Crimson Parasitic Bloom.
The name wasn't just poetic.
It was a warning.
Li Wei mentally reviewed the fragments of the technique, one after another, like pieces of a dangerous mechanism he still didn't know how to activate.
The technique began with a seed. A condensation of extremely dense Yang Qi, formed in the lower Dantian region through a burning breath, charged with intent and desire. This seed, nourished with Yin Qi—the essential feminine energy—germinated into a spiritual flower, invisible to the physical eye, but real in the energetic plane.
Once awakened, the Crimson Bloom extended subtle roots through the meridians. It didn't just absorb energy: it refined. Transformed. Turned desire into power. With each phase, the body grew stronger, and the Qi became more vibrant, sharper, more addictive.
Li Wei studied the mental symbols and breathing routes with seriousness. He knew he couldn't execute the technique without preparation. His Qi was still unformed, without a stable foundation, but with what he now had... he could begin forming the seed.
He was about to start the first visualization when—knock knock —the door sounded again.
Li Wei raised his head, eyes cold as blades.
"What do you want now, pup?!" he growled, without moving from the bed.
On the other side, Chen Yong's voice responded awkwardly:
"My father... my father wants to see you. We're going to the club."
Silence.
Li Wei clenched his jaw. Closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and exhaled hard.
It wasn't fear he felt. It was frustration. Every time he got close to something real, to knowledge, to progress... the reminder of the life he couldn't yet leave behind returned. The old man, his son, the club, the orders.
But not for much longer.
Not anymore.
With a raspy voice, he answered:
"Give me five minutes. I don't want to arrive smelling of dried blood."
Steam filled the bathroom as hot water ran down his scarred back. Li Wei wasn't seeking pleasure, but cleansing. Yet, as he passed his hand across his torso, he paused.
His body had minor injuries: superficial cuts, forming bruises, a stabbing sensation he remembered in his ribs. Nothing serious, but not unscathed.
Still, when he looked at himself in the fogged mirror, something inside clicked.
The memories returned strongly: the burning aura that had surrounded him during the void, the abnormal resilience he showed even without cultivation, the accelerated healing since childhood, the strange tremors of internal heat he had at night without fever.
Since he was young, he had always had more vitality than others. He healed quickly. Rarely got sick. His energy was intense, inexhaustible. And now he understood why.
The knowledge he had absorbed confirmed it.
He had a special physique. A rare one. A feared one.
A Six Yang Body.
He didn't know how, or why. But that was the reason he had survived so much, why Yang Qi flowed so naturally through him.
He left the bathroom with a hardened face and relaxed muscles. Dressed in his usual tight black clothes, he bandaged his shoulder out of habit—even though it no longer hurt—and opened the door with steady steps.
Chen Yong waited at the end of the hallway, nervous, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive jacket.
"Ready?"
"I'm always ready," said Li Wei, without looking at him.
And together, without another word, they descended into the nightlife where masks and secrets were common currency.
The Lotus Nightclub opened its doors like a beast tamed by lights. Background music, expensive perfumes, and the constant murmur of desires disguised as laughter filled the air. But Li Wei paid no attention to any of it.
He entered with a firm stride, flanking the young master, without glancing at the clients, without looking at the made-up faces. He had only one destination: the private office at the top, behind the VIP lounge.
Chen Yong walked beside him like a child who knew he was about to be scolded.
When they reached the office threshold, an assistant lowered his gaze and opened the door without a word. Inside, Chen Zhenyu awaited.
He was lounging in his dark leather chair, glass in hand, immaculate suit and slicked-back hair. Around him, three women laughed exaggeratedly: one on the armrest, another seated cross-legged on the carpet, the third massaging his shoulder like a rehearsed routine.
Zhenyu didn't even look at his son.
His eyes locked directly on Li Wei.
"What happened at the auction?"
Li Wei didn't respond immediately. Closed the door behind him, stepped forward, and crossed his arms.
"Three cultivators. Well organized. They wanted the book."
Zhenyu took a sip, unmoved.
"And you lost it?"
"Chen Yong had it."
The old man slowly turned his head toward his son. The women withdrew subtly, knowing what was coming. Silence tightened like a steel wire.
"Why did you go to that auction, Chen Yong?"
The young master swallowed hard.
"I... it was a cultural event. I went out of courtesy. For..."
"For her?" Zhenyu interrupted, raising his voice for the first time.
Chen Yong paled.
Zhenyu stood. Walked slowly toward his son, without raising his voice, but with each word sharper.
"You made me waste half a million yuan on garbage because you wanted to impress a girl?"
"It's not just that!" Chen Yong snapped, trying to defend himself. "You don't understand! She's different. She has class, intelligence. She's not like the others..."
"And you think someone like her would notice a brat like you?" his father spat with disdain.
Chen Yong lowered his gaze. Murmured like someone already defeated:
"I know... I say it to forget her."
Zhenyu snapped his fingers. One of his assistants entered with a folder. Without words, the man extracted a sheet: a printed photograph.
"Forget her?" he repeated, approaching slowly. "Are you sure?"
He extended the image to his son.
The photograph was clear. Bai Xue, dressed in her usual elegance, walking arm-in-arm with another young man. They weren't kissing. They weren't touching beyond the gesture... but their body language was evident. Warm. Close.
Chen Yong remained silent. His face showed no tears, no rage. Just disbelief.
"See now?" his father said. "That girl is not for you. She never was."
Chen Yong clutched the photo with both hands. His eyes fixed on the image, as if he could erase what the soul already knew.
A tremor ran through his shoulders. Then his arms. And finally, he exploded.
"Lies!" he shouted. "That proves nothing! That photo means nothing!"
Zhenyu watched him in silence, glass in hand.
"She rejected me a hundred times..." the young master continued, now out of control. "Always with elegance, with that fake coldness... but now I get it! She always despised me! Always saw me as trash!"
His hands trembled. He tore the photo without thinking, the pieces fluttering to the floor like ashes.
"That damn woman!" he roared, eyes red. "I'll destroy her! She'll know who I am! She'll regret ever looking down on me!"
Zhenyu stepped toward him, a mocking smile on his lips.
"Ah, now you speak like a Chen."
Chen Yong stared at him, not understanding.
"You think love is something bought with money and tears?" Zhenyu continued, voice taunting. "You're as ridiculous as your mother."
The young master stepped back, hurt by the comparison.
Zhenyu snapped his fingers.
"Get out of my sight."
"What?"
"I said get out. Come back when your tantrum passes. Or don't come back, I don't care."
Chen Yong, speechless, turned on his heels and stormed out, slamming the door.
Li Wei didn't follow. He remained where he was, arms crossed, watching the door close behind the boy.
Zhenyu drank the last sip of his glass.