Night fell over Shanliu like ink spilled across parchment.
Lanterns flickered along the main avenue, their flames etched with faint glyphs—charms meant to ward off wandering spirits and prowling beasts. But not even blessed fire could chase away the creeping cold that had seeped into the city's bones.
On a rooftop above a quiet teahouse, Chen Yun stood still in the dark.
Below, the outer sanctum of Stone Heart Hall stirred with subtle movement. Guards paced the courtyard like weary predators—slow, mechanical. Their Qi didn't just feel dulled from fatigue.
It felt suppressed.
"They're suppressing their own disciples," Chen Yun muttered.
Beside him, Jie Lun crouched, peering through a reed scope. "Why would they do that inside their own walls?"
"Because the one in charge doesn't even trust his own dogs," Chen Yun replied. "Whatever they're hiding... it's worth killing over."
He tapped the rooftop twice.
Below, the bell remained silent.
And that was the problem.
The Sky Bell Pavilion was supposed to ring on the hour—every hour. It was the city's warning system. A signal when beasts breached the walls or blades were drawn in the streets.
But tonight—it had missed three chimes.
Only Chen Yun had noticed.
"The bell's Qi-thread has been severed," he said quietly. "Someone doesn't want the city hearing what's coming."
Jie Lun's eyes narrowed. "You think it's Stone Heart?"
"I don't think," Chen Yun said. "I know."
He stood, cloak rustling in the wind."We're not just watching tonight.""We're going in."
Beneath the Stone Heart Hall
The rear sanctum was buried deep within the mountain, carved into its bones like a war-time bunker. Old. Hidden. Silent.
Chen Yun moved like smoke, barely disturbing the air. His fingers brushed the cold stone, reading the subtle Qi threads woven into the walls—concealment arrays, not defensive ones. He slipped through them like a calligrapher tuning a forgotten instrument.
"You do this often?" Jie Lun whispered.
Chen Yun replied without looking back. "I walk through places I'm not welcome."
Then—the air shifted.
It turned colder, thicker. Spiritual pressure plunged, and the warmth in their breath turned sharp with frost. The space wasn't empty.
It was breathing.
Jie Lun gagged. "There's something alive down here."
Chen Yun's eyes narrowed. "I know."
They stepped into a hollow chamber lit with green fire. In the center stood a cracked altar, pulsing faintly like a dying heart. Runes crawled across its surface like veins, and floating above it—a beast core, dark as midnight, flickered with threads of crimson lightning.
Six masked elders surrounded it in silence.
They were all first-rate martial artists. And they were refining something.
One turned, startled. "Who dares—!"
Chen Yun was already in motion.
He flicked Jie Lun backward into the tunnel. "Run. Now."
A kunai whistled through the air, stabbing the spot where he'd just stood.
But he was gone.
He reappeared beside the altar, two fingers tracing a glowing stroke through the air like a master calligrapher. He struck the nearest elder's neck—a precise, effortless blow. The man dropped without a sound.
Another elder shrieked, summoning a sword technique—wind and flame spiraling together in silver arcs.
Chen Yun leaned—barely a breath's width—and the blade hissed past.
He pressed two fingers to his chest.
Qi surged—not outward, but inward. It folded into itself like a collapsing star.
The technique unraveled mid-air, shredded by pressure before it could manifest.
"Peak… peak level!" one of the elders gasped.
Chen Yun looked up, calm and quiet.
He traced a glowing sigil in the air—and slammed it into the beast core.
It screamed.
Not a voice. Not a sound.
But a soul.
The runes shattered. The core flared black—and imploded in a shockwave of wind and silence.
When the dust cleared, four elders remained—faces pale, trembling. But instead of fleeing… they raised their weapons.
One of them shouted, "Kill him before he destroys the altar!"
Chen Yun's eyes didn't blink.
He stepped forward—
—and vanished.
Void Steps.
To the elders, it was as if he split from existence.
A heartbeat later, he reappeared behind the first elder.
Two fingers pointed.A flicker of black Qi arced.
Void Pulse Needle.
The elder staggered. His body convulsed—then collapsed, eyes wide, veins blackened from the inside. No external wound.
The second elder swung wildly, slashing the air in panic.
But Chen Yun blurred again.
Behind him.
A whisper of movement—A second needle.The man's heart stopped mid-beat.
The third elder tried to run, screaming for the guards.
Chen Yun raised a hand. No chant. No roar. Just a whisper of Qi.
The third elder froze—paralyzed.
The needle found his temple.
Silence.
The fourth elder fell to his knees before the blow came.
"Mercy! Please—!"
Chen Yun paused.
Then walked forward, slow, deliberate.
"You sealed souls into that core," he said coldly. "You knew."
The elder trembled. "We… we were only following orders—!"
"That's always the excuse."
His hand moved.
The fourth elder's body slumped, lifeless.
The chamber was still.
Only Chen Yun stood—alone among corpses and the shattered remains of the altar.
He exhaled slowly. Blood dripped from his palm, the aftershock of Void Pulse burning through his meridians. The price of killing six high-level martial artists in mere moments was steep.
Jie Lun returned, face pale, breath shallow. He stopped at the doorway, unable to speak.
"You killed them all…" he whispered.
Chen Yun didn't answer at first. His fingers curled, faint trails of black Qi flickering at their tips.
The technique had cost him.
Jie Lun stumbled back into the chamber, eyes wide. "You… you shattered a soul-forged beast core."
Chen Yun didn't look up. "It wasn't soul-forged."
He turned to the remnants of the altar.
"It was soul-bound. A human soul."
Jie Lun froze, breath catching.
"They're using soul tributes," Chen Yun said. "Not for power."
He looked toward the hollow sky above the mountain.
"For communication."
Jie Lun's voice cracked. "With… who?"
Chen Yun didn't answer at first.
He simply gazed upward—past stone, past the clouds, past Shanliu itself—into the cold void beyond.
"This is no longer about Shanliu. This…""…is a signal to something greater.