The days that followed were a masterclass in subtle warfare. Ercio became a ghost in the machinery of the Jade Serenity Sect, his presence a faint whisper, his actions ripples with no discernible source. The memory of their encounter by the stream was a seed, and he was the patient gardener, providing just enough shade and moisture for it to take root.
His first move was an act of anonymous generosity. Through careful observation from the bamboo groves, he had learned that Ling Xia's current alchemy assignment required a specific, hard-to-find ingredient: the Sun-Kissed Dew Grass, which only bloomed in a treacherous, rocky outcrop at the highest peak of the sect's grounds, guarded by irritable Sky-Fang Wasps.
He did not follow her there. Instead, he went the night before. Under the cloak of darkness, his body still humming with a residual ache, he scaled the peak. The wasps, dormant in the cool night air, were no match for his silent, deliberate movements. He harvested not the entire patch, but a single, perfect specimen, its blades glowing with a soft, internal light. He did not take it to her.
As the sun rose, he was already in place, concealed near the path to the Alchemy Pavilion. He watched as Ling Xia, her face set with determined apprehension, began her solitary trek towards the dangerous peak. At the precise moment, he had a junior disciple—a girl he had once charmed with a story and a stolen sweet—"accidentally" bump into her, dropping a basket of harmless Spirit-Crane feathers. In the moment of polite confusion and helping to gather the feathers, Ercio, moving like a shadow, slipped the Sun-Kissed Dew Grass into the outer fold of Ling Xia's abandoned herb-satchel, which lay on the ground.
An invisible hand, Mighty Ercio commended. She will find it and believe it was her own fortune, a boon from the heavens. But in the back of her mind, the memory of your understanding words by the stream will intertwine with this sudden luck.
He was right. Later that day, from his hidden perch, he saw her emerge from the Alchemy Pavilion, her face not weary from a hard-fought harvest, but alight with quiet joy and relief. She clutched the dew grass in her hand, looking around as if to find the source of her good fortune. She saw no one, but the seed of connection—of a benevolent, unseen force watching over her—was watered.
His next move was to stoke the fires of jealousy, just as his demon had advised. He found Su Lin tending to her cauldrons, the air thick with the scent of molten minerals and her own jasmine perfume.
"Sister Su Lin," he began, his tone carrying a note of respectful admiration, his eyes carefully fixed on the intricate silver patterns on her robe. "I must confess, I overheard the new disciple, Ling Xia, speaking with another novice. She expressed a deep admiration for your mastery of the Flowing Gold Elixir. She said the way you control the flame is... 'the most mesmerizing dance in the entire sect.'"
Su Lin paused, her spoon hovering over a bubbling liquid. A faint, proud smile touched her lips, though she tried to hide it. "Did she?" she said, feigning nonchalance. "The girl has a discerning eye, it seems."
And now, the demon whispered, the hook is set. She will look upon the peach girl not as a junior, but as a rival admirer. The forest divides.
Ercio bowed and retreated, his work done. He moved through the sect like a gentle poison, weaving a web of subtle influence. He was no longer the brash "Traitor," but a phantom, a catalyst. And with every invisible gift and carefully planted word, the walls of Ling Xia's isolation, and the unity of the women around her, began to subtly, inexorably, crack.
---
The success of his schemes was a headier brew than any spirit wine. Ercio moved through the following days with a renewed, coiled energy, the last vestiges of his physical pain forgotten. He was the pulse of a hidden current flowing beneath the sect's serene surface. His next target was Mei, the fiery enforcer whose private visit in the healing chambers had spoken of a connection that transcended public punishment.
He found her not on the training grounds, but in the Armory, polishing the already-gleaming blade of her jade-green sword. The air around her crackled with contained power. Her crimson hair was tied back severely, highlighting the sharp, beautiful lines of her face and the powerful column of her neck. Her enforcer's uniform, a tight ensemble of dark green silk and reinforced leather, clung to her form like a second skin, emphasizing the formidable swell of her breasts and the strong, rounded curve of her hips and rear.
Appreciate the view, but do not stare like a starved hound, Mighty Ercio cautioned. You are a strategist, not a beggar.
"Sister Mei," Ercio greeted, his voice a low, respectful rumble that echoed slightly in the stone chamber.
She did not look up from her blade, but the rhythm of her polishing cloth faltered for a fraction of a second. "The Traitor emerges from the shadows," she said, her tone flat. "Have you come to admire the instruments of your discipline?"
"I have come to offer a piece of intelligence," he replied, leaning casually against a weapon rack, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. "I was observing the new disciple, Ling Xia, during her forms practice yesterday." He paused, letting the name hang in the air. "Her wind-walking footwork is exceptional, fluid and ethereal. But she was studying the enforcers, specifically your unit. She remarked to her training partner that while her techniques are like a breeze, yours... yours are like a landslide. Unstoppable. She said the raw power in your leg sweeps, in the way you pivot on that magnificent, powerful backside of yours, is a form of art she could never hope to emulate."
Mei's hands stilled completely. She slowly lifted her gaze from the sword, her amber eyes locking with his. There was no smile, no flicker of pride. Instead, a deep, simmering intensity burned in their depths. She saw through his flattery, but she also heard the underlying message: the new, coveted girl was watching her. The peach blossom was admiring the wildfire.
"Is that so?" Mei's voice was dangerously soft. She placed her sword down with a deliberate, quiet finality. She took a step toward him, her presence filling the space. "You have become quite the little messenger sparrow, Ercio. Flitting from one ear to another, carrying pretty songs." She stopped mere inches from him, the scent of jasmine and steel overwhelming. "Tell me, do you sing for her, too? Do you whisper to the peach blossom about the 'majestic peaks' of other women?"
Her hand shot out, not to strike him, but to grip his chin, her fingers like iron. Her gaze was a physical force. "I am not one of your fools to be manipulated. I know your game. But understand this—if I find you have laid a single, deceitful finger on that naive girl, your next beating will not be a public spectacle. It will be a private lesson, in a very dark room, and I will ensure you enjoy every... agonizing... second of it."
She released him with a slight shove, her eyes blazing with a possessive fury that was more terrifying and more arousing than any cold judgment from Elder Zhuoyan. She had not been swayed by his words; she had been challenged by them. He had not divided the forest; he had pitted two tigers against each other, and now both had their eyes on him as much as on each other.
As he left the Armory, his heart hammered, not with fear, but with exhilaration. The game had just become infinitely more dangerous.
You have stirred the hornet's nest, Mighty Ercio stated, a note of grim approval in its tone. Now, let us see which queen strikes first.
To be continue...