In the quiet corner of the outer sect, Han Li entered the old archive hall—rarely visited, mostly ignored. Dust covered the shelves like snow, and the air smelled of dry parchment and sealed secrets.
He moved with familiarity.
Behind a false wall, he retrieved a scroll wrapped in red silk. The string binding it pulsed faintly, as if alive.
He whispered, "Still breathing, huh?"
The string uncoiled on its own.
Inside was the Scroll of Crimson Names, an artifact once used to seal execution orders against divine beasts and heretics. Only five copies existed. This one… was blank.
Until Han Li touched it.
Blood welled from his fingertip and soaked into the paper.
Names began to appear—each one etched in crimson light.
Zhang Hao. Elder Mu. The Jade Mist Envoy.
Each name pulsed for a moment, then faded, swallowed by the scroll.
Han Li stared at it silently.
"I warned them," he muttered.
Behind him, a gentle creak—then footsteps.
A young boy, barely fifteen, peeked around the corner. "Uncle Han, are you reading stories again?"
Han Li quickly rolled the scroll and smiled.
"Just old tales, Feng'er. Want to hear one?"
The boy nodded eagerly and sat cross-legged beside him.
As Han Li told him a made-up story about a heroic pig who defeated dragons with a frying pan, the scroll sat quietly beside him, still faintly bleeding.
Outside the archive, a raven circled once, then flew toward the inner sect.
Trouble was coming fast.
Han Li poured the boy some tea.
He didn't look worried.
Not yet.