Chapter 6
The forest didn't sing.
It creaked.
Branches above Shen Rui swayed without rhythm, like they were holding their breath. The dirt beneath his boots was wet, not from rain—but from ash that hadn't finished settling.
They were far from Wutai now.
Far from the ruins.
But the smoke still lingered in his mind.
"Stop dragging your feet," Yan Zhi said, not slowing.
"I'm not."
"You're limping."
"It's called walking while not dead," Rui muttered.
She looked back, unimpressed. "You'll die faster if you keep grumbling. There's a reason warriors don't sulk."
He shot her a sideways glance. "I didn't know you were taking disciples now."
"I'm not." She turned forward. "Just tired of watching you self-destruct with your mouth."
They'd been walking since dawn.
No horses.
No map.
Only a half-burned sketch of the route etched into Rui's memory from a scroll he'd once seen as a boy. That was the thing about being betrayed by the people who trained you—they didn't just try to kill you, they took all the knowledge with them when they left you to rot.
Yan Zhi handed him a waterskin. "Drink. We're half a day from the Iron Vale Ridge. If the map's right, that's where the shrine starts."
Rui wiped his mouth. "And if it's wrong?"
She shrugged. "Then we're lost, hunted, and probably going to freeze to death."
"Great. Sounds familiar."
They passed into a grove by midday.
No sound.
No animals.
No birds.
Just a low hum that grew louder the deeper they went.
"Feel that?" Rui said, slowing.
Yan Zhi nodded. "Spiritual pressure. Something's here."
They both drew weapons.
A few minutes later, they found the source: bodies.
Dozens.
Slumped over in armor, some burned, others cut with surgical precision. An entire traveling company of cultivators lay scattered like discarded dolls.
Yan Zhi crouched beside one of the corpses. "Black crescent tattoos. Mercenaries. Probably escorting something—or someone."
"Then who did this?"
Before she could answer, one of the corpses moved.
Not twitched.
Moved.
Its fingers curled.
Rui stepped back.
The man coughed and grabbed Yan Zhi's wrist.
"Don't," he rasped. "Don't go forward."
She stilled. "Why?"
"The shrine—it's not sealed anymore," he whispered. "It's awake."
Then he died.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
"Should we turn back?" Rui finally asked.
Yan Zhi wiped blood from her blade. "You still want to run?"
"No. I just want to know if we're walking into a fire again."
"We always are," she said. "But the only way out of a blaze is through."
She started walking.
He followed.
The Iron Vale Ridge loomed before them like a sleeping beast—stone cliffs stretching skyward, jagged and hostile. No proper path, just ledges carved by wind and time.
They climbed in silence.
Not because they were tired—but because fear didn't need conversation.
At the top, the air changed.
Rui felt it before he saw it.
That pressure again—thick, ancient, like something buried beneath his lungs.
The Shrine of Xunlan stood before them. Or what was left of it.
Columns broken. Steps cracked. Statues toppled like they'd been punched by gods.
Yet something still burned at the center of it—a blue flame hovering above a small altar.
"That's it," Rui said under his breath.
Yan Zhi nodded. "It's calling to you."
"I don't like how that sounds."
She stepped back. "It doesn't care."
Rui approached the altar.
Each step felt like gravity itself was resisting him.
Then—
"You don't belong here."
The voice came from the shadows beneath the ruins.
Rui turned fast, dagger raised.
From behind a collapsed pillar emerged a woman in white.
Tall. Elegant. And holding a spear tipped with obsidian.
Her eyes shimmered red.
"Another heir," Rui whispered.
She smiled. "The second, actually. You're the last."
She lunged.
Fast.
He barely raised his weapon before the spear slammed into his side. Pain bloomed instantly. She was stronger—far stronger than the others he'd fought.
He tried to parry her next strike.
She ducked under and swept his legs, knocking him flat.
"You're unworthy," she said, standing over him. "You unlocked the pulse by mistake. I was chosen at birth."
Rui coughed blood. "You're the one burning cities?"
"No. I'm the one who's going to finish what the Dragon Lord started."
She raised her spear—
—and caught a dagger to the neck.
Yan Zhi stood behind her, blade buried deep.
The woman snarled and spun around, swatting Yan Zhi into a column.
Not dead.
But down.
"Should've aimed lower," the woman hissed, pulling the blade free like it was a thorn.
Rui forced himself to his feet.
"This shrine's not yours," he growled. "And neither is the pulse."
She smiled again.
"Then come take it."
Rui charged.
This time, he didn't reach for the flame. He didn't try to ignite the pulse.
He fought the way he used to—before power. Before betrayal.
Fast. Dirty. Focused.
He faked left, rolled under her swing, and slammed his elbow into her back.
She stumbled.
He kicked her knee out.
She screamed, twisted around—and stabbed.
The spear grazed his ribs.
He ignored the pain.
Grappled her.
Slammed her head against the pillar.
Once.
Twice.
She fell—groaning.
The shrine flame pulsed, as if responding to his rage.
But Rui didn't move toward it yet.
He turned to Yan Zhi. "You okay?"
She nodded, wincing. "More or less."
He looked back at the fallen heir.
But she was already gone.
Vanished into thin air.
The flame on the altar flared higher.
And a voice echoed from it:
"You've survived the Second. But now the others know. And they are not so kind."
As Rui stepped closer to the shrine, he asked himself—not aloud, but deep in the pit of his gut:
What if unlocking this scroll doesn't make me stronger… but makes me exactly like them?