The whisper of steel was louder in silence.
Wei Lian stood alone in the mountain clearing, surrounded by pine and frost, the world still dark before the sun's first breath. His bare feet gripped the frozen earth. His robe hung open at the chest, soaked in dew and sweat. A training dummy—wooden and bound with straw—lay shattered behind him, its remains scattered like fallen limbs.
He exhaled.
Then struck again.
Fist into the air.
Elbow into shadow.
Foot into memory.
Each movement carved into muscle, into bone, into soul.
He did not train to improve his strength.
He trained to deepen it.
In the last three days, Wei Lian had begun refining the second layer of the Steel-Blooded Veins Art—a brutal body refinement technique he'd stolen from a dead sect instructor long ago. The first layer had taught him to endure blunt trauma and impact.
The second taught him to devour it.
As Qi circulated through his meridians, his flesh absorbed the pain and converted it, hardening his bones, reinforcing the tissues behind every blow.
But it came at a cost.
Every hour of training left his muscles raw and trembling, his nerves flaring with heat and cold at once.
He welcomed it.
Because suffering was the only true test of growth.
By midmorning, he submerged himself in a freezing mountain spring.
He held his breath beneath the surface until his limbs went numb. Until his thoughts went quiet. Until there was nothing left but instinct and silence.
Then he broke the surface, gasping, eyes cold and bright.
The Whispering Hollow was coming.
And he would walk into it sharper than any blade forged in this sect.
When he returned to the outer sect grounds, robes dry and clean once more, a few disciples dared to bow to him along the way. Not many. But enough.
He was no longer nameless.
But not yet feared.
Not enough.
He passed the northern training yard, where three disciples from the Stone Vow faction sparred in silence. He observed their footwork, their flaws. He could kill each of them in under ten heartbeats.
Noted.
He continued.
Back in his quarters, Lin Yu awaited him—shoulders tense, posture formal.
Wei Lian said nothing at first. He walked to his table, poured tea, then gestured without looking.
"Report."
The boy nodded quickly. "The teams have been finalized. Entry tokens will be distributed tomorrow. Groupings are sealed, Elder's order."
Wei Lian sipped.
"And mine?"
Lin Yu hesitated. "You're alone."
Wei Lian nodded.
"Expected."
Lin Yu looked uncertain. "Is that… bad?"
Wei Lian finally met his eyes.
"For them."
The silence was sharp.
Lin Yu shifted nervously. "Some say the Hollow isn't just a trial site. That it changes people. Warps them."
Wei Lian tilted his head. "Are you afraid?"
"No. Just… cautious."
"Caution is weakness when it isn't rooted in understanding."
Wei Lian placed his cup down.
"And right now, you're both."
Lin Yu paled slightly.
After the boy left, Wei Lian waited five minutes.
Then slipped into the shadows and followed him.
He tailed Lin Yu past the talisman pavilion, around the back of the scroll tower, until the boy reached the back courtyard near the stewards' hall.
There, he met with someone.
Wei Lian stood on the rooftop, silent as frost.
The other figure was hooded. Older. Their voice carried faintly.
"You've done well. You'll be rewarded. Keep listening. Tell me if he plans anything."
Wei Lian's eyes narrowed.
He couldn't see the man's face, but the voice was enough.
Elder Mu's assistant.
Lin Yu bowed and handed over something—too small to see from above. A note? A token?
Wei Lian waited.
Listened.
The conversation ended quickly.
The two separated.
Wei Lian did not follow them.
He already had what he needed.
Back in his room, Wei Lian unrolled a scroll.
He dipped his brush in ink.
And added a second stroke beneath Lin Yu's name:
Confirmed: direct contact with Elder Mu's inner circle.
Status: expendable. Execution authorized.
He stared at the line for a while.
Then carefully drew a red mark beside it—one he rarely used.
It meant:
Eliminate personally. Without aid. Without delay.
The rest of the evening was spent in silence.
Wei Lian meditated in the center of his room, body still aching from morning training. The pain wrapped around his spine like an old friend.
He breathed deeply.
Qi spiraled through him in careful threads, weaving through muscle and bone.
The second layer of Steel-Blooded Veins was nearing completion.
His dantian no longer hummed—it throbbed.
He opened his eyes.
Stood.
And walked to the far wall, where his sword rested inside its sheath—untouched since the last kill.
He unwrapped it.
The metal was dark, plain, unadorned.
But beneath that simplicity, it held weight. It had tasted blood from eight disciples, three beasts, and one instructor.
Soon, it would drink again.
Wei Lian cleaned it carefully.
Then sheathed it with care.
As midnight fell, he lit a small candle and sat by the low desk.
He retrieved one more item—a scroll he had hidden for weeks.
It was from Elder Hai, the disgraced elder with a broken spirit root.
It detailed a forbidden footwork technique: Mirror Step—the art of producing a flickering image of oneself to mislead pursuers for a short moment.
Wei Lian read it again, memorizing every line.
He would not survive the Whispering Hollow with strength alone.
Deception would be his armor.
Misdirection his blade.
He closed his eyes as the candle burned low.
In the dark, his thoughts sharpened into one clear, brutal truth:
Lin Yu had been useful.
But that usefulness had expired.
And in the Hollow, where rules were different and blood was expected, Wei Lian would sever that thread.
Not as punishment.
But as a principle.
Because a tool that turned was a threat.
And Wei Lian did not suffer threats to live.