A new robe hung on Fang Xi's door by dawn.
Not the gray-trimmed garb of Outer Trials.
This one was midnight green, embroidered at the sleeves with coiled silver serpents — the unofficial mark of the Ink Faction.
No message. No name. Just quiet acknowledgment.
So this is how they reward success. No applause. Just deeper shadows.
Fang Xi donned the robe and stepped into a different world.
The Inner Court
The sect's central complex was a layered city of stone towers, training arenas, medicinal gardens, and restricted libraries — all built into the terraced slopes of Ironwood Peak.
Inner Disciples moved in fluid formations — some walking in groups, others alone like tigers.
Some were geniuses. Others had backing from great clans.
And then there were the masks — disciples whose faces were known, but true allegiance and purpose were not.
Fang Xi quickly learned: words in the Inner Court were currency, and silence was armor.
The Social Web
There were four main factions:
The Venerable Path – composed of proud heirs from prestigious families. Arrogant, rule-abiding, but politically dominant.
The Wild Flame Pavilion – brutal combatants, obsessed with physical strength and martial supremacy.
The Ink Faction – Fang Xi's new allies. Assassins, informants, poisoners. They didn't dominate… but they survived.
The Silent Jade Sect – mysterious disciples who rarely spoke, but whose influence leaked through medicine, formations, and spirit beasts.
Each faction had Core Disciples embedded in it. Some had elders' backing. Some had rumors of something darker.
Fang Xi's first true test came not from an ambush… but from a banquet.
An invitation arrived mid-morning.
Invitation of Subtle Blades
"You are invited to the private viewing of Master Zhen's 'Chamber of Flaws.' Attendance is mandatory for those who would rise."
No sender. No seal. But everyone understood.
The Chamber was where Inner Disciples were observed — not in battle, but in conversation.
Lies were weighed. Truths sharpened.
Those who revealed too much… never rose again.
Let them come. I have walked darker courts than this.
That Evening
The banquet hall was carved into the mountain itself, its ceiling made of shimmering obsidian.
Fang Xi entered with calm precision. Dozens of disciples were already there — seated, laughing politely, eyes sharp as daggers.
At the head, Master Zhen sat on a raised dais — an old man with a jade pipe and a blindfold over both eyes.
"Fang Xi," he said without turning. "You've drawn quite a few whispers lately."
Fang Xi bowed. "Whispers are the wind, Master. I merely walk the path."
Polite laughter rippled through the room.
Zhen's lips curled. "And yet you walk faster than most."
He gestured. "Sit. Eat. Let's peel each other slowly."
Subtle War
The rest of the evening was a test of finesse.
Disciples asked veiled questions:
"You've risen fast, Fang Xi. Which family sponsors you?"
"I heard you survived the Fractured Dome. Alone, in the end?"
"Have you chosen your path? Alchemy, formations, sword?"
Fang Xi smiled faintly each time, answering with half-truths, jokes, and silence.
But he learned more than he gave.
The Venerable Path eyed him with disdain.
The Wild Flame barely noticed him — not yet.
The Silent Jade watched… silently.
The Ink Faction? One nod from across the room. No smile. Just recognition.
As the banquet drew to a close, Master Zhen puffed his pipe.
"Three lies, one truth. That's all I ask of everyone here."
He pointed the pipe at Fang Xi.
"You gave only two lies. The truth was buried deeper. That makes you dangerous."
Fang Xi bowed. "Better buried truths than sharpened masks, Master."
More laughter.
Master Zhen chuckled.
"Indeed."
Outside the banquet, the stars were cold.
Jiang Ping waited near the path, wide-eyed. "You survived?"
Fang Xi didn't answer.
Instead, he looked back at the glowing chamber door.
I'm inside the game now.
Now let's begin winning it.