The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of dew, roasting meats from the market below, and the drifting smell of old incense burned at some shrine far away. The wooden courtyard of the Outer Sect training platform creaked softly under the weight of four restless figures. The rising sun bathed the city beneath the sacred mountain in gold, rooftops glimmering as if mocking the struggles of the countless people running about their lives below.
Lu Mao stretched lazily, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated care, his black eyes half-lidded as though nothing in the world could possibly press on him. He liked mornings, not because they made him feel refreshed—he had grown up in alleys where every dawn was survival, not leisure—but because the light made shadows sharper. Every gleam of gold meant a deeper corner of shadow to slip into. His lips curved upward into the smirk that seemed etched permanently into his face. For the first time in his life, he felt a strange sense of belonging. Not safety, never safety. But belonging—to a place chaotic, dangerous, and infinitely entertaining.
Beside him, Yan Mei stood stiff and straight, her dark hair pulled tightly into a neat knot. She adjusted her robes with a precision that mirrored her personality: exact, sharp, unyielding. Her eyes darted once to Lu Mao, and she gave a slight scoff. "Don't get too comfortable, street rat," she said coldly, her voice like a blade sliding from a sheath. "This is training, not play. If you can't keep up, I won't carry your weight."
Lu Mao balanced lightly on the railing, tiptoeing along it with the ease of a street performer. He stretched out his arms like wings, making a mock bow toward her. "Oh, I'll keep up. But what's the point of surviving if you don't do it in style?" He twirled once, hands spread wide. "Style is half the battle. You should try it sometime."
Chen Yuan, the tallest but most serious of the four, groaned and brushed the dust from his already-clean sleeves. "You're both impossible. We're going to get in trouble before training even starts. Can't you be serious for at least two seconds?" His expression was that of someone who carried the weight of responsibility even though no one had asked him to.
Bao Fu, sprawled in the corner of the platform, rolled onto his back dramatically. "Two seconds? That's longer than my attention span. Honestly, who designed this torture? I feel like I'm about to be executed by boredom before the real training even begins."
"Li Xian," Yan Mei said flatly, her tone darkening. "She designed it. And she doesn't tolerate fools. Or cowards."
At the mention of Li Xian, Lu Mao's grin widened, though his gaze sharpened just slightly. He had watched her in action the day before—her movements as fluid as mist, her mind sharp enough to cut through any scheme, her ability to command the city as if every stone and shadow belonged to her. And, of course, her dangerous kind of beauty was impossible to ignore. That cold curve of her lips, the glint in her eyes when she measured someone's worth or foolishness—it made him feel alive. Alive, and curious.
As if summoned by thought, Li Xian appeared atop the platform without a sound. One heartbeat the space was empty, the next her slender figure stood outlined by the morning sun, her robes stirring faintly in the breeze. Her presence was not loud, not heavy, but it pressed upon them all the same—sharp, cold, demanding respect without a single word.
"Gather," she said. Her voice was soft, but layered with steel, each syllable precise, every sound leaving no room for hesitation. "Today you will learn what it means to be a proper disciple of the Outer Sect."
The four boys scrambled upright. Chen Yuan stiffened into the posture of a soldier. Bao Fu made a half-hearted attempt at standing straight, his stomach already growling. Yan Mei folded her arms, chin raised in determination. And Lu Mao… leaned lazily against the railing, gazing at her with mock solemnity. "Yes, Senior Sister," he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, as though she had asked him to recite an oath.
Her eyes flicked toward him, cool and assessing. "Try not to die today, street rat. That is step one."
Lu Mao's grin widened.
Training began with stealth. Li Xian moved with deliberate grace, gliding between the wooden posts of the courtyard, her body seeming to blur at the edges as if the shadows themselves concealed her steps. One blink and she was behind a column; the next, she was standing directly in front of them without a sound.
"Shadow walking is not speed," she explained. "It is not brute force. It is perception, patience, and control. You move as though the world itself does not notice you. You slip through its gaze. The key is not in your steps but in how you bend the notice of others away from you. Learn this, and you can take anything you want before they even realize it's gone."
Lu Mao's heart beat faster. This was not new to him. He had done this since he was a child, moving through alleys, slipping behind angry vendors or furious debt collectors. But to see it done with such mastery… it was exhilarating. "Finally," he whispered to himself. "Something fun."
Yan Mei shot him a look sharp enough to pierce armor. "Fun? This is dangerous. Pay attention."
Li Xian ignored their muttering. "Pair up. One distracts, one moves. Subtlety first. Brains before hands. Now—begin."
Lu Mao smirked and turned to Yan Mei. "You distract, I move," he whispered. Then, leaning in closer, "Or better yet, we both move. Confuse them. Style points."
Yan Mei rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched in spite of herself. She would never admit it, but his reckless confidence was infectious. Together, they slipped into the courtyard. Yan Mei drew the attention of a senior disciple with a feigned stumble, her robe sleeve catching on a post, while Lu Mao slid behind him, fingers light as air as he plucked the coin pouch from his belt. By the time the man turned, both were gone, shadows among shadows.
Chen Yuan and Bao Fu's attempt was… less graceful. Chen Yuan moved carefully, almost too carefully, his eyes scanning every angle. Bao Fu, meanwhile, attempted to sneak with all the subtlety of a drunken ox. He tripped over his own feet, yelped, and collided into Chen Yuan, sending both tumbling. Yet somehow, in his chaotic flailing, Bao Fu's large hand closed over the pouch they were meant to steal, ripping it free by pure accident.
The instructor blinked in disbelief. Then, red-faced, he waved his staff and sent Bao Fu skidding across the floor. "You call that subtlety?"
Bao Fu groaned from the ground. "Subtle, chaotic, stylish! Don't underestimate chaos!"
Even Li Xian's lips twitched faintly before she hid the smirk.
The morning continued with drills—sliding through shadows, misdirecting with feints, and teaching their bodies to obey the rhythm of silence. By the end, even Chen Yuan's careful posture had loosened, Bao Fu's clumsiness had lessened, and Yan Mei's movements sharpened to something dangerously precise.
For Lu Mao, it was like slipping into clothes he had always worn but never realized fit so perfectly. Every step, every trick of light and angle of movement seemed natural. The God Devouring Vein within him pulsed faintly, as if feeding on the shadows, guiding his instincts. He did not question it. He simply enjoyed it.
By midday, Li Xian handed each of them small bronze locks. "Open them. Do not break them. Do not force them. Listen. A lock is a whisper of secrets. If you have the patience, it will speak to you."
Lu Mao tilted his head, fingers toying with the lock. He closed his eyes, letting his thumb and forefinger turn delicately. The faintest clicks answered him, a rhythm like a heartbeat. He focused, and the warmth of his Vein stirred—small sparks running up his arm, lending sensitivity to his touch. One by one, he coaxed the tumblers into place until the final pin fell with a clean click.
His eyes opened to see Li Xian watching him.
"Not bad," she said, her voice calm but tinged with something softer, almost approval. "Sharper than I expected."
Lu Mao gave a deep bow, exaggerated and theatrical. "I live to impress, Senior Sister. I have a whole routine prepared if you'd like to see my coin-pouch tricks."
Yan Mei sighed. "Impressive show-off."
Lunch came as another trial. The Outer Sect's kitchen was guarded not by instructors, but by a cook—a retired mercenary with arms like tree trunks and a temper that could boil water. Their task was simple: steal food without getting caught.
Lu Mao's phantom doubles flitted across the kitchen, drawing the cook's attention one way, then another, while his true body slipped between shadows. Bao Fu, already drooling, stumbled after him, nearly knocking a tray of bowls. Chen Yuan scowled, dragging him back by the sleeve, while Yan Mei used her agility to snatch a stack of steamed buns in a heartbeat.
The cook roared, swinging his ladle like a war club, only to crash into air as Lu Mao's illusions laughed silently and vanished. By the end, the four apprentices huddled in a corner, biting into hot buns, laughter stifled behind their sleeves as the cook cursed loudly at shadows that no longer existed.
"Lesson one," Lu Mao declared between mouthfuls, "brains over brawn. Lesson two—phantom doubles are underrated."
Yan Mei glared, but she didn't stop eating.
The afternoon brought sparring. Each apprentice was paired with older Outer Sect disciples. Lu Mao faced a man named Fei Long, whose eyes gleamed with arrogance and pride.
"You've got speed," Fei Long said as they circled. "But speed is useless without foresight. You'll run headfirst into your own death."
Lu Mao smirked. "And you're too slow to catch me. Let's see who's right."
The clash was swift, Lu Mao darting like a cat, illusions scattering to confuse Fei Long. The older disciple's blade swept dangerously close, but Lu Mao countered with a smoke pellet, vanishing into haze. When the smoke cleared, Fei Long's sleeve bore a neat slash, though Lu Mao had no blade. He only grinned.
Li Xian's eyes narrowed slightly, observing. "Clever. Reckless, but clever. That will get you far… if it doesn't kill you first."
As the sun lowered, they ended the day with meditation. The four apprentices sat cross-legged, breathing deeply, sinking into their inner worlds.
Within Lu Mao, the God Devouring Vein pulsed, glowing faintly black-gold. Around it, five shadowed doors floated, sealed, silent, their edges shimmering with potential. Concentric vaults stretched beyond them, endless spirals waiting to be filled. He reached for one door, and for the briefest moment, it quivered—a whisper of response, a hint of power. A door of minor enlightenment, still locked, but stirring. He shivered, not from fear, but from the intoxicating promise of what lay beyond.
Night came quietly. The four apprentices gathered atop the training platform, watching the black market city below. Fires glimmered, merchants shouted even in darkness, thieves prowled boldly through alleys.
Bao Fu flopped onto his back with a groan. "I'm exhausted. My legs feel like noodles."
Chen Yuan smiled faintly. "We survived. That's more than most can say after their first day."
Yan Mei sat cross-legged, gaze sharp as always. "We didn't survive because of luck. Don't get complacent. One mistake, and we're corpses."
Lu Mao leaned back, hands behind his head, smirking at the night sky. "Luck? Please. That was all skill. And style. Tomorrow, we'll do better."
Yan Mei turned toward him, eyes flashing. "Better? You think this is a game?"
"Everything is a game," Lu Mao murmured, lips curved. "And I always play to win."
High above them, unseen, Li Xian watched from the shadows, her arms folded. The faintest smile touched her lips. That street rat… he had promise. Dangerous promise.
And so, in the quiet hum of the Outer Sect, beneath the mountain's gaze and the city's restless heartbeat, Lu Mao drifted toward sleep, his dreams alight with shadows, laughter, and the intoxicating taste of stolen gold.
It was only the beginning.