The morning air carried a strange stillness. Mist drifted through the courtyards of the Cang Manor, veiling the crimson pavilions and the sprawling training field in pale white. It was not the peaceful kind of mist, but the heavy silence before a storm. Zhang Wei felt it the moment he stepped outside his quarters—the subtle way servants avoided his eyes, the whisper of footsteps that halted when he passed. Something was off.
He met Han Yu and Pan Qiang near the eastern corridor, where the peach blossoms had just begun to bloom. Han Yu's usual calm was taut as a drawn bowstring, his expression grim. Pan Qiang tried to grin, but even that faltered halfway.
"Did either of you notice?" Zhang Wei asked quietly.
Han Yu nodded once. "Everyone's been watching us. The guards changed shifts twice this morning. And I caught one following me from the outer hall."
Pan Qiang rubbed the back of his neck, his voice uneasy. "I went to the kitchen to get breakfast. The cooks suddenly stopped talking when I walked in. Then some servant asked where we were last night."
Zhang Wei's brow furrowed. "Last night?"
Before Han Yu could answer, a crisp voice cut through the air. "Zhang Wei, Han Yu, Pan Qiang."
They turned. Elder Shen stood at the end of the walkway, flanked by two guards. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by stiffness and unease. "Elder Cang De requests your presence in the main courtyard. Immediately."
Han Yu's eyes narrowed. "All three of us?"
"Yes," Elder Shen said. "Together."
A quiet dread pooled in Zhang Wei's chest. They followed silently, the sound of their boots echoing faintly on the polished stone path. Around them, disciples had begun to gather like a tide—faces half-hidden in curiosity and apprehension.
When they reached the central courtyard, the scene was already set. Elder Cang De sat high upon the viewing platform, his expression carved in cold marble. On either side were elders, guards, and attendants. Lady Cang Lian was present too, seated a step behind him, her gaze sharp yet troubled.
The trio stopped at the base of the arena, bowing respectfully.
"Zhang Wei, Han Yu, Pan Qiang," Cang De began, his tone smooth but venomous beneath the surface. "You three have served in this manor for nearly a month now. During this time, you have gained favor among certain departments, earned the trust of our people, and shown skill far above expectation." He paused, letting his words hang in the air like bait. "Yet, last night, a servant reported seeing the three of you lingering near the northern storehouse. Do you deny it?"
Pan Qiang blinked. "The storehouse? We were near the medicinal wing, Elder. The path goes by that way, doesn't it?"
Cang De's lips curved faintly. "Ah, yes. The medicinal wing. Convenient, isn't it?"
The crowd murmured. The northern storehouse was no ordinary room—it was where confidential ledgers, sealed herbs, and sometimes forbidden trade goods were kept. A restricted area, off-limits to ordinary servants.
Zhang Wei kept his tone calm. "Elder, we passed through that path only because Han Yu was escorting a wounded disciple. I assisted him in stabilizing the patient before dawn."
Han Yu stepped forward, voice steady but clipped. "The records will show that a patrol from the outer wall was injured by wild beasts during night watch. We treated him there."
Cang De smiled, but his eyes were sharp. "How diligent. Yet how interesting that the same night, a guard reported faint light flickering inside the storehouse. You three were seen not far from it. A coincidence, surely?"
Pan Qiang's grin returned faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe the light came from the spirit lamps, Elder. The ones that never go out, right?"
Laughter rippled faintly through the crowd, but Cang De did not smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps something else burns inside that storehouse—something you wished to find."
Han Yu's fists clenched, but Zhang Wei raised a hand slightly, signaling him to wait. He met Cang De's gaze evenly. "If the Elder believes we trespassed, we will accept inspection or punishment. But to claim intent without proof would tarnish the honor of your judgment."
That struck. The subtle murmur in the crowd turned uncertain. Lady Cang Lian's eyes flickered with approval—Zhang Wei was fighting back, not with anger but with reason.
Cang De leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Honor, you say? Then prove it. The Cang Family respects strength and truth. If you are indeed loyal servants and not spies, you will not refuse a public evaluation."
Han Yu's expression hardened. "A test of loyalty through what?"
"Combat," Cang De replied, his voice like silk wrapping around steel. "A duel not of vengeance, but verification. Let us see whether your skill matches your words—or whether your actions hide another allegiance."
The crowd stirred again. Public evaluations were spectacles—half ceremony, half bloodsport.
Pan Qiang whispered, "He's baiting us. He wants to make us slip."
Zhang Wei's gaze stayed on Cang De. "We will accept the test, Elder. But allow me to ask—if we win, will your doubts end?"
Cang De's smile deepened, predatory and cold. "If you win," he said softly, "I will personally apologize before the family."
He turned, gesturing toward the arena. "Cang Lu, step forward."
A tall young man in black strode out from the ranks, his Qi sharp and violent. Cang Lu—Cang De's personal disciple, late Qi Gathering Realm, infamous for cruelty in sparring.
The trio exchanged brief glances. Han Yu subtly positioned himself near Zhang Wei's right, Pan Qiang on the left.
Cang De raised his hand. "No, no. Let the healer be tested first. Alone."
Han Yu's hand twitched toward his sword. "This is no fair test."
Zhang Wei stopped him with a quiet look. "Let me handle it."
The platform fell silent as Zhang Wei stepped into the ring. The polished stone gleamed beneath the hazy morning sun. The faint scent of sandalwood from the incense poles lingered in the air, sharp and clean.
Cang Lu smirked. "I'll try not to break too many bones, 'healer.'"
Zhang Wei bowed slightly. "Your kindness is appreciated."
"Begin," Cang De ordered.
The instant the word fell, Cang Lu lunged forward. His Qi burst outward in a gust of pressure, the air rippling around his frame. Zhang Wei felt it hit like a wave, but his own Qi steadied beneath his skin. Cang Lu's fist cut through the air, wrapped in pale wind energy. Zhang Wei twisted his torso, the strike grazing past his sleeve. He countered with a palm strike aimed at the wrist—soft, precise, turning aggression into redirection.
Cang Lu slid back two steps, eyes narrowing. "You're better than I expected."
He came again, faster, sword flashing into his hand. Silver light arced toward Zhang Wei's neck. The healer ducked low, catching the blade between his palms with a burst of Qi that rang like metal meeting stone. Sparks danced in the air.
The crowd gasped. Even Lady Cang Lian stood.
Zhang Wei pushed back, creating distance. He breathed evenly, mind calm. He's testing, not killing—yet.
But Cang De's voice cut through. "You hold back, Cang Lu. Show no mercy to him."
That was the signal. Cang Lu's eyes hardened. He moved again, unleashing a rain of slashes, each one sharper than the last. Zhang Wei dodged, redirected, and finally parried, his own Qi flowing through his meridians like liquid jade. Each motion balanced attack and defense, but it was clear—he was no ordinary Qi Gathering cultivator.
Han Yu's gaze flicked between them, memorizing every movement. Pan Qiang whispered, "He's going to expose himself if he keeps fighting like that."
"Better that than dying," Han Yu muttered.
The duel intensified. Qi collided midair, rippling across the arena. Tiles cracked underfoot. Cang Lu shouted, "Keep hiding your strength and you'll die?"
Zhang Wei's expression didn't change. "I don't hide. I simply endure."
A sharp strike followed, then a counter. Zhang Wei's palm connected with Cang Lu's chest, sending him staggering back. The disciples gasped—Cang Lu had been overpowered.
Cang De's expression darkened. He gestured subtly. Two more disciples moved forward.
Han Yu took a step. "This is against the rules—"
"Silence," Cang De barked. "This is an evaluation. If your comrade's loyalty is pure, he can face three opponents without deceit."
The crowd fell silent. The three disciples surrounded Zhang Wei, their Qi intertwining into a deadly formation. Wind, fire, and earth elements pulsed together, creating chaotic pressure.
Zhang Wei closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled. The jade pendant beneath his robes pulsed faintly, a rhythm syncing with his heart. When the first opponent struck, he moved like flowing water—redirecting wind into fire, turning the momentum back. The second attacker was caught in the blast. The third came from behind, but Zhang Wei dropped low, sweeping his leg and striking upward with a burst of Qi that sent the man flying.
The entire courtyard erupted in noise.
Zhang Wei stood amidst the dust, breathing lightly. His clothes were torn, but his composure unbroken.
Cang De rose slowly from his seat. "Impressive. Yet skill does not prove innocence." His voice deepened, carrying authority that made the air vibrate. "If you are not a spy, then stand against me."
Lady Cang Lian stood immediately. "Uncle Cang De! That's enough!"
But Cang De had already leapt down. His Qi flooded the arena, thick and oppressive, each breath like standing beneath a waterfall of iron. The crowd retreated instinctively.
Han Yu and Pan Qiang started forward, but Zhang Wei raised his hand slightly. "Stay back."
Cang De's energy rippled like molten steel. "Show me the truth, boy."
He struck without warning. A palm of dense Qi slammed forward, tearing the air apart. Zhang Wei countered with both hands, his own energy flaring in jade light. The collision burst like thunder, shaking the courtyard. Stone cracked, wind howled, and dust swirled high into the air.
Han Yu shielded a nearby disciple as fragments of tile exploded around them. Pan Qiang covered his eyes.
The two forces clashed again—Cang De's power like a mountain collapsing, Zhang Wei's like water carving through stone. Every strike was a test of will and wit. Zhang Wei shifted angles, using Cang De's weight against him, redirecting force where possible. But the Elder's mastery was overwhelming.
Zhang Wei's vision blurred as Cang De's final surge of Qi tore through his weakened guard. The impact sent him staggering backward, boots scraping against cracked tiles. A crimson streak sprayed from his lips, glinting in the sunlight before darkening the ground.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some disciples flinched at the sight; others whispered, awe mixing with unease.
Zhang Wei sank to one knee, one hand pressed to the earth, the other clutching his chest. His breath came shallow, his Qi trembling out of rhythm. Even then, his eyes burned—not with defeat, but with quiet defiance.
Han Yu's composure shattered. His hand flew to his sword, spiritual pressure flaring like a storm barely held back. For a heartbeat, the air around him quivered, killing intent dripping from his every breath.
"Han Yu," Pan Qiang hissed under his breath, grabbing his arm before the blade left its sheath.
Han Yu's jaw clenched, veins pulsing on his neck as he stared at Cang De—the old man standing tall with his robes unruffled, hands clasped behind his back, smirking faintly as if victorious in more ways than one.
"You…" Han Yu's voice was low, trembling with fury. "You planned this."
Cang De turned slightly, his tone laced with mock serenity. "Planned? I merely tested the strength of our new recruits. If the young man cannot handle scrutiny, perhaps he does not belong within the Cang Family."
Pan Qiang stepped between them, his expression twisted between anger and fear. "Don't twist words, Cang De. Everyone saw you push him beyond a fair test."
Cang De ignored him. His gaze settled back on Zhang Wei—cold, assessing, yet… wary. "Your Qi—what sect did you truly come from?"
Zhang Wei's blood-streaked lips curved faintly. He lifted his head, meeting Cang De's gaze with that same stubborn calm. "You already know, Cang De. You're just afraid to admit what you found."
That struck something. Cang De's brow twitched, barely visible, but Han Yu saw it. The swordsman's glare deepened, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "He's afraid, Zhang Wei. He set this up because we were near whatever he's hiding."
Zhang Wei's breathing steadied, though his body trembled. "Then we were right to linger there." He forced a small, tired smile. "I should ask you two that."
Han Yu stepped closer, still shielding Zhang Wei from any further strike. The tension between them and the Elder thickened until even the watching disciples began to step back, sensing something dangerous in the air.
A rustle of movement cut through the silence—Lady Cang Lian descended the stone stairs, her white robes brushing against the debris. Her eyes flickered between the wounded Zhang Wei and the composed Elder.
"Enough," she said softly, though her voice carried power. "This is not a test—it's a warning. Uncle Cang De , you've made your point if you continue this my father will know."
Cang De gave a slight bow, his smirk polite but venomous. "As you say, First Daughter. My only intention was to ensure the safety of the family. Suspicious behavior cannot be ignored—especially when servants report strangers lingering near restricted grounds."
The word lingering hung in the air like poison.
Pan Qiang's eyes widened. "So that's it… a servant saw us near the storehouse."
Cang De smiled faintly. "The guilty often reveal themselves before judgment is passed."
Han Yu's killing intent spiked again, his spiritual pressure forcing nearby disciples to take a step back. But this time, he didn't draw his sword. His fury boiled, but reason chained it down. His eyes—once calm and steady—now burned with promise of vengeance.
Zhang Wei coughed, blood running from the corner of his mouth, yet he managed to speak with quiet defiance. "You may have the stage, Cang De. But the truth has a way of bleeding through, just like me."
Cang De's expression hardened. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—fear.
Lady Cang Lian stepped between them, lowering her voice but not her authority. "Be careful, Zhang Wei. Uncle will not stop here. Whatever lies in that storehouse, you've just given him reason to destroy it—and you with it."
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating.
As the crowd began to disperse, whispers spread like wildfire. Some muttered about Zhang Wei's unexpected strength, others about Cang De's cruelty.
When the arena finally emptied, only the trio remained amid the dust and fractured stone.
Han Yu stood motionless, fists trembling, eyes locked on the path where Cang De had vanished. Pan Qiang knelt beside Zhang Wei, pressing a cloth against the blood at his lips.
Zhang Wei managed another faint smile despite the pain. "We've confirmed it, haven't we? He's hiding something down there."
Han Yu exhaled, his anger still simmering beneath every word. "And now he knows we know."
Zhang Wei's gaze drifted toward the distant storehouse, its roof glinting faintly under the afternoon sun. "Then we were right to linger there."
The wind carried the smell of dust and blood.
Lady Cang Lian lingered for one last moment, her silhouette framed against the ruins of the arena. "You've stepped into a fire, Zhang Wei. The Cang Family is not peaceful as you see it and now you poked a hornet nest."
When she left, her words hung like an omen.
The three stood together, silent amid the wreckage, the weight of realization pressing down on their shoulders.