassins rushed forward.
Zhenyan moved like a breath of bladewind.
No weapon. Just movement.
He cut through them with pressure, intention, sound.
Limbs fell like autumn leaves.
Blood sang a tragic opera on the floorboards.
One tried to throw a talisman at Meilin.
The talisman froze mid-air.
Cracked.
Dropped.
A snowdrift had formed under her crib.
She blinked. Looked mildly disappointed it hadn't exploded.
Lihua, on the other hand, burped.
And then her blanket caught fire.
She stared at it, pleased.
A few sparks drifted toward an assassin's robes.
They combusted.
Zhenyan glanced back and murmured, "Well done."
The girls giggled.
Gummy.
Toothless.
Triumphant.
Outside the nursery, the sect courtyard lit up like a lantern festival from hell.
Anyue's Embroidery Dao manifested as silken threads of lightning, wrapping around assassins and sending them spinning through spatial folds.
Liang jumped from roof to roof, dragging enemy cultivators face-first through tiles, roaring with laughter.
"You thought we were unguarded? On the week of their hundredth-day haircut?!"
The skies wept spirit rain. The ground groaned under formations activating with kill intent. Sect disciples.previously "asleep".flooded out in coordinated movements, clearly ready for the party.
And yet the assassins still screamed, "This realm is weak! Born into power! You don't know struggle!"
Which is when the eldest Ancestor, Xu Feiyu, finally appeared in a bathrobe and sword slippers, sipping a thermos of spirit milk.
"You absolute turnips," he yawned. "This is the Apex Realm. You think the Dao lets mediocrity be born here?"
He stepped onto the field.
A single movement.
Forty-nine heads fell.
By morning, the courtyard had been swept.
The babies were back asleep.
Their brothers were arguing over who got to narrate the official battle report.
Zhenyan leaned over the crib. "You two are terrifying."
Meilin made a snowflake on his wrist.
Lihua burned his sleeve.
He smiled. "You're welcome."