The Soul Tree was sacred.
An ancient willow that grew at the heart of Twin Serpent Sect, fed not by soil, but by the buried bones of a hundred generations of cultivators.
It whispered when the wind passed through its branches. It glowed faintly at midnight. And its roots could sense a disciple's potential, awakening ancestral echoes to guide their Dao.
Every disciple meditated beneath it at least once.
Most came away with visions — sometimes vague, sometimes profound. A sword in a storm. A golden lotus blooming in fire. A whisper of their Dao calling to them.
Wu Ye came alone.
He sat beneath the Soul Tree without asking permission.
No one tried to stop him.
By now, they were avoiding him — not out of fear, but unease. His presence distorted the energy around him, left Qi rivers sluggish, made cultivation techniques fail at random.
Even the birds didn't land on the tree while he was there.
He touched the bark.
And the tree shuddered.
The light in its trunk flickered. The roots groaned. A crack formed where his palm pressed — and from it, blood seeped.
Wu Ye's eyes closed.
He didn't see a vision.
He remembered.
A battlefield. Corpses as far as the eye could see. A man in imperial robes screaming as he burned alive.[Technique: Nine Suns Collapse] — absorbed.A girl laughing as her body dissolved into butterflies.[Technique: Illusory Body Rebirth] — consumed.A blind monk carving the words No Path Forward into a mountain with his bare fingers.[Scripture Fragment: Void Sutra, Verse 2] — bound.
Each memory came not like a gift, but like a weight slamming into his spine. Every technique, every thought, every regret…
He took them all.
Not stolen.
Not earned.
Devoured.
When Wu Ye opened his eyes, dawn had broken.
The tree was withering.
Leaves shriveled. Roots trembled. That glowing light? Dimmed.
A dozen elders rushed to the courtyard by mid-morning, crying out in panic.
"The Soul Tree is failing!"
"Did someone use forbidden arts?"
"Has the Sect offended Heaven?!"
They questioned everyone.
No one thought to question the boy sitting quietly by the edge of the courtyard, eyes half-lidded, wooden sword beside him.
He simply watched as the sacred tree of Twin Serpent Sect — the spiritual anchor of their entire foundation — began to die.
That night, Wu Ye carved another symbol onto his blade.
A weeping willow, burning.