The silence that followed was heavy, a suffocating blanket woven from disbelief and sudden death.
The Yin Lan disciples stood frozen on the rooftop, their breaths hitching in their throats. The common man—the hostage—had gone limp, his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed, void of life. Xio released his grip with indifferent grace, and the body tumbled.
It hit the tiles with a wet, sickening thud.
For the first time in years, a mortal had perished under the watch of the Yin Lan Sect. Worse, it had happened in the presence of their Dàozǔ. The mission of the Yin Lan was absolute: protect the balance, save the weak. Today, they had failed.
And they had failed because Suji had been provoked.
"He… he really killed him?" one disciple whispered, voice cracking. "Right in front of us?"
Suji stared at the corpse, his mind fracturing. The reality of the situation crashed into him—the humiliation, the failure, and the terrifying realization of what Master Suiren would do when this news reached the sect. His chest heaved, air rattling in his lungs like a dying bellows. His blue eyes, usually bright with arrogance, turned bloodshot and watery with unhinged rage.
Reason snapped.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" Suji shrieked, his voice tearing through the night air, raw and unfiltered. "I WILL FLAY THE SKIN FROM YOUR BONES AND BURN YOUR SOUL INTO ASHES, YOU MONGREL!"
The other disciples flinched, looking between their spiraling leader and the masked figure standing calmly amidst the carnage. Xio stood unaffected, the dark fog swirling around his ankles like an obedient pet. He didn't run. He didn't need to.
"Boys! Get his head!" Sūjīn barked, his command echoing off the distant hills, desperate and jagged. "Do not let him leave this roof alive!"
Far below in the market square, Wùji glanced up toward the source of the scream. He sighed, a short exhale of weary resignation, and shook his head. He knew that tone. It was the sound of Suji losing control.
"He must have ruined the negotiation," Wùji muttered to himself, his voice devoid of surprise. "And now he will come back crying about honor."
But Wùji could not leave his post yet. His eyes darted back to the stage, observing. He had already deduced that the enemy above was no wandering rogue; only a high-ranking demonic cultivator could incite such chaos and remain unseen by the senses.
Up on the roof, the dark figure tilted his head toward the sky. Another smirk played beneath his mask, hidden but felt.
"You heard your master, didn't you?" The dark voice purred, the sound vibrating with dark amusement.
Behind him, the shadows seemed to warp. "A delicious scream," a voice echoed—the entity with the black ribbon, mocking Suji's despair.
The Yin Lan men, driven by their leader's fury, surged forward. Suji led the charge, moving aggressively, his sword arts flashy but undisciplined, fueled by blind wrath. He slashed through the mist, steel biting into the air where Xio had stood a heartbeat before.
But they cut nothing but fog.
Xio chuckled—a low, dark sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once—and then simply dissolved. He vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the cry of his shadow owl echoing mournfully in the sky.
Clang.
Suji drove his sword into the rooftop tiles, burying the blade deep into the stone in frustration. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wild as he scanned the empty darkness.
How?! His thoughts raced, a chaotic storm. How did he kill the man right in front of me? How did he slip away like smoke? If Master Suiren drops me from my position… I swear to all the gods, fallen and risen, I will hunt this demon to the ends of the earth!
He gripped his head with both hands, fingers digging into his scalp. The other disciples exchanged uneasy glances. They saw not a leader, but a boy crushing under the weight of his own failure. They moved forward cautiously.
"Take it easy, Làrà Kùmsūn," one ventured softly. "It was not your fault. The enemy was cunning."
"Please, do not stress yourself to sickness."
"Master Suiren is not blind," another added, voice trembling. "He will understand. We are only human; mistakes happen."
But their comfort was like ash in his mouth. Sūjīn heard nothing but the ringing of his own inadequacy. He looked down at the twisted form of the dead man.
Now came the hardest part. The most humiliating protocol of the cultivation world. They had to transport the body to the Hàngwō sect members below. The Hàngwō were the masters of forensic investigation and soul-reading. He had to present his failure to Wùji.
"No… no, don't take it there," Suji whispered, his eyes wide with panic. "He'll start again… he will mock me…"
Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He shook his head slowly.
One of the older disciples, Liè Yìn, stepped forward. He was a steady man, lacking Suji's status but possessing far more composure. He signaled the others to lift the corpse.
"I said DON'T!" Suji yelled, his voice cracking.
"With respect, Làrà Kùmsūn," Liè Yìn said firmly, his hand gripping Suji's arm to steady him.
"In this situation, your pride is not the priority. The priority is the investigation. We must determine the cause of death, whether it be a slash, a curse, or a poison."
"YOU KNOW NOTHING, LIÈ YÌN!" Sūjīn cried out, the hurt evident in his voice. "He is my brother! He waits for moments like this!"
"Let us handle the burden," Liè Yìn said, his tone softening, effectively cutting through Suji's madness. "We will present the body. You need only stand with us."
Suji slumped, defeated. The Yin Lan brothers hoisted the lifeless form and began the descent.
Down in the market, the atmosphere was tense but static. Wùji stood before the five dancers. They were huddled together, smirking faintly, answering his questions with riddles and deflections.
"State your true identities," Wùji commanded, his voice level but carrying the weight of the Hàngwō authority. "Why did curse energy spike the moment you began your performance?"
"We are just innocent dancers on the marble floor, Kùmsūn~" they purred in unison, their voices lilting in a way that mocked his seriousness.
Wùji's jaw tightened, but he did not lose his composure. He narrowed his eyes, scanning them with his spiritual senses. He was confused. He had mastered the art of detecting even the most muted curse energy, yet looking at them now… he felt nothing. They felt like ordinary mortals.
"Really?" he asked suspiciously, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. "Innocent?"
"Of course!~ And you have just ruined Wèi's beautiful performance," Kirihito said, taking control of his host's mouth.
The curses had hidden deep within the five pure-hearted human bodies, masking their presence perfectly. From the shadows behind the stage, Xio watched. He hadn't left yet. He leaned against a wooden beam, thinking: Heh… the plan really broke the little Yin Lan prince.
Xio remained hidden. Escaping with Kirihito while Wùji was alert would be difficult. He needed a distraction.
Fortunately, the distraction arrived in the form of a somber procession.
"Wùji Kùmsūn!" Liè Yìn called out as the group approached. "We have a situation. A man… died unusually."
Wùji turned, his robes sweeping across the stone. He saw the body first, then the disciples, and finally, Suji.
Suji was practically hiding behind Liè Yìn. His eyes were puffy, the rims red and raw. He looked like a child who had been scolded, stripped of his usual arrogant veneer. Wùji raised an eyebrow. The future he had predicted—that his brother would return in tears—had come to pass.
He felt a flicker of pity, quickly extinguished. Poor guy, Wùji thought dryly. Still only managed to earn himself a punishment.
Suji met Wùji's gaze. For a second, the stubborn fire returned, and he huffed, looking away like a sullen child refusing to admit fault.
Wùji ignored the attitude and stepped closer to the corpse. The crowd parted. The air grew cold.
He crouched beside the body, his pale violet eyes roaming over the pale figure. He noted the skin tone, the lack of rigor mortis, the strange stillness of the spiritual residue.
He reached out, his long fingers pressing against the dead man's neck, then his chest.
The Yin Lan disciples held their breath, waiting for the verdict. Waiting for Wùji to ask how they let a hostage die.
Instead, Wùji stepped forward slowly. He wiped his hand on a handkerchief, his expression unreadable. He looked at the trembling Sūjīn, his voice calm, sharp, and final.
"Dry your tears " Wùji said
Sūjīn blinked, confused. "What?"
Wùji looked down at the corpse, his eyes darkening as he delivered the truth that left everyone speechless.
"There is no murder here. This thing..." He kicked the limp hand with his boot. "This is not a human."