The Risen Ghost: Master of the Chaotic Origin

Chapter 5 (The Alias; Xiao Feng) Chen’s POV

Within my sealed cave, the news reached me.

Wei Jue was raising an army to subdue me. Young cultivators meant to prevent his downfall.

That alone was enough to stir my interest. When I sensed his intent, I stepped out of the shadows to see how strong Yan’s prodigies are — and whether any of them are worth sparing.

The invitation was more than a bait. It was a chance to confirm my suspicion.

The Dragon-slaying spear should have been dead. With no Long clan energy to sustain it, it should have been nothing more than a rusted shaft. Yet, that morning, it glowed with life.

There were only two explanations and both led back to Wei Jue.

It's either he had cultivated the powers of the heavens strong enough to fill the spear with spiritual energy — or, he had done the one thing no mortal would ever imagine.

The capital of Yan was suffocating. Not from the heat, but from the sheer weight of ambitious cultivators, desperate to win the imperial’s favor. Wei Jue’s decree had turned the city into a crucible of "geniuses" and "prodigies," scrambling for scraps of recognition.

I stood before the towering Azure Dragon Gate. My face was partially covered by a commoner’s straw hat. The Dragon-Slaying Spear was gone — contained within my soul’s void where even the brightest cultivator with celestial awareness can’t hear its hum.

I entered the outer court, not as the ghost of Long Chen but as Xiao Feng, a wandering cultivator who had lived all his years on the mountain. A nobody with a weak sword and a cultivation base that felt, to any observer, as shallow as a puddle.

"Next!" a recruiter barked.

I stepped forward. The registration officer didn't even look up. "Name? Sect? Grade?"

"Xiao Feng. Rogue. Fifth Stage Body Refinement," I lied. It was a pathetic level, barely above a common soldier.

He stamped my parchment with a sneer. "Section C. Try not to die in the first round; the blood is a hassle to scrub off the tiles." He hissed before calling on to the next.

The tournament grounds were extravagantly decorated. Banners of the Seven Coalitions fluttered in the wind, and the scent of expensive incense and medicinal pills filled the air.

As I stride to the waiting area, a familiar energy and scent tugged at me and I looked up.

Then, I saw her.

The crowd parted as if bowing as Lin Xue’er ascended the high dais — My former betrothed. The woman whose family had provided the very poison that weakened my father before the slaughter.

She was radiant, dressed in silks the color of a winter moon, her aura sharp and cold just like I remembered. She moved with the arrogance of a goddess. Her gaze swept over the waiting area for new cultivators—where I stood—her eyes didn't even linger. To her, I was just part of the "trash.”

I felt a phantom ache in my chest and spine, not of betrayed emotions, but of the marrow she had helped steal.

I bit down on my lower lip. “Look closely, Xue’er,” I thought, my fingers tightening on my sheath.

Just as she watched me fall, I will do the same.

Moments later, the contest began. I was lost in my own world till I heard my name.

“The next duel — Xiao Feng and Zhang Bao!” The master of the duel announced.

My opponent was a mountain of a man, a favored disciple of the Iron Fist Sect. He jumped onto the platform, the stone cracking under his weight. Even with my tall physique, I was still no match for him.

I stepped onto the stone platform already bored of the fight. Around me, the local tournament buzzed with contemptuous laughter. The match was made to eliminate me from the first round since I carried the least amount of Qi.

My opponent scoffed the moment he saw me.

"Try not to die, little one," Zhang Bao sneered, cracking his neck, his fists glowing with a dull yellow Qi. "Let’s make it quick.”

A calm smile touched my lips as our eyes met. His type is easy to predict. Boastful, with a general hatred for anyone weaker than him.

The Duel master raised his hand. “Begin.”

Zhang Bao lunged. He was fast for his size, a landslide of muscle and spiritual pressure. The crowd leaned in, expecting the satisfying crunch of a weakling being crushed.

I didn't circulate Qi. I didn't use a technique, I just floated.

My foot struck the platform once—clean, controlled as I leaped five meters into the air in a blink, my shadow swallowing his confidence.

His eyes widened as he attempted to stop his attack but it was too late.

I drove my shoulder into his chest—not with force, but with weight. The kind born from bones reforged again and again.

I felt the vibrations of his heart, the clumsy flow of his energy. With a precise movement, I drove my palm into his Qi core and swept his lead leg.

His Qi shattered inward.

His ribs were crushed.

I grabbed his wrist mid-swing and twisted just enough to snap his bone.

Zhang Bao screamed in pain.

I turned, dropped my center, and pinned him to the platform in a single motion, my knee settling against his spine. His face was pressed against the ground, saliva drooling beneath his lips, breath coming in broken sobs. His Qi refused to answer him. His muscles trembled.

I leaned closer and spoke quietly, so only he could hear.

“Do not circulate while your lungs are being crushed,” I whispered. “Your core won’t survive it.”

The arena went deathly quiet. No explosion of energy, no flashy lights, not even a murmur.

The master duel stared, mouth open. It was a fight that lasted less than five seconds.

“W–Winner,” he stammered. “X–Xiao Feng.”

The crowd erupted in confused applause.

I looked up at the VIP dais. Lin Xue’er’s glass-calm expression had cracked. Her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she tried to pierce the "Body Refinement" veil I had cast over myself.

I didn't give her the satisfaction. I hopped off the platform and strode back to the waiting area.

I won three more matches with the same chilling efficiency. By sunset, the name "Xiao Feng" was trapped in everyone’s lips.

I was cleaning my blade in the Martial Grounds Stables when I heard shallow footsteps from behind me. Three men in the charcoal-and-gold robes of the Wei Imperial House approached me.

In the center was a man whose ornaments were different. He was someone related to Wei Jue.

"Xiao Feng," he said, his voice dripping with practiced condescension. "The Wei family has taken an interest in your..” his eyes measured me, “unique talents. His Majesty seeks your presence."

He tossed the scroll at my feet. It unrolled to reveal a list of rewards that would make even a sect leader drool.

“A private invitation," the messenger continued, a greasy smirk on his face. “ The Wei family wishes to buy your loyalty before the finals tomorrow. Consider yourself lucky. You’re being offered a leash made of gold.”

I looked at the scroll, then at the messengers. The moment I had been waiting for.

"Lead the way," I said, my voice a hollow echo.

I have waited ten years to see what his safe house looked like.