At the heart of Thousand Lotus Sect, the Grand Hall stood like a divine temple, its pillars carved with dragon sigils and its floor paved with spiritual jade. Incense coiled in the air, mixing with silence.
Sect Master Xuan Yuan sat on his golden throne, swirling tea in a porcelain cup shaped like a lotus.
His brows were furrowed.
A mirror hovered before him, its surface cracked—distorted by what it had just shown.
"Wu Zhen… defeated?" His voice was low, more curious than angry.
A robed elder knelt below, face pale. "Crushed with a single strike, my lord. His spirit sword shattered."
"By a janitor?"
The elder hesitated. "Not just any janitor. He… moved like a god."
Xuan Yuan took a sip. The tea rippled.
"I remember a man like that," he whispered. "Long ago. A devil in human skin, laughing atop a mountain of corpses."
"But that devil died!" another elder said from the shadows. "Twenty years ago—"
"Did he?" Xuan Yuan interrupted.
He stood and walked to the window. The outer courtyard was barely visible from here, but he stared toward it.
"Keep eyes on him. No engagement."
"But—"
"I said no engagement," Xuan Yuan snapped. "If we provoke him too early… this sect will fall before winter."
The tea cup in his hand cracked slightly.
None dared speak.
Behind the throne, a portrait hung—once believed sealed and burned.
It showed a man in gray robes, broom in hand, smirking like the world owed him fear.
And beneath it, four words were written in blood:
"Do not anger him."