Chapter 2: Petals and Thorns

The Verdant Lotus Sect was not what Li Chen had imagined. Nestled in a mist-shrouded valley, its once-grand pavilions sagged under centuries of ivy, and stone paths were cracked by roots as thick as dragons. The air, thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and decay, hummed with a quiet power—like the breath of a slumbering beast.

Elder Wu led him past a moss-covered statue of a woman cradling a lotus, her face worn smooth by time. "Two thousand years ago," he said, "this sect shook heavens. Now? We are gardeners tending a graveyard."

"Then why bring me here?" Li Chen clutched the bundled Ming Yue, its presence a dull ache in his ribs.

The old cultivator smirked. "Even graveyards bloom, given the right corpse."

Jiang Feng found them first.

He emerged from the mist with the arrogance of a prince, his embroidered robes a jarring contrast to the sect's decay. Silver pins gleamed in his hair—a mark of nobility Li Chen recognized from traders' tales.

"Elder Wu," Jiang Feng bowed, too shallow. "Another stray? The kitchens already have rats."

Li Chen's hand drifted to his knife.

"Mind your meridians, Jiang Feng." Elder Wu's voice carried frost. "Li Chen is under my protection. He'll join your dawn sparring session."

The noble's gaze lingered on the cloth-shrouded sword. "How… rustic. Don't bleed on the training grounds, peasant. Bloodstains offend the eyes."

The dormitory smelled of mildew and ambition.

Li Chen's bunk neighbored a hunched boy scribbling talismans by candlelight. "Y-You're the one everyone's whispering about," he stammered. "The boy who wielded a Blade and lived. I'm Hong."

"I didn't wield anything," Li Chen lied, unrolling his threadbare blanket. "It was luck."

Hong leaned closer. "They say your eyes glowed like moonlight. That you're the Azure Dynasty's heir—"

The door slammed open.

Yun Mei stood silhouetted by moonlight, her robes singed at the hem and reeking of sulfur. A scar, delicate as cracked porcelain, curved from her left temple to jaw.

"Out," she ordered Hong, tossing a jade vial to Li Chen. "Drink. Unless you enjoy third-degree qi burns."

The vial contained a viscous liquid that tasted of mint and nightmares. "What is this?"

"Antidote. Jiang Feng laced your bunk with Withering Veil spores." She sniffed. "Amateur. I'd have used Ghost-Cap Mushrooms. Slower, but the screaming lasts longer."

Li Chen stared. "Why help me?"

Yun Mei's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Elder Wu's pets either die spectacularly or become legends." Her fingernail tapped the sword bundle. "And I love spectacle."

Dawn sparring was a massacre.

Li Chen faced Jiang Feng across a ring bordered by weathered stone dragons. Disciples gathered, hungry for chaos. The noble twirled a practice sword, its edge dull but weighted for breaking bones.

"First lesson," Jiang Feng sneered. "Mongrels crawl here."

He attacked—a flurry of strikes aimed to maim. Li Chen blocked clumsily, muscles screaming. Ming Yue's bundle lay at the ring's edge, humming in his peripheral vision.

"Pathetic," Jiang Feng spat, feinting high before sweeping Li Chen's legs. "You're not even fit to polish my—"

Li Chen rolled, years of dodging ice-wolves guiding him. His palm slapped the ground where Jiang Feng's shadow fell—and pulled.

The noble stumbled, foot snared by a vine that hadn't been there a breath ago.

Murmurs rippled. Elder Wu's eyebrow twitched.

"Nature bends to Azure Blood," Yun Mei called from the sidelines, peeling a tangerine. "But do try to dodge, Feng-er."

Jiang Feng's face purpled. He lunged, sword aimed for Li Chen's throat—

—and froze.

Ming Yue's wrappings had torn, its blade faintly glowing. Jiang Feng's sword vibrated, then shattered, shards embedding in the dirt.

"Enough!" Elder Wu snapped. "Li Chen, my study. Now."

The study walls were lined with skeletons—not human, but creatures with too many joints and jaws. Elder Wu poured bitter tea, his gaze sharper than the sword between them.

"You siphoned earth qi instinctively," he said. "A talent dormant in your bloodline. But bleed that power into Ming Yue again, and you'll burn your lifespan to cinders."

Li Chen clenched his still-tingling hand. "Teach me to control it."

"What I must teach you is forbidden. Nine Petals of Oblivion—a cultivation art that etches sigils into the soul. Master one petal, and rivers part for you. Master nine…" The elder sighed. "But you'll need it when the Heavenly Sword Sect comes."

"When?"

"They're already here." Wu slid open a bamboo blind. Far below, in the valley mist, lanterns flickered—crimson, like floating drops of blood.

Yun Mei intercepted Li Chen at the moonlit well that night, her arms full of dripping herbs.

"The Nine Petals," she said, no trace of mockery now. "It unravels as much as it empowers. Each petal severs a piece of your humanity."

Li Chen tensed. "Why warn me?"

She touched her scar. "Because I practice it too."

Beneath her collar, black lotus petals swirled against her throat like a noose made of ink.

"Two petals," she whispered. "Everything after the third… I forget things. My mother's face. My first kiss." Her laugh was hollow. "But oh, the power, Li Chen. What would you surrender to protect those you love?"

He had no answer.

Above them, a bat shrieked—too high-pitched, too human. Yun Mei vanished into the shadows as the sect's alarm gong shook the night.

Elder Wu's voice boomed across the mountain: "Breach at the south ward!"

Li Chen sprinted toward the chaos, Ming Yue's hum a war drum in his veins.

Somewhere in the dark, a sword spirit laughed.