chapter 17 “The Statue”

Lu Yan stood still, watching the other spirit beasts vanish into the crimson haze.

Gone, yet not truly.

His instincts told him—they were still there, lingering just beyond his sight. Watching. Waiting.

Then, a shift.

A pulse of energy rippled through the air, subtle but undeniable. His eyes narrowed as his Qi flared slightly in response. The air around him felt charged, as if the very land itself had awoken.

Then—

A single step.

Soft. Deliberate.

Not his own.

The lead beast had returned. Its glowing eyes flickered in the dim light, locked onto his. Not with hostility. Not with fear.

But with intent.

Lu Yan's fingers twitched, ready to react. But the beast didn't attack. It didn't lunge, didn't bare its fangs. Instead—

It turned.

And began to walk.

Slow. Measured.

Then it stopped.

It looked back.

Lu Yan's eyes narrowed. A test? A trick? Or something else entirely?

The other two beasts emerged from the mist, their forms flickering between shadow and light. They stood beside the leader, their glowing tails swaying lazily.

Waiting.

Lu Yan exhaled.

A choice.

Stay. Find shelter alone. Risk wandering deeper into the unknown, blind and uncertain.

Or—

Follow.

A single breath passed. Then another.

Lu Yan stepped forward.

The beasts moved.

Silent. Fluid. Their movements effortless, gliding across the rough terrain as if the cracked ground did not exist beneath them. Lu Yan followed, his gaze sharp, every sense alert.

Time passed. Minutes? Hours? It was impossible to tell in this place. The sky never changed. The land stretched endlessly, shifting in ways that made no sense, as if the world itself was uncertain of its own shape.

The beasts led him through winding paths, between towering spires of jagged rock, across dry riverbeds filled with glowing embers. Not once did they hesitate. Not once did they turn back.

They knew where they were going.

And then—

They stopped.

Lu Yan halted, his eyes sweeping the area.

Before him, nestled between two enormous obsidian formations, was a cave.

Large. Deep. Almost unnatural in its symmetry. The entrance loomed like the maw of some ancient beast, darkness swallowing everything beyond its threshold.

The air was different here.

Denser. Heavier.

Qi lingered. Not wild. Not chaotic. But… refined.

Lu Yan's eyes flickered with interest.

This place—

The great doors groaned open.

Lu Yan stepped forward, his boots echoing against the polished stone floor. The air inside was thick—alive. Power seeped from the walls, the floor, the very air itself, pressing against his skin like a living thing.

This place… was not ordinary.

He could feel it. The energy that pulsed within these walls was rich, potent. It had been absorbed by the stone, embedded into the land itself over time.

Torches flared to life, burning with a cold blue flame. The hall stretched before him, vast and endless, its towering pillars carved with symbols so ancient even time itself had forgotten them. Shadows flickered against the high-vaulted ceiling, shifting, whispering.

Then—the voices.

Low. Deep. Watching.

Lu Yan's gaze flickered across the hall. The stone thrones lined the sides, each one massive, each one occupied. Not by the living. But by the dead.

The lead beast turned to him, its gaze steady.

The Ancestors.

Their forms were wreathed in energy—some barely visible, nothing but shifting silhouettes, while others retained clear features. Faces worn by time, by battle, by history itself. Their robes were heavy, their eyes cold and unblinking.

And they were all looking at him.

Then, the first one spoke.

A language foreign to his ears—harsh, guttural, yet rhythmic, ancient in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't the language of the human clans. It wasn't even the language of the demons.

It was something else. Something older.

The words rolled through the chamber, carrying weight, authority.

Then another voice. And another. The figures murmured among themselves, their eyes still locked onto him. Some with curiosity. Some with disdain. Some with expectation.

Lu Yan clenched his jaw. He couldn't understand their words. 

Then—silence.

One of the figures stood. A man—or what was left of him. His body flickered, half-formed, his features sharp, regal, his presence suffocating. He stepped forward, the shadows parting before him. His robes billowed, embroidered with patterns of dragons and beasts long extinct.

His voice was deeper than the rest. Older. More commanding.

And then—his words changed.

Not into the common tongue. Not into anything Lu Yan had ever heard.

The weight of the word crashed into his chest like a mountain. The hall itself seemed to bend, pressing him down, demanding obedience.

Lu Yan's muscles tensed. His breath was sharp. He could feel the power behind it, the sheer force of command. A weight meant to break lesser men.

He didn't move.

His gaze locked onto the figure's.

He would not kneel.

The room darkened. The air twisted. The torches flared higher, their blue flames turning violent. The ancestors shifted in their thrones, murmurs rising once more. Some approving. Some displeased.

The standing figure's eyes narrowed.

Then, without a sound, it and its kin faded into the mist once more.

Gone.

The standing figure's eyes narrowed.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze—curiosity? Amusement? Or something deeper, something older, something that had been waiting.

Then, without warning—he moved.

Not with steps. Not like a man.

He simply was.

One moment, standing before the thrones. The next, standing before him.

Lu Yan's breath stayed steady, but his body was already preparing—Qi coiling in his core, muscles tensed, every instinct screaming that this was a being beyond normal comprehension.

The silence stretched, heavy, alive. The torches flickered—not from wind, but from something deeper, something stirring in the very bones of this place.

Then—the figure smiled.

Not with kindness. Not with cruelty.

But with acceptance.

"look," he said, voice like stone grinding against stone. His arm lifted, a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers extending toward the far end of the hall.

Lu Yan turned his head.

And there—he saw it.

A statue.

It stood at the very heart of the ancestral chamber, half-shrouded in shadow, yet unmistakable.

Towering. Monolithic. Human.

Lu Yan's pulse quickened—not in fear, but in something else. Recognition.

The details of the statue were worn by time, but the shape remained—broad shoulders, a warrior's stance, one hand resting on the hilt of a great sword. The other, raised, palm open, as if holding something unseen.

The ancestors, still seated in their thrones, turned toward it as one.

A hundred eyes. A hundred whispers.

Lu Yan stepped forward.

The pressure in the air thickened with every step, pressing against his skin, into his bones, his very soul. It wasn't Qi. It wasn't magic. It was something older.

His heart pounded.

He stopped just before the base of the statue, head tilting up. The face was blurred, eroded by time, but still—**still—**there was something eerily familiar.

He didn't know why. He didn't know how.

But every fiber of his being told him he had seen this figure before.

A memory not his own.

A story not yet written.

The whispering ancestors grew louder, speaking in their old tongue. Some voices were soft, reverent. Others, harsh, demanding.

Lu Yan could only understand fragments.

"…returned."

"…the last heir."

The weight of their words settled over him like an iron shackle. But he didn't move. Didn't speak.

Then—the leading figure stepped beside him. His form was half-shadow, half-light, his eyes gleaming with something that cut through time itself.

"Do you know whose statue this is?"

Lu Yan exhaled, steadying himself.

"No."

The figure's smile deepened, like a man looking at a riddle only he knew the answer to.

"It is you."

The words slammed into him.

The torches roared higher. The shadows shuddered.

Lu Yan's breath stilled.

His eyes snapped back to the statue. His own face reflected in the polished stone. The same stance. The same build. The same energy that hummed in his bones, in his blood, in the very air of this place.

It was him.

No.

Not yet.

But one day.

The whispers turned into a chant. The ancestors' voices rising, echoing, blending into something vast, something unstoppable.

The figure beside him lowered his voice, though it still shook the hall.

"The bloodline remembers."

"And so it chooses."

Then—darkness.

The world collapsed.

The last thing Lu Yan heard before everything faded was the voice of the first ancestor, whispering—

"Rise, Clan Leader."