Li Wei stood atop the roof of the warehouse, his robes fluttering in the morning breeze as the first golden rays of dawn kissed the battered tiles beneath his feet. The faint scent of iron and burnt qi still lingered in the air. From this height, the city's outskirts appeared calm again—an illusion only fools would believe.
He took another slow sip from the porcelain cup in his hand, letting the warmth of the tea travel through him. Bitter… but alive. The aftertaste of battle clung to his tongue as surely as the blood that had stained his palms only hours before.
Below him, the small compound was littered with the remnants of battle—charred corpses, split weapons, and faint wisps of burnt spiritual essence that had not yet dispersed. Just last night, over a dozen highly trained martial practitioners had come to end his life. They had worn the insignia of the Golden Sparrow Sect, but their qi bore a stench he could recognize anywhere: corruption mingled with celestial interference.
