Chapter 8 – Teeth in the Dark
The road east twisted through a dead forest.
The trees stood tall but bare, their branches like claws against the grey sky. The wind howled between trunks, cold and sharp, carrying the stench of rot and the sound of distant beasts.
Wei Lian walked in silence, following behind Shen Beijun. His bones ached. His hands were still raw from training. His Qi stone, faint and cracked, sat in his robe like a fragile heart.
But something inside him had shifted.
He had felt Qi.
A thread. A spark. A start.
And he would chase it into the grave if he had to.
"Razorvine Gorge is ahead," Shen said over his shoulder. "Once we cross it, we'll reach the Xuandao Sect's outer lands."
"How many people will be there?" Lian asked.
"Too many. Most won't survive the trials. But they'll still crawl there, thinking they're chosen."
"And me?"
Shen smirked. "You're not chosen. You're a mistake. That's what makes you dangerous."
They reached an old watchtower by sunset.
Ruined. Empty. Cracked through the middle like a broken tooth.
There was no roof, but the floor still held. A good place to rest.
Or so it seemed.
The fire had just been lit when the first voice came from the dark:
"Move."
Lian turned.
Three figures stood near the tower's edge.
A boy in silk robes with the Qinghe clan symbol on his chest. Long hair tied in a warrior's knot. A sword at his side, polished and clean.
Behind him, a girl with cold eyes and twin daggers. And a heavyset youth with arms like tree trunks, dragging a stone hammer.
"You're in our spot," the Qinghe boy said.
Shen didn't even blink.
But Wei Lian stood.
"Didn't see your name on it," he said calmly.
The boy's eyes narrowed.
"And who are you supposed to be?"
"Wei Lian."
"Never heard of you."
"You will."
Silence.
Then the girl laughed.
"He talks big. Look at his robes. He's not even a cultivator."
"No spirit root," the boy said. "Probably here to beg the sect for scraps."
"Maybe he's the servant," the big one added, grinning.
Wei Lian didn't speak.
He looked at their weapons, their stance, the way their eyes gleamed when they mocked him.
They didn't see him as a threat.
They saw him as prey.
"Step aside," the Qinghe boy said. "You've got two choices. Move now, or crawl away later."
"There's a third option," Lian said softly.
"Oh?"
"You try."
The boy's hand twitched.
His sword hissed half out of its sheath.
"You think I won't cut you down where you stand?"
Lian stepped forward. One step.
No sword. No Qi. Just a stick in one hand, and a gaze like frost in the other.
"Do it," he said.
The moment hung sharp in the air.
The Qinghe boy's grip tightened—
But Shen Beijun moved.
He was in front of the boy before anyone saw him take a step.
"Enough," Shen said. Calm. Final. Deadly.
The Qinghe boy froze.
Shen's hand hovered over the hilt of his own sword. No energy surged. No threat was made.
And yet the temperature seemed to drop.
"Try it," Shen said, "and you'll lose that hand."
The boy's pride wavered, then snapped.
He spat at the ground and turned.
"Not worth it. Let's go."
The three left, muttering, eyes full of venom.
Later, when the fire had burned low, Wei Lian sat alone beneath the stars.
"You didn't need to step in," he said.
Shen glanced at him.
"You wanted to fight?"
"No. I wanted them to try."
Shen smirked. "Good. Keep that fire. You'll need it."
"Who were they?"
"Trash with names. Qinghe clan sends their outer bloodline sons to Xuandao every few years. Loud, proud, but none ever make it past Foundation Establishment."
"Still stronger than me."
"Not for long."
Wei Lian looked at his hands, callused and scarred.
He could feel the pressure now. Not from the world—but from within.
The beginning wasn't just behind him.
It was rushing toward him like a blade in the dark.