The hall fell into stunned silence.
Even after the sound of the judgment bell faded, the air remained thick with tension.
Chen Wu—no, Mo Tianxie in the mind of the "trash disciple"—stood at the center. Calm. Collected. But the aura that radiated from him was impossible to ignore.
Some disciples bowed deeply, some trembled, and others simply froze in place, unable to look away.
Zhao Feng sat against the cold stone wall, his jaw throbbing, teeth still slightly chipped from the earlier clash. His eyes darted around the hall, searching for allies. None dared meet his gaze.
The humiliation hadn't faded; it had multiplied tenfold. Every witness now carried the memory of his failure. Every whisper from the crowd was another dagger.
And at the center of it all, Chen Wu smiled softly.
"Did anyone truly believe I would kneel before the Heaven's Oath?" His voice was calm, almost polite, but it cut through the hall like a blade.
Some elders shifted nervously. One cleared his throat, trying to reclaim authority. "Young Master Chen… discipline is meant to serve the sect… not your personal will…"
Chen Wu's eyes flicked toward him. Slowly. Coldly. He leaned slightly forward, as though considering whether to crush the man with a word.
"Discipline," he echoed, his tone razor-sharp. "Is meant to uphold righteousness, yes. But when righteousness is twisted… when judgment itself becomes the tool of fear… is it still discipline, or is it tyranny?"
A shiver ran through the hall.
Whispers rippled.
"Did he just—?"
"I… I think he's right."
"I… fear him."
Some of the younger disciples, previously cowed by Chen Wu's so-called mediocrity, began exchanging glances.
"He… he wasn't exaggerating."
"Who knew the so-called trash disciple could—"
"They're calling him… the Heaven-backed one?"
Chen Wu straightened. Every movement slow, deliberate. Every gaze measured.
Mo Tianxie's mind raced behind the borrowed face.
Watch, observe. Every reaction is a thread. Every fear is a tool. Every ally is a seed.
Outside the hall, Zhang Rulan pressed herself against a stone pillar. Her eyes were wide, her chest heaving.
She had seen it all—the fist that shattered Zhao Feng, the calm dominance, the way he had twisted the judgment itself.
A soft whisper escaped her lips, barely audible to the disciple next to her.
"Chen Wu… or… perhaps… Mo Tianxie… he's not just powerful. He's… terrifying."
The disciple froze, then nodded, eyes wide. "You saw that? Everyone will hear. Everyone must hear."
Zhang Rulan smiled faintly, knowing the fire had begun.
Inside the hall, Chen Wu observed his audience carefully.
Some were awestruck. Some trembled with fear. Some began whispering about loyalty, opportunity, and survival.
He noted them all. Every face told a story. Every reaction was a clue.
Zhao Feng… a weak, easily broken pawn. Useful for display. Minor threats will fold first. The elders… proud, arrogant… they may resist, but their fear is a weapon.
From the corners of the hall, a few younger disciples dared step closer.
One, a slender youth with sharp eyes, bowed cautiously. "Young Master Chen… forgive me… may I… serve you?"
Chen Wu's lips curved. A small, almost imperceptible smile.
"Serve… yes," he murmured. "But remember—service is not loyalty. Loyalty is tested in fire."
The youth nodded, eyes wide, understanding the subtle warning.
Others began quietly observing, weighing their own positions.
Meanwhile, whispers spread outside the hall.
By the time the gates closed, half the sect already knew: Chen Wu had survived the Heaven's Oath. He had twisted judgment itself. He had humiliated Zhao Feng publicly.
Every rumor carried an edge, a hint of awe and terror.
By nightfall, the name "Mo Tianxie" had begun circulating—though most only whispered it as a legend, unsure if it was true.
Zhang Rulan watched the reactions with fascination.
She noticed a few things:
Zhao Feng would never recover.
Some minor disciples were calculating their next move, clearly considering alliances.
Elders were uneasy, sharing worried glances.
She made a mental note of every detail.
This will not be forgotten. The seeds of fear have been sown. The wildfire has begun.
Chen Wu left the hall at last, walking slowly, deliberately.
He did not rush. He did not shout. But the ground seemed colder where his shadow fell, and those who dared glance his way could feel the invisible pressure of centuries of power compressed into this body.
In the moonlit courtyard, a few minor allies revealed themselves.
A pair of younger disciples, previously marginalized, approached with cautious respect.
"Young Master Chen… if you permit, we… we wish to serve," one whispered, voice quivering.
Chen Wu paused. He studied them for a long moment.
"Serve wisely," he said. "Not everyone who bows is loyal. Some may only wish to survive. I do not reward survival alone."
The disciples nodded quickly, understanding that survival without usefulness was meaningless.
Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows outside the sect grounds, other eyes watched.
A messenger from a rival sect crouched behind a tree, taking note.
"He… he has survived the Heaven's Oath. And not just survived… he has dominated it."
A low chuckle escaped his lips.
"This… this changes everything. Prepare the council. Prepare the… interventions."
Back in the courtyard, Zhao Feng slunk to a corner, seething.
He had survived humiliation in the hall, but outside, the whispers were worse.
"They'll never forget this," he muttered, trembling with a mixture of fear and shame.
A subtle thought formed in his mind: How did he… do it? How is he so… unstoppable?
But there was no answer. Only dread.
Chen Wu's eyes scanned the courtyard, noting every reaction.
Allies. Threats. Opportunists. Hidden enemies. I know you all. Your fears. Your desires. Your weaknesses.
He let the thought hang in the air, knowing some would feel it, some would only sense it subconsciously.
Fear was a tool. Power was a promise. And the sect—every sect—would bend or break.
Zhang Rulan lingered nearby, speaking quietly to a companion.
"Do you understand now? He isn't Chen Wu anymore. He… he is someone else. Something else."
The companion shivered, unable to meet her gaze.
"Yes… I… I think… we will all remember this day forever."
The night deepened.
The sect gates creaked as guards whispered rumors to one another.
Disciples crowded together, recounting what they had witnessed, exaggerating where necessary.
By midnight, even distant courtyards were alive with chatter:
"Did you see how he handled Zhao Feng?"
"The Heaven's Oath itself could not harm him!"
"He… he is no longer the trash disciple. He's… he's something else."
Every retelling added weight, adding both fear and fascination.
Chen Wu withdrew to a quiet pavilion, overlooking the moonlit training grounds.
He leaned on the railing, letting his eyes sweep the courtyard below.
Mo Tianxie's mind cataloged it all. Every reaction. Every whisper. Every fear.
Zhao Feng broken. Elders uncertain. Young disciples curious. Rivals aware. Rumors spreading like wildfire. Perfect.
He smiled faintly, the moonlight catching the sharp edges of his jawline.
The first move is complete. The first wave of chaos… begun. And this is only the beginning.
A faint rustle from the shadows caught his attention.
A lone figure lingered, cloaked, face hidden in darkness.
Their eyes, cold and calculating, followed him.
Mo Tianxie's gaze sharpened.
Ah. So someone has taken note. Good. Very good.
The figure slipped silently into the night, leaving only the echo of danger behind.
Chen Wu turned back toward the hall.
The sect was alive, buzzing with chaos.
And he was at the center.
Let them whisper. Let them plot.
Every fear, every hope, every hidden desire… will serve me. Every thread of their lives will weave into my ascension.
The wind whispered through the courtyard, carrying his promise into the night.
"I am no longer Chen Wu," he murmured, voice low but deadly.
"I am Mo Tianxie. And the world… will remember my name."
The night was far from over.
The wildfire had begun.
And the aftershocks of the Heaven's Oath would ripple further than anyone—ally, enemy, or bystander—could imagine.
The game had changed.
And Chen Wu—Mo Tianxie—was already ten moves ahead.