Crown Prince's Pursuit

A wide clearing stretched out within the forest's lush tangle, the canopy allowing slender beams of sunlight to pierce through. Beneath the dappled illumination, Crown Prince Zhen Ping and his assembled entourage stood in uneven circles, recovering from yet another vicious battle with a Rank 4 Spirit Beast. Broken branches and churned-up soil were scattered around them, reminders of the desperate skirmish that left a few of them nursing fresh wounds.

A handsome young man in regal, embroidered robes stood off to one side, dabbing sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief. He cast an exasperated glance toward Zhen Ping and said, "Crown Prince, this forest is enormous. Are you really expecting we'll find anyone here, let alone that Liu Xuefeng?"

Zhen Ping's face twisted with annoyance. He'd come all this way—coercing, bribing, and sweet-talking these so-called Young Masters of various prestigious clans—yet so far, there was no sign of his target. "We'll find him," he growled in a low tone. His frustration was a smoldering coal that threatened to burst into flame at any moment. "That man has to be here somewhere."

Another Young Master, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a sour expression, snorted. "We've been slogging through this place for half an hour," he griped, checking the new tear in his robe. "We've fought enough beasts to fill an arena, and for what? Another worthless corner of the forest? I'm losing my patience. The giant centipede alone nearly chewed half my Spirit Qi."

A third man chimed in, eyes flicking with lecherous humor. "And to think I could be relaxing in my bath with my new concubine—"

"Enough!" Zhen Ping snapped, cutting him off. He swept a glare across them, radiating barely-contained ire. "You can leave if you prefer. But if you do, you won't be getting any of the Spirit Artifacts I promised."

A tense hush fell. The Young Masters exchanged glances. No one wanted to forfeit the potential rewards. Finally, Zhen Ping exhaled, forcing his features into a semblance of calm authority. "We'll rest here for a while—recover some Spirit Qi—then press on."

Unbeknownst to them, a hidden observer watched from the thick undergrowth. Ling, controlling a clone of Xuefeng, had been maneuvering them like pawns on a board. Since the moment they'd entered the Moon Lake forest, she'd nudged powerful Rank 4 Spirit Beasts into their path, steadily wearing them down.

Now, she noticed them settling in to recuperate. This is my chance, she thought. The last thing she wanted was for them to wander too close to the Nightmare's lair, where Xuefeng and the others were still engaged in battle. She would need to draw them away, and quickly.

With a light rustle of leaves, a figure emerged from the trees, causing the group to jolt upright. It was Liu Xuefeng—or rather, Ling's carefully crafted clone. His outward appearance matched the real Xuefeng perfectly, from the confident set of his jaw to the slight muscle definition beneath his shirt.

"Hey, what are you doing here, Prince?" he asked casually, his tone laced with feigned surprise.

Zhen Ping and his followers froze for an instant. Most of them reached for their weapons, hearts slamming in their chests. They hadn't even sensed anyone approaching.

"Liu Xuefeng!" the Crown Prince hissed, anger flaring in his eyes. Seeing this face reignited all the jealousy and resentment festering in his gut. He took a step forward, brandishing a hand signal that his lackeys recognized—a silent order to encircle. For a moment, he couldn't help but notice how different Xuefeng looked from the Spirit Awakening Ceremony: broader shoulders, a more defined frame, a refined aura. Even his face seemed more handsome, which only fueled Zhen Ping's rage. How dare this low-born cripple improve so drastically?

The clone, of course, gave no response that would betray fear. Instead, he feigned mild alarm, then spun on his heel and darted into the depths of the forest.

"After him!" Zhen Ping snarled, the cords in his neck standing out as he bolted in pursuit. His assembled Young Masters followed, adrenaline surging as they tasted the thrill of a hunt. The figure of Xuefeng darted among the trunks, weaving through undergrowth at a breakneck pace.

Ling intended to lead them far from the Nightmare's den, but she felt her Qi reserves waning rapidly. Maintaining a fully-empowered clone and running at top speed ate away at her strength. The chase lasted only five or six frantic minutes before the pursuers closed in.

"Surround him!" one of the Young Masters barked, sweat dripping down his temple. He and three others lunged, blocking any exit routes with wide sweeps of their glowing sabers. The clone skidded to a stop, pinned in the center of a tight ring of hostile faces.

Zhen Ping burst through the circle, chest heaving. His eyes glowed with malicious glee, ignoring the burn in his muscles. "Thought you could escape me, did you?" He sneered, raising his chin imperiously. "You can't outrun the Crown Prince."

He expected to see fear or pleading in Xuefeng's eyes, but the clone regarded him with nothing but cold, detached calm. The Crown Prince felt a twinge of unease. Why isn't he panicking?

"What, no begging for mercy?" Zhen Ping scoffed, trying to sound confident. "You think you can steal someone else's possession and get away with it?"

He leveled a gleaming rapier at the clone's chest, flicking his wrist for emphasis. The other Young Masters hurled sneering taunts:

"Heh, you should be on your knees right now, scum."

"Bow to the Prince and maybe he'll let you keep your fingers."

"Imagine a piece of trash like you thinking you could outdo us. Ridiculous."

Under their barrage of insults, the clone's mouth curled into a small, disdainful smile. A flicker of disgust crossed its features as it stared at Zhen Ping.

Why is he smiling? Zhen Ping thought, unsettled. He should be terrified. But frustration boiled over, and he thrust his sword forward, aiming to provoke a reaction—maybe a cry for mercy, or at least a flinch.

Instead, the clone took an unexpected step, letting the blade stab straight through its chest. The sharp tip burst from its back, bloodless Qi swirling around the wound.

Shocked gasps rippled among the onlookers. One of the Young Masters stumbled backward. "Crown Prince… you… you killed him?"

Zhen Ping's eyes widened in confusion. He tried to withdraw the sword, but he couldn't—it felt as though something clamped around his wrists in a vice grip. "I didn't—he—he moved into it!" he exclaimed, voice cracking. Panic twisted his features.

A cold, insidious laugh echoed from the clone's lips, too low for human. "Heh. Did you enjoy talking to my clone?" it asked, voice taunting, turning weirdly hollow in the final syllables. Then its form began to glow, swelling with chaotic energy that rippled like a bubbling cauldron.

"Back away!" one of the Young Masters shouted, but it was too late. The clone exploded in a burst of white-hot Qi, a blinding flash that knocked everyone off their feet. The blast sent Zhen Ping hurtling a dozen meters across the clearing, smashing him into a thick tree trunk. The impact jarred loose dried leaves and sent a tremor along the branches.

His lifesaving artifact had just enough time to form a translucent barrier around him, sparing him instant death. Even so, he coughed up a mouthful of blood, pain knifing through his chest. A small crystal pendant he wore cracked, then disintegrated into fine dust—the artifact had served its final use.

The Young Masters weren't as fortunate. Though most managed to put a few meters of distance between themselves and the detonation, many were blasted to the ground, stunned. They groaned, ears ringing. Several had seared burns across their arms or faces, courtesy of the clone's detonation.

"Fucking bastard!" Zhen Ping growled, trembling fingers brushing his blackened arm. The barrier had shielded most of his body, but his exposed limb burned like it had been thrust in molten iron. He fumbled for a healing pill, swallowing it with the blood still coating his tongue.

"Y–Your Highness," one of his lackeys gasped, staggering to his feet. "Are you—"

"Shut up!" the Crown Prince snarled, fighting through spasms of pain. His eyes were bloodshot, rage boiling under his skin. How dare that cripple humiliate me like this? He forced himself to stand, ignoring the raw agony in his shoulder. He activated his Spirit Awareness in a wide arc around the clearing, sweat beading on his pale brow. 

He sensed movement slipping away into the dense foliage—a signature that matched the real Liu Xuefeng. "That way!" he roared, his voice cracking like a whip. "He's running—don't let him get away!"

The Young Masters, though still rattled, sprang into action at his furious command. Weapons clutched tight, they rushed off in disjointed pursuit, fueled by pride, by greed for the promised rewards, and by fear of Zhen Ping's wrath.

All the while, hidden within the trees, Ling watched with cool satisfaction. Her plan had worked: the Crown Prince's rage had blinded him, ensuring he'd follow wherever she led. Humans are so predictable, she mused, guiding the escaping clone far from Nightmare's Lair. Let's see how long I can play with them.