Chapter XCIX: Short and Long term

Yet even amidst the heavy unease—despite the strained smiles, the forced small talk, the false sense of relief that lingered like perfume over rotting wood—there was still something that resembled joy. Not quite celebratory. More like hollow cheerfulness, the kind that festered when people didn't know what else to do. A brittle kind of happiness, clinging to the air like fake garlands strung over a funeral.

And within that brittle atmosphere, unnoticed by all, a boy turned his back on the crowd.

He looked ugly. Too ugly to be memorable—muddy eyes, crooked teeth, a face people would forget before they even fully looked. He wore the robes of Cloudveil Sect, sleeves too long, fabric faded at the edges. A nobody.

He clapped softly—twice. Not loud enough to draw attention. Just loud enough to please himself.

No one heard him.

No one saw.

A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. It didn't reach his eyes. Those remained sharp, calculating—watching.

"What a good actor, Yun," he mused to himself. "If you were placed in my hometown, you'd definitely be a top actor. Hehe… I'd even vote for you."

The grin deepened.

Because that ugly boy with the forgettable face… that wasn't just anyone.

That's right. It was Yanwei.

Hidden in plain sight.

And no one had the slightest idea.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

Eventually… an hour slipped by.

Still, no one else came out of the secret realm.

What began as hopeful anticipation had long since rotted into unease—and now simmered into frustration. The Rank 3 elders from Yun and Linglong's factions stood with arms crossed, brows knit, their expressions carefully schooled into grim lines.

On the surface, they appeared solemn—worried, even.

But inside?

They were smiling.

Because every second of silence was another nail in the coffin for the heirs of the Divine Sword Sect and Cloudveil Sect. And for them, that wasn't misfortune.

It was providence.

They just had to wait a little longer. Let the silence stretch. Let everyone else squirm.

Then, slicing through the tense quiet came a voice, high and mocking.

"I'm getting tired!" declared the woman from the Marquis family, tone drenched in sarcasm. She yawned theatrically, stretching her arms. "I already want to sleep. Why can't we just close this? It's been more than an hour already. They're probably dead."

The words hit the gathering like a slap.

Gasps broke out. Disciples turned sharply in disbelief. Even those from neutral sects stiffened.

The elder from Yun's faction turned to her, eyes wide in shock, clearly about to speak—

—but someone else got there first.

"Are you picking a fight!?" came the furious snarl from Zhang's uncle. His eyes were ablaze, body trembling as spiritual pressure began to radiate from him. "My nephew is not dead!"

The tension spiked.

Then another voice surged in—angrier, colder.

"That's right!" barked the elder from Cloudveil Sect. His face was red with fury, veins standing out along his temple. "And if you're so eager to end this, then why not have Linglong or Yun speak!? Let them tell us what happened inside the secret realm!"

The air crackled with hostility.

But within Yun and Linglong's faction?

Despite the frowns on their faces and the practiced concern in their eyes, their hearts were calm—smug, even.

Because the longer the gate remained still, the more certain they became:

Zhang and Jiang Yu were not coming back

The woman from the Marquis family turned her head slowly, locking eyes with the elder from Yun's faction.

The tension between them was palpable—an unspoken exchange threading the air like a drawn wire.

Seconds passed. One. Two. Three. Ten.

Neither said a word. But their gazes remained firm, steady… calculating.

Then, at last, the elder gave a single nod.

And the woman, lips curling ever so slightly, returned it.

A quiet agreement sealed without a single syllable—one that only those watching closely would even notice.

Something had just been decided.

The woman from the Marquis family let out a laugh—sharp, mocking—as she turned to face the elder from the Cloudveil sect's faction.

"Why not?" she said with a ridiculing look on her face, eyes gleaming with cruelty. "Why didn't I even think of that in the first place? At least if I did, you would've heard your heir's death confirmed early on."

Gasps rippled quietly from the crowd, but the woman didn't stop there. She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Would've saved you the trouble of waiting, no?"

The elder from Yun's faction sighed, deliberately dramatic, and spoke with a sarcastic tone. "That's right. If it had also come to my mind, then both of you wouldn't have to waste your precious time here. We could've all gone home to rest."

Zhang's uncle and the elder of the Cloudveil sect both looked as if they were about to explode—veins twitching at their temples, hands clenched tight at their sides. Their fury was barely restrained, but they didn't bite back. Not yet. They were cultivators of high rank, and they understood the price of losing face in front of the sects gathered here. Responding would only play into her hands.

And perhaps that's why the woman stopped.

She clicked her tongue softly and folded her arms, her expression returning to cold indifference.

But even with this brewing storm, the disguised Yanwei remained calm.

His lips curled slightly—not into a smile, but into a subtle smirk only someone observant might catch.

This woman is quite smart, he thought. If either the Divine Sword Sect or the Cloudveil Sect took the bait and lashed out, she could've used the Gentle Breeze Sect's reputation to flip public opinion on its head.

The Divine Sword Sect's image would crumble even further. That kind of scandal… it'd ripple far beyond just the sects.

And if it escalates? There's only two directions this can go.

Short-term? The Marquis family and the Gentle Breeze Sect could form an alliance, aimed squarely at destroying either the Divine Sword Sect or the Cloudveil Sect.

Of course, those two sects would retaliate by forming one of their own.

But that's where the current advantage lies—public opinion.

Right now, Yun and Linglong's factions are riding high. Survivors, brilliance, moral sympathy—whatever it is, it's power.

And when recruitment begins? Rogue cultivators and sectless talents will gravitate toward strength, sure… but even more toward stability. Reputation. A promise of safety.

And they'll find that in Yun and Linglong's side.

Not in a fractured Divine Sword or a desperate Cloudveil.

As for the long term… Yanwei's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, fingers brushing the hem of his sleeve as he stood amidst the crowd unnoticed. Well, obviously, the rising talents would flock to the Marquis family if they ever started recruiting. Or, more realistically, to the Gentle Breeze Sect. Their prestige is intact, their image unsullied. In times of uncertainty, that's all it takes.

Divine Sword Sect—the so-called strongest in the region—they'd get crippled. A collapse of reputation always comes before a fall in strength. Once that happens, they'll start declining. Slowly, then all at once.

As for the Cloudveil Sect… his expression didn't change, but his thoughts sharpened like a blade, they'd probably be devoured by hungry hyenas. Maybe from outside. Maybe from within. Doesn't matter. If there's a weakness, something will come to feed on it.

He shifted slightly, the grin that once lingered now tucked away beneath a mask of neutrality.

Well, not that I'd give a shit about any of that.

His tone—within the confines of his own mind—was as nonchalant as ever.

Just don't disturb my peace, he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching into the ghost of a grin.

Because if anyone dares to destroy it…

I'll destroy all four factions myself.