The day began with silence — the kind that felt staged.
Disciples avoided eye contact. Conversations hushed when Fang Xi walked past. Even Elder Gan looked him over a second too long during morning drills.
"Something shifted."
"Someone's moved a piece."
By noon, a gift arrived.
A small wooden box, wrapped in blue silk. No name. No note.
Inside: a single peach blossom, perfectly preserved. Beneath it, a folded slip of parchment.
"To honor your victory in the Beast Duty. A future ally sends regards."
Chen Zhi blinked when he saw it. "Wow, maybe you're getting popular?"
Fang Xi said nothing.
Instead, he studied the flower.
"Peach blossoms don't grow on Broken Soul Mountain."
"And the veins… too stiff. This was flash-frozen. Treated."
"The poison's not in the flower."
He lifted it with a cloth.
"It's in the scent."
He burned it within seconds, watching the petals curl to ash.
Whoever sent it was clever.
Not deadly — yet.
But testing.
That evening, a second message arrived — real this time.
A jade-slip token, bearing Elder Shen's seal.
"Come to the Jade Hollow at midnight. Alone. Do not speak of this."
Fang Xi slipped it into his sleeve and left without a word.
The Jade Hollow sat beneath the Merit Pavilion — an old, circular chamber carved into the rock itself. Only elders used it now, mostly for secret meetings or high-level evaluations.
Elder Shen waited there, cloaked in gray. The air was thick with incense and glowing arrays pulsed gently along the walls.
"You were watched today," Shen said without turning.
"I know," Fang Xi replied.
Shen finally turned. His expression was unreadable.
"You made it obvious."
"That was the point."
A long pause.
Shen gave the faintest smile. "Good."
He gestured to a kneeling cushion.
"Then let's speak as men, not pawns."
Fang Xi sat.
"Three things," Shen began. "First — Wei Yulan fears you. His uncle already sent feelers to remove you from the Beast Roster."
"I know."
"Second — someone is probing your defenses. The gift was real. But not deadly. That was… a courtesy."
"I burned it."
Shen raised a brow.
"Of course you did."
He stood and moved to a low table, pulling a scroll from beneath a locked box.
"This is the third," he said.
He unrolled it.
It was an invitation.
Formal. Stamped with multiple seals.
"Selected disciples of merit are to gather for Inner Court consideration. A closed-door competition will be held. No spectators. No records. Only those chosen advance."
Fang Xi read every word.
"No spectators?"
"No records?"
"A selection trial… or a quiet purge?"
"Why me?" he asked.
"You're rising," Shen said. "Too fast for some. But fast enough for me."
He met Fang Xi's gaze.
"Go. Win. But don't trust anyone inside that hall. Not even the judges."
Fang Xi rolled the scroll, tucked it inside his robe.
"I never do."
Back in his hut, Fang Xi locked the door.
He laid out his belongings, checked the black iron knife, tied the stolen fire charm to his wrist, and placed the cracked root capsule beneath his tongue.
Then he opened the scroll from the beast cave one more time.
"Mirror Vein Insight isn't an attack."
"But inside that competition… knowing who to strike — and when — will be worth more than any sword."
He closed his eyes.
And meditated until the hourglass ran dry.