"Argh—forgive me, Lady! Forgive me!"
Min Mao's scream bounced off the dim walls of the pavilion. The slap came again and again, each strike accompanied by the girl's choked sobs. Her young face was swollen and red; her split lip bled dark onto her chin.
Before her stood Lady Mo Hua, trembling with barely contained fury. Her silk robe, the color of congealed blood, fluttered each time her hand rose, then crashed down onto Min Mao's cheek. In the corner, a spear-bearing guard watched impassively, his eyes cold as winter ice.
"How could a lowly maidservant—restore his qi?!" Lady Mo Hua's shriek cut the room like a blade. Suspicion and rage laced every syllable.
"I don't know anything, my lady!" Min Mao sobbed, voice raw. "I swear—every day I put poison into his food. He always ate it. I swear by my life!"
"Traitor!" Lady Mo Hua spat, striking Min Mao so hard the girl's head snapped back. "You help him? After all I've done for your family?"
"P-please, my lady! I didn't betray you!" Min Mao fell to her knees, trembling. "I was surprised too. Suddenly after he met with the Patriarch… his dantian was restored. It must have something to do with him—"
Lady Mo Hua's face twisted into a snarl. "Nonsense!" she roared. She seized Min Mao by the hair and smashed the girl's head down onto the wooden table. The thud was sickening; blood welled from the girl's temple.
"The Patriarch doesn't care about that wretch anymore!" Lady Mo Hua hissed. "He has Mo Feng—the talented son. The clan's only hope!"
At last the guard spoke, voice low and steady. "My lady… if Mo Long passes the Qualification Trial and enters the Heavenly Demon Cult Academy… perhaps the Patriarch will turn his gaze back to him."
Lady Mo Hua froze. Her eyes narrowed; her face flamed with barely repressed fury. "You think I don't know that?!" she snapped. Shadow Qi—thin, black—began to hum at her wrists. She leaned over the prostrate girl. "Wasn't the gold and silver I gave you enough? Have you forgotten your family in the outer woods? Do you not know I can erase them at a word?"
Her hand rose again, now coated in thick Shadow Qi, poised to strike Min Mao's face. A cold, lethal aura filled the room.
"P-please—my lady! Don't!" Min Mao prostrated herself, tears and blood staining the floor. "Mo Long… he won't pass the trial. I… I already prepared something!"
Lady Mo Hua's hand halted mid-air. Her gaze stabbed the girl. "What have you prepared?"
Min Mao leaned in close, her lips trembling as she whispered something so quietly that only Lady Mo Hua could hear.
Mo Hua's eyes widened slightly, one eyebrow lifting. For a moment, the room fell silent. Then—slowly—her lips curved into a wicked smile. "Hmph… interesting."
She released Min Mao's hair with a rough shove. "Very well. But remember—if your plan fails…" her voice dropped into a venomous hiss, "you know what will happen."
Min Mao lowered her head, sobbing softly. Terror flickered in her eyes—but beneath it, a faint glimmer of resolve. A silent scream echoed in her chest.
***
Far away, at that very moment—
The sound of roaring cheers shook the wide martial arena. Banners of the Heavenly Demon Cult flapped violently in the wind, black and crimson cutting across the air like fangs. The heavy atmosphere pressed down on all who stood within the field, as if unseen demons watched from every corner.
Hundreds filled the wooden stands, packed shoulder to shoulder, eager to witness the Qualification Trial of the aspiring warriors.
Mo Long walked calmly beside Hu Wei, moving through the crowd of participants. His black robe swayed with each step, his presence steady and composed—yet the glances that followed him were a mix of ridicule, curiosity, and disbelief.
In the distance, a young man—a close companion of Mo Feng—froze midstep as his eyes landed on Mo Long.
'Impossible… that's Mo Long?' his mind reeled. 'The last time I saw him, he was frail—pale and thin. But now… tall, broad-shouldered, and that gaze… like a beast's.'
He swallowed hard, panic rising. He almost ran off to warn Mo Feng, but his legs locked in place. 'If I'm wrong… he'll kill me just for speaking.' Gritting his teeth, he turned away.
Mo Long stopped at the registration table. A clerk in a black robe hunched over his scroll, jotting down names without looking up.
"Name and origin?" the man asked flatly.
"Mo Long, Shadow Dragon Clan." Mo Long placed a smooth black jade token on the table.
The clerk squinted up at him, eyes narrowing in recognition. "You… you're not the one who failed three times, are you?"
Mo Long said nothing—his face calm, unreadable.
The clerk burst out laughing. "Hahaha! It really is you! I thought you'd given up after the last humiliation. Three times, boy. Three! Why keep trying?"
Hu Wei's hand shot to his sword hilt, fury burning in his eyes. But before he could draw, Mo Long raised one hand, stopping him cold.
Without a word, he slipped a gold coin onto the table. His voice was quiet, sharp as steel. "Just write my name."
Then, with a faint, icy smile: "You'll see… this time will be different."
The clerk's laughter died instantly. Something in that gaze—cold, predatory—made his fingers tremble as he wrote Mo Long onto the parchment.
When it was done, Mo Long turned and joined the line of waiting candidates. Around him, murmurs spread, but he ignored them all.
From his place among the crowd, he watched the ongoing trials unfold—each movement, each technique—his eyes calm but glinting faintly with the anticipation of a predator waiting for its turn to strike.
The first arena:
A young man stood within a wide circle, surrounded by four small frames. Massive wooden blocks hung from each frame, swinging violently in rhythm. Each collision thundered like drums of war. The task was simple—endure. Stay inside the circle, withstand every blow, and do not fall.
The second arena:
Hundreds of small cannons fired hardened clay pellets from all directions. The participants had to deflect, dodge, or take the hits without stepping outside the circle.
The third arena:
It was the most brutal of all. A single participant faced a veteran examiner. The rule was simple—do not leave the arena, and never stay down for more than ten seconds. For the weak, the time it took a single incense stick to burn felt longer than a century.
Mo Long watched silently from the sidelines. Fragments of the body's past memories surfaced in his mind.
He remembered—during this very test, the old Mo Long had almost passed. The boy had leapt and dodged like a frightened cat, but the examiner, losing patience, had finally caught him and beaten him senseless until his body was left broken and bloody.
Then something caught his attention.
A familiar name echoed from the stage.
"Mo Feng, step forward!"
Hu Wei leaned closer and whispered, "Master, your brother's turn."
Mo Long merely nodded, his gaze fixed on the arena. His brother strode out confidently, arrogance radiating from every step.
Cheers exploded from the stands. The crowd roared as if greeting a hero returning from conquest.
Mo Feng entered the first arena, his eyes gleaming with pride. The massive wooden blocks swung toward him—But with one heavy stomp, his dark qi surged outward, shattering the air and blasting the blocks away as if struck by an invisible hammer.
He moved on to the second arena. The clay projectiles never even touched him—each one disintegrated midair under the pressure of his aura. His body was wreathed in swirling black qi that pulsed like living flame.
Then came the third arena—the trial by combat. Mo Feng didn't just endure; he dominated. He struck the examiner with brutal force, forcing the man to the ground. It took two other examiners to leap in and restrain him before he could seriously injure him.
The spectators stood frozen for a heartbeat—then erupted into thunderous applause.
"Magnificent!" someone shouted.
"That's Mo Feng, from the Shadow Dragon Clan!"
"He'll be an Elder of the Cult one day!"
The chants echoed across the arena. Mo Feng exited with an arrogant smile, basking in the adoration.
Then came the turn of the three burly men—the same fools who had mocked and driven Mo Long from the tavern the night before.
The short-haired man stepped into the first arena. As the giant blocks began to swing, he tried to gather his qi—but panic flashed across his face.
"W-what's happening?! My qi—why won't it move?!" he shouted.
A block slammed into him before he could react. His body flew out of the circle and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Laughter erupted from the audience.
"Hahaha! Big body, empty head!"
"Hey! Wake up, idiot!"
Face burning red, the short-haired man stumbled back toward the line. His two companions jeered.
"Useless! Still drunk from last night's rice wine?"
"My qi… it's gone!" he blurted out, voice trembling.
The laughter only grew louder. None of them noticed the faint, fleeting smile at the corner of Mo Long's lips.
"Nonsense! You should've stayed asleep at the inn instead of embarrassing yourself like this!" the red-haired man barked.
"I'm serious! My qi—it suddenly disappeared!" hissed the short-haired one, panic flooding his face.
His companions only laughed louder, dismissing him with mockery.
Next, the bald man stepped forward. He managed to endure the first stage, though his face was pale and his body covered in bruises. "My qi… why won't it flow?" he muttered through clenched teeth.
When the second stage began, clay balls pelted him relentlessly. He tried to stand his ground, raising his arms to defend—but one by one, the impacts broke his stance. At last, he collapsed, curling up in pain on the ground.
Laughter exploded again from the stands. The red-haired man, still waiting for his turn, began to pale. A nervous twitch played at the corner of his mouth.
Among the chaos, Hu Wei's expression darkened. "Why aren't they using qi?" he whispered, confused.
Mo Long's lips curved slightly. "Because of the food they ate last night."
Hu Wei's eyes widened in shock. "Master… did you poison them?"
Mo Long's reply was calm, almost indifferent. "Not me. But it seems someone tried to poison me."
Hu Wei froze, mind racing. A moment later, his face turned grim, and he leaned closer to whisper. "Could it be… Min Mao?"
Mo Long turned to him, eyes flashing with cold light. "Oh? And how would you know that?"
Hu Wei exhaled heavily, voice low. "Min Mao once served as Lady Mo Hua's covert guard. Not many know this, but that unit operates from the shadows. It's only my assumption, but I've seen her visit Lady Mo Hua's pavilion several times. If I were you, I'd look deeper into it."
Mo Long was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed back on the arena. The red-haired man—now the last of the trio—stepped forward for the third stage.
His body was covered in cuts, movements sluggish, yet he forced himself on. The examiner swung once—
THUD!
The man's body flew out of the circle and crashed to the ground.
Cheers erupted. Some spectators clapped, others laughed loudly.
Then—
WUSHH!
A blur flashed toward Hu Wei's face.
KRAK!
Mo Long moved like lightning, intercepting the strike with a single arm. The impact pushed both of them half a step back.
Hu Wei gasped, head snapping toward the assailant—only to see Mo Feng standing there, smiling coldly.
"I saw you from afar, Hu Wei," Mo Feng said in a low, razor-edged tone. "I wondered what business you had here. Turns out… you're just babysitting the disgrace of the Mo family."
His companions behind him chuckled cruelly.
Mo Long remained still, expression unreadable.
Mo Feng stepped closer, eyes raking over his brother's body from head to toe. "Hmm. You've changed. Taller, sturdier… and you even carry the Silver Dragon Blade. Interesting." He sneered. "But unfortunately, you're still not worthy to stand here."
Without warning, he stomped hard—his leg snapping forward in a vicious kick, a surge of black qi roaring around it.
BRAKK!
Mo Long's leg snapped up, wreathed in swirling Shadow Qi. The two kicks collided—
BOOOM!
A shockwave exploded outward. Dust and black smoke billowed, blanketing the small section of the arena in choking darkness.
For a brief moment, the entire crowd went silent. The laughter, the jeers, the murmurs—gone. Only the echo of that single impact lingered.
Then, one of Mo Feng's companions gasped.
"Impossible! Mo Long blocked Mo Feng's kick?!"
Mo Feng froze mid-step, eyes wide with disbelief. "Y-You… you can use Shadow Qi?!"
Hu Wei stood just behind, lips curling into a grin of satisfaction. But he quickly leaned forward, whispering in alarm, "Master, people are watching!"
Mo Feng clicked his tongue, fury boiling. Black qi surged violently around his fists, the air itself trembling from the pressure. His thoughts burned with rage. 'Shadow Dragon Fist… I'll smash that arrogant face of yours!'
But before he could strike again—
CLANG!
A group of Law Hall enforcers rushed over, weapons drawn.
"Enough! Anyone caught fighting outside the trial grounds will be detained!" one of them barked.
Mo Long raised his hand casually, his expression calm and composed. "Merely a misunderstanding," he said evenly. "My brother was testing me before my turn in the arena."
Mo Feng forced a stiff smile, jaw tight with restrained anger. "That's right… just a little sparring."
The enforcers eyed them both suspiciously, then turned away, resuming their patrol.
As soon as they were gone, Mo Long's eyes sharpened—his tone cold as steel. "Let's make a wager, Brother."
Mo Feng arched an eyebrow.
"If I pass the qualification test—and faster than you—Hu Wei will personally beat you in front of everyone."
His words were steady, but his smirk cut deep. "But if I fail, you and your lackeys can do whatever you want with us."
For a second, no one moved. The air grew thick. Even the nearby spectators, catching bits of the conversation, stopped breathing.
Hu Wei stood frozen, his face draining of color. 'What did he just say?!'
Then Mo Feng burst into raucous laughter, head thrown back. "Hahaha! Don't get cocky just because you finally learned to control a wisp of qi!"
He turned on his heel, his laughter still echoing. "Don't forget your promise, my pathetic little brother!"
Hu Wei hurried over, flustered. "Master! Why—why would you drag me into that?!"
Mo Long's lips curved faintly. "You once said you wanted to land a punch on him, didn't you?"
He patted Hu Wei's shoulder lightly, eyes glinting. "Better to earn it with your own hands."
Hu Wei opened his mouth to protest—
But a commanding voice from the arena boomed over the crowd.
"Next participant—Mo Long of the Shadow Dragon Clan!"
Every head turned.
Mo Long stepped forward. His long black robe rippled with each measured stride. A hush spread through the audience—then erupted into whispers, mockery, and gasps of disbelief.
He paid them no mind. His gaze was fixed only on the arena ahead, where the first test awaited.
Behind him, Hu Wei cupped his hands and shouted with all his heart,
"Master! Make them remember your name!"
Mo Long didn't look back—but the faintest of smiles crossed his lips as he stepped into the circle, the black of his qi already stirring like a sleeping storm about to awaken.