Wei Lian stood atop the wind-carved ridge as the sun dipped low over the mountains, dyeing the sky in shades of burning gold and bleeding crimson. Snow clung to his boots, and the wind curled through the folds of his robe like the breath of some ancient ghost. He did not shiver. His gaze was fixed on the valley below, where the outer sect buzzed with a thousand unaware lives—disciples training, scheming, eating, laughing.
They moved like insects.
And he?
He was the web.
He stepped down from the ridge, boots crunching lightly on the packed snow. His pace was unhurried, but every movement held a subtle tension—like a blade half-drawn from its sheath. A sharp presence hidden beneath a bland exterior. On the path below, two disciples passed by, nodding at him with vague recognition.
He nodded back, gaze downcast.
They kept walking.
Perfect.
At the base of the slope, the trail split. One led toward the training fields, where sweat and grunts filled the air. The other curved toward the bamboo grove—quiet, shadowed, and ideal for secrets.
He took the second.
Inside the grove, the light dimmed. Bamboo creaked gently overhead, swaying like old bones in a shallow grave. He slowed, letting his senses stretch outward. The echo of Qi whispered on the wind. Familiar. Predictable.
Lin Yu.
The boy emerged from the gloom a few moments later, looking thinner than usual, if that were even possible. His robes hung loose, patched at the elbows, and his eyes darted nervously.
"You came," Wei Lian said softly.
Lin Yu nodded. "Of course. You… asked."
Wei Lian gestured toward a moss-covered stone. "Sit."
They settled into the stillness.
"Report," Wei Lian murmured.
Lin Yu swallowed. "Two new names. Zhou Feng. A fourth-layer outer disciple. Keeps to himself but trains at night with a weighted vest. Doesn't spar with others—too careful."
Wei Lian filed the name away with a nod.
"And the other?"
"Yi Lan. Fifth layer. Supposedly injured two months ago, but she's healed… too fast. I think she's hiding her cultivation."
Wei Lian's lips curved slightly.
"Interesting."
He let the silence stretch, and Lin Yu squirmed under the weight of it.
Finally, Wei Lian asked, "What about Elder Mu?"
Lin Yu hesitated. "He… he's been calling inner disciples into private sessions. Usually after dusk. No one talks about what happens inside."
Wei Lian's gaze sharpened.
"What kind of disciples?"
"Mostly the ones who've shown progress lately. Ones with connections."
A pause.
"And one more thing," Lin Yu whispered, voice lower now. "There's a rumor… Elder Mu's looking for a successor."
Wei Lian stilled.
Then smiled.
So, the old wolf was preparing for something.
Perhaps retirement.
Or perhaps war.
He rose from the stone and placed a hand briefly on Lin Yu's shoulder. The boy flinched.
"You've done well," Wei Lian said. "Return to the dorms. Keep listening."
Lin Yu nodded quickly and scurried away.
Wei Lian remained in the grove for several moments longer, considering his next move.
If Elder Mu was grooming a successor, then it was time to test his potential rivals.
Carefully.
That night, Wei Lian returned to the secluded cave he had claimed weeks ago—the one hidden behind a veil of thorny vines and thick brambles, far from patrolling eyes. He lit no lamp, needing none. The faint ambient glow of spirit moss painted the cave walls in a sickly green hue.
He opened a stone cache in the back and removed a satchel containing rare powders and paralyzing toxins.
Then a scroll.
Forged reports. False accusations.
He would plant the seeds tomorrow.
But tonight—
He needed a name.
He unfolded a blank piece of parchment and began to write in a tight, sharp script.
"To Elder Mu's assistant: I have evidence that Liu Wen was trading techniques with outer sect enemies. Come alone. South ridge cave."
He folded it and sealed it with melted wax.
By the time dawn bled into the sky, the letter was already tucked into the assistant's quarters—delivered with the silent grace of a ghost.
Wei Lian stood at the edge of the ridge that afternoon, blade in hand. He had changed his robes—no longer the patchwork garb of the weak. This time, he wore simple black. No emblem. No color. Just shadow.
Snow fell again.
And then—
Footsteps.
He did not turn.
"Come alone," he called.
"I did," came the voice. Deeper. Older. Wary.
Elder Mu's assistant stepped into view, his face pinched with suspicion.
Wei Lian turned, blade gleaming.
"It's time to choose a side," he said.
The man frowned. "I don't understand—"
Wei Lian moved.
A flurry of snow.
A flash of steel.
The assistant blocked the first strike with a hastily summoned talisman—but it sputtered, damaged by Wei Lian's pre-applied poison mist. The blade kissed his arm, drawing blood.
He shouted, drawing a short curved dagger.
But Wei Lian was already behind him.
"Eliminate the pawns," he whispered.
The dagger fell from the man's hand, fingers numbing as Wei Lian struck pressure points.
The man gasped.
Wei Lian leaned in close.
"You weren't worthy. But you were convenient."
A final thrust. Silent. Clean.
Wei Lian stepped back and watched the life bleed from the man's eyes.
When it was done, he cleaned the blade on the man's robes and carried the body deeper into the forest.
There, he fed it to the spirit-eating vines that lined the gully near the cliffside.
By morning, there would be no trace.
As the sun rose again, Wei Lian walked the sect grounds with quiet calm. Disciples passed him without notice. Elders barely looked his way.
He paused in the courtyard and watched the outer sect train.
Someone shouted a challenge.
Another grunted as they fell.
He smiled faintly.
"Three down."
"Seven to go."
And Elder Mu?
Soon.
He turned and walked toward the training field again, this time with a different intent.
Today, he would test Sun Bo.
And see what secrets that one kept in the dark.
The game was far from over.
But the web was tightening.