Meanwhile somewhere close to Minxuan
The desert wind over the Broken Ridge carried the stink of poison and burnt leather, wrapping itself around the small caravan of black-plumed horses moving under torchlight.
A jagged banner snapped in the wind—silver-scaled and serpentine.
The Drifting Serpent Gang.
Twenty men rode in a loose column, their boots caked with dust, their breath clouding the cold night. At their head, riding a mottled iron-back beast instead of a horse, was a man known only as Snakeback Jinhai—scarred, broad-shouldered, and hungry for fear like a man thirsting for wine.
"Speed up," Jinhai growled over his shoulder. "We lost three bodies last week. We need replacements."
His lieutenant, a wiry man named Baoshi, nudged his horse forward.
"We've worked these routes for years, boss. Pickings are thin. Sect disciples cleared the northern villages.
Southern clans tightened their walls."
"And the west?" Jinhai spat into the dirt. "A fucking wasteland. Starving peasants aren't worth transporting."
Baoshi grimaced. "We might circle east again. Rumors say a small village still stands in the forest basin."
Jinhai's interest flickered. "A village? No sect banner?"
"None."
The caravan slowed as a third man galloped in from the rear.
He bowed from the saddle, fear sharpening his voice. "Reporting, Leader—We sensed… something earlier."
Jinhai raised a brow. "Something?"
The scout swallowed. "A spiritual fluctuation. Short. Sharp. Like a sword edge cutting the air."
Another scout rode up fast. "Felt it too. My beast panicked."
Jinhai's eyes narrowed. "Where?"
"Near the basin," the first scout said. "Close to that rumored village."
Baoshi muttered, "Then there's a cultivator there."
"Not just any," the scout whispered. "That fluctuation—felt like… an old monster waking up."
Silence fell like a dropped blade.
Several men tugged their reins. One cursed. Another touched a talisman on his chest.
Jinhai stared at the darkness ahead, expression tightening.
"What an old monster ? This place is so remote practically no one cares for it"
"Maybe they're passing by," Baoshi suggested weakly.
The scout shook his head. "It lasted only a heartbeat. Then vanished. Like someone… covered it up."
Jinhai bared his teeth. "Covered up? Meaning they don't want to be known."
That possibility bothered him far more.
The Drifting Serpent Gang had carved its empire from shadows, avoiding sect roads, preying on the weak, and hiding from true cultivator forces.
Heaven stage cultivators were the kind who didn't leave survivors.
One existed in this region now?
Jinhai clenched the reins and snarled, "Fine. We approach carefully. If this 'village' is under a powerful cultivator… we may need to set fire and leave."
Baoshi hesitated. "But the bodies, boss—"
"There are always bodies," Jinhai said coldly. "We'll get them elsewhere."
The men fell silent as the caravan rolled on.
Near midnight, they reached their temporary camp—a decrepit old watchtower converted into a slaver post. Dim torches lit the compound. The air stank of sweat, mold, and fear.
In the pens, cages rattled as the prisoners shivered. Women with bruised faces. Children with empty eyes. Men in chains, beaten into stillness
Two gang members hauled a half-conscious man out of a cage.
"Boss," one of them said, "this one's dying."
Jinhai waved a dismissive hand. "Tie him to a tree and let the wolves take him."
A child in the pen sobbed softly.
One of the gang members kicked the bars. "Quiet!"
Jinhai paused, eyes narrowing toward the pens.
"What? We have children again?"
Baoshi cleared his throat. "They… came cheap."
"Good," Jinhai said. "Sell them north. Northern families pay premium for young servants."
His voice carried the casual cruelty of someone who no longer saw humans—only inventory.
From the tower's shadow emerged a hunched man in a tattered cloak, face half-covered by a bone mask. His fingers dripped with greenish smoke.
Poisonmaster Hua Ji.
A Foundation Establishment rogue cultivator, and the gang's most feared asset.
"Jinhai," Hua Ji rasped. "I need new subjects."
Jinhai tipped his chin toward the pens. "Plenty there."
Hua Ji's tongue flicked over his teeth. "Not enough. I need strong ones. Not starved bones."
"Then we'll get you some," Jinhai replied impatiently. "Tomorrow."
Hua Ji stopped him with a gesture. "About that fluctuation earlier…"
Jinhai stiffened. "You felt it, too?"
Hua Ji nodded slowly. "Heaven stage. At least. Whoever it was, they were close."
Baoshi's face paled.
Jinhai leaned forward, voice low and harsh. "You think it's a great sect patrol?"
"No," Hua Ji whispered. "Great sect cultivators don't hide their presence."
"Then something worse?"
"Yes."
Jinhai snorted. "Worse? What is worse than a great sect Heaven cultivator?"
Hua Ji's gaze drifted to the distant basin.
"A cultivator powerful enough that they do not wish to be noticed."
The air seemed to chill.
Jinhai spat. "Whoever they are, they're not our concern. We're not going near them."
Hua Ji smiled under his mask. "But they might come near us."
Inside the old watchtower, Jinhai unrolled a torn map on a warped table.
"This basin village," he said, tapping a crude circle. "If it's real, it shouldn't exist. No clan banner, no sect protection. Should've been wiped out years ago. We check it. Carefully."
"Why risk it?" Baoshi asked. "We can go west or north."
"Because," Jinhai said, "we need stock. Our buyers demand fresh bodies every half-month. If we don't deliver, we lose routes."
Hua Ji traced a finger along the map. "If the cultivator there is righteous, they will interfere. If they are rogue, they may be hostile. Both are problems."
Jinhai grinned. "Not if we scout intelligently."
He pointed to three men.
"You. You. You. Go at dawn. Don't engage. Don't get close. Just confirm the size."
One scout swallowed nervously. "And if the Heaven aura shows up again?"
Jinhai shrugged. "Run."
"What if we can't outrun—?"
"Then die quietly."
The scout shut his mouth.
A panicked shout echoed from outside the compound.
"Leader! Something strange!"
The gang rushed out.
In the far distance, above the basin, a faint golden shimmer pulsed in the sky like a heartbeat—soft, delicate, but vast. Runes glimmered faintly in the haze.
Every cultivator among the Drifting Serpents froze.
Hua Ji's breath caught.
"That… is not normal cultivator Qi."
Baoshi whispered, trembling, "What… what technique is that?"
Jinhai stared as if seeing a ghost.
"Impossible," he muttered. "That looks like a… divine technique."
The pulse faded as quickly as it appeared.
The compound returned to darkness.
Breathing restarted one body at a time.
Hua Ji exhaled slowly. "We are not dealing with a small village, Jinhai. Something has awakened in that basin."
Jinhai clenched his fists.
"We can't retreat. If there's power there… maybe there's treasure."
"Or death," Hua Ji answered.
Jinhai spat. "If death comes, we kill it."
Hua Ji smiled. "I am interested in studying whoever created that aura."
Baoshi stepped forward shakily. "So… what do we do?"
Jinhai's grin widened slowly.
"We move at dawn. Quietly. Carefully. If that village is unprotected, we take who we can. If it is protected…"
He looked at Hua Ji.
"…we learn what kind of monster hides there.