Within the vastness of the Preliminary Path, time was a meaningless illusion.
The heavens shimmered with both sun and moon, as though eternity itself had fractured and poured into this world.
Across mountains that floated like drifting islands and valleys lit by spirit fire, cultivators fought, schemed, and died — all for Heaven's favor.
But beneath the grandeur, hidden in the shadow of an obsidian ravine, a far darker gathering stirred.
There was no wind here.
No beast dared to breathe.
Only the dull heartbeat of the earth itself throbbed faintly through the stone.
Deep within that canyon, a circle of crimson torches burned without flame. Each torch was fed by liquid essence — distilled from slain beasts and men.
The air itself smelled of iron and sorrow.
At the circle's heart, more than a dozen crimson-robed figures knelt in silence. Their hoods hid their faces; their qi was masked so completely that even the heavens above could not sense them.
Above them stood a man whose mere presence distorted the light — the Second Elder of the Crimson Sect.
He looked nothing like the mortals he ruled. His flesh shimmered faintly beneath the surface, as if his body was a shell containing something vaster, older, and infinitely patient.
A young disciple knelt before him, trembling. "E-Elder… we have confirmed the resonance, my lord. The Fragment has awakened — within the eastern valley."
The Elder said nothing.
His eyes, dark as still water, regarded the trembling man. Then, slowly, he raised one long, pale hand.
A crimson array flared beneath the kneeling disciple. Runes of blood unfolded like blooming lotus petals.
The man's scream echoed once — sharp, short — and then fell into silence.
His body collapsed into dust.
The others did not flinch. They merely bowed lower, pressing their foreheads against the cold stone.
The Elder's voice came at last — soft, patient, yet carrying a weight that silenced the canyon.
"Loose tongues summon Heaven's eyes. And Heaven, as you well know… does not forgive curiosity."
He turned, his crimson robe whispering against the stone.
In the faint torchlight, his shadow seemed to stretch longer than it should — moving even when he stood still.
A figure stepped forward from among the kneeling disciples — tall, sharp-eyed, with the bearing of a commander.
His scar, a clean cut across his brow, marked him as Ji Feng, one of the Crimson Sect's inner elites.
He clasped his fist respectfully.
"Elder, the resonance was faint but constant. If the bearer truly entered the domain, this is our one chance to recover the Fragment.
But there are thousands within the Selection. Even the Imperial Envoys monitor the paths. How can we act without drawing Heaven's wrath?"
The Elder's lips curved faintly.
"You will not need to find him," he said.
He opened his palm.
Floating above it was a crystal sphere, translucent as glass but pulsing like a heart. Within, faint ripples of red light flickered with every beat.
Each pulse sent a tremor through the ground, and the air thickened with killing intent.
"The Fragment leaves an echo," the Elder murmured. "A resonance that binds itself to Heaven's domain. Wherever it moves, this will answer."
Ji Feng's eyes narrowed in awe. "A tracking artifact, made from—"
He stopped, realizing too late that his words were dangerous.
The Elder's gaze slid toward him — calm, but absolute.
"Do not ask," he said. "What you cannot name cannot betray you."
Ji Feng lowered his head instantly. "I understand."
"Good."
The Elder's tone softened, almost indulgent. "When the pulse grows strong, move your division. Spread through the valley, seal the exits, and cleanse all witnesses.
But remember—"
He lifted a single finger. "Do not kill the bearer."
Ji Feng hesitated. "Not… kill?"
"The Fragment sleeps," the Elder said, his gaze unfocused, as if seeing through worlds. "Its shell must awaken. Only when the vessel stirs will the Gate open. His death before that will be meaningless."
The word hung in the air — Gate — heavy, forbidden.
Even the seasoned assassins of the Crimson Sect felt their hearts tighten at its utterance.
Ji Feng dared to whisper, "You mean… the—"
The Elder turned sharply.
In that instant, the entire canyon darkened. The torches bent away, as if bowing in fear.
"Silence," he said softly.
"Some names are not meant for human tongues."
The Elder walked to the edge of the canyon, gazing toward the east — where the resonance pulsed faintly through the air like the beat of a distant heart.
"It calls again," he murmured. "Even now… it remembers."
For a moment, his face flickered — just slightly.
And beneath the crimson hue of his eyes, a faint golden light glowed.
Not mortal gold, but divine.
An echo of something that had once stood among the stars.
The air around him warped, filled with whispers. Thousands of indistinct voices rose and fell in unison — as though countless souls murmured from within his shadow.
Ji Feng dared not look directly at him. His voice was barely audible.
"Elder… you are—"
The Elder raised his hand. The whispers vanished.
"Do not ask who I am," he said gently. "Just remember who you serve."
Hours later, the Crimson Sect forces moved.
Under Ji Feng's command, crimson-robed cultivators slipped through the domain's endless forests. They left no trace — their footsteps made no sound, their qi completely masked.
Each carried a fragment of bloodstone engraved with forbidden sigils. When crushed, it could tear the soul from a body within three breaths.
They had been trained since childhood for one purpose — erasure.
Ji Feng paused beneath a glowing spirit tree, holding the orb aloft.
It pulsed once.
Twice.
Then thrice, faster, brighter.
His lips curved. "East quadrant confirmed. The bearer is near."
He signaled silently.
The squad fanned out instantly — like wolves in mist.
The fog grew heavier. Even sound struggled to move.
Through that haze, their eyes glowed faintly red — one by one disappearing into the forest's shifting light.
Above them, the leaves whispered, carrying faint echoes of their chant:
"The Blood returns to its source."
The words were both prayer and curse.
Back within the canyon, the Second Elder remained alone.
He stood in silence, eyes closed, hands folded behind his back.
Beneath the ground, the air rippled — and something vast stirred.
From deep below, an unseen presence whispered, its voice echoing directly into his mind.
"The vessel moves."
"The seal weakens."
The Elder's lips curved. "Good. Let the Empire's puppets fight. Let their precious Selection burn itself hollow. When the bearer stands at Heaven's Gate…"
He opened his eyes.
They were no longer red.
They were pure gold, bright enough to blind.
"…I will return what was stolen."
The canyon trembled. The torches flared and died.
When silence returned, the Elder was gone.
Only his echo remained — a faint line of golden fire carved into the stone, forming a sigil so ancient that even Heaven itself had forgotten its meaning.
Meanwhile…
Far away, Lin Xuan stood at the edge of the mist valley.
The jade token at his wrist pulsed once more — faster now, as if warning him.
He lifted his head.
Somewhere behind the veil of mist, faint crimson light flickered between the trees.
He felt it in his bones — the approach of something patient and cruel.
Yu Ling glanced at him. "You sense it too?"
Lin Xuan's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
His hand tightened around the token.
"They've found us."
And from the distance came a whisper carried on the wind—
low, rhythmic, ancient:
"The Blood returns to its source…"