The morning sun cast long shadows across the temple courtyard as Yuan Zhen stood before his assembled followers. Word had spread quickly through the ranks—refugees, outcasts, and exile warriors gathered in clusters, their faces etched with uncertainty and fear. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the weight of decisions that would shape their futures.
Lin Qiao stood at his right, her staff planted firmly in the ground, while Yue Lian flanked his left, her hand resting on her sword hilt. The one-armed swordsman and the orphaned brothers waited nearby, their loyalty unwavering despite the gravity of the moment.
"My friends," Yuan Zhen began, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "I will not lie to you about what we face. The coalition may be fracturing, with Cao Cao and Sun Jian marching on Luoyang while Yuan Shao plays his political games. But the martial alliance has united against us. They are sending their elite disciples—a punitive expedition to hunt the White Demon and all who follow him."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some faces paled, others hardened with resolve.
"They will brand us as evil," Yuan Zhen continued. "They will call us demons, monsters, threats to the righteous order. But we know the truth—we are the ones who protect the innocent, who stand against corruption and tyranny."
An elderly refugee stepped forward, his voice trembling. "Master Yuan, what hope do we have against the great sects? Shaolin, Wudang, Emei—they have power we cannot match."
Yue Lian spoke up, her voice clear and confident. "The orthodox sects have little presence in the west and south. Their influence weakens the farther we travel from their mountain strongholds. There are lands where their authority means nothing."
Yuan Zhen nodded. "Chengdu is well-defended under Liu Yan's governance, but it limits our growth. The south offers opportunity—cities where corruption festers, where the people cry out for justice, where we can build something new."
Lin Qiao unrolled a map, pointing to a location southwest of their position. "Ya'an lies 140 li from here, a gateway to the Nanman territories. Our scouts report widespread corruption, a dying economy, and people living in fear."
The crowd stirred, some with hope, others with doubt.
"I offer you a choice," Yuan Zhen said, his gaze sweeping across the assembled faces. "Those who wish to remain in Chengdu may do so. I will not force anyone to follow me into the unknown. But those willing to build something greater, to fight for a better world—come with me to the south."
The silence stretched for long moments. Then, one of the exile warriors stepped forward—a scarred veteran who had lost everything in the coalition's purges.
"I have nothing left to lose," he said simply. "Where you go, I follow."
Others began to move. The one-armed swordsman nodded grimly. The orphaned brothers exchanged glances and stepped forward together. More exile warriors joined them, their faces set with determination.
But not all chose to follow. Families with young children, elderly refugees who feared the journey, and those who still hoped for peace remained behind. Yuan Zhen embraced each group, understanding their choices.
"Those who stay, remember—you are not forgotten. The White Demon Sect will return stronger, and Chengdu will always be our first home."
As the sun reached its zenith, Yuan Zhen's chosen followers prepared for departure. Supplies were packed, weapons checked, and farewells exchanged. The temple that had been their refuge would now be maintained by a small group of volunteers, ready to welcome them back or serve as a safe haven for other outcasts.
Three days later, Yuan Zhen crouched in the shadows outside Ya'an's walls, Lin Qiao and Yue Lian beside him. The city was eerily quiet—no merchants hawking wares, no children playing in the streets, no sounds of bustling trade that should mark a prosperous settlement.
"Something's wrong," Lin Qiao whispered. "Where are the guards?"
They slipped through a gap in the poorly maintained walls, moving like ghosts through empty streets. The few people they glimpsed hurried past with downcast eyes, clutching their belongings close.
The inn they found was a shabby affair, its windows grimy and its sign hanging askew. Inside, the common room was nearly empty save for a handful of dejected travelers nursing weak ale.
The tavern keeper, a thin man with nervous eyes, approached their table cautiously. "You're not from around here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Travelers seeking shelter," Yuan Zhen replied carefully.
The man glanced around, then leaned closer. "Then take my advice—leave. Tonight, if you can. This city is cursed."
"What do you mean?" Yue Lian asked.
"The administrator, Lord Chen, rules like a tyrant. The city guards are nothing but his personal thugs. They take what they want, hurt who they please. And the girls..." He shuddered. "Young women disappear into his compound and are never seen again."
Lin Qiao's grip tightened on her staff. "The people do nothing?"
"What can they do? Those who speak out vanish. The economy is dead—no merchant dares trade here, no craftsman can work in peace. We're all just waiting to die or escape."
Yuan Zhen felt the familiar cold rage building in his chest. This was exactly the corruption he had sworn to fight, the injustice that had driven him to become the White Demon.
"Where is this Lord Chen?" he asked.
The tavern keeper's eyes widened in fear. "You're not thinking—no, stranger, don't be a fool. He has dozens of guards, and they're all killers. The compound is a fortress."
Before Yuan Zhen could respond, commotion erupted outside. Shouts, the sound of running feet, and a woman's desperate screams pierced the night air.
They rushed to the window and saw a horrifying sight—city guards dragging a young woman through the streets while her family followed, pleading desperately. The girl couldn't have been more than sixteen, her face streaked with tears as she fought against her captors.
"Please!" an older woman cried, falling to her knees before the guards. "She's all I have left! Take me instead!"
The lead guard backhanded her casually, sending her sprawling. "Lord Chen wants fresh meat. Your daughter will serve him well."
Yuan Zhen's hand moved to his spear, but Lin Qiao grabbed his arm. "Wait," she hissed. "We need a plan, or we'll end up like them."
He watched the guards disappear around a corner, the girl's screams fading into the distance. The woman lay sobbing in the dirt while passersby hurried past, too afraid to help.
Yuan Zhen's eyes were cold as winter steel when he turned back to his companions. "Tomorrow, Ya'an gets a new ruler."
Yue Lian nodded, her own anger burning bright. "What's the plan?"
"We gather information tonight. Learn the compound's layout, the guard rotations, Lord Chen's habits. Then we strike fast and hard."
Lin Qiao smiled grimly. "The White Demon Sect's first liberation."
As they prepared to leave the inn, the tavern keeper caught Yuan Zhen's sleeve. "Who are you really?" he whispered.
Yuan Zhen's white hair caught the lamplight as he turned. "Someone who keeps his promises. Tell the people—tomorrow, they will be free."
The man's eyes widened as recognition dawned. "The White Demon," he breathed.
Yuan Zhen said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.
Outside, the city slept fitfully under the shadow of tyranny. But change was coming with the dawn, carried on southern winds and the promise of justice long denied.