The air still smelled of blood and wet earth when the wind shifted.
Wei Ji didn't move. Even when his saplings were attacked.
His cloak fluttered as the last of his sapling beasts twitched on the ground, their severed stems leaking green liquid that hissed against the soil.
His gaze turned toward the dark treeline where a faint shimmer of movement broke the silence.
Two figures darted through the shadows, fast enough to leave afterimages in the mist.
They landed beside the maimed assassin woman, one crouching to lift her while the other covered the rear. The faint hum of spiritual Qi pulsed from their bodies, and then, the moved back.
Wei Ji's eyes narrowed. "Reinforcements?"
The new arrivals stepped into view, and behind them came four more familiar silhouettes — the remaining assassins who had survived his earlier ambush.
The injured woman, pale and shaking, clung to the man carrying her. Her eyes were wide with fear as she whispered, "Young Master… you are here…"
The taller of the two newcomers raised a hand. "Don't greet us now," he said sharply. "Focus on the enemy. Whoever you're facing isn't simple. Be careful."
"Yes, Young Master!" the five assassins replied in unison.
The one beside him — a man with a calm but cold expression — drew his sword halfway from its sheath. "Then we'll attack together," he said.
But before they could move, the first newcomer extended his arm to block them. His voice was firm, almost commanding. "No. If we rush in now, all of us will die."
The assassins froze. Even his companion turned to him with surprise.
"What?" one of the assassins stammered. "Young Master, are you saying—"
"Yes," the young man cut in. His eyes swept across the battlefield, sharp and analyzing. "This place is surrounded by traps. Every inch of it. The roots, the vines, even the air itself reeks of spiritual energy — not random, but refined. The plants here are alive because of his Qi, and each one is waiting for a trigger."
He walked forward slowly, his boots crushing the damp moss. "The mist you see? It's not fog. It's spores infused with plant Qi. Breathe too deep, and your meridians will twist. Step wrong, and the vines under your feet will react like coiled snakes. If one trap activates, it'll feed the others. A chain reaction — an entire forest of death."
The assassins exchanged uneasy looks.
He crouched and touched a patch of ground, brushing away a thin layer of dirt. Beneath it, a small root shimmered faintly green. "See this?" he said. "This root links to at least fifty other nodes within twenty meters. If you hit it with spiritual energy or physical force, it'll release a burst of toxin mixed with Qi that eats flesh and corrodes armor."
The man beside him paled. "That's… monstrous."
"It's more than that," the young master continued, his tone grim. "Every plant here shares energy with the others. Even if we destroy one, the others will absorb its remaining Qi and grow stronger. It's a living formation, not just a trap. Whoever made this didn't just rely on brute power — they understand nature and spiritual resonance at a terrifying level."
One of the female assassins swallowed hard. "Then… what do we do, Young Master?"
The man sighed softly and straightened. "We dismantle it."
"What?"
He nodded. "It's the only way. If we try to fight him head-on, these traps will devour us before his attacks do. I'll dismantle the formation. You six protect me. Don't attack him — if you use Qi recklessly, you'll trigger the roots."
The six of them exchanged tense glances. The calm one beside him frowned. "That's suicide. You can't dismantle something this complex while he's still here!"
The young master smiled faintly, though sweat already beaded his forehead. "Then buy me time."
He pressed his palms together and formed several quick hand signs.
Three swords shot out from behind him, hovering in the air, their blades gleaming with faint silver light. Each sword hummed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"Go!"
The swords shot forward, striking invisible points in the air. Sparks of green and gold flared, and the forest trembled.
The assassins quickly spread out, forming a defensive circle around him. They didn't dare breathe too loudly.
Wei Ji stood still. His hands were behind his back, his eyes observing the scene with growing curiosity. "Interesting…" he murmured.
He recognized the technique. It was common. But saw something in that man. The way the young man's gaze traced the flow of Qi, how his swords struck precisely at invisible threads hidden in space — that wasn't luck. That was a sight.
The Sword Eyes.
Only those with such a gift could perceive the structure of energy itself. In his past life, Wei Ji had even demanded that every outer disciple of his Sword Pavilion possess those eyes.
To see the flow of the world, to read Qi like words on paper — that was the foundation of all sword mastery was just one of its benefits.
And this boy…
Wei Ji's expression softened slightly. "To think I'd see them again in this Minor Mortal Realm."
Meanwhile, the young master's breath grew ragged. Every time his swords struck a node, the ground reacted violently.
Roots burst from the soil, vines lashed out, and clouds of spores exploded into the air. He barely evaded them, his robes torn and burned in several places.
"Stay back!" he yelled as one vine lunged at his neck. The calm man cut it apart before it could touch him.
The assassins could only defend. Their bodies trembled from the strain.
After several long minutes, a bright pulse of light erupted from the ground — the last trap shattering like glass. The air stilled. The heavy mist faded. The smell of Qi and blood mixed in the breeze.
The young master dropped to one knee, panting, his hands trembling from exhaustion. "It's done…"
"Protect him!" his companion shouted, moving in front of him.
Wei Ji tilted his head. "So it really is Sword Eyes," he whispered. "Impressive."
For a moment, his memories drifted — of his disciples, his sect, his pavilion filled with sword cultivators who could split rivers with a flick of their blades. But that was long ago. All gone now.
The young master wiped the sweat from his face and looked up — and froze.
The fog had cleared completely. The man standing before them was now visible under the faint light filtering through the canopy.
Long black hair. A calm face, sharp as a blade, but with an air of deep fatigue. His clothes were tattered, but his bearing was that of someone who stood above the heavens themselves.
The calm man beside the young master stiffened. His eyes widened as recognition struck him. "Young Master," he whispered. "Is that…?"
The young master blinked, disbelief flashing in his gaze. "Attendant Zuge… is that… my—"
Zuge's voice trembled. "He looks exactly like Young Master Han Ji."
"Han Ji?" the assassins echoed in shock.
Wei Ji frowned slightly. Han Ji. That name again.
The young master — Han Zhanjian — took a hesitant step forward. "Eldest brother… is that really you?"
The assassins gasped. One of the women, the one missing her legs, covered her mouth in horror. "Impossible… the mortal husband of Princess Lu Shaohua?"
Wei Ji's brows twitched. Princess Lu Shaohua… Demon Empress.
He suddenly understood. His gaze flicked to the symbols embroidered on their robes — the crest of the Han Family.
"So… my younger brother," he muttered under his breath.
Han Zhanjian swallowed. "Brother Han Ji… but how… you were a mortal! You couldn't even awaken spiritual roots! How could you—"
Zuge interrupted loudly, unable to contain himself. "Don't tell me, Young Master! He's just like you! Hiding his power all this time! Acting like a weakling while secretly cultivating in shadows, paying courtesans to play the fool! A wolf in sheep's skin!"
Han Zhanjian flushed. "Zuge, not now—"
Wei Ji didn't move. His eyes darkened as he weighed his options. Killing the assassins was easy. But killing this younger brother who bore the Sword Eyes? That would draw too much attention. And worse — if his actions stirred the future Demon Empress's emotions, it could unravel everything he planned.
He sighed quietly. "Younger brother," he said at last, his tone calm but cold. "I didn't expect to see you here, nor to find you like this."
Han Zhanjian opened his mouth to speak, but Wei Ji raised a hand. "Later. There are debts I must settle first."
His finger slowly turned, pointing toward the five assassins still trembling behind his brother. His killing intent swept through the air like a storm.
"I'll deal with them. Step aside, Zhanjian."
The wind howled between them as the leaves began to rise.