Two weeks had passed since Zhang Wei, Han Yu, and Pan Qiang infiltrated the Cang Family as humble "wandering cultivators." The first few days had been filled with caution — quiet meals, forced humility, and constant awareness of the eyes that watched them. But as the days bled into nights, the estate slowly began to open up to them.
By now, the three had become familiar faces within the manor. Zhang Wei worked in the Alchemy Wing under Elder Zhao, often helping to grind herbs or prepare simple tonics. The elder found his calm diligence refreshing, and the servants whispered that this new recruit had "gentle hands but sharp eyes." Han Yu, assigned to the Sword Hall, kept mostly to himself. His silence earned him disdain from some of the martial disciples, who thought him aloof. Yet his movements with the blade during morning drills — smooth, clean, and balanced — made even the arrogant ones pause. Pan Qiang, meanwhile, had fully adapted to guard duty. He had a knack for winning people over; in the evenings, he could often be found laughing with the other guards by the barracks fire, trading stories and harmless boasts.
The Cang Estate itself was alive at all hours — servants carrying baskets of herbs through moonlit corridors, disciples practicing sword forms near lantern-lit courtyards, and the constant hum of cauldrons from the alchemy chambers. But beneath that rhythm, something else pulsed — quiet conversations that ended abruptly when someone walked by, the faint glow of carriages leaving the back gate long after midnight, and strange herbs appearing in storerooms with no record of their source.
Zhang Wei noticed these inconsistencies first. He began to record them in his mind — every late delivery, every absent disciple, every sealed crate marked with a symbol that didn't belong to the Cang crest. He wanted to report it to the others, but patience was key. A single misstep could shatter their disguise.
Tonight, they were to meet behind the east wall — a quiet section near the bamboo grove where the night wind often masked whispers. The moon hung pale and sharp, and the rustle of bamboo leaves brushed against the silence like faint sighs.
Pan Qiang arrived first, hands tucked behind his back, whistling softly until he spotted Han Yu's dark silhouette leaning against a tree. "You look like a ghost," Pan Qiang said under his breath, smirking. "You sure no one followed you?"
Han Yu's cold eyes flicked toward him. "You're loud enough to summon one."
Before Pan Qiang could retort, Zhang Wei appeared from the shadows. His robes were dusted with faint traces of medicinal powder, and the faint scent of herbs followed him. "Keep your voices down," he said quietly, his tone calm but firm. "We're being watched more often lately. I think someone suspects new movements in the Alchemy Wing."
Pan Qiang's grin faded. "You found something?"
Zhang Wei nodded. "Elder Shen has been acting… off. He's kind, but there's tension in his eyes. And I saw him receive a sealed letter this morning — he burned it immediately after reading. No insignia, but the wax was black."
Han Yu's brows furrowed. "Black wax? That's not used in normal correspondence. Only for…"
Before he could finish, Zhang Wei raised his hand. "Shh."
The bamboo rustled — too sharply this time, like someone had stepped on a dry twig. All three turned, instincts ignited. A faint silhouette moved through the mist — a hooded figure gliding between the shadows.
Pan Qiang whispered, "Someone's sneaking around at this hour. A servant?"
Han Yu shook his head. "Too quiet. Too deliberate."
The figure was heading toward the west courtyard — the storage area that led to the underground warehouses. Few people had access there after nightfall. Zhang Wei's eyes narrowed. "Let's follow," he murmured. "But quietly."
They split positions with precision born from countless battles. Zhang Wei took the rear flank, Han Yu moved to the rooftops, his steps light as feathers, and Pan Qiang crept through the side path, pretending to be a half-drunk guard in case someone spotted him.
The hooded figure crossed through the moonlight once, revealing faint armor beneath the cloak — not servant garb. He approached the sealed warehouse gate and tapped on the wooden frame twice, then once more after a pause — a code. The gate opened slightly, revealing another shadow waiting inside.
The trio exchanged silent glances. Zhang Wei motioned forward, and they crept closer.
"Shipment's ready," a low voice whispered from within. "Hei'an envoy will arrive at the border within three nights. These elixirs must not be traced."
Zhang Wei's pulse quickened. Hei'an. The name alone was poison.
The hooded one replied in a careful tone, "Understood. Lord Cang De expects this to remain discreet. If anyone suspects—"
The man inside cut him off. "No one will. Even the Patriarch believes these are standard medicinal exports. Only the branch elders know the truth."
Han Yu clenched his fists. "So it's true," he whispered under his breath from above. "Cang Family were traitors."
But before they could gather more, the man inside suddenly stopped speaking. His head turned sharply — a predator sensing prey. "Who's there?"
Zhang Wei froze.
Pan Qiang ducked behind a cart, holding his breath.
Han Yu vanished into the shadows above the roof tiles.
A moment later, a small pebble fell from where Han Yu had moved, clattering against the stone floor. The sound was soft, but in the dead of night, it echoed like thunder.
"Guards!" the man hissed.
The warehouse door slammed open, and two figures darted out. Swords gleamed under moonlight. The trio had no choice — stealth was over.
Zhang Wei dashed from the shadows, intercepting the first strike with his forearm guard. The impact vibrated through his bones. He twisted his wrist, trapping the enemy's blade, and with a flick, disarmed him in one smooth motion. The guard staggered back, eyes wide.
"Who are you!?" the man spat.
"Just a night patrol," Zhang Wei replied coolly. His tone was too calm — suspiciously so.
Han Yu dropped down from above, his sword flashing once — silent and clean. He stopped just short of slashing, the blade's edge grazing the enemy's neck. "Move again," he warned, "and you'll lose your head."
Pan Qiang circled behind them, drawing his short saber. "We're outnumbered if more come," he said, voice low. "We need to end this quick."
But the hooded man wasn't one to surrender. He drew a talisman and slapped it to his chest. Qi surged around him like a storm, amplifying his strength. "You fools think you can meddle in Cang business!?"
He lunged toward Zhang Wei, striking with unnatural speed. Zhang Wei barely managed to deflect the blow with a palm reinforced by internal Qi, but the power pushed him back several steps. Sparks danced from the clash.
Han Yu reacted instantly, his sword slicing through the man's talisman arm, cutting the charm in half. The spiritual energy exploded in a shockwave that sent dust and debris flying.
Pan Qiang rushed forward, tackling the wounded man before he could escape. He pinned him to the ground, blade pressed against his throat. "You're not from Cang," Pan Qiang growled. "Your aura stinks of Hei'an."
The man coughed blood, grinning through cracked lips. "And what if I am? You think the Patriarch's hands are clean?"
"Explain," Zhang Wei demanded, stepping closer.
The man laughed weakly. "You wouldn't understand. The Cang Family's strength comes from the shadows. Even your noble court relies on them more than you think."
Before Zhang Wei could question further, the man bit down — hard. A faint sizzle followed, and his body began to convulse. Poison.
Zhang Wei cursed, kneeling beside him. "He's ending his own life!" He pressed two fingers to the man's neck, channeling Qi to halt the flow of toxins. For a brief second, the man's eyes focused on him — full of defiance.
"You'll find no truth here… only lies," he rasped before his eyes dimmed completely.
The silence that followed was heavy. Only the faint whisper of bamboo leaves filled the air.
Pan Qiang exhaled sharply. "He killed himself. Damn it."
Han Yu sheathed his sword, his expression cold. "He mentioned the Patriarch. You think it's true?"
Zhang Wei looked down at the corpse, then at the dark seal burned into the man's wrist — the crest of Hei'an's Shadow Sect. "No," he said quietly. "I think the Patriarch is being deceived."
He stood up, his gaze drifting toward the warehouse. Inside were dozens of crates labeled as "Herbal Extracts for Healing," but Zhang Wei could sense the faint metallic Qi of refined pills meant not for healing — but for strengthening soldiers unnaturally.
"These aren't medicines," he murmured. "They're Blood-Fortification Elixirs — forbidden in most sects."
Han Yu's jaw tightened. "Hei'an's preparing for war."
Pan Qiang kicked the ground in frustration. "Then the Cang Family is arming them…"
"Not all of them," Zhang Wei said, eyes narrowing. "Only those under Cang De's control. The others… might still be unaware."
A long silence followed. The three of them stood in the pale moonlight, their shadows stretching across the ground like dark omens.
Finally, Han Yu spoke. "What now?"
Zhang Wei turned to him, his expression resolute. "We find proof. The kind that can't be denied. If Cang De's truly colluding with Hei'an, then we expose him — not just to the Patriarch, but to the royal court itself."
Pan Qiang nodded. "And if we're wrong?"
"Then we'll answer for it," Zhang Wei said simply. His tone carried no hesitation.
As they prepared to leave, Zhang Wei glanced back one last time at the lifeless body on the ground — a silent testament to the corruption festering within the noble house. Somewhere deeper in the estate, a bell tolled midnight, echoing through the corridors like a dirge.