Rumors and Seduction

Xu Tian soared too fast.

That was all Huolian could think as she sat beneath the training pavilion, legs crossed, hands calm on her knees. 

The mist had thinned, and the sun broke through the pine ridges, but she felt no warmth. Her mind churned.

He rose like a star and burned just as quickly. A comet in mortal flesh. Revered, envied, destroyed.

It wasn't just his power that killed him. It was how he used it, bright, honest, and unguarded. 

The boy had reached the Shen Realm in less than a decade, stood beside his master as an equal, and still believed that talent alone could protect him.

Fool.

Huolian wasn't going to make that mistake. She had no illusions about the nature of power, not in Mushan, and certainly not here.

To rise in Qingluan Sect, she couldn't just cultivate harder. She had to manipulate, deceive, misdirect. Let others burn for her advantage. What use was climbing if you did it straight into a blade?

She wasn't Xu Tian.

She was better.

Her expression remained serene, a picture of dutiful cultivation. But inside, her thoughts were sharp and cold as forged steel.

Shenxiu's plight was regrettable. Touching, even. But irrelevant. 

She wasn't here to save him. She was here to win. He wanted prestige? Fine. She'd give him the tournament victory, and take everything else in return. Resources. Immunity. The ladder to the top.

She would use his seal like a blade at her hip.

But first, she needed to remove the obstacles between her and the prize.

And Zhao Fei was the biggest one.

Zhao Fei was the golden flower of the Second Elder's hall. Graceful, brilliant, endlessly talented. 

Her cultivation technique was famed for its purity, cloud-light footwork, sword strikes so fast they whispered instead of sliced. She was adored by the younger disciples and feared by those just below her.

In other words, a problem. Even though she had defeated Zhao Fei once it was due to qi poisoning her. It won't work again.

Huolian had observed her closely during sparring. She practiced and meditated a lot. Confident in the way someone born into power usually was. But that made her vulnerable in a different way.

She didn't expect darkness.

Huolian waited until late evening. The sect grounds had dimmed to lantern-glow, and Zhao Fei had just finished a solo session by the Moonfire lake.

She was toweling off sweat, serene in the way only people who'd never been truly hunted could be.

Huolian stepped into the clearing.

Zhao looked up, surprised. "Disciple Huolian?"

"Senior Sister Zhao," Huolian said, bowing politely. "I came to apologize."

Zhao raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For winning our last spar," Huolian said sweetly. "I didn't mean to humiliate you."

Zhao's smile tightened just enough.

"I wasn't humiliated."

"Of course," Huolian said, eyes downcast. "But the others have been whispering, and I thought maybe I should-"

She stepped closer.

"-offer you a gift."

A flick of her sleeve, and a delicate silver hairpin caught the lantern light. Elegant. Humble. Crafted to look like a crane in flight.

Zhao blinked. "That's... unexpected."

"It belonged to my mother," Huolian said softly. "But I want you to have it. You inspired me, truly. Your swordplay... it's something I could never hope to match."

She pressed the pin into Zhao's hand, brushing her fingers just slightly.

A pulse of red-black qi flowed from her fingertips into Zhao's palm. Too subtle to feel. Too fast to sense.

It slid into Zhao's meridians like a whisper, curling behind her eyes.

Huolian smiled again and bowed. "Thank you for your guidance, Senior Sister."

Zhao stared at the pin, then at Huolian, slightly dazed. "You're... welcome."

By the next morning, the bewitchment had bloomed.

Zhao Fei missed her meditation session. Later, she skipped formation drills. When her friends asked why, she only smiled and said she had things to think about.

She saw Huolian in the dining hall and froze mid-step. Her face flushed. She looked away. Then back. Then away again.

Perfect.

Huolian didn't confront her. She didn't need to. Bewitching was like kindling, set it right, and the victim would light the fire themselves. Her demonic qi wasn't just destructive; it could invade, distort, obsess.

Zhao would think of Huolian in quiet moments. Would dream of her. Would doubt herself in spars and meditation alike.

And most of all, she would fall apart when Huolian wanted her to.

Two days later, Huolian enacted the second part of her plan.

She began spreading rumors.

Not about Zhao, no, that would be too crude. She spoke instead of other disciples. 

Minor insults. Petty comparisons. A careless whisper to a gullible junior here, a 'private' conversation in a shared courtyard there.

She planted the idea that the Third Elder's hall was mocking the Second. That the Fifth Elder's favored student had called Zhao's swordplay 'dull.' 

She also spread the rumor that Shenxiu had personally said she lacked the fire to win the tournament.

It didn't matter if anyone believed it. Just that it spread.

Qingluan Sect was a garden of thorns, pride, jealousy, and face culture as twisted as any mortal court. A whisper was a weapon. A compliment, if angled correctly, was a curse.

By the week's end, four disciples had challenged each other to unofficial duels. Two had ended in injuries. The elders said nothing, as expected. They rarely stepped in unless blood stained the tiles.

Zhi Yu noticed, of course.

"You're sowing chaos," she said one night, as they trained under moonlight. Her blade moved in slow, sweeping arcs. "The others are snapping at shadows."

Huolian ducked under a strike and responded coolly. "Snakes have to hiss before they bite."

Zhi Yu didn't answer. Her sword paused for just a moment longer than necessary.

"You're not here to be Xu Tian," she said finally.

"No," Huolian said. "I'm here to win."

Zhao Fei cracked two days before the preliminary duels began.

She approached Huolian alone, eyes slightly wide, voice trembling.

"I need to talk," she said.

Huolian offered her best innocent smile. "Of course, Senior Sister."

They sat by the garden near the mist-pool. Zhao looked around nervously before leaning in.

"Do you think I'm... weak?" she whispered.

Huolian blinked. "No, why would you think that?"

"I, I don't know. I keep thinking I'll lose. That I'm not good enough. That I'll never catch up to you."

Huolian's gaze sharpened, but her voice stayed gentle. "I'm no one, Zhao. You're the one everyone respects."

Zhao's face twisted. "But I don't feel respected. I feel... watched. Judged."

Huolian tilted her head. "By who?"

"I don't know!" Zhao clutched her head. "I can't think straight."

Huolian reached out and placed a hand on hers.

"There's too much pressure," she said softly. "I understand."

Zhao calmed at her touch, her breath slowing. Bewitchment responded to attention like a plant to sunlight.

"Maybe..." Huolian offered, "you should sit out the tournament. Rest. Regain clarity."

Zhao nodded, as if the idea had always been hers. "Yes. Maybe I should."

That night, Huolian returned to her quarters and stood by the window, watching the wind stir the mountain fog.

The sect was coiling tighter. Whispers moved like knives in the dark. Elder factions were aligning behind their top disciples, unaware that a single player had slipped behind their eyes.

She rolled Shenxiu's token in her hand.

It didn't matter that it had been given in faith.

She would use it like a key, and when the gates opened, she'd take the entire mountain for herself.

Xu Tian had flown too close to the sun.

She would crawl in its shadow, slit its throat, and wear its fire like a crown.