THE BOY THEY CALLED A JINX BECAME THE SUPREME CULTIVATOR

The edge slipped between his ribs with a quiet, sickening slide.

There was no grand clash of martial arts, no honorable duel under the moonlight.

Long Zhentian simply looked down at the hilt protruding from his side, his mind refusing to process the image right away.

The wind howled across the freezing precipice of Lingyun Cliff, violently whipping his dark hair across his eyes.

He traced the handle of the weapon up to the hands gripping it, and finally to the face of the man standing in front of him.

Mo Wudi stared back at him.

His adoptive brother was breathing heavily, his chest heaving under his fine silk robes.

Zhentian opened his mouth to ask if this was some kind of twisted joke, but his vocal cords refused to work.

A terrifying numbness was already spreading from the puncture wound, turning his blood to ice.

"Don't look at me like that," Mo Wudi whispered, his voice trembling slightly before he forced it to steady.

Zhentian tried to raise his arm to push the older boy away, but his limb hung limp and useless at his side.

His knees buckled, sending him crashing onto the hard, frost-covered stone of the cliff edge.

Mo Wudi followed him down to the ground, keeping his grip tight on the weapon buried in Zhentian’s ribs.

The paralysis was moving too fast to be a normal injury, wrapping around his spine and locking his jaw in place.

It was the wine they had shared just moments ago, the cup Mo Wudi had handed him to toast their eternal brotherhood.

"Ghost-Weeping Powder," Mo Wudi explained, crouching over him with a shadow falling across his face.

Zhentian felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead as the drug seized his lungs.

"It paralyzes the meridians and locks the muscles, but it leaves the nerve endings perfectly intact."

Mo Wudi twisted the hilt just a fraction of an inch, testing the reaction.

A blinding flash of agony shot through Zhentian's chest, forcing a choked, wet gasp from his throat.

"You feel everything," Mo Wudi murmured, his expression twisting into a strange mix of satisfaction and sorrow. "Good."

Zhentian stared up at the night sky, fighting the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and give in to the shock.

He forced his gaze back to his brother, demanding an answer without being able to form the words.

"Why?" Mo Wudi scoffed, reading the silent question in those defiant eyes.

The older boy let go of the hilt and stood up, pacing a few steps away toward the edge of the cliff.

The roaring expanse of the Forbidden Demon Ocean churned thousands of feet below them, crashing against the jagged rocks.

"You really don't know, do you, Zhentian?"

Mo Wudi turned back around, and the sorrow in his face was gone, replaced by a bitter, festering resentment.

"You walk around the Azure Dragon Hall like you own it, like you didn't wash up on our doorstep with nothing but dirt on your face."

Zhentian tried to speak again, managing only a ragged breath that tasted like copper.

"My father took you in out of pity," Mo Wudi continued, his voice rising above the howling wind.

He walked back over and crouched beside Zhentian again, his eyes wide and manic.

"He fed you, he clothed you, and he let you train in the same courtyards as his trueborn son."

Mo Wudi leaned in close, so close Zhentian could smell the sweet wine on his breath.

"And how did you repay us, little brother?"

The question hung in the freezing air, heavy and loaded with years of unspoken venom.

"You awakened an Indigo Spirit Root."

Mo Wudi spat the words out like they were a curse, his hands shaking as he reached for the front of Zhentian’s robes.

He ripped the fabric open, exposing Zhentian’s bare chest to the biting frost.

"A peerless talent, a once-in-a-generation genius, gifted to a stray dog."

Zhentian watched the older boy’s face, finally understanding the depth of the rot that had been hiding behind his brother’s smiles.

Every time they sparred, every time Elder Bai praised Zhentian’s progress, Mo Wudi had been slowly poisoning himself with jealousy.

"Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit at the dinner table and hear your own father say he wishes you were more like the orphan?"

Mo Wudi’s voice cracked, and for a split second, he just looked like a desperate, broken boy.

"He looks at you and sees the future of the Azure Dragon Hall, but he looks at me and sees a disappointment."

Zhentian forced his jaw to unlock through sheer, agonizing willpower, tasting blood as he bit the inside of his cheek.

"I never... tried... to replace you," Zhentian managed to wheeze out, his voice sounding thin and broken.

Mo Wudi froze, his eyes narrowing as the brief moment of vulnerability vanished behind a wall of pure spite.

"You didn't have to try," Mo Wudi said coldly. "Your mere existence did it for you."

He reached out and placed his palm flat against the center of Zhentian’s chest, right over his heart.

"But I found a way to fix it."