Dawn came too quickly.
To Chen Wei, the rising sun didn't signal the start of a new day. It signaled a deadline.
He stood before the massive iron furnace of the Corpse Hall, his face flushed by the searing heat. The fire roared behind the grate, hungry and loud, devouring the mortal remains of Senior Brother Han.
'Burn. Just burn.'
Chen Wei wiped a slurry of soot and sweat from his forehead with a stained sleeve. His hands were trembling, not from the exertion of the night, but from the sheer, adrenaline-fueled terror of what he had just done.
He had spent the last four hours methodically erasing every trace of the murder.
It was a gruesome, precise business.
He had drained the poisoned blood from the heart cavity using a hollow reed, replacing it with a mixture of pig's blood and vinegar he kept for coagulating loose fluids. It wouldn't fool a grandmaster alchemist, but it would simulate the normal stagnation of Qi after death.
He had taken a heated iron, usually reserved for cauterizing weeping sores, and carefully smoothed out the ligature marks on the neck. He blended the bruising into the surrounding tissue, making it look like the post-mortem swelling common in Qi Deviation cases.
It wasn't perfect. A skilled coroner from the Inner Sect would see through the deception in seconds.
But Li Feng wasn't a coroner. He was a Young Master.
To him, the dead were just trash to be discarded. He wouldn't look too closely. He would see what he wanted to see.
Chen Wei hoped.
He tossed another shovel of spirit-coal into the maw of the furnace. The flames licked out, greedy and violent.
'Hotter. It needs to be hotter.'
Heart-Rot Powder left a residue. If the fire wasn't hot enough, the bones would be stained a vibrant, tell-tale emerald green. Chen Wei had stoked the fire until the iron of the furnace warped and groaned, praying it was enough to bleach the bones white.
He stepped back, leaning on the shovel, his chest heaving.
The System interface hovered in his peripheral vision, silent and blue. It was the only source of cool light in the sweltering room.
[TECHNIQUE: CRIMSON PETAL SWORD ART (INCOMPLETE)]
[STATUS: DORMANT]
[SLOTS OCCUPIED: 1/3]
Chen Wei stared at the text.
He could feel the knowledge sitting in his mind like a loaded crossbow. It was a strange, intrusive sensation—knowing how to kill a man in three different ways with a sword he didn't own, using muscles he hadn't trained. It made his fingers twitch. It made him feel powerful.
It made him feel like a fraud.
The heavy iron doors of the Corpse Hall groaned.
The sound cut through the roar of the fire like a blade.
Chen Wei froze. He forced his breathing to slow. He forced his hands to stop shaking. He gripped the handle of the shovel until his knuckles turned white, then loosened his grip, adopting the posture of a tired, overworked servant.
Footsteps echoed on the stone floor.
They were slow, deliberate steps. The steps of a man who owned the ground he walked on. They didn't hurry. They didn't hesitate.
"Servant."
The voice was smooth, cultured, and utterly cold. It carried the weight of authority that didn't need to shout to be heard.
Chen Wei dropped the shovel. The metal clang rang out sharply in the hall.
He spun around and fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the dirty flagstones. The stone was cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the furnace.
"This servant greets the Young Master!"
Li Feng stood in the doorway.
He was illuminated by the morning light streaming in from the courtyard, his silhouette framed by the golden rays. His white-and-gold robes were pristine, shimmering with a faint protective light that repelled the dust and grime of the Corpse Hall. His jade fan tapped rhythmically against his palm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He looked like a painting of an immortal descended to the mortal world.
He looked like a predator entering a sheep pen.
Li Feng didn't advance immediately. He stood by the door, wrinkling his elegant nose at the smell of smoke, ozone, and death. He pulled a scented handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his face.
"Is it done?"
Chen Wei didn't dare look up. He kept his gaze fixed on the hem of Li Feng's robes.
"Yes, Young Master. The cremation is nearly complete. The... the purification was successful."
"Purification." Li Feng chuckled. It was a dry sound, devoid of humor. "A polite word for burning trash."
He stepped into the hall.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. The roaring fire suddenly felt distant.
This was Spirit Pressure.
Even at the Early Foundation Establishment stage, Li Feng's mere presence was enough to make the air feel heavy, like walking through water. It pressed against Chen Wei's lungs, making each breath a labor. It was a reminder of the gap between them.
An ant and a boot.
Li Feng walked toward the furnace. His steps were silent now. He stopped beside Chen Wei, looking down at the servant's prostrate form.
"Did you notice anything... unusual... during the preparation?"
Chen Wei's heart skipped a beat.
The question was a trap. A razor blade hidden in silk.
If Chen Wei said yes, he admitted to seeing the murder. He would be silenced instantly.
If he said no too quickly, he would seem suspicious. Han Jin's death was messy; claiming it was pristine would be a lie too obvious to ignore.
He had to be the perfect idiot. He had to be a coward.
"Unusual?" Chen Wei's voice trembled. He let a note of genuine fear bleed into it. "The... the corpse was difficult, Young Master. The Qi... it was chaotic. It kept twitching."
Li Feng paused. The fan stopped tapping.
"Twitching?"
"Yes, Young Master," Chen Wei stammered, speaking to the floor. "Even after rigor mortis set in. The meridians were spasming. I thought... I thought it might turn into a Jiangshi. I used extra suppression talismans to keep it down. It nearly broke my bone scraper. I was terrified."
Li Feng hummed. It was a satisfied sound.
"Qi Deviation is a terrible thing," Li Feng said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "It twists the body. It breaks the mind. The residual energy often lingers, violent and confused. It is good that you were... thorough."
He walked past Chen Wei, approaching the furnace.
Chen Wei turned his head slightly, watching through his peripheral vision.
Li Feng peered through the iron grate. He was looking at the crumbling silhouette of bones inside the inferno.
Chen Wei held his breath. His lungs burned.
'Don't look at the ashes. Don't look at the color.'
If the fire hadn't burned hot enough... if there was even a speck of green...
Li Feng stared into the fire for a long moment. The flames danced in his eyes, reflecting a cold, amber light. He stood there, motionless, a statue of judgment.
Time stretched. Every second felt like an hour.
Suddenly, the pressure in the room spiked.
It wasn't a conscious attack. It was a test.
Li Feng flared his Spirit Pressure. It hit Chen Wei like a physical weight, slamming him into the stone. Dust rose from the cracks in the floor.
Chen Wei gasped, his vision swimming. His heart stuttered. The blood vessels in his eyes threatened to burst.
'He's going to kill me. Right here. Right now.'
Fear, primal and overwhelming, flooded his system. His pulse skyrocketed. If his heart beat too fast, Li Feng would hear it. He would hear the guilt.
[WARNING: CARDIAC STRESS CRITICAL.]
[HOST HEART RATE: 180 BPM.]
[DETECTED: EXTERNAL SPIRITUAL SUPPRESSION.]
The blue box flickered in front of his face.
[ACTIVATE AUTONOMIC REGULATION?]
'Yes! Do it!'
A jolt of cold energy shot from his brain down his spine. It was unpleasant, like swallowing ice.
Instantly, the pounding in his ears vanished. His heart slowed to a crawl. His breathing became shallow and even. To an observer, he didn't look calm; he looked fainted.
Li Feng glanced back. He saw the servant limp on the floor, barely conscious, drooling slightly from fear. There was no defiance in his posture. No guilt. Only the pathetic weakness of a mortal.
The pressure vanished.
"Pathetic."
Li Feng sneered. He turned away from the fire. He had seen what he needed to see. The ash was grey. The servant was useless.
Then, he stepped back.
"Good."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small pouch made of embroidered silk. He tossed it.
It landed in front of Chen Wei with a heavy, dull clink.
"For your trouble. And for your silence. The sect needs to move on from this tragedy. Do you understand?"
Chen Wei grabbed the pouch. His hands shook. The System released its control over his nerves, and the tremors returned tenfold.
"This servant understands! This servant saw nothing but a tragedy! Senior Brother Han... he cultivated too hard. It is a warning to us all!"
Li Feng smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. It was a smile one gave to a particularly obedient dog.
"You are smarter than you look, trash. Keep being smart. Stupid people have short lives in the Azure River Sect."
He turned and walked away, his white robes billowing in the draft.
"Have the urn delivered to the Hall of Heroes by noon," he called out over his shoulder. "And wash yourself. You smell of death."
The heavy doors slammed shut.
Chen Wei remained on his knees for a long time. He listened to the fading footsteps. He waited until the only sound in the hall was the roar of the fire and the thumping of his own heart.
Then, he collapsed.
He rolled onto his back, gasping for air, clutching the pouch of spirit stones to his chest. The Spirit Pressure had faded, but his limbs still felt weak, like jelly.
'He bought it. He actually bought it.'
Chen Wei laughed. It was a jagged, hysterical sound that scraped his throat.
He opened the pouch. Five low-grade spirit stones glimmered dully inside. They emitted a soft, milky light.
Five stones. A year's wages for a servant.
The price of a life. The price of a lie.
He sat up, shoving the pouch into his robes. He looked at the furnace. The fire was finally dying down, its job done. The evidence was smoke and ash.
He had survived the morning. But Li Feng was right about one thing. Stupid people had short lives.
And Li Feng wasn't stupid. He was arrogant, yes. He was cruel, undoubtedly. But he was also cautious.
Today, Chen Wei was a useful servant who knew his place. He was a loose end that had been tied off with a bribe.
But tomorrow? Next week?
When the investigation started, when the Sect Elders began asking questions... Li Feng would remember the servant who cleaned the body. He would remember the loose end.
Loose ends were cut.
Chen Wei's eyes hardened. The fear was still there, cold and biting, but beneath it, something else was kindling.
Anger.
He looked at the blue box that was still hovering at the edge of his vision, the only thing in the room that was clean and true.
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
[QUEST GENERATED: SURVIVE THE PURGE]
[OBJECTIVE: LI FENG WILL SEND ASSASSINS TO SILENCE YOU. SURVIVE THE FIRST ATTEMPT.]
[TIME ESTIMATE: 3 DAYS][REWARD: ???]
Chen Wei stood up. He dusted off his knees.
"Three days," he whispered.
He walked over to the workbench where he kept his tools. He picked up a silver needle and pricked his finger, letting a drop of blood well up. He stared at it.
He was weak. He had Shattered Spiritual Roots. His meridians were like a sieve; any Qi he gathered leaked out into the void. In a world where strength was the only truth, he was a lie.
But he wasn't empty. Not anymore.
He focused on the System interface. He navigated to the [CULTIVATION] tab.
[HOST: CHEN WEI]
[REALM: QI CONDENSATION 2ND STAGE (STAGNANT)]
[ROOTS: SHATTERED (CANNOT RETAIN AMBIENT QI)]
[AVAILABLE TECHNIQUE SLOTS: 3]
[SLOT 1: CRIMSON PETAL SWORD ART (40%)]
[SLOT 2: EMPTY]
[SLOT 3: EMPTY]
This was his curse. And his salvation.
Normal cultivators had a Dantian—a sea of energy. They filled it with Qi, and used that Qi to fuel their techniques.
Chen Wei didn't have a sea. He had a bucket with a hole in the bottom. He couldn't store Qi.
But the System... the System bypassed his broken biology. It allowed him to "install" techniques directly into his soul. The techniques themselves held the Qi structure. They were self-contained engines.
He didn't need to cultivate. He needed to collect..
'Install.'
A sensation like icy water rushed through his veins. It wasn't painful, but it was shocking. For a moment, he felt a phantom limb—a spectral set of meridians overlaying his own broken ones.
He felt the Crimson Petal Sword Art settle into his spirit. It felt hot, like a coal swallowed whole.
He grabbed the heavy iron poker from the corner of the room. It was a crude tool, pitted with rust and blackened by soot. It weighed ten catties.
Ideally, he would have a sword. Ideally, he would have a master to guide him. Ideally, he wouldn't be in this mess.
But Chen Wei was a pragmatist. He would work with what he had.
He assumed a stance.
His feet spread apart, grounding him. His breathing shifted, becoming rhythmic and sharp.
He wasn't a cultivator. He was a corpse collector. He was trash.
But trash had one advantage.
No one looked at it until they tripped over it.
"Three days," he repeated.
He swung the poker.
Whoosh.
The heavy iron rod cut the air. It didn't feel like a poker anymore. In his mind, it was a petal drifting on the wind. Sharp. Weightless.
He swung again. A horizontal slash. Then a thrust.
His muscles burned. The technique was draining his stamina at a terrifying rate. Without a Qi source to fuel it, the art was cannibalizing his physical vitality.
He didn't care.
He swung until his arms shook. He swung until the sweat stung his eyes. He swung until the poker felt like a part of his arm.
Li Feng thought he had bought a servant's silence. He thought he had buried his crime.
He was wrong.
Chen Wei wasn't just a servant. He was an Archivist. He held the memories of the dead.
And the dead were very, very patient.
'Let's get to work.'