The moon hung thin and brittle above, its pale light too weak to pierce the shroud of night. What little spilled through dragged across trees and earth, sketching Chief Qingshan’s figure in ghostly silver.

  Though the air carried the bite of autumn chill, sweat drenched his back, robes clinging damp against him. Each breath left his lips in ragged wisps, betraying the storm within. If he had known this night would twist so, he would have silenced Xiao Lei the moment suspicion first stirred, gathered his kin, and fled to Xihe under darkness.

  But habit had betrayed him. Years of caution, of weighing each move, of dismissing the boy as an academy-bred fledgling blind to the world’s dirt—those reflexes had brought him here. And now, with every heartbeat, escape felt like a tale told too late.

  “Do not trouble yourself with regret, Chief Qingshan.” Xiao Lei’s voice slipped through the silence, colder than the wind, calm as though fate itself had already spoken. “Keep your mask. Keep your family. In time, claw back what you’ve lost. Think of this as… inevitability dressed as mercy.”

  The words sank like hooks beneath Qingshan’s skin. His jaw locked, teeth grinding audibly, but a breath later his shoulders sagged. His frame bowed, bones hollowed by something heavier than age. In that instant, he seemed to wither into the shell of the man who had once ruled Stonebrook.

  Xiao Lei watched without pity, a faint glimmer darkening his eyes. He offered no comfort, only turned with measured grace. Rai Mu followed in silence, his presence a shadow tethered to Xiao Lei’s heel. With reluctance tightening every step, Qingshan began the march toward the village.

  “Ah. One more thing.” Xiao Lei’s tone was almost casual, but the words struck like stones dropped into still water. “Should you gamble, Chief—should you try clever games—remember. Little Jun Tei can always be made to follow his brother.”

  Qingshan froze. His head snapped back, fury and terror igniting at once. Muscles trembled at his throat, words pressing to escape—yet none came. In the end, he swallowed them, the sound sharp in the hush. He turned again, but his stride had lost the sharpness of a chief; he moved like a man led on a leash.

  The path stretched long and silent. Branches swayed, casting restless shadows. Now and then, a night bird cried out, sharp enough to startle. Leaves and weeds crunched beneath their feet, loud in the stillness, every step carrying the weight of unspoken threat.

  After fifteen minutes, Qingshan veered off the road. He led them across neglected ground where weeds tangled around the ankles, the scent of damp earth heavy in the air. Another ten minutes, and an abandoned house rose from the dark. Its timbers sagged with age, roofline crooked, walls cracked like old parchment.

  Qingshan entered without pause. The warped door groaned open, stirring dust from the air. The outer chamber reeked of neglect—broken stools scattered, a hearth filled with the grey memory of ashes. He moved deeper, past creaking boards and peeling walls, until at last he stopped before a narrow chamber.

  On one side, a faded painting hung askew, its colours long surrendered to time. Qingshan pressed a hand flat against it.

  A low tremor shivered through the house. Stone rasped against stone, dust raining in pale curtains. Slowly, with a grinding groan, the wall yawned open, exhaling a draft of stale, trapped air from the darkness beyond.

  Xiao Lei’s hand lifted in a quiet gesture, fingers tilting as if to say after you.

  Qingshan did not hesitate. His steps carried him into the narrow mouth of the passage, shoulders stiff, every line of his body betraying both weariness and defiance. Rai Mu glanced toward Xiao Lei, received a faint nod, and moved to follow. Only when both had gone ahead did Xiao Lei step across the threshold himself.

  The corridor swallowed them in darkness. Stone walls pressed close, their damp breath clinging to skin. The shuffle of boots against grit echoed too sharply, each sound rebounding as if the tunnel meant to magnify unease.

  A pale glimmer appeared ahead. The promise of light drew them forward—but Xiao Lei’s body shifted of its own accord, weight slipping aside in a blur.

  Hiss—crash!

  A spear split the air, biting stone where his chest had been, chips stinging his cheek. The haft quivered, metal still trembling with the force behind it.

  Behind them, the corridor roared shut. Stone ground on stone, sealing the way with a finality that rattled the chamber. Xiao Lei’s gaze slid back to Qingshan, his voice flat, almost disappointed.

  “It seems you’ve chosen not to live anymore.”

  Qingshan had worn the look of a condemned man until now. At those words, his lips split into laughter—harsh, humourless, echoing far too loud in the cramped dark.

  “You stupid child. Smarter than I guessed, yes, but still a reckless pup. You think words can blackmail me? You’ve already cost me one son. Tonight, I’ll see your bones pay the debt.”

  Rai Mu edged into place at Xiao Lei’s side, stance low, eyes sharp, though his gaze flicked between them uneasily. Xiao Lei stood calm, unflinching.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The air shifted. From the chamber’s edges came the scrape of boots, the low rasp of blades. Five figures stepped into view, their faces half-lit by the dim glow, their auras pressing down like chains. Xiao Lei knew them—bandits who had struck before. Six had come then. One he had slain. These five remained.

  Silence stretched.

  Qingshan’s smirk widened at Xiao Lei’s stillness. “What is it? Cat got your tongue? Threaten me again. Shout of your precious academy. Let’s see if that saves you.”

  Xiao Lei’s reply came calm, even light, though each word cut like a drawn edge.

  “My mistake. I thought you a mere village bumpkin. But no—you’re a worm, fattened on rot. Did you think I wouldn’t expect this?”

  Qingshan’s brows knotted. One of the five scoffed, voice rough. “He’s bluffing.”

  “Am I?” Xiao Lei’s tone did not rise, but the chamber seemed to still around it. “If I had truly gone for Jun Tei, your whole house would have screamed—guards rushing, servants wailing. Yet you never doubted me. Not once.”

  He stepped forward, voice cutting sharper with each word.

  “Because you knew. Because you’ve sacrificed before. You offered Jun Tai, your adopted son. Still loved him, perhaps—but you spent him all the same. One more son means nothing. But wealth gathered in shadows for decades… once lost, can you reclaim it so quickly?”

  The words landed heavier than stone. The five men froze, faces drawn taut.

  Rai Mu, close enough to feel Xiao Lei’s quiet breath, shivered. He could not decide who unnerved him more—the chief, ruthless enough to gamble with blood, or the youth beside him, who peeled truth from shadows with eyes far too calm.

  Qingshan’s breath came ragged, fury covering the dread that coiled beneath his skin. His roar cracked against the stone walls.

  “So what if you knew it was a trap? You’re still here. Don’t tell me you think you can face us all and walk away alive!”

  Xiao Lei’s lips curved, a thin blade of mockery.

  “Why don’t you try?”

  He moved before the echo of his words could fade. No warning, no pause. The chamber erupted into motion.

  Rai Mu staggered at the sudden order pressed upon him. Xiao Lei’s voice had carried no room for refusal: block Qingshan, hold the fifth-stage bandits. The absurdity of it nearly crushed his chest. He himself was only at the fifth stage—how could one man stand against three of equal strength, let alone Qingshan? Yet no space for argument remained. The youth was already gone, cutting through the chamber like a shadow unmoored.

  Rai Mu exhaled hard, bitterness flaring into flame. These men had destroyed his family, killed his father. If he was to die, let it be with his teeth buried in their throats. His hands tightened, qi surging as hatred carried him forward.

  Xiao Lei aimed straight for the two third-stage experts, movements as precise as they were merciless. Qingshan lunged to intercept, his face twisted in wrath—only to meet Rai Mu head-on. The younger man’s qi surged, a jagged fist of essence blooming before him. It wasn’t elegant—rough, desperate, but driven by every scrap of hatred he had left.

  Qingshan snarled, his own power ripping outward. A spectral claw of qi burst into being, raking the chamber with tearing force. For a heartbeat, fist and claw ground together, sparks hissing as Rai Mu’s construct shattered like glass. The residual force slammed into him, ribs snapping, copper flooding his mouth, yet he forced himself upright—just as Xiao Lei dissolved into smoke, vanishing from sight. The three fifth-stage cultivators spun, instincts clawing at them.

  “No—he’s using an Echo Art!” one barked, panic cracking his tone.

  Too late.

  A whisper of movement—then the sound of wet impact split the chamber. Two strangled cries echoed off the stone. When the others turned, they froze. Their comrades lay sprawled, chests gaping with neat, brutal holes. Blood steamed faintly in the cold air, its metallic tang thickening the chamber like a tomb.

  Xiao Lei reappeared between them, posture unhurried, gloves dripping crimson. The clawed steel caught what little light there was, droplets sliding down like molten beads. He lifted his hand slightly, gaze steady, voice calm enough to chill bone.

  “Two down,” he said, as though tallying livestock. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Four to go.”

  The chamber fell silent except for the slow drip of blood pattering on stone.

  Qingshan and his remaining three allies froze. For a heartbeat, none of them trusted what their eyes delivered. Only a handful of breaths had passed, and already two corpses bled out on the stone floor. Qingshan’s knuckles whitened on his weapon; fury clawed outward, but beneath it, dread coiled tight, a whisper that his control might snap.

  Echo Arts were not unknown to them. Such techniques were rarely unleashed so early, for they burned qi like dry grass—meant for a killing strike, a decisive moment. Yet Xiao Lei had opened with one, wielding it as though the cost were nothing. With his cultivation already above theirs, the two fallen men had never stood a chance.

  “Qingshan!” one of the bandits spat, voice sharp with panic. “Kill this brat quickly—he’s not simple!”

  Qingshan’s reply tore back, rough and furious. “You think I don’t know that?” His chest heaved once, but no more words followed. Rage sharpened into focus.

  They moved as one, but the panic lingered beneath their coordinated steps, a trembling edge welded to determination. The chamber thickened with killing intent, the air behind them warping. Four forms shimmered into being—half-illusory, half-solid, carrying the weight of blood and will.

  To Qingshan’s right, two of the bandits revealed echoes bound by bloodline. One brandished a sword longer than a man’s height, edges humming with a spectral shriek as though slicing through cold air itself; the other bore a jagged scabbard, cracked yet shimmering with veins of pale, imprisoned light that pulsed like a hidden heartbeat. The third man’s echo thundered forward in the shape of a tusked elephant, its bulk suffused with raw, crushing force.

  Qingshan’s own spirit loomed above them all—a golden bell, surface rippling like liquid metal, every vibration humming with sanctity. Its presence pressed against the very marrow, ringing faintly though no striker touched it. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, but he did not falter; fury sharpened, dread buried, focus absolute.

  Across the chamber, Rai Mu staggered but stood firm. Blood clung to his lip, his breath still uneven from the earlier blow. Even so, he raised his hand, summoning the python that curled into existence behind him. Scales the colour of midnight rippled as it hissed, eyes gleaming with venomous promise. Injured or not, retreat was no longer possible.

  Xiao Lei regarded them all without a flicker of unease. His gaze swept their echoes, then returned to Qingshan with quiet disdain. His words fell calm, almost lazy.

  “Mine is better.”

  The air behind him split like torn silk. From the rift, a vast paw emerged—shadow-furred, claws glinting, each talon long enough to shred bone and stone alike. The chamber chilled as if winter itself had pressed in, the scent of ozone sharp, and a heavy silence settled, thickening the space around them like fog before a storm.

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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.