Chapter 24: Hidden Blades in Jiang Colors
Word of the duel spread like wildfire through Wu City.
By noon, the entire city seemed to hum with one story, whispered in teahouses, muttered in training yards, exchanged in low voices across merchant stalls. The tale was vivid, precise:
How only Wu Lu had dared step forward to defend the Wu Clan's honor.
How he'd shocked the crowd by defeating a Jiang junior despite being mocked as mediocre.
And how, before the cheers could fade, another "Jiang" youth—a boy a level lower—stepped up and shattered Wu Lu with a single punch.
One strike. That was all it had taken. A single blow, like a falling hammer, to end the fight and crush not just Wu Lu, but the fragile illusion of Wu Clan dominance.
And then, as if fate sought to deepen the humiliation, the city's own steward, Wu Cheng, had leapt toward the stage in fury—only to be halted mid-strike by a Jiang elder. That soft-spoken rebuke, delivered in front of thousands, had forced Wu Cheng to retreat silently. The message was clear: Wu Clan's authority had been slapped down in public, and they could do nothing.
The damage wasn't confined to the duel ring. It echoed like a drumbeat through the streets, through the clans, through the very spine of Wu City.
Back in the Wu Clan estate, a storm brewed behind closed doors.
Clan medics worked feverishly to stabilize Wu Lu. His ribs were cracked in two places, his knee twisted beyond recognition, his internal organs bruised from the savage blow. Though his life wasn't in danger, recovery would take weeks if treated daily; months to regain full combat power.
Ointments laced with spirit herbs were applied. Spirit needles pierced key meridians, channeling restorative energy into his battered frame. The boy lay pale but conscious, jaw clenched against the pain. He didn't complain—not even once. Yet his eyes burned with shame.
As the bitter taste of defeat lingered on his tongue, Wu Lu vowed silently: This will not be the end. Even if it costs me blood and bone, I'll stand again. For the clan… and for myself.
Whispers filled the hallways outside. Servants carried news in hushed tones. Younger disciples stole glances toward the infirmary with pale faces. This wasn't just a defeat. It was an open wound for the entire clan.
Had the Wu Clan truly fallen so far… that others no longer feared the consequences of humiliating them?
Some juniors avoided eye contact entirely, their voices low. Others muttered in fear—'If Jiang Clan truly has such monsters, what hope do we have?' The poison of doubt seeped quietly into the Wu Clan's veins.
By late afternoon, an emergency council was summoned.
The grand hall of the Wu Clan glowed dimly in the flicker of lanterns, shadows of twelve seated elders stretching long across the polished floor. At the head sat Wu Lingtian, the Clan Head, posture rigid, fingers steepled under his chin.
Voices clashed like swords.
"We march to the Jiang estate at once!" one elder roared, his beard quivering with rage. "Force them to explain—or pay in blood!"
"Explain? Bah! Strike now! Let the city see our wrath. Let them remember who rules Wu City!"
"They attacked on our soil, humiliated us in public. If we do nothing, we invite wolves to our gates!"
The arguments grew louder, fueled by anger and pride. But amid the storm of words, one voice cut through like cold steel.
Wu Lin, the Grand Elder, rose slowly. His calm was more commanding than any shout.
"We cannot send seniors to punish juniors," he said, tone low but unyielding. "Wu Lu lost in the open ring. No foul play. No elder interference. That youth defeated him fairly."
The chamber fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down.
Wu Lin continued, eyes sweeping the assembly. "If we act now, we show the world we've abandoned the honor of the duel. That we need our elders to fight battles our disciples can't win. When Wu Yuan broke Jiang pride days ago, did they send their elders to retaliate? No. They endured. And now… so must we."
Murmurs rippled, bitter but subdued.
"Then what?" another elder spat. "Swallow this insult whole?"
Wu Tianhai, lean and sharp-eyed, leaned forward, his voice a cold blade.
"Not quite. They used juniors to humiliate us. We respond in kind. The duel ring remains open. We send someone strong enough to silence them before the crowd."
The idea struck the hall like a spark in dry tinder—but no flames followed. Only silence.
Because the truth was cruel.
The Wu Clan's younger generation… lacked the brilliance of old. One or two might win. But dominate? Turn the tide? That dream had withered years ago.
And so silence reigned—heavy, suffocating—until Wu Lingtian finally stirred.
"I'm not concerned with public face," the Clan Head said, his voice calm yet edged with steel. "Every clan waxes and wanes. Our decline is no secret to us. Only the people cling to old illusions."
He paused, eyes darkening like gathering clouds.
"What does concern me," he said slowly, "is Wu Cheng's report."
Twelve pairs of eyes turned sharply.
"He spoke of ten juniors—draped in Jiang robes—faces unknown to him. And Wu Cheng knows the Jiang Clan's youth better than most. Yet these ten were strangers. And one of them crushed Wu Lu with a single strike."
Shock rippled through the hall like a silent wave.
Wu Lingtian's voice dropped, each word heavy as iron."Three of those youths… are said to be under fifteen—and already at Spirit Initiation."
Gasps broke the stillness like cracks in ice.
"When," Wu Lin murmured, "was the last time Wu City saw talent like that?"
"Under fifteen… Spirit Initiation?" an elder muttered, his voice trembling as though the words themselves carried iron weight. "The last time Wu City birthed such a genius was three decades ago—our own Clan Head… and now there are three?"
His gaze shifted to Wu Lingtian, the Clan Head, a man standing on the cusp of the Core Formation Realm after decades of cultivation.
"Clan Leader… if what Wu Cheng reported is true, then doesn't this mean the Jiang Clan has at least three juniors who—given time—could step into Core Formation themselves?"
The words dropped like boulders into a still pond, sending silent ripples of dread through the hall.
Wu Lingtian's gaze swept the room, cold and grim."Before, if the Jiang Clan could claim five victories, we could take four. But now? They field a monster who toys with those a level higher in their realm. And if Wu Cheng's count is true then there are nine more like him."
The question hung in the smoke-laden air:
Could the Jiang Clan truly hide ten prodigies of such caliber?
"No," Wu Lingtian answered, his voice a blade scraping across stone. "This reeks of something else. Something foreign. This storm… did not come from Wu City."
If they could nurture such talents, why hide them until now? Why reveal them in a public duel of all places? No—this wasn't Jiang ambition. This was another hand, moving in shadows.
Wu Lin's voice followed, calm yet edged with unease."Yes. I believe the same. If you examine Wu Cheng's report closely, you'll notice something unusual—the Jiang juniors were split into two groups. One group we've seen before… the other consisted of those ten. Those ten didn't mingle, didn't acknowledge the others. They didn't even care about Jiang pride. If they did, they wouldn't have humiliated their own companion in the duel ring after his defeat by Wu Lu."
The observation hung in the air like a guillotine blade, deepening the silence.
These doubts lingered, heavy and unyielding—but no answers came.
The room stilled as Wu Lingtian rose. His figure cast a long shadow across the hall, the air itself seeming to tighten under his gaze. When he spoke, it wasn't loud—but every word struck like iron against stone.
Finally, Wu Lingtian spoke, voice steady with authority.
"I've already issued orders. Every city record, every registry—check them all. I want to know when these so-called Jiang disciples first appeared in Wu City."
While the Wu Clan argued behind closed doors, another hall across the city whispered in equal tension.
In the Mu Clan's sealed council chamber, silence hung heavy as fresh reports were laid across a sandalwood table.
"If the Jiang Clan truly hides ten such prodigies," Elder Mu Rong said, voice taut as a bowstring, "then balance is shattered. We are pill makers, not warlords—but healers and pill makers are trampled first when titans clash."
The Mu Clan Head adjusted his robe, eyes glinting like cold jade."Then we adapt. Increase our procurement of spirit herbs. Expand pill production and fortify our trade routes and secure exchange pacts with Shan and Tu before the winds turn. When the city bleeds, it will be our salves that both wolves crave."
At the Tu Clan estate, the matriarch sat at the head of an obsidian table, its surface buried beneath intelligence scrolls and duel ring reports. Candlelight danced across her jade rings as her fingers tapped the armrest in measured rhythm.
"Ten monsters do not sprout overnight," she murmured, voice soft yet heavy as earth. "Someone planted these seeds long ago… and Jiang has watered them well."
A councilwoman leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Should we warn Wu?"
"No." The Matriarch's reply was smooth as polished stone. "We watch. We listen. And when the tide turns, we will stand on the shore—never in the flood. For now, we do not know the depth of Jiang's roots. These ten… they may only be the beginning. A show of strength to lure allies before the true storm breaks."
Another elder frowned. "And what of our alliances? Shan clings to Jiang, Mu hides behind neutrality. That leaves us. Do we take Wu's side?"
"Not yet." Her gaze swept the chamber like a cold wind. "Wu Clan has shown neither the advantage nor the talent to warrant that risk."
A younger councilwoman spoke carefully. "What about Wu Yuan? His rise was… unprecedented."
The Matriarch's lips curved faintly. "I acknowledge his talent. Perhaps no one among the younger generation of the four clans can match him. But talent is wind—it shifts, it scatters. Until he proves more than a gust, until he weathers Jiang's storm without breaking… he is not a reason to move."
Her final words fell like stones in a silent pond. "If he is a steel blade, we will know soon enough. If he is paper… then the fire will burn him first."
Among the great powers of Wu City, it was the Shan Clan that moved first—and with striking speed.
Their ties to the Jiang Clan ran deeper than most—bonds of old forged through trade, intermarriage, and shared enemies. It was this very relationship that had emboldened Shan juniors to step onto the duel ring days ago, when Wu Yuan's meteoric rise had shattered Jiang pride.
Now, within the high-vaulted council chamber of the Shan estate, the Patriarch's voice cut through the murmurs like a drawn blade.
"We will not wait for rumors to settle," he declared, his tone brooking no dissent. "If anyone in Wu City can learn the truth, it is us. Prepare a formal visit to the Jiang estate. If they have nurtured such monstrous talent… we must know how—and whether that strength is theirs alone."
The chamber stilled, tension pooling like shadowed water. After a pause, the Patriarch's gaze swept across his advisors, his next words a whisper that chilled the blood.
"If Jiang truly wields a blade that sharp," he murmured, "we must decide now—do we ally with the sword… or brace for the cut?"
The weight of his words hung in the air like an executioner's axe. Across the chamber, seasoned elders exchanged wary glances. Servants bowed low and hurried from the hall, scrolls clutched in trembling hands.
By nightfall, the Shan estate pulsed with quiet activity. Lanterns burned late as scribes drafted letters sealed with crimson wax. Couriers were dispatched under cover of darkness, bearing diplomatic overtures wrapped in silk and secrecy.
The Shan Clan had made its move: reach Jiang first—before anyone else dared.
Wu City's balance was no longer steady.A new power had risen—not born of these streets, but lurking among them.
And though their robes bore the name Jiang, the storm they carried was not Jiang's own.
Something alien had crept into Wu City.Something no eye had foreseen.And its roots… were already sinking deep.