The newly recruited disciples huddled beneath the shadow of the crimson cliffs, where the Blood Stream Sect's outer district twisted upward like a beast's spine. Their robes were still stiff with fresh dye, their eyes still wide from fear and awe. None of them knew what to expect here—except for what the rumors told them.
"I heard he was just like us once," one of them whispered, adjusting the too-large sash around his waist. "A stray taken in during the last Eclipse. Said he completed a bounty only four months after joining."
The others turned to him with open skepticism.
"Four months?" another said, scoffing. "You mean the bounty for retrieving the red stone?"
The first disciple nodded. "The very one. People say the thing was cursed, hidden in a battlefield ruin, guarded by something that eats souls. Outer disciples wouldn't even go near it. But he did. Brought it back himself."
There was a long silence. Then another voice muttered, "That's when they gave him that cave... right?"
The boy nodded again. "Yeah. Bigger than any of the others in the outer ring. Some say it used to belong to an inner elder who died during the Devil Ice Purge. Now it's his."
They all looked toward the base of the mountain, where dark caves dotted the rocky cliffs like watching eyes. One cave stood apart—larger, reinforced with red totems and engraved stones. A place of someone important.
"But here's the weird part," said the third disciple, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It's been two years now. No one's seen him leave that cave. Not once."
"That's not entirely true," the first disciple added, a knowing glint in his eye. "Every now and then, women are seen coming down from the path. Not just one—sometimes two, three. They look... pleased."
The group fell quiet, glancing at one another.
"What does he do in there?" one finally dared to ask.
The boy only shrugged, smiling slightly. "Who knows? But if the bounty rewards were good enough to keep him locked away this long... maybe it's not just cultivation he's working on."
A chill wind swept across the stone, but it wasn't cold. It was the feeling of a name about to become legend.
Wei Feng.
The murmuring continued as the group of new disciples shifted their gaze from the distant cave to the crimson arena below the cliffs.
"Still, if he's so amazing, why hasn't he shown up to the yearly tournament?" one asked, arms crossed. "It's been two years. We all know the top five haven't changed. Senior Brother Xiang still holds first place like a stone Buddha."
"Right?" said another. "Senior Mei's spear technique hasn't been touched in three years, and don't even get me started on the twins from the Blood Jade Pavilion. Everyone knows the rankings are locked in."
One of the braver newbies scoffed, "Maybe Wei Feng's just scared. I mean, sure, he did something impressive when he brought back the red stone..."
"But that wasn't from a battlefield," someone corrected. "It was from Rotten Apple City. During the Devil-Blue catastrophe. You know, when half the district turned to ash and the other half froze solid? They say he came back dragging a broken man and holding blood money in his hands."
"And then," added another, "they gave him that cave. The one that belonged to him."
The moment those words left the disciple's lips, the air turned heavy. Reverent.
"The old man..." one whispered.
"The old man," said another, lowering his voice like the name itself carried weight. "They say he went from Qi Condensation to Foundation Establishment in just three years. Started with a broken sword and no legs—finished with his own technique and a seat among the elders."
"Yeah, and they say he once drank a whole vat of ghost marrow wine and lived. Absolute maniac."
"Now that's the kind of legend who makes history," another added, awe woven into every word.
The group went quiet again, the weight of the old tales hanging heavy in the air. Their eyes slowly drifted up toward the shadowed cave carved into the cliffside, its mouth dark and silent.
"That's the cave," one murmured. "It used to belong to him. They say it still carries his aura. And now Wei Feng lives there."
"He got the red stone," someone muttered, more to themselves than anyone else. "Not from some battlefield, but from Rotten Apple City. During the Devil-Blue incident. He returned with blood on his hands and a corpse on his back... and they gave him that cave."
"And then he vanished," added another. "Hasn't come out in two whole years."
"Well... not entirely," one smirked. "Women leave that place every now and then. Always different. Always walking a little funny. Looks like he's got a taste for beauty."
The others chuckled awkwardly—not mocking, not amused, just uncomfortable with the truth they didn't want to say too loudly.
Maybe he wasn't afraid.
Maybe he just didn't need to prove anything.
Maybe the most dangerous cultivator... was the one who didn't show off at all.
The blood-red glow of Blood Heart Hall cast long shadows across the chamber, where Mu Xuelan, the Sect Matron, sat in silence. Her throne of bones and vine was a testament to her age, power, and dark wisdom. Though her appearance was frail, her presence was suffocating, as if the very air bent to her will.
Zhou Kai and Wan Ya approached her, their footsteps echoing in the stillness. The matron didn't speak immediately. Her eyes, deep and knowing, scanned both of them with the kind of gaze that pierced through to their very souls.
When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, measured.
"You've returned."
Her fingers lightly tapped the bloodstone embedded in her throne. The sigils along the walls flickered in response, casting a dim light that bathed the room in an ethereal glow.
"The red stone… it was crucial to this experiment. Zhou Kai, you did well to bring it to Wan Ya."
Zhou Kai gave a slight bow, his smirk never fading. He spoke without hesitation.
"The body swap succeeded. The ritual worked."
The matron's gaze remained steady, her face unreadable.
"Yes. The technique is proven. Wan Ya has given us the proof we needed. But you… you have delivered the key to the next step."
She glanced briefly at Wan Ya, who stood beside Zhou Kai, her expression neutral but subtly wary.
"Your service has not gone unnoticed," the matron continued, her tone soft but sharp. "You were part of something greater."
Zhou Kai remained silent, observing the matron carefully. He knew the wheels of her mind were turning.
Mu Xuelan stood slowly, her ancient body moving with grace and authority. She turned her gaze to the distant horizon, as if seeing beyond the walls of the hall, to some distant, secret future.
"The ritual has proven its potential. When the time comes… I will take what is mine."
The air thickened as her words hung in the room, laden with intent. But the matron did not elaborate further. The meaning was clear—she had tested the body-swapping technique on Wan Ya, but her true target was her granddaughter.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Mu Xuelan returned to her seat, her hands resting on the carved armrests of her throne.
"You may go now. I will call on you when the time is right."
There was no warmth, but also no malice in her words. Just a quiet command.
Zhou Kai nodded and motioned for Wan Ya to follow him as they left the chamber. Behind them, Mu Xuelan's figure remained still, her eyes lost in thought. Her plans had only begun to take shape.