Steward Li

Thick morning mist draped the Capital City like a veil, shrouding it from end to end.

Jing Wen huddled beneath the upturned eaves of an abandoned residence. Rainwater left over from the night seeped through the dark blue tiles, trickling down his neck and into his collar.

Five zhang away, a gate with peeling vermilion paint creaked open.

Jing Wen immediately held his breath as three black-robed figures filed out.

A bronze bell hung at the lead cultivator's waist, letting out a teeth-grating clatter with every step-the Soul-Reaping Bell of the Black Fiend Cult's Enforcement Hall.

"The thirteen prefectures of Yue Kingdom... the Seven Great Sects..."

The enforcement officer's footsteps gradually faded along the bluestone road.

Jing Wen flexed his stiff fingers and drew the blood-soaked Gazetteer of Yue Kingdom from inside his robe.

On the map tucked between its pages, he had heavily circled the words "Jing Prefecture" in cinnabar. Several small words were written beside them: Seven Mysteries Sect, Han Li.

This world so closely resembled the setting of A Record of a Mortal's Journey to Immortality, yet unfamiliarity lurked everywhere.

Was Han Li still struggling in the Seven Mysteries Sect, or had he already embarked on the path of cultivation?

Was Doctor Mo still laying his plans in Lan Prefecture?

His mother had known none of these crucial details.

Nor could she have learned much about the Seven Great Sects, given her cultivation at the seventh layer of Qi Refining and her limited circle of acquaintances.

"No matter what, I have to find out."

A sinister gust swept past, and Jing Wen shivered.

His gaze instinctively shifted to the bloody handprint on the courtyard wall-it had been left by a cultist dragged off to the Blood Pool last month.

The Black Fiend Cult's rules were simple: kill or be killed.

"Qi Refining, first layer..." Jing Wen opened his palm, sensing the scant spiritual power within him.

With cultivation like this, even casting the most basic Fireball Technique was a struggle, let alone completing the assignments issued by the cult.

Suddenly, the sound of something heavy dragging along the ground came through the morning mist.

Jing Wen tensed all over and quickly hid behind the dry well.

Two black-robed figures escorted a mangled, bloody figure past the mouth of the alley. The person's right arm was already gone, and eerie black energy coiled around the stump.

"The third one..." Jing Wen held his breath.

The cultists with the lowest contributions this month were being purged one by one.

With his current cultivation and contributions, he might become an offering at the next blood sacrifice.

Images of the enemies his mother had made flashed through his mind: Madam Green, who had developed a grudge over a disputed quarry, several cultivators of his mother's rank who coveted her storage pouch...

Now that his mother was dead, those grudges would naturally fall on his shoulders.

"I have to leave."

Jing Wen stared at the map in his hands, pressing his fingertip hard against the words "Jing Prefecture."

The Seven Mysteries Sect was eight thousand li away.

"But... can I get away?"

His throat tightened, and a fine layer of cold sweat seeped from his palms.

The Black Fiend Cult's eyes and ears were everywhere in the Capital City. If he was caught deserting, only a fate worse than death awaited him.

But if he stayed, sooner or later his blood essence would be squeezed dry, and he would become a heap of rotting flesh in the Blood Pool.

"No matter what, I have to take this gamble."

"Whether I live or die will depend on this."

Jing Wen clenched his teeth, a flicker of resolve flashing through his eyes.

He drew a deep breath, folded the map and tucked it inside his robe, then straightened his clothes and quietly melted into the morning mist.

He passed through the bustling market and turned into a secluded alley.

Suddenly, a grand residence with vermilion gates appeared before him.

On the plaque hanging high above the entrance, the words "Still Garden" were written in bold, powerful strokes. Yet for some reason, beneath the sunlight, they seemed to give off a faintly sinister air.

This was one of the Black Fiend Cult's secret strongholds in the Capital City.

"Halt!" Two thunderous shouts shattered the brief stillness.

Two burly guards barred the entrance like iron towers. Their long sabers swept from their sheaths, the blades gleaming with a chilling light in the sun that sent a shudder through anyone who saw them.

Jing Wen's throat bobbed, and the fingers hidden in his sleeves trembled slightly.

He bowed deeply, deliberately lowering his voice. "My name is Jing Wen, son of Red Rose.

"My mother passed away last night from grievous injuries. Before she died, she instructed me to report her passing to Steward Li."

"Red Rose?"

The guards' expressions changed abruptly. One hurried into the courtyard, his iron boots ringing dully against the bluestone slabs.

Before long, steady footsteps approached from within.

Steward Li strolled out in a dark purple brocade robe. The bronze bell hanging at his waist remained perfectly still-a sign that his cultivation had reached late Qi Refining.

Amid the swirling morning mist, Steward Li's sharp gaze scraped over Jing Wen like a blade.

The youth immediately bent in a bow, holding up a gray cloth bundle with both hands. "Greetings, Steward," he said respectfully.

"Before she died, my mother repeatedly insisted that I present her belongings to you, in thanks for sheltering us all these years."

Steward Li lightly crooked his gaunt fingers, and the bundle flew through the air into his palm.

A sweep of his spiritual sense revealed a Superior-Grade Flying Sword, fifteen middle-grade spirit stones, and three bottles of Qi-Nourishing Pills.

His brows rose slightly. He recalled that when Red Rose had returned severely wounded three days ago, she had indeed lost her storage pouch. Only the flying sword she kept on her person had remained.

He knows how to behave, Steward Li mused. This was probably everything Red Rose had owned.

He raised his eyes to Jing Wen. "You've reached the first layer of Qi Refining?"

Jing Wen's eyes reddened slightly, and his voice caught with just the right amount of grief. "Yes, Steward. Before she died, my mother transferred her Baleful Bead to me...

"If it hadn't been for me, my mother wouldn't have..."

He stopped at precisely the right moment, letting the unspoken words linger in the air.

Steward Li nodded in understanding. Transferring a Baleful Bead was uncommon in the Black Fiend Cult, but it was no secret.

He pondered briefly. "Since you've entered Qi Refining, you count as a member of my stronghold. You'll join the Reconnaissance Squad from now on."

"Thank you, Steward!" Jing Wen bowed deeply, his voice trembling slightly as though he were suppressing his excitement.

"My mother often said that without the Qi-Gathering Pill you bestowed upon her back then to help her break through her bottleneck, she would likely have remained trapped in mid-stage Qi Refining for the rest of her life, unable to advance another inch.

"Even before she died, she repeatedly instructed me never to forget your great kindness..."

Steward Li stood before the vermilion gate with his hands behind his back. His brows shifted slightly at these words, just as the wind set the bronze bells beneath the eaves chiming.

Seeing this, Jing Wen spoke even more earnestly. "It's just... my mother came from Jing Prefecture. She spent half her life wandering, yet even on her deathbed she could not forget her homeland.

"I humbly ask permission to escort her coffin home for burial first, so that I may fulfill my filial duty.

"Once that is done, I will return without delay and serve you with the devotion of a hound or horse!"

He certainly has a glib tongue, Steward Li sneered inwardly, though his expression grew ever more amiable.

Morning light filtered past the eaves, casting dappled shadows over his dark purple robe and making his expression appear especially compassionate.

"Filial duty is the foundation of human relations. It must not be neglected." He nodded slightly, his voice smooth and warm as jade. "Go, then."

Jing Wen remained bent at a right angle, loose strands of hair falling over his forehead and hiding his slightly pale face.

"I will remember your kindness, Steward." Jing Wen's throat bobbed slightly, his voice carrying just the right catch of emotion while leaving every word clearly audible.

He maintained his bow, letting his fallen hair conceal the faint redness at the corners of his eyes. "One day, I will surely... knot grass and carry rings to repay your great kindness."

Steward Li chuckled at this. "A thoughtful lad. What I appreciate most is someone clever enough to repay kindness."

With that, Steward Li flicked his broad sleeves and turned, stirring a waft of sandalwood fragrance.

Jing Wen held his right-angle bow until that patch of purple had vanished completely at the end of the corridor. Only then did he slowly straighten.

As he turned, Jing Wen glanced past the pillars of the western corridor and saw three cultivators in Black Fiend Cult attire gathered in the shadow of a stone pavilion.

"That bitch Red Rose certainly died quickly." The scar-faced man at their head grinned, revealing gold-capped canine teeth. "I thought she'd last a few more days. What a waste of that lovely body..."

The tall, thin cultivator beside him swept his spiritual sense over Jing Wen without restraint and sneered. "Her son knows how to behave, at least. He knew to offer the good stuff to Steward Li." He deliberately raised his voice. "I was thinking of paying her a visit in a couple of days."

The only woman among the three suddenly covered her mouth and giggled. "A visit? You just wanted to fish out a few benefits, hahaha." Her scarlet fingernail lightly tapped her crimson lips. "Ah, this brat gave all Red Rose's belongings to Steward Li. There's probably nothing left to squeeze out of him..."

The three made no attempt to lower their voices, utterly unconcerned whether Jing Wen heard them.

Their words stabbed like knives, while Jing Wen's hands clenched ever tighter inside his sleeves.

His nails dug deep into his palms, and blood seeped between his fingers.

At that moment, only one conviction remained in his heart: he had to gain formidable power. Only then could he escape a fate of being butchered at others' whim and carve out a place for himself in this cruel world of cultivation.

With that conviction held close, Jing Wen quickened his steps, his figure gradually disappearing into the clamorous crowd.