Wei Lian moved through the thinning forest beneath a silver sky. The clouds above were heavy with unfallen snow, and a pale wind stirred the dry branches overhead. He kept his pace light, steps silent over the brittle leaves and frozen dirt. His breath, barely visible in the cold, ghosted from his mouth like smoke from a dying flame.
The beast trails were fresh—he had been scouting them for hours—but his instincts told him something else was nearby. Something human.
He knelt at the base of a crooked pine, fingers brushing faint indentations in the soil. Boot prints. Three sets. Roughly the same size. And all recent.
His eyes narrowed.
"They came prepared," he whispered.
A twig snapped behind him.
He didn't turn immediately. Instead, he let the tension coil in his spine, let the silence build. The second snap came two paces to his left, followed by a whisper he barely caught.
"Now."
Wei Lian spun.
The first disciple lunged from the brush, blade gleaming with the glint of poison.
Wei Lian's hand darted up, grabbed the attacker's wrist mid-strike, and twisted. Bone cracked. The sword dropped.
The disciple screamed—but it ended in a choking gargle as Wei Lian's knee drove into his gut, folding him in half. Without hesitation, Wei Lian grabbed the back of his head and smashed it against the bark of the nearest tree.
Once.
Twice.
Skull split. Blood painted the bark.
Wei Lian let the corpse fall.
"One."
The second and third disciples rushed him from opposite sides, shouting in fury. One held a curved saber; the other, a pair of iron claws.
Wei Lian stepped back, dodging the first swing by inches. The claw-user lashed out, catching the edge of his robe. Fabric tore. Skin didn't.
He twisted low, sweeping the claw-user's legs.
The man fell, but not cleanly—he rolled, kicking up dirt, trying to recover.
The saber came down again.
Wei Lian caught the flat of the blade on his forearm and winced as the impact jarred his bones. He slid forward and slammed an elbow into the saber-wielder's throat.
The man gagged, eyes bulging.
Wei Lian grabbed his collar, spun him, and drove the man's head into the frozen earth.
Again. And again.
Blood seeped across the white ground.
"Two."
The claw-user rose, panting. His eyes were wide with panic now. He backed away, the metal blades on his hands trembling.
"You… you're a monster."
Wei Lian's smile was cold.
"You picked the wrong forest."
The disciple turned to run.
Wei Lian let him take three steps.
Then he surged forward.
His foot slammed into the fleeing man's spine, sending him sprawling. Before he could scramble up, Wei Lian stomped on his wrist, breaking the clawed hand.
The man screamed, tears streaming.
Wei Lian crouched beside him and drew a dagger from his belt—short, curved, and laced with a numbing toxin.
"Tell me who sent you."
The man shook his head violently, blood flecking his lips.
Wei Lian drove the dagger into his thigh. The man howled.
"I'll ask again."
"I—I don't know! I swear! Elder Mu said nothing—just that you were a threat!"
Wei Lian frowned.
"Then you've outlived your use."
With a clean motion, he slit the man's throat.
"Three."
The bodies bled into the snow. The air was thick with the scent of iron and rot. Wei Lian stood motionless for a while, his expression unreadable. His robe was stained, the front soaked in gore. It didn't bother him.
He dragged the corpses to the nearby ravine and tossed them into the brambles, where wild beasts would finish the cleanup. Then he crouched beside a rock and wiped his blade with a patch of clean snow.
As he cleaned, his thoughts wandered.
So Elder Mu was testing him now. Sending disciples into the wild with instructions to kill.
He smirked.
How crude.
How desperate.
"I was going to wait," he murmured. "But you've given me permission."
By midafternoon, Wei Lian had returned to the clearing where the disciples had likely camped. A small fire pit, still warm. Three bedrolls. One sack containing dried meat and iron pills.
He took the pills and buried the rest.
Then, from his sleeve, he withdrew a vial—clear poison extracted from the Crimson Lotus. He coated the outside of the pill bottle, careful not to spill a drop. By the time someone found the bag, anyone who touched it would be suffering within an hour.
"Let them find it," he muttered. "Let them guess."
He turned his attention to the scroll tucked beneath the bedrolls. Maps. Not of the outer woods, but of the inner courtyard paths.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Assassins and scouts."
So Elder Mu wasn't just testing.
He was preparing.
That evening, Wei Lian returned to the sect without a trace of blood on him. He washed in the river first, beneath the falling dusk, and changed into fresh robes. As he passed through the gates, he nodded respectfully to the patrol disciples. They barely acknowledged him.
Just another outer sect nobody.
He passed Lin Yu near the dormitories. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but Wei Lian held up a hand.
"Later."
Lin Yu nodded.
Wei Lian moved into the shadowed corridor and entered his quarters. Inside, he knelt by the low desk, took out a fresh scroll, and began writing a list of names.
Those who watched.
Those who whispered.
Those who followed.
The scroll ended with a question mark.
And beneath it, two words: Elder Mu.
He tapped the ink brush against the wood, eyes narrowing.
"If you want war," he whispered, "you'll have it."
Then, without another word, he rose, stepped outside, and vanished into the night.
The forest slept behind him.
But his hunt had only begun.