The calm days of Kite Clan were rarely interrupted by outsiders. No one sought the outer disciples, and certainly no one visited the clan's remote mountain perch unless it served a purpose.
But on the 96th day of Wen's stay, purpose arrived wrapped in arrogance.
The cultivator wore emerald robes embroidered with coiling dragons and cloud-forged spirit threads. A silver token hung at his waist, gleaming with the insignia of the Emerald Immortal Pavilion, one of the high Clans of the Moonlit Dynasty—renowned for their deep heritage, elite disciples, and ruthless pride.
His name was Ji Yuen, an inner disciple barely past twenty, already at the 6th level of Qi Refining. He arrived on a sky spirit bird and descended in full view of the outer court.
"I bring an invitation," Ji Yuen announced, his voice carrying like thunder across the compound. "A tomb has been uncovered—a true Immortal Tomb, buried beneath the South-Cracked Ridge. My Clan will lead an expedition into its depths and has seen fit to offer your humble Kite Clan a spot… as an act of goodwill."
There was no goodwill in his voice. Only amusement.
The disciples gathered, unsure of how to react. The elders remained absent. Ji Yuen's gaze swept over the outer court, landing on the most junior disciples—those with dirt on their robes and trembling Qi roots.
He sneered. "So these are your outer disciples? Barely at Qi Gathering, weak in both will and presence. If this is your best crop, I'd advise you send none. They'll only serve as tomb bait."
A few muttered in protest, but Ji Yuen's cultivation pressure washed over them like a wave, silencing breath and voice alike.
And that's when Wen emerged from the forested slope behind the rear wall—robe damp with dew, scroll tucked beneath his belt, and a wooden staff in hand from training.
He paused, taking in the tense scene. Eyes turned to him without recognition. Just another disciple with no name.
Ji Yuen noticed him too and laughed. "Another branchless twig from your crooked little tree? What, will you challenge me with that stick?"
Wen walked forward, calm. "They may be weak now, but strength grows with time. You, on the other hand, seem to have stopped growing here—" he tapped his temple "—where it counts."
A few gasped. Ji Yuen's smile vanished.
"You dare—"
"I ask you," Wen interrupted, still walking, "to leave them be. Deliver your message. Keep your pride. But do not spit on those who walk a path harder than yours."
Ji Yuen's spiritual pressure surged again—but this time, Wen did not buckle.
Instead, he planted his staff into the ground and stood tall.
And then Ji Yuen attacked.
It was a testing blow, a flash of green light and spiraling Qi laced with wind essence, sharp and fast. But Wen moved like mist—his Reverse Vein Flow technique already honed in silence. He sidestepped, letting the strike pass, then tapped Ji Yuen's wrist with his staff.
A crack.
Ji Yuen's arm bent the wrong way. His body flipped into the dirt with a grunt.
Gasps turned to stunned silence.
Wen stood still, unshaken. "Enough."
Ji Yuen scrambled up, rage twisting his face—but before he could retaliate, a deep voice boomed across the courtyard.
"That's enough."
Elder Han, one of the few remaining masters in Kite Clan, had arrived. Thin and hunched but with piercing eyes and immense presence, he stepped between them with one hand raised.
He looked to Wen, then Ji Yuen, then the disciples still frozen in place.
"The invitation will be considered. You, boy from the Pavilion, will deliver your words and leave. Kite Clan does not tolerate disrespect, no matter the name on your robe."
Ji Yuen glared but bit his tongue. His pride would not survive another beating. He turned without another word and left, vanishing on his sky bird.
Elder Han turned to Wen. "What's your name?"
"…Wen," he said.
The elder studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Come to my courtyard tomorrow morning."
And just like that, the outer court's perception of Wen changed.
Not because he won, but because when no one else could stand, he did.
And some storms do not need thunder to make the sky tremble.
Silent Recognition, Distant Tombs
The next morning, Wen stood before the weathered gate of Elder Han's courtyard.
It was a humble space—no grand formations or lavish carvings. Just a crooked stone path, a wind-bent pine, and a bamboo bench under its shade. Elder Han sat there with a pot of tea, staring out over the misted cliffs as if he'd never moved since the previous night.
Wen bowed silently.
"Sit," the elder said.
Wen obeyed.
For a while, neither spoke. The wind rustled the pine needles. A hawk cried in the distance. Finally, Elder Han poured two cups and offered one.
"You did well yesterday," the old man said, his voice dry as gravel. "You showed restraint. And strength."
Wen nodded. "I didn't wish to draw attention."
"You failed," Han chuckled softly. "That's not always a bad thing. But be wary. There are those who fear what they do not understand—and others who hate what they cannot control."
He sipped his tea and glanced at Wen. "I won't ask how you deflected a Qi Refining inner disciple. I've lived long enough to know power often comes from strange places. But the world… doesn't share my patience."
He set the cup down gently.
"Soon, word will spread. You've made a mark. That cannot be undone. If you want to survive, boy—if you want to thrive—then walk forward with open eyes. Because from here on, even silence has a cost."
Wen bowed his head. "Thank you, Elder."
Han waved it off. "Tch. I don't give advice for thanks. I give it so I'm not burying another fool before his time."
Then his tone sharpened.
"About the Immortal Tomb."
Wen's gaze lifted slightly.
"We've received confirmation from other Clans. This tomb is real. It predates the current dynasties. Some believe it belonged to a Heaven-Step Immortal, someone who transcended the Soul Transformation realm centuries ago. The kind of being whose corpse alone could alter the fate of a nation."
Han paused. "Even a fragment of that power could make a lowly Clan... dangerous."
"Will I be sent?" Wen asked.
"You'll be offered a place," Han said. "The outer court will send five. One will be chosen to observe, the rest to support and scout. If you go, you go at your own risk."
Wen didn't hesitate. "I'll go."
Han smirked faintly. "Of course you will."
He rose, the pine's shadow painting his robe.
"Then begin preparing. Train as you do. Stay silent, but not small. I'll speak to the elders—keep the jealous wolves from your door, if only for a while."
As Wen stood to leave, Han added one last thing.
"I've seen talents come and go. But I've only seen a few with your eyes, boy."
Wen paused.
"They look like someone who's died before... and remembered the pain."
Wen nodded once.
Then he left the courtyard, the morning sun casting long shadows behind him.
That evening, word spread. The outer court was abuzz. The Kite Clan would send disciples to join the Immortal Tomb Expedition, alongside the Pavilion, the Silver Rain Clan, and others. The names would be chosen in seven days.
And in the mountains behind the rear wall, Wen trained with new intensity—his Reverse Vein Flow pulsing, his mind focused, his body steady.
Because whatever lay in that tomb, it would not welcome the living lightly.
And Wen had no plans of dying again… not until he chose to.