Blossoming Path

The chamber was dimly lit, the flickering light of a solitary candle casting elongated shadows along the rough stone walls. Elder Cheng moved silently to the first corner, his fingers deftly placing a talisman etched with complex symbols. The parchment fluttered briefly before adhering to the wall as if drawn by an unseen force.

"No chances," Elder Wei muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not with ears everywhere."

The other two elders mirrored the action in the remaining corners, each positioning their talismans with practiced precision. A subtle hum resonated through the room as the enchantments activated, sealing their conversation from any prying senses.

Elder Fang adjusted his robes, the fabric rustling softly, the sound precise and deliberate. "The barriers are secure," he confirmed, his eyes sweeping the room. He lingered briefly on each talisman, as if testing their strength with his gaze alone. "For now."

Elder Cheng took his seat at the low table in the center, the others following suit. He sighed heavily, the lines on his face deepening. "The barriers may hold, but our plans do not."

"Our search remains fruitless," Cheng continued, his voice a low rasp carrying years of tempered authority.

Elder Fang leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "We’re too close to losing momentum," he said. "Each day, the forces around us grow bolder. The western forests already reek of corruption. A Bloodsoul Bloom… their arrogance knows no bounds."

Elder Xun scoffed, settling heavily into his seat, his thick arms crossed over a broad chest. His skin bore the faint, crisscrossed scars of someone well-acquainted with physical conflict, and his gaze carried a perpetual challenge, dismissive and piercing. He barked out a laugh, his scarred face twisting with disdain. "Demonic cultivators? Overgrown brats playing at power. A single fist would remind them why their kind rarely survives past infancy. If they want to reveal themselves, let them. I’ll crush them myself."

"Perhaps," Elder Cheng mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "But even a cornered rat can bite. It's best we avoid unnecessary entanglements. We can't afford distractions."

Xun smirked, leaning back with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Let them bite. We’ll crush their jaws while they try."

Elder Wei leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as his sharp eyes flicked between his peers. "Grandstanding won’t fix our problems. The Phoenix Tears remain inert without balance. We wouldn’t even be in this wasteland if we’d secured the Lunar Essence Yin Lotus before our departure."

Elder Fang’s lips pressed into a thin line, his tone measured but cold. "And if we had stayed longer, we’d be corpses. The Azure Sky Sect was already circling. We were lucky to escape with our lives."

A heavy silence settled in the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle. Each elder sat with their thoughts, the weight of past failure casting a shadow over the dimly lit space.

Elder Xun clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. "So here we are," he growled. "Scrambling for beast cores like beggars."

The other elders turned their attention to the basket of beast cores provided by the Silent Moon. The glimmering pile, rich with latent power, should have been a treasure beyond measure. But to them, it was a reminder of their dependency, a crude patchwork solution to a greater problem.

Wei sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "This region is a wasteland of mediocrity. What they call treasures wouldn’t earn a second glance in the mainland. The ambient qi is weak, and resources scarce. Our qi stagnates, and without proper cultivation, our progress halts."

Elder Fang shot him a sharp look. "You would waste the Phoenix Tears then? They are for resurrection, for rebuilding from ruin—not for avoiding discomfort. Use it too soon, and what would we have risked our lives for to steal them?"

"Patience isn’t merely a virtue; it’s survival," Cheng said, his tone sharp, commanding attention. "Recklessness invites ruin. Have we forgotten Li Peng’s end so quickly? His haste cost him more than his cultivation. It shattered our momentum. We cannot afford another failure like his."

The mention of their fallen comrade lingered, the room momentarily stilled.

"He thought consuming a fraction would bolster his strength," He recalled bitterly. "Instead, the unbridled yang qi tore him apart from within. And he was the most well-versed to handle yang qi among us, with his Nine Sun Flame technique."

Elder Fang's eyes narrowed. "A harsh lesson. The Phoenix Tears are potent beyond measure. Without an equally powerful yin component, they are uncontrollable."

Elder Xun sighed heavily. "We keep gnashing our teeth over what we don’t have. It’s pathetic. This province may be a wasteland, but no land is truly barren. Somewhere, there’s a herb, a beast, a technique that can tip the scales. Weak qi or not, we’ll tear this place apart to find it."

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Elder Cheng’s voice shifted, commanding again. "The Silent Moon Sect has proven useful. Their offerings keep us afloat, and their sect leader, Jun, is pliable. So long as he believes we are his greatest benefactors, their resources are ours."

"But dependency is not a strategy. Control is. And control requires more than strength. We’ll hollow them out, and by the time they realize their mistake, the Silent Moon Sect will belong to us in all but name." Wei said.

Elder Fang raised an eyebrow. "Jun is ambitious. Ambition breeds betrayal."

"Then let him betray us. We’ll break him when the time comes."

Elder Fang drummed his fingers lightly on the table, his expression contemplative. "It's a waiting game, then. We lay low, strengthen ourselves as best we can, and continue the search for the yin component we need."

Elder Xun leaned forward, his scarred hands flattening against the table, his voice cutting through Fang's calm suggestion. "Waiting? That’s your grand plan? We’re already at the mercy of the Silent Moon’s scraps. If their sect leader decides to stop playing nice, where does that leave us?"

His eyes flicked toward the basket of beast cores as though the sight disgusted him. "They call this generosity. I call it leverage. Dependency makes my skin crawl."

Elder Cheng raised a hand, his tone even but firm. "And what would you propose, Xun? Charging blindly into the wilderness in search of a solution? Picking fights with demonic cultivators until one of them coughs up a miracle herb? Patience isn’t complacency—it’s strategy."

The burly man's jaw tightened, but he leaned back with a begrudging grunt. "Strategy or not, this place is a wasteland. We’d better find something worthwhile soon, or we might as well pack up and leave."

Elder Wei’s lips curved into a thin smile, his words calculated and precise. "Leave? And miss the opportunity to turn this backwater into the foundation of our resurgence? No, Xun. The Silent Moon Sect may think they’ve gained powerful allies, but they’ve made a mistake." He steepled his fingers, his eyes glinting with cold satisfaction. "With Jun as our puppet, we won’t just use their resources—we’ll hollow them out from within."

Elder Fang resumed, his tone measured. "Still, we cannot rely on the Silent Moon alone. If we were to orchestrate attacks on other sects, perhaps uncover the treasures they hoard, we might find the component we need. This province cannot be entirely destitute."

"Other sects? You mean the Whispering Wind Sect, don’t you? They’re supposedly the strongest in this region." Xun leaned forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I’d love to see their so-called elders stand against us. If their strength is anything like their disciples, it won’t take much more than two of us to knock them down."

Wei chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with scorn. "Strength is relative, after all. Here, our skills are enough to send tremors through their foundations. They’ll never see us coming."

The others laughed softly, their confidence palpable, each of them reveling in their perceived superiority.

Here, they were giants among insects.

Elder Fang raised an eyebrow. "An intriguing proposition, but such actions could unite the sects against us. We'd need a proper justification to avoid inciting an all-out war."

"Agreed," Cheng said, steepling his fingers. "One false move, and we’ll find ourselves hunted across this province like cornered rats. Fabrication isn’t enough; it must be flawless, irrefutable. If we falter, we’ll have united the sects against us for nothing."

A slow smile spread across Elder Wei's face. "A clever strategy. We eliminate potential threats, acquire valuable resources, and solidify our control."

Xun let his fingers trace the surface of the jade-inlaid table, his disdain barely concealed. "Look at this," he muttered, gesturing to the lavish furnishings around them. "Gold-plated walls, carved beams, incense burning like they’re kings. No wonder this sect needed us. They’re so busy polishing their treasures, they’ve forgotten how to sharpen their blades."

Fang nodded, his tone colder now. "And that forgetfulness is exactly what makes them useful. But don’t underestimate them. Ambition makes even dull blades dangerous when desperation sharpens them."

Cheng waved a hand dismissively. "Jun and his ilk will never have the strength or vision to challenge us. Without us, they’ll remain minor players in this province. Let them think they’re in control."

A murmur of satisfaction swept through the chamber, their expressions smug and at ease, every word thick with confidence bred from long years of survival and conquest. To them, these locals were little more than pawns in a much larger game, and the elders played it masterfully.

“Let them scramble,” Elder Xun muttered, his smirk widening. “We have nothing to fear in this backwater.”

The elders shared a final glance, their smirks and knowing looks confirming an unspoken truth: they were untouchable.

As they plotted, their influence seeped outward, unnoticed by most. But not all eyes were blind to their ambition.

In a forgotten corner of the province, another force stirred, aware of the Silent Moon’s growing shadow.

SCENE BREAK

The musty scent of ancient pages filled the bookstore, curling around the shelves and winding up to the dusty beams above. At the counter, the old bookkeeper, hunched and quiet, traced a finger over an open ledger, his eyes closed, yet aware.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, cutting through the silence. The bookkeeper’s head turned, a smile spreading across his weathered face.

“Welcome,” he greeted warmly. “How can I assist you?”

The figure paused, glancing over the dim shelves, before stepping forward. “I’m not here for books,” he said quietly. “I come on behalf of the magistrate with a request.”

Request. The word held an unusual weight, a marked humility. In this province, the magistrate was second only to the sects, his power vast and unquestioned. He was not known for making requests. Orders, yes. Demands, perhaps, but a request was rare, a gesture that suggested both respect and necessity.

The old man, still hunched over the ledger, lifted his head ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of amusement in the lines of his expression. He gave a nod as though to himself, his smile faint but perceptive.

“Request, is it?” he murmured, his tone light yet penetrating. “The magistrate is indeed a courteous man.”

The man’s throat tightened inexplicably, his mouth going dry as he continued, “It… It’s a matter of great importance. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He swallowed, his pulse a dull thud in his ears. “The magistrate… asks for your assistance. Regarding the Silent Moon Sect.”

For a brief moment, the air in the room seemed to thicken, the sounds from the busy streets outside fading into silence. Though the old bookkeeper did nothing overt, it was as if the very atmosphere had shifted, pulled taut with a quiet, undeniable gravity.

The messenger’s chest constricted, his words tangled as he struggled to continue. “The… the sect has grown increasingly active, and the magistrate… he believes your expertise might…”

The bookkeeper’s eyes, clouded yet seeming to perceive something beyond sight, opened slowly. A flicker of something ancient, vast, and hidden sparked within them. The faint tremor of a breeze stirred the dust motes in the air, and for an instant, it was as though the world itself held its breath.

“So.” The old man’s voice was soft, each word precise and deliberate, laced with a gentle edge of amusement. “He seeks my counsel. What does he fear, exactly? That the Silent Moon’s ambitions have grown too… bold?”

The man nodded, feeling as though some invisible weight pressed upon him. “Yes. They’ve amassed influence, seemingly unchecked, and the magistrate fears they’ll soon reach beyond their bounds. We suspect the elders they recruited originate from the main continent.”

The old man nodded thoughtfully, his fingers resuming their quiet, rhythmic tracing over the spine of the ledger. “Very well,” he murmured, as if to himself. “A request from the magistrate is no small thing. Tell the magistrate I shall consider it. But also remind him that I am no tool to be summoned when convenient.”

The air lightened then, and the messenger’s breath returned to him. He nodded, almost too eagerly, feeling as though he’d been dismissed from an unseen trial.

“Thank you,” he managed, bowing slightly. “I will convey your words.”

With a final nod, the messenger turned, eager to escape the oppressive stillness of the bookstore.

END OF VOLUME 3