The grand hall of Windcloud Sect was alive with a restless tide of voices, footsteps, and anticipation. Lanterns swung gently from the carved beams above, their golden light spilling across polished stone floors that had borne witness to countless ceremonies. The air itself seemed to hum with expectation, thick with the mingled scents of incense, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of weapons carried by eager aspirants. It was not merely the citizens of Hu Nan who had gathered here. From every corner of the Han Kingdom, young men and women had traveled—some for days, some for weeks—drawn by the promise of opportunity. The Windcloud Sect had long been regarded as a beacon of martial cultivation, yet unlike other sects, it imposed no rigid barriers to entry. Nobles, warriors, peasants, and wanderers alike were welcome to present themselves. No lineage was too humble, no skill too meager. Anyone could step forward, provided they accepted the risks that came with such ambition. The hal

“Enough!” The command ripped through the arena like a storm breaking against jagged cliffs. It was not simply a shout—it was a force, a surge of qi so dense and resonant that the very air seemed to buckle beneath its weight. The cry rolled across the chamber, echoing against the stone walls until lanterns swayed violently on their chains, their flames flickering in protest. In an instant, the roar of the crowd was strangled into silence, as though the voice itself had stolen breath from every throat. Zhou Chen halted mid-motion, his sword frozen in its descent, the killing arc interrupted by the sheer authority embedded in that single word. His arms convulsed as though struck by lightning, and the weapon was torn from his grip by the resonance of the command. Clang! Steel shrieked against stone as the blade skittered across the floor, its deadly gleam extinguished. Zhou Chen’s eyes widened, disbelief carved deep into his features. “Uncle Cao… why would you intrude upon our d

Forbidden Forest. The very name carried weight, whispered with unease in every corner of Hu Nan. It was a place shrouded in mystery, a realm of shadows and secrets where danger lingered in every breath of wind. Even the most seasoned cultivators, those whose qi surged like rivers through their veins, hesitated to cross its threshold. Legends spoke of the Witch Beast, a creature said to drain qi until nothing remained, leaving even the strongest cultivators as hollow husks. No one knew when the rumor first took root in Hu Nan, but it had spread like wildfire, seeping into the minds of officials and commoners alike. The fear was so pervasive that city leaders dared not build roads or settlements near the forest’s edge, lest they disturb the beast and invite calamity upon the people. Better, they reasoned, to leave the Witch Beast undisturbed. A beast at peace was less dangerous than one provoked. Even the Five Great Families, paragons of cultivation, avoided the forest. None dar

“You…!!!” The cry ripped through the cave like a jagged blade, a sound that was half growl, half furious shriek. It reverberated against the damp stone walls, carrying irritation sharpened by indignation. The voice was melodic yet edged with anger, like a harp string pulled too tight, vibrating with fury. Wu Tian lay stiffly on the bed of leaves, his body still locked by the pressure-point seal. He tilted his head toward the cave’s shadowed mouth, his expression calm despite the venom in the unseen speaker’s tone. “Why did you call me Grandmother?” the voice demanded, bristling with outrage. Wu Tian’s reply was maddeningly casual. “Wasn’t it you who suggested you might be an old woman? I only took you at your word.” The voice snapped back, sharper now, echoing like a whip crack. “I never said I was an old woman. I merely said it was possible I could be one!” This time, the voice was no longer playful. Anger pulsed through every syllable, echoing against the stone walls of

Wu Tian’s condition was far worse than anyone had realized. The wounds he had sustained during his clash with Zhou Chen were not superficial blows that could be brushed aside. They were deep, lingering injuries that gnawed at his strength from within. When he had returned home earlier, he had concealed the pain, refusing to show weakness before his uncle. Wu Cao, unaware of the severity, had assumed his nephew’s resilience would carry him through. But beneath Wu Tian’s stoic silence, his body was unraveling. Even Yueyin, the spirit who had taken him under her care, was startled when she examined him closely. She had not expected his injuries to be so grave. The fact that he had survived the suffocating aura of the Forbidden Forest at all was nothing short of miraculous. “Yueyin?” Wu Tian’s voice was faint, but steady. “Ah—forgive me,” she replied softly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the bruises and cuts across his body. “I was examining your wounds, Wu Tian.” Her hands