The cave burned to ashes.
Li Qiong did not look back as black flames consumed the stone walls and sigils of his master's lair. The furnace cracked and groaned before collapsing entirely, and the last of the formation lights dimmed into nothing.
When he finally sat, hours later, it was in the quiet upper room of the Luo River Inn, high above the bustle of Linshui City.
The city never slept. Outside his shuttered window, the streets roared with life — hawkers peddling talismans and trinkets, beggars crying for copper coins, drunken cultivators brawling in the alleys. Lantern light pooled like blood in the gutters, brothels and gambling dens glimmered in the haze, and the air was thick with roasted meat, incense, and damp stone.
The girl lay still on the bed. Her cheeks were pale, her body limp beneath the thin blanket. The poison worked exactly as his master had wanted — a concoction that left the victim alive but severed from their limbs and senses, trapped in a silent prison of flesh.
She would sleep for another day at least. Long enough for him to decide what to do with her.
Li Qiong sat cross‑legged at the table, a pot of weak tea cooling at his elbow. Before him lay a vast parchment map of the Canglan Continent, unrolled and pinned with jade weights.
His fingers hovered over the inked peaks and valleys, and his lips curved faintly in something that almost resembled a smile.
This... is where it begins.
On the Canglan Continent, a man could not rise alone. Power flowed through the ancient sects, the mighty clans, and the Imperial Court itself. Without a sect's backing or a clan's protection, you were nothing but a wandering ant — easily crushed.
And yet... even an ant could bite.
He dipped his brush into ink and began circling names and places on the map.
The Heavenly Sword Pavilion, high atop the Valley of Silent Clouds — famed for their sword cultivation and brutal trials, their inner disciples known to cut down challengers without mercy. The Scarlet Tiger Clan, in the southern Vermilion Plains — a confederation of fire‑wielders and warlords, rich in spirit ores and tempering grounds. The Catacombs of Ten Thousand Bones, hidden in the Endless Poison Marshes — feared for their assassins, gu and venom arts, but unmatched in rare herbs.
Linshui City's great clans loomed large as well — the Qin Clan, proud and haughty, their coffers heavy with spirit stones; the Luo Clan, masters of talismans and seals; and the brutal Xue Clan, whose cold‑blooded scions ruled the northern trade routes with iron fists.
Above them all loomed the Imperial Heartland, where Emperor Yan Longxu and his squabbling sons and daughters plotted ceaselessly. The Golden Sun Cavalry roamed the empire like wolves, seizing treasures and silencing dissent.
On his map, Li Qiong added his own notes.
His master's hidden caches still dotted the continent. The burned cave was only one.
The Wailing Gorge to the west — where a storm‑struck Orchid Tree still clung to the cliffs, its blossoms shimmering in moonlight.
The fissure beneath the ruins of Volcano Peak, where a Spirit‑Sealed Sabre lay in a lava‑bound altar, waiting for a worthy hand.
The black market stalls here in Linshui, where ignorant peddlers sold priceless tools alongside junk — like the Soul‑Binding Needles and Seven‑Star Blood Jade he had already marked.
And far beneath Mirror Moon Ravine, the Crocodile Marrow Pool — steeped in monstrous blood essence. Too dangerous to claim... for now.
The treasures he needed to rise were there. But so too were the dangers. The Xue Clan already prowled the north. Scarlet Tiger warlords hunted anyone who wandered their territories. The Heavenly Sword Pavilion was infamous for cutting down rogues. And the imperial enforcers could smell ambition on a man — and crush him before he drew breath.
Not all treasure was meant to be seized. Not yet.
From the bed came a faint, broken breath. The girl's fingers twitched beneath the blanket, though her eyes stayed closed.
Li Qiong didn't turn.
His brush hovered over the map as he murmured names he'd overheard in the alleys earlier:
Grand Preceptor Liang... Sect Mistress Yue Xiang...
Both were said to be secretly working together now, scouring the land for the hidden heir — not to kill him, but to leash him before the others could.
He'd already seen the signs: scarlet‑robed assassins with tiger‑embroidered bracers, moving through the night. Yan Wuji, the Third Prince, had unleashed his Scarlet Tigers to strike at the Heavenly Sword Pavilion and frame Star‑Fall Palace for the deed.
The two great sects were already bristling, their envoys exchanging cold words in public and colder blades in private.
And somewhere south, in the perfumed courtyards of the Southern Lotus Gardens, apothecaries and courtesans stockpiled poisons and antidotes — waiting to see which way the wind would blow before they chose who to tip into power... or into a coffin.
Li Qiong dipped his brush again and drew a faint red circle over the Imperial Capital. He connected it to the southern plains with a thin line of ink, then to the Silent Heart Mountains where the Southern Lotus Garden Sect lay in silence.
He was not naive.
Every clan, every sect, every courtier in Luo River was sharpening their knives. Everyone believed the throne might be theirs — or at least that they could ride the chaos to greater power.
And in that chaos...
His fingers tightened slightly on the brush.
There were opportunities for someone who wore no banners.
Someone like him.
He rolled the map carefully, tied it with twine, and slid it into his sleeve.
Tomorrow, he thought, he'd start with the market. There were always treasures hidden there — artifacts sold by merchants too ignorant to know their worth. A few spirit coins here, a few words there.
He rose silently and stepped to the window. The city below glimmered like a field of stars. Somewhere in that chaos, the hidden heir breathed. And somewhere else, the Scarlet Tigers were already killing in the name of their prince.
The throne was no longer just a throne.
It was bait.
Li Qiong let the shutter fall closed and turned back to the bed. The girl lay still. Her shallow breaths came more evenly now, and her eyelids fluttered faintly as the paralytic began to lose its grip.
It made no difference to him whether she woke tomorrow or the next day.
He sat again at the table, poured himself the last of the tea, and stared at the map in his mind before snuffing the candle.
In the dark, his master's words drifted back, low and cold:
Power is no blessing. It is a crown wrought from molten iron, a beast draped in flame.
It burns the moment you touch it, branding your soul, testing your resolve.
Show weakness, and it will consume you whole — hollow your heart, chain your will, and leave you its puppet, dancing to a tune you cannot hear.
Yet... endure.
Let it burn, let it claw, let it whisper its madness into your ears — and still, do not falter.
For the one who does not break... the one who holds steady through the fire...
That one will see the beast kneel, and the crown bow.
Li Qiong allowed himself the faintest of smiles.
Tomorrow, he thought again.
Tomorrow, the true start would begin.
Outside, beyond the walls of the Luo River Inn, Linshui City roared and glittered under the moon — as though the whole continent itself was waiting to see who would ascend next.