The sect breathed in whispers.
The final day before the Third Trial was unlike any other in recent memory. Gone were the clashing techniques in the training fields, the boisterous arguments in the pill halls, and the haughty laughter of faction elites boasting about their breakthroughs.
In their place was silence.
A loaded silence.
Wei Lian felt it as soon as he stepped into the main courtyard—how the air pressed tighter, how disciples moved like ghosts, their gazes downcast, their mouths sealed. It was not respect. It was not fear. It was the calm of men marching to the gallows, knowing that one misstep might cost them everything.
He exhaled quietly and adjusted the straps of his robe.
If they feared tomorrow, he would teach them to fear him today.
Wei Lian's first act was simple: he returned to the Information Arch, that crooked stone gateway near the herb gardens where sect gossip passed hand to hand, where low-tier disciples came to scavenge rumors and scraps of strategy.
He passed by with a subtle flick of the wrist and slipped three slips of parchment into the crowd:
"The Hollow favors those who move northward. The echoes there don't kill as quickly."
"Jade Flare elders warned their disciples to avoid light. Especially blue."
"A traitor in Stone Vow has been marked. The rest will pay with blood."
He pinned one to the message board.
Left another on a bench.
Dropped the last beneath a prayer bowl.
None were signed. All were vague. Each would be noticed.
And by sunset, each would spread like fire in dry grass.
By late morning, confusion had taken hold.
Wei Lian watched from the upper balcony of the scroll tower as two groups of disciples—Tiger Fang and Stone Vow—argued behind clenched jaws near the sparring field. No punches were thrown, but the message was clear.
Trust was fracturing.
Exactly as he intended.
A whisper here. A rumor there. An implied threat, a name spoken too loudly at the wrong time. Wei Lian didn't need to shout to start fires. All he needed to do was open the window and let the wind find the flame.
He spent the next hour walking through the sect's key locations—not to train, but to observe.
In the outer alchemy court, he saw three disciples whispering behind the bone kiln, passing pills like gamblers trading weighted dice. One of them, a lanky youth named Zeng Min, kept glancing over his shoulder. His hands trembled. Weak spirit, weak nerves. If Zeng entered the Hollow, he would break within the first hour.
Noted.
In the shadowed grove by the talisman vault, two girls from opposing factions practiced together in silence. Wei Lian paused behind the trees, watching their movements—one precise, one reckless. A partnership born of desperation.
He smirked.
It wouldn't last.
Inside the southern training courtyard, a lone cultivator drilled sword strikes against a weighted dummy. Her blade was fast, smooth, and clean. She didn't speak to anyone. Didn't even glance around. Wei Lian recognized her: Xie Rin. No faction. No rumors. She'd passed two trials without aid, then vanished from notice.
Interesting.
She might be trouble.
Or she might be useful.
By midday, he returned to his quarters to eat.
His meal was sparse: steamed grains, a boiled root, a dried strip of beast jerky. His tea was bitter and hot, brewed from the same herbs he'd used to strengthen his blood vessels during body refinement. It burned his throat going down.
He drank every drop.
Then, without a word, he opened the scroll from Elder Hai once more and reread the Mirror Step technique.
Its principles were not elegant. It required channeling Qi through a false meridian created in the soles of one's feet—dangerous, risky, and difficult to control. One misstep could leave him paralyzed or blind.
But if he succeeded…
He could make his enemy chase a shadow.
In the Whispering Hollow, that was power.
As the sun dipped behind the cliffs, Lin Yu entered his room uninvited.
Wei Lian didn't move from his seated posture.
He simply spoke:
"Your final visit?"
Lin Yu paused. "I just wanted to make sure… you had everything you needed."
Wei Lian turned his head slightly.
"I do."
The boy fidgeted, then placed a scroll on the table.
"Roster of teams. Guard patterns. Rumors from the steward's aides."
Wei Lian stared at the scroll but didn't reach for it.
"Did Elder Mu's assistant give you anything to pass to me?"
Lin Yu blinked. "What? No—of course not."
Wei Lian finally turned.
"Then leave."
Lin Yu flinched at the coldness in his tone.
He bowed—too quickly—and retreated.
Wei Lian watched him go, then stood and retrieved the scroll.
Inside was what he expected—and more.
Several names he had fed to Lin Yu as false rumors now appeared cross-referenced with others. Which meant Lin Yu hadn't only passed on lies… he had twisted them.
Unforgivable.
As night fell, Wei Lian prepared in silence.
He drew his blade from its resting cloth and laid it across his knees.
Then his poison kit.
Then his talismans.
Then two Qi-sensing stones, pale and cracked, stolen months ago from the inner sect's trash heaps.
He polished each item.
Organized his satchel.
Wrapped his blade.
Tied a black ribbon around his right forearm.
When he finished, the room felt empty—like it had already been abandoned.
Wei Lian stood, rolled up the scroll marked with names, and burned it over the candle.
Ash drifted to the floor like falling snow.
In the stillness before sleep, he knelt at the open window and stared out into the valley.
Far below, the Whispering Hollow waited.
It did not glow. It did not roar. It was silent. Ancient. Waiting.
Like a grave dug too early.
Wei Lian's voice was quiet.
"I know what you are."
"An arena for the desperate."
"A pit for the hopeful."
"A furnace for the weak."
He closed his eyes.
"When I walk into you tomorrow… I will not ask for mercy."
"I will ask for silence."
Then he stood, wrapped himself in his robe, and extinguished the flame.
Darkness answered.