Chapter 4 – Blood in the Arena
Two days passed.
Two days in which Li Wei's world was reduced to four cold stone walls, the coarse bite of the floor beneath his body, and the monotonous drip of water seeping from some unseen crack above. Outside, the routines of the Kai clan carried on as if he had ceased to exist: guards changing shifts with military precision, doors opening and closing in patterns he began to memorize, muffled voices drifting down the corridors that revealed nothing useful.
The cell offered no comfort. The air was heavy, thick with moisture and the metallic tang of iron bars. The thin bowl of watery rice each morning and the stale broth at night kept his body alive, but his mind remained razor-sharp. Hunger was not his greatest enemy; it was the waiting that gnawed at him, the dead time in which his urge to act clashed with the cold fact of his captivity.
On the dawn of the third day, the sound of a cane tapping against stone cut through the monotony. The rhythm was slow, deliberate, unmistakable. Mo Shang had returned.
The old man appeared before the cell, lingering for several seconds as his gaze swept over Li Wei. His eyes didn't merely take in the chains and the posture—they probed deeper, searching for cracks in his resolve or perhaps for a spark that hadn't been there before.
"It's decided," Mo Shang said, his voice dry and absolute. "The Blood Trial will be in three weeks."
The groan of metal echoed as the lock turned. The iron gate swung open, and the chains on Li Wei's wrists and ankles clinked sharply—an unwelcome announcement that his next chapter was beginning.
"Follow me," Mo Shang ordered without glancing back.
***
The corridor unfolded in a play of shadow and trembling firelight, lit by torches placed at uneven intervals. Smoke clung to the low ceiling, and the humid air was laced with the sharp scent of mold and rust. Each step Li Wei took was punctuated by the soft rattle of his chains, the sound bouncing off the stone walls as if to remind him of his current state.
But Li Wei wasted no time. His eyes moved constantly, quietly mapping everything: the heavy doors with double locks, the guards stationed in predictable but exploitable positions, the faint scuff marks on the floor that betrayed the busiest routes. Every detail was a potential weapon. Every observation, a seed for later.
After several turns, they arrived at a door reinforced with thick iron plates and multiple bolts. The deep grind of the locks being undone was like the restrained growl of a beast just before it was freed. The door opened, revealing a space unlike any cell he had seen.
The floor was lined with worn tatami mats, faded and frayed by years of use. The bare walls were interrupted only by a few racks holding ancient, rusted weapons, and in one corner sat a small, dust-choked altar long forgotten. There were no windows, only a single guarded entrance.
"Your isolation chamber," Mo Shang announced as he stepped inside. "You will train here until the Blood Trial. No one enters without my permission."
Li Wei stepped in slowly, eyes moving over every inch. The room was large enough to train, yet closed enough to be a trap if the wrong conditions arose. He picked up an old spear from a nearby rack; its weight was unbalanced, the wood splintered, the tip dull. Still, it would serve well enough to sharpen reflexes and rebuild muscle memory.
"How much time do I have?" he asked, rotating the spear in his hand.
"Exactly three weeks," Mo Shang replied. "And remember: every fighter who falls… feeds the future of the clan."
Li Wei gave the faintest nod, not looking away from the weapon. In his mind, the three weeks split into clear objectives: mend what he could of his meridians, refine neglected techniques, choose his weapon, and most importantly—prepare for the unknown.
Mo Shang's lips curved slightly, as if he could read those very thoughts.
"Use your time well, Zerel Kai. There will be no second chances."
***
The old man clapped once, sharply. From the corridor came a sound unlike the guards' heavy tread—light, measured footsteps, as if each placement of the foot had been weighed and chosen. A young woman appeared in the doorway, framed by the wavering glow of torchlight.
She could not have been more than eighteen winters old. She wore an ivory hanfu with long sleeves that brushed the floor. The fabric, though plain, draped with an elegance that belonged to someone who had once moved among higher circles. Her black hair fell straight to her waist, bound only by a worn jade hairpin that hinted at better days. Her skin was pale as porcelain, drinking in the light, and her dark eyes held a steady, watchful calm that suggested a mind in constant motion.
She inclined her head gracefully. "Lian Yue, at your service."
The name lodged itself in Li Wei's mind like the last piece of a puzzle he had been assembling in silence. This was no coincidence—fate rarely rolled fair dice.
"She will be your attendant," Mo Shang said. "She will handle your needs and bring what you request… within reason."
Li Wei held her gaze, but his voice was flat. "Understood."
Mo Shang nodded and turned to leave, the heavy door closing behind him with a thud that carried finality.
***
Lian Yue did not move. She stood as if carved from stone, observing him with a cool, appraising gaze—the look of someone judging whether a tool was worth keeping. Her back was straight, hands loosely joined before her, her breathing steady. Everything about her posture spoke of discipline.
"How long have you been here?" Li Wei asked, breaking the silence.
"Two years," she said. "Serving in various pavilions of the clan."
Her voice was soft, but her words were precise, each one weighed before being released. There was no hesitation, and nothing offered that was not necessary.
"I need you attentive… and discreet."
"I already am," she replied, eyes never leaving his.
Li Wei tilted his head slightly, intrigued. Perhaps she had her own game. If so, she would either be an ally… or a liability. For now, he would observe. And wait.