Chu Feng breaks the silence first.

“How are you doing?”

The question is simple, almost ordinary, yet it lands with unexpected weight.

Diexin lowers her gaze for a moment before looking back at him.

“I’m fine,” she says.

Chu Feng nods slowly.

He studies her hands, steady now, no longer clenched like they used to be when danger pressed close.

“And your marriage,” he continues.

“What is your plan?”

Diexin does not answer immediately.

She looks at the food laid out between them, at the careful balance of flavours she once would have appreciated without thought.

“My plan,” she says at last, “is to marry him.”

There is no hesitation in her voice.

“No turning back?” Chu Feng asks quietly.

“No,” she replies.

She does not explain further.

She does not speak of leverage, of power, of survival, of the careful calculations she has made.

Chu Feng understands anyway.

He always has.

They sit there, surrounded by people and noise, yet sealed in their own quiet pocket of time.

Chu Feng wants to say more.

He wants to ask if she loves Merin.

He wants to ask if she will escape with him.

But the vow binds him tighter than chains.

The Dragon Empire must rise again.

He cannot drag her into that fire.

At last, he stands.

“I wish you well,” he says.

The words feel insufficient.

Yet they are the only ones he can give.

Diexin rises as well.

“Take care of yourself,” she replies.

Their eyes meet one final time.

Then Chu Feng turns and leaves.

—

Inside the carriage, darkness folds around him.

The first man he spoke with the night before waits inside, posture rigid.

Before Chu Feng can speak, the man bows deeply.

“Highness,” he says, voice strained, “Bu Qinghan has been taken.”

The words strike like a blade.

Chu Feng freezes.

Taken.

Not killed.

Not escaped.

Taken.

His mind races instantly.

Routes.

Contacts.

Loose ends.

Everything he ordered Bu Qinghan to sever now hangs exposed.

His plan is unravelling.

—

In the mountains, the sun sinks behind jagged peaks, bleeding red and gold across the sky.

Merin’s team halts as shadows stretch long between trees.

Camp is set with practised efficiency.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Members of the Golden Lotus Sect step forward first.

A spiritual refiner raises her hands, golden Qi spreading outward like ripples on water.

The ground levels.

Sharp stones soften.

Lingering malice dissipates.

The air grows still and clean.

Then the Divine Guards move.

Axes bite into wood.

Trees fall in controlled arcs.

Branches are stripped and sharpened.

A barricade takes shape, crude but sturdy.

Wooden sheds rise inside the perimeter, roofs angled against the mountain wind.

Merin works alongside them.

He lifts beams, sets supports, and drives stakes into earth hardened by roots and stone.

By the time darkness settles fully, the camp stands firm.

Fires burn low.

Smoke is carefully directed away from the valley.

Merin sits on a fallen log, wiping his hands clean.

The forest hums softly around them.

Crickets chirp.

Leaves rustle.

Somewhere far off, an animal calls, then falls silent.

Footsteps approach.

Elder Lin sits beside him, her staff resting across her knees.

Merin glances at her, curiosity stirring.

“Merin,” she says, voice calm,

“May I call you Merin?”

He inclines his head.

“Yes.”

She studies him for a long moment.

“I heard you entered the minor completion stage of Inner Qi Refining.”

Merin nods.

He does not correct her.

Elder Lin’s lips curve faintly.

“How about joining our sect?” she asks.

“We will provide you with enough resources to reach the Soul Awakening Realm.”

The offer hangs in the air.

Before Merin can respond, Commander Di speaks sharply from nearby.

“Elder Lin, this is inappropriate,” he says.

“You are trying to take another excellent talent from the kingdom.”

Elder Lin snorts.

“That is your kingdom’s failing,” she replies.

“If you cannot hold onto your talents.”

She turns back to Merin.

“Well?” she asks.

“What is your answer?”

Commander Di steps forward, tension evident.

“Merin,” he says firmly,

“Do not agree.”

“The kingdom may lack resources now, but we will do everything possible to help you reach the Soul Awakening Realm.”

Elder Lin laughs softly.

“If he reaches that realm,” she says,

“The kingdom’s name will change from Song to Duan.”

The words cut deep.

Merin finally speaks.

“Elder Lin,” he says calmly,

“Do not try to drive a wedge between me and the kingdom.”

“I will remain loyal.”

“And I do not need your sect’s support to reach the Soul Awakening Realm.”

For the first time, genuine amusement flickers in Elder Lin’s eyes.

“Confident,” she says.

Then her tone sharpens.

“Do you know how many reached minor completion of Inner Refining before you?”

Merin does not answer.

“Ten,” Elder Lin continues.

“Only four reached the Soul Awakening Realm.”

“Those four joined the Golden Lotus, the White Lotus, or the Purple Lotus.”

Commander Di frowns.

“And the other six?” he asks.

Elder Lin smiles.

It is not a warm smile.

“They died.”

She rises, staff tapping softly against the ground.

She walks toward the only shed with proper walls and a door, the one she shares with Lin Qiansu.

The door closes behind her.

Silence lingers.

Commander Di turns to Merin.

“Don’t worry,” he says quietly.

“The kingdom will protect you.”

Merin smiles faintly.

“I know.”

He closes his eyes and settles into meditation.

The forest breathes around him.

Firelight flickers against bark and stone.

Above, stars emerge one by one, distant and indifferent.

Merin lets the sounds fade.

His consciousness sinks inward, deeper than breath, deeper than thought.

His body begins to breathe with the rhythm of the world itself, slow and silent, as if the mountain beneath him inhales and exhales through his flesh.

He does not refine Blood Qi.

He cannot.

Too many eyes are nearby, and his remaining resources are insufficient.

Instead, he turns his awareness outward, sensing the laws that permeate heaven and earth, preparing his foundation for the Exterior Realm.

Wind brushes the trees.

Stone holds memory.

Gravity presses without intent.

Merin listens to it all.

Around him, the Divine Guards retreat into the wooden sheds one by one, armour set aside, weapons kept within reach.

A few lower-ranked members remain on patrol, walking the inner edge of the barricade, lanterns hooded, footsteps light.

The camp settles into uneasy stillness.

Far away, beyond the slopes and ravines, two figures in black robes meet beneath a cluster of jagged rocks.

One bows slightly.

“Elder, all preparations are complete.”

The other raises a hand and pulls back his hood.

A bald head is revealed, pale skin crisscrossed with dark stitch marks that wrap around his face like crude bindings.

His lips curl into a smile too wide, too eager.

“Then tell everyone,” he says softly, “to begin.”

Minutes later, deep within a hidden hollow, the elder sits on the ground, eight others arranged around him in a precise formation.

The earth beneath them is carved with grooves filled with dried blood.

The elder closes his eyes.

“Brothers,” he says calmly, “the time has come for us to return to the embrace of our god.”

“Do not fear.”

“We are not dying.”

“We are being born anew.”

He lowers his head.

“May god bless us.”

The eight answers as one.

“May god bless us.”

They begin to chant.

A black array ignites beneath them, lines connecting flesh to flesh, soul to soul.

Black fire erupts along their bodies.

It does not burn like flame.

It consumes like hunger.

None of them screams.

None of them resists.

Their chanting grows louder.

Shadows around the hollow begin to move.

They stretch.

They flow.

They gather.

Elsewhere, around the three mountains, Grey Wolf Army soldiers guarding the perimeter suddenly clutch their stomachs.

Pain rips through them without warning.

Men with weaker cultivation collapse to their knees, gasping, eyes wide.

Thin black runes appear on their faces, like crawling lines of ink.

The stronger soldiers grit their teeth and remain standing.

Seconds pass.

Then they fall as well.

Black runes bloom across skin and armour alike.

Their pupils vanish.

Their eyes turn empty.

From their throats, unholy screams tear free.

Black mist pours from their mouths.

It does not dissipate.

It thickens.

Their bodies begin to shrink, fat dissolving first, then muscle, then vitality itself.

The mist flows upward, drawn toward the mountains like smoke to flame.

Near dawn, Merin opens his eyes.

Something is wrong.

His internal clock is precise.

Too precise.

There should be light.

There is none.

He stands abruptly.

Above the forest canopy, a black mist rolls like a second sky, swallowing the stars.

The air vibrates.

Roars echo from every direction.

Shrieks follow.

Then the calls of beasts, twisted and enraged.

They are moving toward the camp.

Fast.

A scream cuts through the darkness.

“Bear!”

A thunderous impact follows.

Wood explodes.

A section of the barricade collapses inward.

A massive shadow crashes through, fur slick with black mist, eyes glowing with corrupted hunger.

A guard’s scream is cut short as the bear mauls him, bone snapping, blood spraying across broken logs.

Merin steps forward.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep