The wind tasted of iron.
For three days, Lin Feng walked through the remains of the valley, following the rivers that had turned to ash. The land was dead, stripped of qi — yet faint currents of power still swirled in the air, like ghosts whispering to those who dared to listen.
He listened.
Each step deepened his control over the new energy inside him — the tempered lightning that slept beneath his skin, and the golden brew qi that pulsed through his veins. His spirit gourd glowed faintly, humming in rhythm with his heartbeat.
You've crossed the threshold of mortality, Jin Jue said. But don't mistake survival for strength.
"I know," Lin Feng replied. "Strength means nothing if I can't protect it."
Or take it, Mo Xuan rumbled darkly.
Lin Feng smirked faintly. "Then I'll take it and protect it."
By the fourth dawn, he reached the edge of a ruined forest — and beyond it, the first sign of civilization: a mountain path leading to a massive black gate half-buried in mist.
Etched across its arch were three ancient characters:
"Crimson Moon Sect."
Lin Feng's breath caught. That name was carved deep into his memory — the sect that once cast him out, calling his cultivation "a farce of beasts and drunks."
You should walk away, Jin Jue warned. They'll kill you if they see your face.
Lin Feng touched the scar on his chin and smiled faintly. "They won't recognize me. And besides… I have a debt to settle."
He pulled his hood low and stepped through the gates.
The sect grounds were vast, carved into the mountainside like a city of crimson stone. Disciples trained in open courtyards, their blades slicing through air thick with spiritual mist. Towers reached into the clouds, each humming with formation energy.
Lin Feng kept to the shadows. The world had changed since he'd been exiled — stronger auras, faster cultivation techniques, new faces wearing old arrogance.
In the main courtyard, a group of disciples surrounded a dueling platform where two figures clashed, their qi slamming together in blinding bursts. The crowd roared with every strike.
He paused, watching. The duel was one-sided — a tall man in silver robes overwhelmed his opponent with relentless strikes. His qi was cold, sharp, precise.
That one, Jin Jue said softly. His aura feels familiar.
Lin Feng's jaw tightened. He knew that energy.
Li Yun — his former senior brother. The one who'd crushed his dantian and thrown him down the mountain.
The years had made Li Yun more refined, but his eyes still burned with the same cruelty. He struck his opponent down with a final blast of frost qi that froze the dueling floor solid.
"Pathetic," Li Yun said, brushing ice from his sleeve. "Another weakling unfit to carry the Crimson Moon name."
The crowd laughed obediently.
Lin Feng's fists clenched. The lightning in his veins stirred like a beast awakened.
Patience, Jin Jue warned. You're not ready to face him yet.
But Mo Xuan growled deep within him.
There's no patience in vengeance.
The duel ended. Li Yun turned, his gaze sweeping across the crowd — and for a heartbeat, his eyes passed over Lin Feng.
Then froze.
The faintest flicker of recognition.
A ghost from a past he thought buried.
"…You," Li Yun said, his voice cold. "Impossible."
The crowd murmured. Disciples turned, eyes narrowing at the hooded stranger.
Lin Feng's hand brushed the gourd at his side. "Still remember me, Senior Brother?"
Li Yun stepped down from the platform, every movement precise, dangerous. "Lin Feng. The drunk who wasted his qi on nonsense. I thought you died in the wilderness."
"I did," Lin Feng said softly. "Then I learned to enjoy the taste of death."
He uncorked the gourd.
Golden mist exploded outward, swirling around him. The air vibrated as his spiritual energy flared — heavier, deeper than any ordinary disciple's. The crowd stumbled back, shielding their faces from the heat.
Li Yun sneered. "You think you can stand before me again?"
"Not think," Lin Feng said. "I know."
They moved at once.
Li Yun's sword flashed like winter lightning, carving a frozen arc toward Lin Feng's throat.
Lin Feng ducked, spinning aside, and swung his gourd upward — not to block, but to redirect. The blade slid across its surface, screeching as sparks burst between them.
Lin Feng's palm slammed into Li Yun's chest, golden qi detonating like thunder.
The impact sent both men flying backward, crashing into opposite pillars.
Gasps echoed through the courtyard. The onlookers could barely follow the movements — the collision of power, speed, and fury had blurred them into afterimages.
Li Yun rose, blood trickling from his lip. "You've improved," he said, almost impressed. "But you're still beneath me."
He raised his sword. Frost gathered along the blade, condensing into a storm of razor-edged snow.
Lin Feng steadied his breath, the golden glow around him brightening until the air itself shimmered.
"Then I'll rise," he said simply.
They clashed again — lightning and ice colliding midair, shockwaves tearing the dueling platform apart. Disciples screamed and scattered as waves of qi shattered nearby walls.
Each strike pushed Lin Feng to the edge of his limits. His veins screamed, his bones trembled, but he refused to yield.
Push it further, Mo Xuan urged. Let the beast taste battle.
Lin Feng exhaled — and unleashed it.
A burst of primal qi erupted from him, golden mixed with streaks of crimson. His pupils flared, and his movements became feral, unpredictable — every strike faster, heavier, wild.
Li Yun faltered, forced backward step by step.
The final blow came swift — Lin Feng's fist colliding with Li Yun's sword hand. The weapon shattered; shards of frost scattered like glass.
Lin Feng's follow-up strike sent Li Yun crashing into the courtyard wall, embedding him in stone.
Silence.
Dozens of disciples stared in shock. The man once scorned as trash now stood tall, smoke rising from his shoulders, the faint hum of power still rippling from his body.
Lin Feng looked down at his fallen senior. "Next time," he said quietly, "I won't hold back."
He turned and walked away, cloak fluttering in the wind.
Behind him, the Crimson Moon Sect buzzed with fear and disbelief.
For the first time in decades, their perfect hierarchy had cracked.
And above it all, thunder rolled faintly in the distant clouds — as if Heaven itself had taken notice.