Morning light filtered through the hut's small window.
Xiao Long sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, breathing steady. Qi flowed through his meridians—purple, primordial, . But controlled. For now.
Hours passed.
When he opened his eyes, Chen and Lian were by the fire, cooking breakfast. The smell of roasting meat filled the air.
Xiao Long stood. Grabbed a wooden sword from beside the door. Started moving through forms.
Strike. Pivot. Block. Thrust.
His body remembered what his cultivation couldn't—the perfect forms he'd memorized at age five, the techniques he'd studied in a thousand books. The wooden sword sang through the air.
Lian stared.
She couldn't help it. The boy who had killed a Nether Beast with a single swing was now practicing like a disciple in a training hall—except his movements were perfect. Flawless. Like he'd been doing this for decades.
Chen noticed her staring.
"He's changed." He flipped the meat on the fire. "Since we got here, first the instant power surge, and now this. Perfect martial skill." He shook his head. "Well, the young master was always known for his ability to learn quickly. Even before... everything."
Lian said nothing. Just kept staring.
---
Xiao Long finished his forms. Sweat dripped down his face, but his breathing was steady. Controlled.
He walked to the fire.
"Food not ready yet? I'm really hungry."
Chen raised an eyebrow. "You just killed fifty beasts yesterday. I'd hope you're hungry."
He handed Xiao Long a strip of roasted meat.
They ate in silence for a while—Xiao Long devouring portion after portion, Chen watching with amusement, Lian picking at her food like a bird.
Finally, Xiao Long spoke.
"So. Lian." He met her eyes. "What are you doing here? Where are you from?"
Lian's hands tightened around her bowl.
"I don't know."
Chen's eyes narrowed.
"I woke up with this bag." She clutched it tighter to her chest. "My father... he told me to run. Told me to protect it with my life. I don't remember anything else before that."
Xiao Long studied her face. She looked sincere. Scared. Alone.
He understood all three.
"What's in the bag?"
Lian hesitated. Her fingers traced the worn fabric.
"I don't know. My father just said to protect it. I never opened it. I was too afraid."
Xiao Long didn't push. He knew what it was like to have secrets. To need privacy. He simply nodded.
"Show me."
Lian took a deep breath.
Then she opened the bag.
Inside, nestled among old cloth and dried food, lay something that made Xiao Long's breath catch.
A black object.
Sharp. Jagged. Wrong.
It pulsed with dark energy—faint but unmistakable. The moment Xiao Long's eyes fell on it, his hunger surged.
His vision blurred.
"Give me that." His voice came out rough. Strangled.
Lian flinched but didn't pull away. She reached into the bag and lifted the object out.
The moment it cleared the cloth—
The black shard exploded with dark light.
It leaped from Lian's hand toward Xiao Long like a magnet finding its match. His fingers closed around it instinctively.
And then—
Darkness.
A throne of black crystal.
Seven figures kneeling.
A woman's voice—"My Prince, they have come."
Rising. Drawing a blade of shadow. The blade—this blade—singing in his hand.
"Let them come."
Then—chaos. Betrayal. Seven blades rising against one.
"You were always too trusting, Xian Wu."
Falling. Falling. Falling through endless darkness.
A voice his own
echoing across centuries.
"I will return."
---
Xiao Long's eyes snapped open.
The black shard in his hand had changed.
No longer a jagged fragment. Now it was a dagger—sleek, deadly, complete. Dark energy pulsed from it in waves, matching the beat of his heart. Matching the beat of Xian Wu's heart.
And his Qi...
His Qi was skyrocketing.
Purple energy exploded from him, filling the hut, pressing against the walls, against Chen, against Lian. The pressure was immense—suffocating—ancient.
Chen dropped to one knee, gasping.
Lian fell backward, eyes wide with terror.
The dagger sang.
---
XIAO LONG'S POWER SURGE: QI REFINING (LATE)
The dagger wasn't just any weapon. It was another fragment of the Shadowblade—Xian Wu's soulbound weapon, scattered across the realms after his death.
Lian's father had given her one of the most dangerous objects in existence without knowing what it was.
And now, touching Xiao Long, it recognized its true master.
The surge pushed Xiao Long from Qi Refining (Mid) to Qi Refining (Late) in seconds. His meridians expanded. His control deepened. His connection to Xian Wu's memories strengthened.
He remembered more now.
Not everything.
But enough to know that the path ahead would be soaked in blood.
---
The purple energy faded.
Xiao Long stood in the center of the hut, breathing hard, the dagger clutched in his hand. His crimson eyes slowly dimmed to their normal red.
Lian stared at him from the floor, shaking.
"The eyes..." she whispered. "They're glowing."
Chen slowly straightened, hand on his sword. He looked at the dagger. Looked at Xiao Long. Looked at Lian.
"Young Master," he said carefully, "what was that?"
Xiao Long looked at the dagger in his hand. It felt... right. Like an extension of himself.
"I don't know," he replied. "But it's important."
He turned to Lian, still trembling on the floor.
"Your father. Did he say anything else? Anything at all?"
Lian shook her head. "Just... protect it. And run." Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't even know what he was running from. I don't know anything."
Xiao Long looked at her—really looked.
She was just as lost as he'd been five years ago. Just as scared. Just as alone.
He made a decision.
"You can stay. For now."
Lian's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really." He tucked the dagger into his belt. "But no more secrets. When you remember something, you tell me."
She nodded frantically.
Chen watched the exchange with careful eyes. He didn't trust easily—and he trusted Lian even less. But he said nothing.
---
BACK AT THE XIAO CLAN
Xiao Wang sat in his quarters, wine in hand, smile on his face.
The door slammed open.
A shadowy figure knelt before him—one of his best informants, covered in travel dust, eyes wide with something that looked like fear.
"Report." Xiao Wang's voice was lazy. "Is it done? Is the boy dead?"
The informant swallowed hard.
"No, Elder. The assassins... all twenty... are dead."
Xiao Wang's smile froze.
"All twenty?"
"All twenty." The informant's voice shook. "We found the bodies near the Bloodrock entrance. They were... destroyed. Torn apart. Like something had—" He stopped.
"Like something had what?"
"Like something had erased them, Elder. Some of the bodies weren't cut. They were just... separated. Like the Qi holding them together had stopped existing."
Silence.
Xiao Wang's wine cup crunched in his grip.
"The boy," he whispered. "The talentless boy."
"He's alive, Elder. And whatever he is now..." The informant bowed his head. "It's not talentless."
Xiao Wang rose.
His face was calm. Too calm.
"Leave me."
The informant fled.
Xiao Wang stood alone in the darkness, broken cup in his hand, wine dripping between his fingers.
For the first time in five years, he felt something he'd almost forgotten.
Fear.
But beneath the fear, something else stirred.
If the boy has power... then that power can be taken.
He smiled—cold, cruel, hungry.
"I need better hunters."