The cave was narrow, barely wide enough for Xiao Lei to curl into. Jagged stone pressed against his back, leeching away what little warmth his body held. Outside, winter had taken root in the Duskroot Wilds. The air carried a metallic bite, and every exhale misted white before vanishing into the dark.

  It had been seven days since he stepped into the inner regions. Seven days of sleepless nights, stalking shadows, and the smell of his own blood. Twice, death had brushed close enough for him to taste it. The beasts here were stronger, faster—predators honed by a crueller law than the outer wilds. Even at the outskirts, he had barely escaped with his life, Void Step tearing reality underfoot, Shattered Howl ripping through his throat until his body trembled from the strain. The price of his mistake hung heavy, a cold weight under his ribs.

  A faint tremor rippled through the stillness. Not wind. Not beast.

  Someone was nearby.

  Xiao Lei’s eyes narrowed, and the cold faded beneath a sharper focus. He moved, soundless, every motion precise. Mud and the stench of beast waste coated his skin, a disguise that turned his scent into something unnoticeable amid the wild’s decay. Months of survival had sharpened him into something feral.

  The trees loomed above, black silhouettes against a pale sky. He scaled one swiftly, fingers and feet gripping frost-crusted bark without a slip. Branch by branch, he rose, until he became part of the canopy’s shadow.

  Through the gray mist, a flicker of orange light pulsed in the distance. The faint crackle of fire reached his ears, carried on the winter wind. He crept closer, the branch beneath him bending but never breaking, his presence swallowed by the forest’s hush.

  The camp revealed itself below: four adults and a child. The firelight wavered over their faces, painting sharp lines of weariness. Three men, one woman—her skin pale and strained as if recovering from wounds. The small girl clung to the cloak of an older man, his back slightly hunched, his beard streaked with white. Despite his age, he stood with a quiet authority, his eyes scanning the shadows as if they might lunge at any moment.

  “Once the meat’s ready, put out the fire,” the old man said, voice low but firm. “We’re still in the inner regions.”

  The woman nodded faintly, retreating toward the trees. The two younger men exchanged glances before returning to the food.

  Xiao Lei crouched low, gaze cold, ready to slip away. This was not his fight. Then words, spoken in a careless murmur, froze him where he perched.

  “Old Man Zi,” one of the men said, his tone sharp with greed, “how much do you think the Moonveil Orchid would sell for?”

  The name struck like a spark in the dark. Moonveil Orchid.

  The name burned in his mind. He had only heard of it once, from Rhen—an herb so rare that even the Lei clan had never seen one. Its power was said to refine the body, pushing cultivation forward without side effects. For Xiao Lei, it was a treasure beyond measure.

  Hidden in the branches, his breathing slowed. Every muscle stilled.

  The two men—fourth stage Qi Awakening. The woman—third stage, same as him. The old man, likely fifth stage, the strongest of them all.

  There was no way he could face them head-on.

  Yet as the cold wind slipped through the branches, Xiao Lei’s eyes narrowed with a quiet resolve.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The morning carried a brittle silence that cracked with every step. Branches swayed high above, creaking under a wind that cut through the trees. Each breath the group exhaled seemed too loud, each footfall sharper than it should have been in the vast stillness of the jungle.

  The group of five moved quickly, breath misting in the chill, eager to leave the Duskroot Wilds behind. Their movements carried the stiffness of those who had travelled too long under the weight of danger.

  Ahead, a sharp sound broke the monotony—a guttural grunt, followed by the snapping of branches and the thud of heavy bodies colliding. The party halted as one, their eyes cutting through the trees. The sounds grew clearer: the rasp of laboured breaths, the hiss of pain, the wet smack of blood against soil.

  Not far ahead, a youth—barely thirteen by the look of him—fought desperately against a rank-one spirit beast. His clothes were torn to rags, his body streaked with blood and grime. The creature circled low, hackles bristling, its growl a rasping snarl that vibrated through the frost. Then it lunged, muscles coiled like steel, claws flashing. Its hide was matted with its own wounds, yet it pressed forward with relentless ferocity.

  Each strike of its claws forced the boy back, splintering the frozen undergrowth beneath his heels. He blocked, staggered, rolled aside, but every movement drained him further. His breaths came ragged and sharp, white mist bursting from his lips. Still, he met it with the stubborn tenacity of someone unwilling to die quietly.

  The boy’s movements were wild, uneven, yet there was something sharp behind the chaos—a refusal to fall.

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  Mo Liangyu, tall and thin with a face that twisted into a sneer as easily as breathing, bared yellowed teeth. “Another fool who came to die,” he muttered, amusement dripping from his words.

  The others said nothing. Silence stretched, heavy with the cries of battle and the raw scent of blood. Then a small voice broke it.

  The beast’s claw raked across the boy’s arm, tearing a thin, burning line. Hot blood steamed in the cold, spattering across the snow.

  “Grandpa… won’t we save him?” The young girl perched on the old man’s shoulders tilted her head, her big eyes fixed on the struggling figure. Her tone carried the simple expectation of a child who believed saving someone was natural.

  Before the old man could answer, Shen Haoran—short, pudgy, his face pinched with irritation—snorted. “Lian’er, we can’t help everyone. You already made us stop once.” His eyes flicked toward the pale woman behind them, who bit her lip but held her tongue.

  The boy stumbled, narrowly dodging the beast’s next strike. Its claws ripped a gouge through the bark of a tree where he had been a heartbeat before. Blood streaked the earth beneath him. He couldn’t hold out much longer. The girl’s small hands tugged insistently at her grandfather’s hair, her plea wordless but stubborn.

  The old man exhaled, his expression unreadable beneath the frost of his beard. “Fine,” he said at last, voice gruff. “But this will be the last time.”

  The child’s face lit up with a small, pure smile.

  Mo Liangyu and Shen Haoran exchanged a glance—resentment flickering in the narrow squint of their eyes. Shen opened his mouth to argue, but the old man’s gaze silenced him. “It doesn’t matter,” the elder said evenly. “We’re almost at the outer area. Rank-one beasts are all that remain. By tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be out. Perhaps fate led him here. Or perhaps it’s testing us. Either way, help him.”

  Mo Liangyu hesitated, lips curling, but he obeyed. Shen followed, his expression hard. The two moved swiftly, blades flashing, and within moments the beast fell with a guttural cry, its body collapsing into the frost-hardened soil.

  The boy—bloodied, trembling—stared at the corpse as if he could not believe it was real. For a few breaths, he simply knelt there, chest heaving, until finally he forced himself upright. His gaze lifted to the group, and he bent at the waist in a deep bow. “Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse, gratitude raw on his face.

  Mo Liangyu’s expression remained cold, his lip curling slightly. Shen Haoran’s eyes narrowed with the same disdain. The old man only gave a small nod and turned away, already walking ahead as if the matter was finished.

  The boy watched them, thoughts flickering like shadows behind his eyes. Then he spoke, voice low, asking to travel with them, to be guided out of the forest.

  Shen Haoran spun on him with a sharp scoff. “Kid, we saved your neck. Don’t push your luck—or you’ll find out we’re not as kind the second time.”

  The boy’s head dipped slightly, but his words persisted, soft yet unyielding. He pleaded again, again, each request pressing against the cold air.

  Lian’s small fingers gripped her grandfather’s hair once more. The old man sighed, deep and heavy. His eyes narrowed as he studied the youth, as if searching for something hidden. At last, he gave a single nod. “Fine. Follow us.” Without waiting for a response, he walked on.

  The other three exchanged wary glances before trailing after him.

  As they turned away, the boy’s pleading softness drained from his face. What remained was cold, unreadable calm. Xiao Lei followed, silent as shadow.

  The group halted by a pond as the sun dipped toward the west, though it didn’t matter much in this forest. Winter’s breath clung to the air, and the pond’s surface was hard as glass, creaking faintly beneath the falling leaves.

  Xiao Lei recognized the place immediately—this was where he had first crossed paths with that strange old man and his silver-feathered bird. The memory sent a faint shiver along his spine, though he kept his face expressionless.

  They settled in. The three men and the pale woman gathered close, speaking in low murmurs as they tended to their small fire. Xiao Lei, as always, kept his distance. Kneeling by the water, he dipped his hands into the icy surface.

  The cold bit into his skin, yet he calmly wiped the streaks of dried blood from his arms, watching as the crimson swirled briefly before vanishing into the pond. His reflection trembled with each ripple—hollow-eyed, lips pressed into a thin line.

  Soft footsteps broke the quiet. Xiao Lei turned slightly to see the little girl, walking toward him with a small bun cradled in her hands. Her face was bright despite the chill, cheeks flushed from the wind. She held out the bun without hesitation, her voice small yet clear. “Here. You look hungry.”

  For a moment, Xiao Lei didn’t move. His gaze lingered on her innocent expression, the warmth in her eyes that had no place in a place like this. Slowly, he accepted the bun and gave a nod. “Thank you.”

  That was all he said, yet the girl began talking as if she had known him all her life. Her words spilled like a stream—light, cheerful, skipping from one thought to another. Xiao Lei offered brief replies, his tone polite, his mind elsewhere.

  Beneath the mask of his responses, his focus never wavered. He was calculating, watching the group even as he appeared distracted by a child’s chatter.

  The sound of steady footsteps reached him. The old man approached, carrying himself with the calm weight of authority. His eyes, sharp despite the years carved into his face, settled on Xiao Lei as he came closer.

  “I am Zi Yunshen,” he said evenly. His voice had the texture of gravel, rough but not without warmth. “This is my granddaughter, Lian’er. You’ve met her already.”

  He gestured toward the others by the fire. “That woman is Su Yuerong. We found her not long ago, much like we found you.” His gaze lingered on the pale woman before returning to Xiao Lei, studying him as though peeling away layers. “And you?”

  Xiao Lei lowered his gaze, letting his voice catch slightly as he spoke, weaving lies between shallow breaths. His shoulders sagged, every word carrying the weight of someone too weak to think straight. Yet behind the trembling mask, his mind stayed sharp, each false detail chosen with precision.

  Zi Yunshen listened in silence, then gave a slow nod. His hand dipped into his robe and came out with a small vial. He tossed it lightly; Xiao Lei caught it. Inside, a fine powder glimmered faintly.

  “Your wounds bleed heavily,” the old man said, his tone mild but his eyes piercing. “Not serious, but untreated they’ll slow you down. Use it. My Lian’er dislikes seeing someone in pain, even when that pain is intentional.”

  The child tilted her head, not understanding the weight behind those words. Xiao Lei, however, let the meaning sink like a stone in his chest. The vial’s faint weight seemed heavier than it should—proof enough his act had been read like an open book.

  Zi Yunshen’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, sharp enough to cut, then softened as he turned away, leading Lian back to the group. The little girl looked over her shoulder, giving Xiao Lei a bright smile before skipping after her grandfather.

  Xiao Lei didn’t smile back. His attention remained locked on the old man, a quiet storm brewing behind his eyes.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.