“Elder Brother Kai! You were amazing!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing on his feet. “You didn’t even break a sweat!”
“Let this be a lesson,” I said, pausing to swirl the rice in my bowl before taking a bite. “Underestimating your opponent is like grasping fire with your bare hands—by the time you realize the danger, the damage is already done.”
Lan Sheng chuckled, swirling his own cup of wine as he raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich coming from the same guy who declared himself the rising genius of the province not too long ago.”
I shot him a playful grin. “It’s not arrogance if you can back it up.”
Laughter rippled through the inn, blending with the hum of voices and the clatter of dishes. The atmosphere was lively, a far cry from the tense showdown that had unfolded just hours earlier. Now, the villagers crowded around, offering smiles and congratulations as platters of food and jugs of wine made their rounds. Our table, in particular, was filled to the brim with delicacies—roasted meats, steamed buns, fragrant broths—and at the center of it all, Windy and Tianyi were being treated like royalty.
The hatchling preened under the attention, happily scarfing down whole, roasted chickens, his white scales shimmering in the firelight as he flicked his tail in contentment. A young girl with bright eyes held up another plate of meat, offering it to him with a wide smile. Windy’s tongue flicked out as he accepted it, swallowing the bird whole.
Tianyi, on the other hand, was daintier in her indulgence. She perched elegantly on the edge of a wine bowl, using her delicate proboscis to slurp the wine with an almost regal air. Her wings shimmered with a faint glow, and I could sense her satisfaction as the crowd around us marveled at her beauty and grace.
I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of embarrassment despite the lively celebration around me. Inwardly, I knew I could have approached the situation better. A more careful plan, one that didn’t involve wagering with someone like Shan Huai, would have been smarter. But there had been a part of me that had wanted to throw myself into that danger, to prove something.
Not just to the village, not even to Lan Sheng, but to myself.
Ever since the Gauntlet, my confidence had been shaken. Today’s victory over Shan Huai felt like regaining a sliver of that lost belief in myself, but it didn’t sit as well as I’d hoped. There was a selfishness in what I did, a need to reclaim something personal through this fight.
But that victory didn’t come without its consequences. As I chewed on a piece of meat, my thoughts drifted back to Shan Huai. He wouldn’t forget this. And if the Iron Claw Sect was truly looking to expand its influence, there was a chance they wouldn’t let this humiliation slide. That brought me to a bigger problem—the rising tensions between the sects. Qingmu was just one small village, but it felt like it was caught in the middle of something much larger.
I leaned closer to Lan Sheng, lowering my voice to ask the question that had been nagging at the back of my mind. “What do you think? Will Shan Huai come back and try to get revenge? Do you think the Silent Moon Sect would protect the village if things escalate?”
Lan Sheng’s expression turned serious, the humor and ease that had filled the evening fading as he considered the implications. He put down his cup of wine and looked out toward the quieting inn, his brow furrowing slightly. “It’s possible,” he said quietly. “If the Silent Moon Sect doesn’t step in, Qingmu is going to face more trouble. And Shan Huai… he might not be strong enough to take revenge on his own, but sects don’t act alone. He could bring others.”
The weight of his words settled over me like a cold wind. The Iron Claw Sect had proven they weren’t above flexing their power, and if they decided to press the matter, the villagers would suffer the most.
Lan Sheng gave me a sidelong glance, his lips pressed into a thin line. “But that’s why I’m here. As a second-class disciple, it’s my job to ensure things like this don’t spiral out of control. I’ll send a letter to the Silent Moon Sect as soon as I can, informing them of the situation. If they know what’s at stake, they might intervene.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“And if they don’t?” I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer.
“If they don’t,” Lan Sheng said, his voice steady but grim, “then I’ll stay. I’ll make sure the Iron Claw Sect doesn’t try anything while we wait for the Silent Moon Sect’s decision. But one way or another, I’ll see to it that Qingmu isn’t left defenseless.”
His confidence was reassuring, but the uncertainty of it all still weighed heavily. Sect politics, ambitions, and power plays were beyond anything I’d been prepared to face when I first left my village. Yet here I was, in the thick of it, with the fate of an entire village possibly hanging on what came next.
Lan Sheng clapped me on the shoulder, rubbing it affectionately. “You did well today, Kai. You bought the village time. Now it’s my turn to make sure that time isn’t wasted.”
----------------------------------------
Shan Huai lashed out, his voice cutting through the night air as his third-class disciples trudged through the dense forest. “Move faster!” he barked, his tone dripping with venom. Each breath he took was accompanied by a dull throb where that wretched alchemist’s kick had landed.
He clenched his teeth, his fists trembling. The humiliation burned hotter than any of his wounds. How had it come to this?
How had he, a second-class disciple of the Iron Claw Sect, been brought so low by an alchemist and his pet spirit beasts?
His thoughts churned, spiraling back to the fight, to the mocking laughter of the villagers, to the boy's calm, confident gaze as he issued that final challenge.
But more than the shame, it was the nagging question that gnawed at him—how had that alchemist seen through their scheme? How had he known they hadn’t killed the Iron Boar?
The very thought made Shan’s stomach twist. The Iron Boar had been a stroke of fortune, a gift from the heavens. When they had stumbled upon it already dying from injuries sustained in a battle with another beast, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity. Claiming the kill would earn them glory, influence, and leverage over Qingmu Village. They hadn’t anticipated that anyone would question the story. Who would dare challenge the might of the Iron Claw Sect?
But that damned alchemist had. Somehow, he had seen through the ruse, and now that knowledge hung over Shan Huai like a blade. The very thing that should have been a boon had turned into a weapon of blackmail—something Kai Liu, and by extension, the Verdant Lotus Sect—could use against him.
“Senior Brother Shan...” One of the third-class disciples trailed off, his voice hesitant, clearly sensing the fury radiating from Shan Huai.
“What?” He snapped, his jaw clenched. “Spit it out!”
The disciple flinched, his gaze darting away. “D-do you think… we’ll be in trouble with the sect if they find out about...”
“Shut up!” Shan Huai’s voice was a low growl, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. He didn’t need reminding. He already knew the consequences. If the elders of the Iron Claw Sect learned of this, his position—his very future—would be at risk. And worse, if Kai Liu decided to spread that knowledge, it could ruin everything. He’d be seen as a fool, a liar, and worse still—a weakling.
"Keep moving," He hissed, his voice barely controlled. "We’ll regroup, and I’ll figure out a way to fix this. But mark my words... that alchemist will regret the day he ever crossed me."
The disciples quickened their pace, none daring to speak further. As they moved deeper into the forest, Shan Huai’s mind spun with plans and counter-plans, desperate to regain control of the situation before it spiraled any further.
“Kai Liu...” He whispered, his voice filled with venom.
He could still hear the villagers muttering the name, their awe palpable. They celebrated his humiliation. The shame twisted in his gut like a knife.
The Iron Claw Sect couldn't afford this kind of disgrace, and neither could he. But how to handle it?
The snapping of branches underfoot drew him out of his thoughts. The third-class disciples trudged behind him, slower than he liked, their eyes wary as they glanced at their surroundings.
“Move faster!” Shan Huai barked, the sharpness of his voice startling them into action. He ground his teeth, fury and frustration fueling him. He needed control. He needed a way to regain what had been stolen from him.
But as they trudged onward, his eyes caught something ahead—a figure standing in the middle of their path.
An old man, frail and decrepit, with thin, tangled hair draped over his face like a curtain of neglect. He wore a tattered robe, his bare feet planted on the cold forest floor.
The man was muttering under his breath, his words low and unintelligible. His presence was unnatural—out of place in the stillness of the woods.
“What is this?” Shan Huai growled, irritation flaring as he clenched his fists. His hands curled into tight claws, ready to strike.
“Out of the way, old man,” he barked, his voice filled with impatience and pain. “Move, before I make you regret it.”
The figure didn’t move. His head hung low, and his body swayed gently as if the wind itself was pushing him. He continued mumbling, the words slipping through his cracked lips, but they made no sense.
Shan Huai’s patience, already stretched thin, snapped. “I said move!” he roared, stepping forward, his arms tensing with barely contained qi, ready to unleash a strike.
Slowly, the old man’s head lifted. His eyes were clouded, vacant, and his smile twisted into something unnatural—a grin that seemed to crawl up his face like it didn’t belong there. His voice, though still soft, became clear enough to understand, sending a cold shiver through the group.
“Are you the ones... who took it?”
Shan Huai’s fists tightened. “I’m not in the mood for your riddles, old man. Move, or I’ll make you regret standing in my way.”
The old man’s smile widened, an eerie, almost otherworldly grin stretching across his face. “Then… you will take its place.”
His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes gleaming with a dark, chilling intent. “You… will become our nourishment.”
The second-class disciple felt the air around them change, a chill creeping in, unnatural and foreboding. His instincts screamed at him, but his fury overpowered the warning. “Enough! You’re wasting my time,” he growled. His eyes flashed to his disciples, his patience long gone. “Take him down.”
The third-class disciples hesitated only for a moment before they obeyed, cracking their knuckles and spreading into their stances. They were martial artists, their hands were their weapons, and they were used to breaking bones with a single blow. Without hesitation, they surged forward, fists and claws ready to strike the frail old man down.
But as they closed in, something in the air shifted again—something darker.