Ten years passed.
Ten years of peace. Ten years of work.
Ren An was a quiet, startlingly intelligent boy. He had his father's analytical mind and his
mother's lethal grace. From the time he could walk, his "play" was different.
Ren Wei, the "Head," would sit with him by the lake, not teaching him fighting, but teaching him
psychology. "Look at the wild-horn deer, An," he'd say. "See how the lead doe tests the wind?
She's not just smelling for predators. She's smelling for weakness. She's managing her rival.
See? She just... implied... she would kick her. She didn't have to."
Li Mei, the "Hands," would take him into her garden. "This," she would say, holding up a
beautiful, crimson-spotted mushroom, "is 'Slow-Sleep.' It's not a poison. It is a... tool. It... it
makes the... problem... go... away... for a... while. So... you... can... think."
They were, Ren Wei realized with a dark, private amusement, raising the perfect schemer.
They were a happy, strange, and utterly isolated family. Their "average" talent, combined with
decades of slow, meticulous work, had brought them to the eighth stage. They were masters.
Then, the world found them.
It wasn't a cultivator. It was... mortals. A family of refugees, their wagon broken, whose
merchant-patriarch had, by sheer, dumb luck, found the overgrown waterway into the valley.
They were a man, his wife, and their 16-year-old daughter. They were starving, weak, and
terrified.
Ren Wei, the "Head," made the choice. "We help them. We can't kill them, Mei. They're
harmless."
Li Mei, her hand resting on her son's shoulder, looked at Ren Wei. Her eyes were cold. "A weed
is harmless," she said, her voice a low murmur. "Until it seeds."
"We help them," Ren Wei said, his voice firm. "And then... they leave. It's a test for An. To
practice... being the rock."
For a week, they lived in a strange, tense truce. Ren Wei gave the family food. He helped the
merchant fix his wagon wheel.
The merchant's daughter, a plain, kind, and deeply lonely girl named Fen, was in awe of Ren
Wei. He was, to her, a god. This handsome, powerful, "immortal" man who lived in a paradise.
She... developed a crush. A simple, harmless, adolescent infatuation.
She found Ren Wei by the lake, where he was meditating. She had... picked... him... a... flower.
"Master... Ren," she said, her voice trembling, her face bright red. "I... I just... I wanted to...
thank... you... for your kindness..."
Ren Wei felt it. The bond. The leash.
It snapped taut. It went from a warm hum to a wire of freezing, killing, ICE.
He looked past the girl.
Li Mei was standing at the edge of the woods, two hundred feet away. She was just... watching.
Her face was blank. Cold. Still. The killer was back. The "Hands" were twitching. She was about
to prune this weed.
And Ren Wei made his choice.
He didn't look at Li Mei. He looked at the girl. He didn't gently reject her. He let his own darkness
out.
He stood up, letting his eighth-stage presence, his "Head," press down on her.
His voice was not kind. It was as cold and dead as the void.
"You are a child," he said. "And you are in my home. My wife is in that house. My son is in that
house. That is my world. You... are nothing. Your flower is trash. Get out of my sight. And if I
ever see you near me again... I will show you what a 'master' truly is."
The girl's face went white. She dropped the flower. She sobbed, a sound of pure terror, and ran. Ren Wei stood there for a long moment. He had become a yandere, too.
He felt the 'leash'. The ice was gone. It was replaced by a wave of heat. A pulse of pure,
possessive, dark arousal. From her.
He turned around.
Li Mei had emerged from the woods. Her face was not cold. It was flushed. Her eyes were
shining. She walked up to him. She didn't say a word.
She just rose up on her toes and kissed him. A deep, devouring kiss of absolute, total approval.
He was truly hers.