"L… Li… Li…"
The word refused to leave his mouth. Shock strangled it before it could form. What business did a woman of her status have in a mass burial site meant for nameless soldiers and discarded slaves?
His knees buckled. He dropped hard onto them and threw himself forward, pressing his forehead into the dirt in an exaggerated bow. Yet his display did not earn even the faintest glance from Lady Lian.
Her gaze was fixed entirely on the strange, beautiful young man seated before her.
When the housemaids spoke of him, two things always surfaced in their whispers.
He is mad.
And it is a waste, because he is frighteningly beautiful for a man.
After hearing it repeated too many times, curiosity overcame restraint. She had a guard investigate his routine and was startled to learn he spent his nights at the burial grounds.
After some reluctant consideration, she decided to see for herself.
"The rumors of your beauty were not exaggerated," Lady Lian said, her voice smooth as silk as she looked down at the boy sitting in the dirt dressed in rags.
Even caked in grime, the beauty was undeniable. But it was not merely his features. His eyes held a composed assurance, the kind that made a slave remain steady beneath his master's gaze when he should be trembling.
Most of all, there was depth.
His calm stare lingered on her as though he were studying something precious, something long awaited. It was the kind of look reserved for someone deeply invested. The kind she once exchanged with heroic men in the brightest days of her youth.
"I am also beginning to doubt your insanity," she added.
"Well, I am not insane, my lady. As you just witnessed, I was cultivating."
Si inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, yet remained seated.
That alone infuriated the guard.
"You filthy, lowborn, corpse-washing grave rat—how dare you address my lady without permission?!"
Yan Cheng had already drawn his saber. The blade rose, ready to fall.
Lady Lian lifted her hand and He froze.
"Dark cultivator?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her raised hand lingered in the air like a judge's decree. The moment it dropped, he would die.
Si was unmoved. He knew it would never fall. And even if it did, it would not be he who would die tonight.
"Yes."
He nodded casually, gaze steady and unflinching.
The firmness in his eyes sent faint ripples through Lady Lian's heart. A subtle flush crept onto her cheeks before she could suppress it.
Who was this person?
How could someone with a temperament superior to most nobles be a slave?
Surely there had been a mistake.
As for his path, dark cultivators were frowned upon, but they were not criminals. Several even held high offices within the kingdom. As long as one obeyed the law and defended the realm, they were tolerated—even respected.
Demonic cultivators were another matter. They surrendered fully to the darkness of their legacy and committed atrocities to hasten their progress.
She had no reason to kill this beautiful young man.
His friend, however, was another story.
"Kill him instead," she said coldly. "I cannot have anyone knowing of my late-night… activities. If my husband finds cause to divorce me, one of his many harlots will happily take my place."
Resentment edged her tone but Si knew that bitterness was not directed at him.
Bao's body jolted. His head snapped up just in time to see a silver arc tearing toward him.
"Kill who?"
Si's voice rang out like a struck bell.
Bam!
Silence followed.
Even Lady Lian's brows lifted as she watched Yan Cheng's saber halted by a bare hand. Si remained seated. His arm extended protectively before Bao, the blade embedded deep in his palm—so deep it had reached bone.
Yet it could go no further.
Blood streamed down his hand, dripping from his fingers, but his expression did not change. His gaze never once left Lady Lian.
"If your guard continues attempting to kill my brother, I may have to kill him tonight. Please order him to withdraw."
His words hovered between request and command, indistinguishable in tone. Lady Lian felt further ensnared and Yan Cheng, however, turned livid. Not only had this man drawn his lady out into the freezing night, risking scandal—he was now humiliating him before her very eyes.
No.
Even if Bao lived, Si had to die.
For a fleeting moment, a sinister smile twitched at Yan Cheng's lips before urgency masked it. He stepped swiftly between Si and Lady Lian.
"Careful, my lady! This boy is dangerous!"
Without hesitation, he unleashed his Flowing Petal Saber.
For an instant, time seemed to slow.
His blade blurred. His hands moved with dazzling speed. The slashes overlapped one another like petals carried by a spring wind, graceful and relentless.
"Die for me!"
Si answered with a faint, unimpressed snort.
This child dared challenge him with a human-grade martial technique?
He was courting death!
The Flowing Petal Saber was elegant. Fluid. Built on speed and visual pressure. Its strength lay in continuous shallow cuts that layered upon one another, overwhelming lesser foes through spectacle rather than substance.
But it lacked penetration.
Against most opponents, that weakness would go unnoticed. Against him, it was fatal.
Yan Cheng's eyes gleamed viciously as his saber tore across Si's body. Bloody mist sprayed into the air as shallow wounds opened across his skin. Yet Si did not retreat. He did not even flinch.
Harrumph.
The storm of steel ended abruptly.
An ordinary-looking fist forced its way through the cascading slashes and struck Yan Cheng square in the chest.
Bang!
He was lifted from the ground by the impact. The punch was not heavy enough to send him flying far—only a chi upward and a few steps back.
But the damage was not surface deep. On his fourth staggered step, his legs gave way. He crashed to his knees, clutching his chest.
"Blegh!"
Blood spilled from his mouth.
His eyes burned with disbelief as he stared at the crimson staining the ground.
He had been winning.
He had done everything right.
So when had it turned?
How?
Suddenly a shadow fell over him and he looked up.
Si stood above him, rags shredded, body lined with cuts, blood soaking through cloth and skin alike. Yet he remained upright, composed, wearing that same unchanging expression.
'Who the hell is this kid?!'
His heart trembled.