The forest was silent. The crickets, which had ceased their chirping during the terrifying flash of solar heat, were slowly beginning to sing again, unaware that a god had just walked among them.
The moonlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating the spot where Yoriichi had stood mere minutes ago.
Whoosh.
There was no sound of footsteps. There was no breaking of twigs. One moment, the clearing was empty; the next, a figure materialized from the darkness of a tree trunk's shadow.
It was an elderly man, cloaked in robes as black as the void. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his presence completely erased from the world. If one were to close their eyes, they would swear no one was there.
Ling Ying. The Dou Huang Shadow Guard.
He had been resting in the void, taking a brief respite from his eternal vigil over the Young Miss, Xun Er. But just moments ago, a ripple had disturbed his meditation.
It wasn't a massive explosion of Dou Qi—those were common enough in a world of cultivators. No, it was the quality of the disturbance that had snapped his eyes open. It was a spike of intensity so pure, so violently hot, that it felt like a miniature sun had flared into existence and vanished in the span of a heartbeat.
"Strange," Ling Ying whispered, his voice like dry leaves scraping together.
He stepped into the center of the clearing.
He raised a withered hand and slowly moved his fingers through the air.
His eyes narrowed.
"Heat," he analyzed. "The air here... it has been scorched."
Even though minutes had passed, the ambient temperature in this specific five-meter radius was significantly higher than the surrounding forest. It wasn't the chaotic, explosive heat of an Alchemist's flame or a Fire-attribute explosion. It was a dry, absolute heat that had vaporized the moisture in the air.
Ling Ying looked down.
The grass at his feet was withered, turned to brittle straw. And there, in the center, was a patch of gray dust and a blackened, twisted lump of leather and metal.
He knelt, picking up a pinch of the gray dust. He rubbed it between his fingers. It felt gritty.
"Iron dust," Ling Ying murmured, his brows knitting together in confusion. "And this..."
He picked up the melted stump of the sword hilt. It was still warm to the touch. The leather wrapping had disintegrated into ash. The iron tang inside had melted into a glob.
Ling Ying's expression shifted from casual curiosity to genuine shock.
"To melt Tier-2 iron requires a sustained temperature of over a thousand degrees," he calculated. "But to vaporize a blade into dust in a single instant? That requires an explosive release of energy that..."
He stood up, looking around the empty forest with a new wariness.
"Did a Dou Wang or higher-level expert pass through here?"
He scanned the trees. No footprints. No lingering aura trails. Just the remnants of the heat.
"Why is there such massive intensity here?" Ling Ying whispered to the night. "Did that boy, Xiao Ning, use a flame?"
He had seen Yoriichi retreating earlier, heading back to the infirmary. But the timeline didn't make sense to him.
"Impossible," Ling Ying shook his head, dismissing the thought almost immediately. "He is a Dou Disciple. Even if he broke through to the 9th Star, his Dou Qi is gaseous. He cannot manifest an external flame, let alone one hot enough to vaporize steel."
In the Dou Qi Continent, creating external attributes required one to be a Da Dou Shi (Grandmaster) at the very least. To destroy a weapon like this required a Di (Earth) Rank technique.
"A Di Rank technique?" Ling Ying scoffed at his own thought. "In this wasteland of the Jia Ma Empire? In this tiny Wu Tan City? Ridiculous. Even the Clan Leader Xiao Zhan doesn't have access to such things."
He tossed the melted hilt back onto the ground.
"Perhaps it was a faulty weapon," he reasoned, grasping for a logical explanation. "Or perhaps the boy has a hidden artifact that malfunctioned. A one-time use fire talisman, maybe?"
It was the only explanation that fit the logic of the world he knew. A Dou Disciple controlling a flame of this magnitude was simply unheard of. It broke the laws of cultivation.
Ling Ying stood there for a moment longer, debating his next move.
"Should I inform the Young Miss?"
He looked toward the direction of the Xiao Clan compound, specifically toward Xun Er's quarters.
"If Xiao Ning possesses a hidden artifact or a strange power, he could be a variable," Ling Ying mused. "My duty is to report all threats."
He took a step forward, intending to flash back to Xun Er's side. But then, he stopped.
He recalled Xun Er's face earlier that evening. The sorrow in her eyes when she spoke of Xiao Yan leaving. The cold, utter disdain she held for Xiao Ning.
"She already detests him," Ling Ying sighed, shaking his head. "To her, he is nothing but a spoiled waste who bullies her beloved Xiao Yan ge-ge. If I go to her now and say, 'Miss, Xiao Ning might have melted a sword,' she will likely just be annoyed."
He could imagine her reaction. She would scold him for wasting time spying on "trash" instead of protecting Xiao Yan. She was already fragile, her heart heavy with the impending separation.
"She is already depressed," Ling Ying whispered, his voice softening with a grandfatherly affection. "The impending Three Year Agreement... Xiao Yan's departure... it weighs on her. I should not burden her with trivial mysteries about a minor side character."
He decided against it.
"Let the boy play with his firecrackers," Ling Ying decided. "As long as he does not threaten the Young Miss, he is irrelevant."
He turned his gaze upward, toward the full moon that bathed the forest in light.
Ling Ying's expression hardened. The casual observer vanished, replaced by the steely resolve of a Shadow Guard of the Ancient Gu Clan.
"My duty is clear," he vowed to the moon. "I will not disappoint the Clan Head. And I will not disappoint the Young Miss."
He thought of the young man, Xiao Yan. The boy was talented, yes, but reckless. The road ahead for him was filled with peril—the Misty Cloud Sect, the harsh training, the cruel world outside Wu Tan City.
"I will protect Xiao Yan in the shadows," Ling Ying promised. "I will watch him grow. And if a life-or-death situation arises... if the heavens try to crush him before he can fly... I will step out from the dark."
He exhaled, his breath merging with the night mist.
With a final glance at the melted sword hilt—a mystery he chose to ignore for the sake of peace—Ling Ying stepped backward.
Ripple.
The shadows swallowed him whole. The clearing was empty once again, leaving only the scorched grass and the silent moon as witnesses to the power that had been unleashed.
Back in the infirmary, Yoriichi slept on, unaware that his secret had been discovered, analyzed, and dismissed by one of the strongest men in the empire.
The pieces were moving on the board. The Shadow had chosen his king to protect.
And the Sun was rising alone.