The mountain pass was a jagged scar cut through the colossal peaks of the Qionglai range. It was a place of breathtaking beauty and brutal, unforgiving nature. The air was thin and sharp, tasting of cold stone and ancient pine. It was here, in this remote and silent world, that Meng Tian had become a patient instrument of his Emperor's will. For weeks, he had lived off the land, his superhuman constitution making a mockery of the harsh conditions. He had prepared his trap, not as a soldier building a barricade, but as a force of nature redirecting a river. He had become the mountain's wrath.
He lay concealed high on a rocky ledge, wrapped in furs that made him indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape. Below him, the spring caravan of the School of the Silent Orchid entered the ravine. It was a grim procession, a testament to Cixi's quiet cruelty. Eight elite handlers, cloaked in dark wool against the mountain chill, herded their precious cargo: a dozen small, frightened children, their thin rags and bewildered faces a stark contrast to the grandeur of the mountains. They were the next generation of spies and assassins, lambs being led to a slaughter of the soul.
A cold, clean rage, different from the hot fury of battle, settled in Meng Tian's heart. This was not war. This was a defilement. He would not just defeat these handlers; he would terrify them. He would make them feel the wrath of the very earth they were trespassing upon.
He waited until the entire caravan was deep within the narrowest part of the ravine, the section he had identified as the kill box. The path here was barely wide enough for two mules to walk abreast, with sheer cliffs rising on either side. With a calm, deliberate focus, he sprung the first part of his trap.
He moved to a massive, precariously balanced boulder at the edge of his ledge. It was a rock that had been loosened by a thousand years of wind and ice. He placed his hands upon it and, with a deep grunt that was lost in the wind, he pushed. The boulder toppled, and in its wake, an entire section of the scree slope gave way.
An avalanche of rock and stone thundered down the mountainside with a deafening roar. It did not hit the caravan directly. It crashed onto the path fifty paces ahead of them, a cataclysm of shattered rock and dust that completely obliterated the trail. Their exit was sealed.
The handlers reacted with the drilled precision of their school. The caravan halted. The children cried out in terror. The handlers immediately drew their weapons, forming a defensive circle around their small, frightened charges. Their leader, a tall, scarred man named Kaelan, the one they called the Shepherd, barked out orders, his eyes scanning the cliffs above. He knew this was no natural event.
Before they could formulate a plan, the second trap was sprung. From the other end of the ravine, behind them, Meng Tian had prepared a different kind of barrier. He had weakened the trunks of several large pine trees on the steep slope. Now, focusing his will, he sent a sharp, targeted gust of wind howling up the ravine. It was an unnatural, localized blast of immense force. The weakened trees groaned, then cracked, and came crashing down onto the path, their thick branches interlocking to form an impassable web of timber and rock. Their retreat was also sealed.
They were trapped. Utterly and completely.
Kaelan, the Shepherd, understood the terrifying precision of the ambush. He was a master of traps himself, and he recognized the work of a superior predator. "Show yourself!" he roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Face us, if you have the courage!"
Meng Tian did not show himself. Not yet. The physical confrontation was inevitable, but first came the psychological assault. He would break their minds before he broke their bodies.
He remained hidden, a ghost among the high pines. He again summoned the wind, not as a blunt instrument, but as a tool of terror. He made it howl through the narrow ravine, creating strange, disorienting moans and shrieks as it passed through the rock formations. He sent small pebbles skittering down the cliffsides, first from one direction, then another, forcing the assassins to constantly shift their attention, their nerves stretched to the breaking point.
Then, he used his power over sound. He did not shout. He whispered. He projected his voice, making it seem as if it were coming from the very rocks around them, from the air itself.
"The Silent Orchid sends its children to die," the voice hissed, a low, guttural sound that was everywhere and nowhere at once. "Your mother in Beijing has abandoned you."
The handlers spun around, trying to find the source of the voice, their disciplined formation beginning to fray. They were assassins who thrived in silence and shadows, and now the silence and shadows had been turned against them. The children's terrified sobs added to the growing chaos.
"It is a trick!" Kaelan screamed, trying to rally his troops. "One man! He is trying to make us panic!"
But Meng Tian was just beginning. He focused his will on a dead branch high above them, and with a surge of kinetic energy, sent it hurtling down. It wasn't large enough to be a real threat, but it shattered on the rocks near one of the assassins with a loud crack, making the man cry out in surprise and fall back.
Panic began to take root. The handlers were now firing their crossbows blindly into the shadows, their discipline completely gone. They were no longer a unit of elite killers. They were a terrified mob, trapped in a box, being tormented by a ghost who commanded the mountain itself. They were broken.
Only then, when their spirits were shattered and their courage had turned to raw fear, did Meng Tian decide it was time for them to meet the ghost.