Chapter 35: Whispers of the Outer Circle ( 2 in 1)

The outer circle of the Demon Sect was a labyrinth of weathered stone and whispered ambitions, its cracked flagstones etched with centuries of blood oaths.

Dawn's pale light crept over the jagged spires of the Hall of Echoes, where the skulls of past dissenters hung like macabre chimes, their hollow eyes watching the gathering below. In a secluded alcove hidden behind a curtain of thorned ivy, Bai Ziyun stood before a crescent of outer disciples, some robes patched and frayed, their faces sharp and merciless.

This was no mere meeting; it was a reckoning.

Bai Ziyun's voice cut through the chill, smooth as honed steel. "Brothers and sisters of the outer circle," he began, his fingers brushing the jade pendant at hung around his throat; a relic of the Bai Family, its surface carved with the coiled white serpent of their crest. "We are the elite of the outer sect! The ones who will continue to rise beyond our predecessors; yet among us walks someone who doesn't deem us worthy."

The disciples shifted, their breaths misting in the cold. They knew the stories: Zhang Yan, an orphaned savage rumoured to have clawed his way out from deep within The Demonic Grove, his fists drenched in the blood of ferocious beasts and sect rivals alike. But Bai Ziyun's words carried weight beyond just rumor.

"The depth of his strength however isn't fully known," he conceded, pacing slowly, his boots crunching over dried mandrake roots scattered to ward off eavesdroppers. "But even so, strength without discipline is like a wildfire; it consumes even those who wield it." He paused, his gaze lingering on a disciple near the back, a wiry girl with scarred knuckles. "Remember Elder Kuan's fate? The fool who thought raw power could defy the Soul Lamp. His bones now grind beneath the Hall of Echoes' foundations."

A collective shiver passed through the group. The Soul Lamp; a demonic treasure which houses thousands of sect member's partial souls, binding them to the sect's hierarchy. To revolt was to invite a death slower and more miserable than the sect's infamous Soul-Feast Plague Poison Gu.

Bai Ziyun raised his hand, the serpent on his pendant catching the light. "My Bai Family has safeguarded this sect's order for generations. My grandfather purged the Rot-Spire Rebellion. My mother drowned the Jade Lotus Heretics in their own poisoned wells. And now," his voice dropped, cold and deliberate, "I will not let some gutter-born cur unravel my legacy."

A wild looking broad-shouldered disciple with tiger fur draped across his shoulders stepped forward. "What would you have us do, Senior Brother? Challenge him openly?"

"Fool," hissed a gaunt man leaning on a bone-cane; he was Ghost Nine, an outer deacon affiliated with the Tao Family. "You've seen what he did in the trials. He wasn't fighting for his life, he butchered them."

Bai Ziyun raised a hand, silencing them. "We do not confront the ungrateful cur head-on. We just need to divert his path." From his sleeve, he produced a scroll sealed with wax the color of dried blood, his hands slowly handing it to the outer deacon.

"We have a stream of mortals in Yangzhou to be used by the slaughterer's smelt; they are to be escorted and delivered to the sect. But in Yangzhou, a main area of the Luohan Sheng Si, those bald donkeys will do well to exterminate any demon sect members they come across…They may be… unconventional allies, but it'll get the job done."

The disciples exchanged glances. The Luohan Sheng Si were a sect no weaker than the Nine Hells Demon Sect; pious monks who only believed in reaching ascendance through discipline, martial prowess, and spiritual enlightenment.

To be a demonic sect disciple found in their midst, would truly be courting death.

"Observe Zhang Yan," Bai Ziyun commanded, releasing the scroll into the other's possession. "Note his routines, his allies, the holes in his armor. I want precision, and I want his head,." He turned and smiled faintly. "And those who do well... will be heavily rewarded."

As the disciples exchanged glances, their eyes gleaming with fear and ambition, a figure lingered in the shadows of the alcove's entrance; a girl no older than sixteen, her face half-hidden by a hood. Her left hand trembled, as a moth, glowing faintly crawled up her arm as she etched their words into it's soul.

When the meeting dissolved, Bai Ziyun lingered, his gaze tracing the thorned ivy. "You can come out now, Little Rat," he murmured.

The hooded girl stepped forward, trembling. "I-I did as you asked, Senior Brother. Everything is ready."

Bai Ziyun looked at her, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Good. Deliver the news of the captured mortals to the Monk's temple before the third bell, and remember," he gripped the girl's shoulder, his nails drawing blood," the Bai Family hears everything."

Beyond the alcove, in a forgotten ossuary beneath the courtyard, Zhang Yan knelt before a crude altar of blackened bones. A single candle flickered, its flame fed by demon-fat. In his palm, a moth with iridescent wings beat frantically against an invisible barrier, a spy-spirit, captured as it made it's way to him.

"So the Bai whelp thinks to push me to my doom in Yangzhou," he muttered, crushing the moth. Its essence seeped into between his fingers, the memories flooding his mind: Bai Ziyun's words, the mission, the trembling girl.

His shadow stretched, twisting into the form of a gaunt woman with hollow eyes. "You could kill him tonight," it whispered, its arms wrapping around his neck as its breath brushed against his ear, it's voice echoing from the bones around them.

Zhang Yan stood, as the shadow fell to the ground like a plume of gray smoke. "And deny myself the prey being delivered to my door? I'm not so ungrateful as to refused food which has already been delivered to my mouth, let him play his games and let the Monks come."

He extinguished the candle, plunging the ossuary into darkness.

And somewhere above, the third bell tolled.