Ep2

The mist coiled thicker between the trees, veiling branches like ghostly banners. Li Wei’s breath slowed as he measured the figure before him. Every motion of Han Shulin carried the weight of training—posture upright, sword-hand steady, gaze cutting as if it could cleave truth from lies.

This was no wandering cultivator. He bore the mark of discipline etched into his very bones.

And that made him dangerous.

Li Wei angled his head, letting a sardonic smile soften his expression. “You ask my sect, stranger, but what claim do you have for this mountain? Do you greet all weary travelers with a hand on your blade?”

The man’s eyes sharpened. “Your qi stinks of resentment. Shadows cling to you as if eager for blood. Tell me that is not the mark of the demonic path.”

The words struck like arrows. For an instant, Li Wei’s hand twitched, his qi coiling instinctively in defense. He forced the darkness down, hiding its flicker behind a mask of weariness.

“If the air here offends you,” Li Wei said lightly, “perhaps you should blame the crows.”

Han Shulin did not smile. The sword at his hip hummed faintly, the resonance of a spiritual weapon impatient for release.

Li Wei’s mind worked quickly. To reveal his strength now would draw suspicion, perhaps even a blade through his chest. But to cower too deeply would invite questions he had no intention of answering.

He let his knees sag, feigning weakness, one hand pressed to his bound ribs. “I’ve no sect, no name worth giving. Only a body barely strong enough to stand. If you wish to kill me for breathing the wrong way, then by all means—strike. At least it would be quicker than starving in this forgotten village.”

The words hung, daring yet laced with resignation.

For a long moment, silence. Then Han Shulin’s grip on his sword eased. “A clever tongue,” he said flatly. “But words do not cleanse corrupted qi. Be warned—I’ll be watching you.”

With that, he turned, boots crunching against the damp soil. His silhouette vanished slowly into the curtain of fog, leaving only the whisper of his presence in the air.

Li Wei exhaled, slow and measured, though his pulse thundered.

So. This was the caliber of opponent he would face in this life. Righteous cultivators, armed with suspicion and steel. If they discovered his true identity before his strength returned…

He clenched his fists. He would not allow it.

---

By the time Li Wei returned to the hut, dawn had broken. Mei Xue was crouched near the hearth, coaxing flame into a clay stove. She looked up as he entered, relief flooding her face.

“You’re awake early,” she said. “Did you walk far? You shouldn’t push yourself.”

Li Wei brushed dirt from his sleeve, voice calm. “Just to the trees. The air helps clear the mind.”

Mei Xue nodded, satisfied, and busied herself with stirring porridge. She did not notice the faint tremor in his hands.

As he sat, Li Wei allowed himself a moment’s reflection. Han Shulin’s presence was no coincidence. If the righteous sects were patrolling even the borders of nameless villages, then unrest brewed nearby. Perhaps rumors of demonic cultivators had already begun to spread.

And if so… he might yet have a role to play in the storm to come.

---

Later that day, Yunhe village gathered in the square. Farmers with calloused hands, children clutching at their mothers’ robes, all eyes turned toward the white-robed figure standing before the well. Han Shulin’s voice carried easily, clipped and firm.

“Two nights past, a sect outpost was attacked. The disciples slain bore wounds twisted by resentment qi. The righteous path demands we act. If any stranger has come among you, you must speak.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Villagers glanced at one another, uneasy sharp in their whispers.

Li Wei stood at the edge, silent. Mei Xue at his side shifted nervously, her hand brushing his sleeve.

Han Shulin’s gaze swept the crowd. It paused—just a fraction longer—on Li Wei, before moving on.

“This village will remain under observation,” Han Shulin continued. “Any trace of demonic influence will be purged.”

Gasps fluttered. Purged meant burned, bodies and homes alike.

Han Shulin sheathed his sword with finality, the sound ringing like a verdict. “Do not test the mercy of my sect.”

Then he strode away, leaving silence heavy in his wake.

---

That night, the village hummed with fear. Li Wei sat alone outside the hut, moonlight silvering the fields. He watched the glow of fireflies drift, their fragile light mocking the rage burning steadily in his chest.

This Han Shulin would be a problem.

Yet there had been something in his eyes—not just suspicion, but restraint. He could have struck Li Wei down in the mist, yet he had not. Why?

Curiosity? Doubt? Or something softer, unspoken even to himself?

Li Wei snorted, dismissing the thought. Sentiment was poison. Whatever flicker he had seen would mean nothing when steel met flesh.

And still… the image lingered, refusing to fade.

---

Three days passed. Li Wei healed quickly under Mei Xue’s care, though he feigned fragility to maintain her pity. At night, he trained in secret, drawing qi through veins unaccustomed to its flow. Progress was slow, agonizing, but the demonic path whispered promises in every shadow.

One evening, as he returned from the forest with herbs Mei Xue had asked him to gather, he felt the air shift. A ripple of killing intent, subtle but close.

He froze.

From the underbrush burst three figures, faces half-hidden by black cloth, blades flashing in the dying light. Their movements were clumsy, lacking discipline, but their eyes gleamed with feral hunger. Bandits, not cultivators.

The leader sneered. “Pretty boy wandering alone? Hand over the basket and maybe we’ll leave you breathing.”

Li Wei’s lips curved, not in fear but in grim amusement. Even the lowest dregs of this world sought to test him.

He let the basket drop, straightened slowly, and let a thread of resentment leak from his palm. The air thickened, shadows stretching long and sharp across the ground.

The bandits faltered, uneasy flickering across their faces.

“What trick is this?” one stammered.

Li Wei stepped forward, voice low, carrying the weight of his past life. “A shadow does not beg.”

The qi coiled, snapping into the vague form of a beast’s jaws, crimson light searing the bandits’ eyes. They screamed, stumbling back into the trees, their terror scattering them like leaves in a storm.

Silence followed.

Li Wei exhaled slowly, the beast dissolving into mist. His limbs trembled, the effort leaving his body drained, but his mouth curved into a thin smile. Weak though he was, fear remained a weapon sharp enough to wield.

A branch snapped behind him.

He turned—Han Shulin stood at the edge of the clearing, moonlight striking silver across his robes. His sword was drawn, its tip gleaming, eyes locked on Li Wei.

“I knew it,” Han Shulin said, a voice like thunder through the stillness. “You walk the demonic path.”

Li Wei’s smile only widened.

“And what will you do now, the righteous one?”

The question hung, sharp as any blade.

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