Three weeks of strategic humility, quiet brilliance, and perfectly calibrated effort had earned Long Wuqing exactly what he intended: Wang Shen's trust.
And tonight, trust bore fruit.
Under a moonless sky and the smothering weight of silence, Wang led him down a narrow mountain trail beyond the Azure Sect's perimeter formations. Spirit lanterns faded behind them. Mist thickened.
In the hollow of an ancient grove, seven figures waited.
Loose formation. Unmarked robes. Suppressed auras. Dangerous. Wuqing recognized two from shared drills and cafeteria benches — the others were strangers. That, in itself, spoke volumes.
The Night Fangs operated in compartments — isolated cells, plausible deniability, rot disguised as order.
This isn't a circle of brothers. It's a distributed weapon. One edge at a time.
"Brothers," Wang said, voice sharp and formal, "I present Long Wuqing of Stonehaven for evaluation."
From the shadows, a woman stepped forward.
She was lean, her features hard-cut from discipline, not vanity. A network of thin scars marked her forearms — not trophies, but evidence. Her cultivation whispered mid Foundation Establishment, but her stillness radiated battlefield weight.
Mei Lin.
Publicly, a rising inner disciple.
Privately, the Night Fangs' steel — and likely, their strategist.
Her reputation is curated. Her record, redacted. Ideal.
"Village boy," she said flatly, "Wang says you have teeth. Tonight, we'll see if you bite."
She snapped her fingers.
Two disciples dragged forward a bound man — Elder Qin of the Flowing River Sect. Robes tattered. Eyes wild. Mouth gagged. Spirit-restraining chains carved his wrists raw.
Mid Foundation Establishment. Water-path core. Defensive instincts eroded by trauma. Aged spirit sea. Good density.
"His sect's been skimming from a mine we extorted last winter," Mei Lin said casually. "They think Golden Lotus protects them."
She drew a blade — curved, matte black, its edge laced with corrosion seals — and handed it to Wuqing.
"Kill him. Clean. No theatrics. No hesitation. Fail… and we leave two corpses tonight."
Wuqing accepted the blade without blinking. The leather-wrapped hilt sat comfortably in his palm.
Weight: optimized for short-range penetrations. No rebound. Blade energy dissipates within tissue. Good forgework.
Elder Qin: sixty-plus years of cultivation, rare water-path soul techniques, and trauma-compromised will.
Resource value: high. Risk: zero.
"Senior Sister Mei," Wuqing said calmly, "shall I extract intelligence first? It would be inefficient to discard a known source without sifting."
A flicker passed across her eyes. "You know what to ask?"
"I can determine relevance midstream."
She paused — then nodded.
"Interrogate him. Quick. We have two more to process tonight."
Wuqing removed the gag, offered a drink of water, and knelt.
To the onlookers, what followed was a standard interrogation — firm voice, calm demeanor, a few gently phrased questions.
In truth, the harvest had begun.
He touched the man's wrist under the guise of meridian triggering.
The Pearl awoke.
A low hum rippled through Wuqing's blood, matching the captive's heartbeat. Then the draw began — not visually, not loud, but deep and devastating.
Dao of Consumption: Activated.
Years collapsed in seconds.
Sixty-three years of cultivation memory.
Flowing Stream Techniques: six variants.
Internal sect politics. Secret vaults. Golden Lotus treaties.
Blackmail ledgers. Underground envoy paths.
Three hidden caches — unreported to any sect registry.
Elder Qin sagged. Skin dull. Eyes gone glassy.
He murmured, "Please… we just wanted to… survive…"
Wuqing didn't hate him. He didn't pity him.
He simply ended him.
Blade entered through the clavicle. Pierced the heart meridian. Severed the soul well.
Death: immediate.
Residue: minimal.
He wiped the dagger clean, returned it to Mei Lin.
She observed him for a beat too long.
"Impressive. Most recruits hesitate. You moved like someone who's done this before."
"I've had… practical instruction," Wuqing replied.
In truth, he had seventy-three tutors. And now, seventy-four.
"What did he tell us?"
Wuqing listed: troop structures, elder lists, mine outputs, auxiliary sects.
But he said nothing of the caches.
Never reveal a full harvest. You don't feed wolves more than you must.
After a moment, Mei Lin nodded. "Wang was right. Welcome to the Night Fangs, Long Wuqing."
Step One: Complete.
Initiation was swift — a small soul-searing contract carved into blood. Painful, binding… but not absolute.
Soul brands are strong, but the Pearl is stronger. The leash snaps once you outgrow it.
Wuqing bled willingly.
Pain is the coin of loyalty. And promises? Just future problems to be erased.
"Your first task," Mei Lin said, "is tomorrow night. Three Flowing River disciples reached Willowbrook Town. They're trying to contact Golden Lotus. Eliminate them. Quietly. No sect markings."
She handed him a jade slip. "Use earth-based methods. Cave-ins. Look like a bandit accident."
Subtle test. Terrain manipulation. Method alignment.
Wuqing bowed. "I'm more confident in sub-surface disruption than direct collapse. But I'll study and prepare."
"Good. Don't fail."
The group dispersed.
Wang lingered as they walked back.
"You did well, Brother Long. You've stepped off the path. Now you hunt in the dark."
If only you knew what hunts beside you.
Wang shared advice — patrol routes, hidden caches, how to bend the merit system.
Wuqing logged it all — and added a new entry:
Wang Shen.
Fourth-tier Qi Condensation.
Detection-focused techniques.
Access to black ops logistics.
Likely suspects in past clean-up jobs.
Target rating: Tier 2. Consumption window: pending.
That night, as his roommates snored in peaceful ignorance, Long Wuqing activated a silence ward and sat in meditation.
Within his mind: an empire's worth of secrets.
Flowing Stream Technique — a complete water-path legacy built on redirection and pressure inversion. Tactical maps spanning three provinces. Golden Lotus's diplomacy web — debts, threats, long-term leverage networks. A list of bounty brokers. Names. Grudges. Pressure points.
The region is a carcass. And I hold the bones.
By dawn, Wuqing had reached the absolute peak of Qi Condensation — not just in raw energy, but in systemic knowledge. He knew eleven targets now — sorted into three categories:
Essence-rich but politically expendable. Key information holders with exploitable routines. Future threats. Wu. Mei Lin. Eventually, even the Sect Master.
First step: the three Flowing River disciples.
Second: one of his new Night Fang "brothers."
Eventually… the head of the snake.
As the sun rose, Wuqing joined his roommates.
They joked about core advancements, pill formulas, and upcoming sparring schedules. They stretched. Ate. Laughed.
They live in a cage. They don't know the walls are shrinking.
Wuqing smiled gently. Laughed at the right moments. Pretended to be one of them.
But inwardly, his hands moved over blueprints only he could see.
Every system is a network of veins. Every sect, a creature. And every creature bleeds.
He tied his sash with deliberate care.
The harvest has begun.
One soul at a time.
One system at a time.
And when the feast ends, I will be the only one left to write the tale.