Hun Yao's footsteps leaving the "Thousand-Year Tavern" were accompanied by the faint clink of a beer jug rocking on the table—then silence. The smell of charcoal, spiritual smoke, and his own blood mixed into the damp air of Xiao City. Rain began to fall lightly, drop by drop, like warnings from the heavens.
He didn't notice the figure sitting in one of the dark corners of the tavern, cloaked in a long black robe soaked with mist. Their face was hidden beneath a deep hood that concealed almost their entire body. On the table before them sat a cup of untouched tea. Their eyes had narrowed the moment Hun Yao walked in. They did not move. They only observed.
The moment Hun Yao disappeared from sight, the hooded figure slowly stood. They left a few coins on the table and walked out, following the faint blood trail dripping from Hun Yao's shoes on the wooden floor.
Hun Yao walked toward the inn. The wind grew stronger. The rain no longer held back—its drops turned into lashes of water striking rooftops and stone roads. His steps grew heavier, not because of his wounds, but because his thoughts were becoming more tangled. "Order." That word kept echoing in his mind.
Every corner of Xiao City looked gloomy, as if participating in hiding a great secret. He knew that tonight… something would move.
Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating his rain-soaked face and the dried blood on his skin. He quickened his pace, but his body could no longer endure. His shoulder wound throbbed painfully. His breathing sharpened.
He turned into a narrow alley, descending a small set of steps that led beneath an old stone bridge. The space there was dry—just enough shelter for a moment.
Hun Yao sat, leaning against the wall, trying to steady his breath. His hand touched the jade hanging beneath his clothes. Cold. Always cold, even when the world burned.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps.
But these were no ordinary human footsteps. Not hurried, yet heavy. Their rhythm was steady, but each step created a pressure that stabbed at the ears.
Through the heavy curtain of rain, five figures appeared on the road.
They wore pitch-black robes. Red masks covered their faces—masks shaped like demons, carved with cruel, grinning fangs. Their eyes glowed faintly red, like embers burning in the darkness.
Hun Yao remained silent in the shadows, though he couldn't take his eyes off them. The Qi surrounding the five figures seemed to scrape against the air… not the aura of strong cultivators, but something corrupted—like shattered souls forced into obedience.
The five passed by without looking at him. But then, their footsteps halted. The leading figure slowly turned their head toward the alley where Hun Yao hid.
They had noticed him.
Yet there was no attack. No words. The masked figure simply stood still for a moment… then continued walking.
Simultaneously, the oppressive Qi faded. They crossed the road and vanished into another dark passage, leaving behind a chilling, bone-piercing cold.
Hun Yao exhaled softly, though his eyes remained alert.
"They aren't ordinary assassins. They're… like shadows with a will of their own."
And the jade on his chest—for the first time in ages—trembled weakly. Hun Yao looked down at the artifact.
"What's happening…?"
Far across the city, atop the old clocktower at the edge of Xiao City, the cloaked figure from the tavern stood on the roof, gazing in the direction the five masked men had gone.
"The first movement has begun," he muttered softly. "Hun Yao… will you break your seal, or be sacrificed by it?"
With that, he vanished into the wind.
Hun Yao took the jade artifact from his storage pouch and examined it closely. It pulsed, radiating a bright green glow. Hun Yao frowned. "Why is it suddenly glowing?"
The sound of the rain gradually faded. Hun Yao looked up. The sky had cleared again. "Alright… I should return to the inn and check this."
When Hun Yao arrived at the entrance of the Xia Ni Inn, the paper lantern by the door swayed weakly, its light dim beneath the lingering mist. The wooden door jingled lightly as he pushed it open. He entered slowly, drenched and slightly unsteady. The floor felt warm—but silent. Too silent.
Hun Yao looked toward the reception desk.
His heart seemed to stop for a beat.
The seductive young woman in a red dress from the day before was gone.
Instead, an old man with messy clothes, an unkempt beard, and a bottle of liquor in his hand sat slumped there. His breath stank sharply of fermented wine.
The old man snorted, then grinned, showing yellow teeth with several gaps.
"Back again? Did you bring something from the outside world? Maybe a bolt of lightning? Or the scream of a lonely soul?"
Hun Yao frowned and stepped closer.
"Where is the woman who was here yesterday?"
The old man stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly burst into laughter.
"Haha… Woman? I've been sitting at this desk for… let me see… eighty-nine years, seven months, and twelve days. There's never been a woman here."
"I saw her myself last night," Hun Yao replied, his voice firm.
The old man shrugged. "Maybe you saw a raindrop's reflection. Or maybe… you've wandered too close to them." He pointed to the misty window.
Hun Yao fell silent, unsure whether the old man was mad—or something else entirely. He was too weary to argue.
He bowed slightly. "I'm going upstairs."
The old man didn't respond. He simply drank and chuckled to himself.
The stairway creaked with each of Hun Yao's steps. He reached the second floor, walking through the quiet corridor, its wooden floor still damp. A dim lantern swung from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the walls.
He reached his room and pushed the door open.
It was dark inside, lit only by moonlight filtering through the window. The small table, the low bed, and the old cabinet were all unchanged. Yet somehow, everything felt different. Heavier. More… silent.
Hun Yao closed the door and sat on the wooden floor. He took a long breath, then pulled out the jade pendant from beneath his shirt. The artifact rested in his palm.
It was trembling.
For the first time, the object… moved. Weakly, but undeniably. Like a voiceless whisper.
"You… felt something, didn't you?" Hun Yao whispered—not sure if he was speaking to himself or the jade.
He took a cloth and wiped the jade's surface slowly. Its pale green glow shimmered faintly in the moonlight. But something was strange. A small crack on the lower edge. A crack that hadn't been there before.
Hun Yao frowned and touched it with two fingers, channeling a thin stream of Qi into the artifact, trying to feel every groove, every pulse, every anomaly—
Suddenly, the room's temperature plummeted.
His breath fogged.
Inside his mind, an image flashed—not a memory, but a vision.
A circular chamber surrounded by stone pillars, with blue flames burning upon an altar.
At the center of the altar stood a figure… or a silhouette… wearing white robes lined with gold, a presence majestic and overwhelming.
Hun Yao jerked his hand away.
His heart pounded.
"This artifact… contains something." His eyes narrowed. "Or… someone."
Wind whispered through the window, carrying the scent of old blood. Thunder rumbled faintly in the sky.
He knew the night was far from over.