Chapter

3

Loose Ends

I

Lei Shan stood there, frozen, rooted in place. “What … What’s going on?”

Song Tian stood there, shaking and bleeding, and in front of him, Yang Yi, in a strange position, his arms raised, and his fingers spread wide. The faintly glowing red cloud that hung in the air between them—the remnant of the essence flare Song Tian must have had set off some time ago—acted as the only source of lighting, washing the surroundings in a crimson light.

Lei Shan could only partially see Song Tian’s face from where he stood, right at the edge of the clearing. Yang Yin, on the other hand, was in full view.

Yang Yi stared at him, eyes hard, brow furrowed. “Lei Shan…” The inner disciple sighed. “It has been a while since Song Tian used the flare, so I thought that it had gone unnoticed, but … why couldn’t you have just stayed put?” Only his head moved. His arms, hands, fingers, and the rest of his body all remained perfectly still.

Song Tian also appeared to be stuck in place, but he wasn’t still; instead, he was shaking all over, veins bulging on his face. His lips were half-parted and Lei Shan could faintly hear some sort of sound coming from him, but it was so low he wondered if he was only imagining it.

This wasn’t happening. No. Missions outside the sect—they were dangerous, but the danger was supposed to come from outside the sect. Teammates weren’t supposed to betray each other.

Lei Shan clenched his left hand, making sure he was still holding the stack of paper talismans. “You mentioned a problem,” Lei Shan said. His throat felt dry all of a sudden. “What kind of problem?”

Song Tian’s shaking grew stronger; Yang Yi’s expression became strained. “Shortly after I took this mission, Dao Lin approached me. He offered me a reward I couldn’t refuse. I’m sorry, but if I leave behind any loose ends, I’m done for. I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut. It’s too risky. I’m not expecting you to understand, but that’s … that’s how it is.”

Dao Lin. That name came up just as often as Song Tian, and they were usually spoken in the same sentence nowadays. Dao Lin was widely acknowledged as the strongest and most influential outer disciple. His father was the chief outer elder, and because of that,

Dao Lin had been ruling over the Outer Sect even before Lei Shan entered the sect four years ago. Dao Lin reached the intermediate realm of the First Realm long ago; given his age, he could have easily become an inner disciple. However, he chose to remain as an outer disciple so he could keep his position and status.

Everyone knew about the feud between Song Tian and Dao Lin, although he never found out how and why exactly it began. All he knew was that, shortly after Song Tian entered the sect one and a half months ago, he managed to offend Dao Lin, and that their quarrel had grown drastically over time.

“Loose … ends?”

Lei Shan had long grasped what was happening. By this point, he was just stretching out the situation so he could think of something. He had seen something he shouldn't have seen, so he had to be silenced. He had to find a way to save himself, to get out of this situation, but no matter how he wracked his brain, nothing came to mind. Song Tian seemed like he was on the verge of collapse, and Yang Yi appeared to still be in perfect condition. They looked like they were on a deadlock right now, but it was clear in whose favor the balance was tipped.

Should he run? No. Yang Yi would look for him after he finished off Song Tian, and he had no confidence in outrunning an inner disciple or hiding from one. Even if he managed to do so, he’d have to return to the sect, and when he did, no doubt Yang Yi would try to silence him. Even if he didn’t, Dao Lin would. There were many rumors about what Dao Lin did to those who offended him, but nobody had ever managed to find any proof. Dao Lin was thorough.

“Seeing you haven’t run away by this point, you have also realized that there’s no point—unless you decide to abandon the sect. But if you did that, you’d become a loose cultivator, wouldn’t you? Moreover, after I returned, I’d pin Song Tian’s death on you, and…” Yang Yi blinked. “Huh. That doesn’t seem like a bad idea, now that I think of it.” His expression still strained, he gave Lei Shan a regretful yet thoughtful look. “Yes. That would work nicely. I really would have liked not to kill you if I had the chance—believe me, this gives me no pleasure—but since you’ll have to die anyway, I might as well make your sacrifice worthwhile.”

Yang Yi’s eyes narrowed. “Still … the question remains: what will you do? Or will you just stand there and wait for your turn? I mean, I would appreciate it, but I would feel a little better if you fought back a little.”

Lei Shan glanced at the shaking Song Tian, who was staring at him with his eyes wide, and then at Yang Yi. Lei Shan considered his options. Yang Yi was, without a doubt, in a good condition, but it didn’t seem like he could move right now. Running away wasn’t an option, so…

He didn’t believe he was considering this. He took a step forward. Fighting an inner disciple was madness, but it looked like it was his right bet. He raised his left hand, the one holding the stack of talismans, and began to channel his spiritual energy into it, drawing it out from the spiritual core that lay within his soul and bringing it into the material world, feeling it through his body, toward his hand, and—

“There we go.”

Yang Yi’s strained voice, like a sword, stabbed into his soul. The spiritual essence he had been controlling stopped moving as if it had met some kind of barrier. Lei Shan tried to open his mouth to speak, and that was when he found out that he couldn’t move.

“It’s … it’s too late, I’m afraid.”

Lei Shan focused on Yang Yi, whose expression had become even more strained. By this point, he looked almost like Song Tian, veins bulging, eyes wide. He wasn’t as still as before, however. The fingers in his right hand were now moving. Wiggling. “You were stalling for time to think of something, but I was doing the same thing. Song Tian tried hard to warn you, but it was to no avail.” A weak laugh escaped his lips. “Even at this moment, as I’m talking to you … I’m still distracting you.”

Lei Shan heard footsteps. With some effort, he managed to move his gaze to his side … and there was Song Tian, approaching him in slow steps, his sword raised, poised.

Song Tian grimaced. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind. With visible effort, he opened his mouth and croaked, “Fight back. Run.” Tears were pooling in the corner of his eyes. “Please.”

“I’ve only had to divert a little of my power to keep Lei Shan under control, but you can already speak,” Yang Yi said, his voice strained but wry. “You really are something else. I’ve never seen someone resist my control like this. No wonder Master was so taken with you.”

Master? Before Lei Shan had time to consider what Yang Yi meant by that, he realized that Song Tian was only an arm’s length away from him, and his sword … It was a hair’s breadth away from Lei Shan’s chest.

This was it. He knew he would die one day—he had never entertained the idea of reaching a realm that would allow him to live forever—but he didn’t think it would be so soon. He had been worried about the mission, but he didn’t believe that it would turn out this bad. All of his preparations had been rendered useless.

He couldn’t even close his eyes. The force holding him in place—no doubt the authority of Yang Yi’s spiritual seed—wouldn’t let him.

He’d have to meet his death head-on. An ironic death for someone as cowardly as he was. In a way, he reckoned it was a good—

The sword fell to the ground.

Song Tia’s shaking ling had decreased considerably, but he was still standing there, frozen in place.

“What? What’s this? You … you aren’t resisting?” Yang Yi said. “Then, how did the sword… Ah. I see. So you’ll follow it another way. Well, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I guess that’s fine.”

Song Tian slowly pulled back his right arm. “Try to survive,” he said.

Lei Shan could feel a great quantity of spiritual essence converging in Song Tian’s pulled-back hand. He tried to move, tried to speak, but the power holding him in place seemed to have increased. He couldn’t even move his gaze.

Song Tian’s arm shot forward, and his open palm struck Lei Shan on his chest.

Pain like he had never fault before assaulted him. His feet were off the ground—he was shooting through the air. A moment later he crashed into something hard. He could hear something crack. Now pain shot up from his back too. His … spine? White pain flooded his thoughts. He couldn’t scream or move. Yang Yi’s power was still controlling him. His ribs … they had definitely broken too. And the pain he felt … his ribs had pierced something. His lung?

Song Tian hadn’t held back. Even if he hadn’t crashed into something, it’d still be a killing move.

He slumped to the ground. Above him were … leaves? A canopy. So he had crashed onto a tree. He groaned and realized he could move again. Yang Yi was saying something. But he couldn’t hear it. It was too faint, too indistinct.

Lei Shan felt his pain fade, leaving only the white behind. People usually saw black when they went unconscious, so this white … perhaps … He felt himself grow light, and something … something was calling for him. Something beyond.

The pain came again—and this time it was many times worse. It was spiritual. Something had penetrated into his soul. Something foreign. And whatever it was, it bound his soul to his body, not letting him move on. Once his body and soul were properly linked again, he felt the physical pain return. It flared his crushed chest and from his broken back. But that wasn’t all of it. There was another pain—a pain of a different type. He felt as if his flesh was being stretched, ground, and then stretched again.

From within the pain, a surge of heat rose. It came without warning. It got hotter and hotter, and before long it overtook the pain, transforming it into a mere afterthought. He felt as as if he had swallowed a sun.

Soon there was only heat left. No pain. No thoughts. Only heat. Searing. Sizzling. Scorching.

But the heat also faded after a while, leaving behind … darkness.

Lei Shan surrendered himself to its sweet embrace. He wanted no more of this pain, of this heat, of this suffering.

And even as it claimed him, he felt something bloom inside him. A new pain. It came from his head—from his mind.

Before he could properly register it, the darkness swallowed what remained of his consciousness.