This was the first time Lu Chen had left the room.
His steps were slow, uncertain, the air still heavy in his lungs. Days had passed since the incident — since the breakthrough that had nearly torn him apart — and his body was still reacquainting itself with movement. Qian walked beside him, hands behind her back, speaking gently as they moved.
She was giving him a tour. Draped over her shoulders was a purplish robe, and beneath it, she wore a simple white T-shirt and a pair of jeans—clothing eerily reminiscent of what people wore in the old world. Her hair was tied up neatly, and an emblem was fastened around her upper arm, signifying her allegiance to the clan. The symbol caught his eye—it bore an uncanny resemblance to the head of the statue. The Shadow Champion he had slain. Lu Chen froze for a moment, his breath hitching. His instincts kicked in, and a flicker of caution settled into his gaze.
It wasn't just a building. It was a mansion.
No — more than that.
It was a clan.
The grounds were sprawling — wide enough to rival a small village, but enclosed by towering stone walls veined with moss and warding seals. Within, the landscape shifted between manicured gardens, open courtyards, and towering structures that pulsed faintly with qi. Houses and towers, each with its own purpose. A world tucked inside stone and silence.
"That's the study hall," Qian said, gesturing toward a low, sloped building where the scent of ink drifted on the breeze. "They teach scripture and technique there. Only initiates are allowed, though."
Across the central field, two towers loomed — one cold and quiet, the other loud with clashing blades and barked commands.
"That's the training tower… and the other is the inner sanctum. Don't ask what goes on in there. I've never been."
As they walked, Lu Chen noticed the rhythm of life around them — students in robes practicing footwork, elders moving like drifting leaves, young cultivators cross-legged in deep focus beneath wind-chimes. A harmony of motion and silence. Of striving.
But not everyone looked at him kindly.
When he stepped onto the stone path leading to the pavilion — the main training grounds — the air shifted.
Eyes turned.
Dozens of them.
Men and women in mid-practice froze, blades halting mid-swing, stances breaking. Their gazes fell on him with an eerie, measured stillness — like animals scenting something wrong.
Not fear. Not awe.
Judgment.
Lu Chen slowed, confusion flickering across his face. It wasn't until he turned slightly, catching the way their eyes moved from him to Qian — and back again — that something clicked.
It wasn't just him they were staring at.
It was her.
He looked at Qian — but she said nothing, only kept walking, her steps steady.
"The room you stayed in," she said after a moment, her voice light but not careless, "is the House of Soothing Jade. It's the healer's hall. That's where we handle injuries… and where the clan sends the ones they've given up on."
Lu Chen blinked. "Given up?"
He looked back at the courtyard. The murmurs had resumed, soft and sharp like needles beneath cloth.
He recognised the tone — suspicion dressed as curiosity. Fear wrapped in discipline. They didn't understand what he was. And that made him dangerous.
To them, he wasn't a cultivator.
He was a question.
Just as Lu Chen was about to speak, a commanding voice cut through the air from across the training ground.
"You there—boy!" A tall, broad-shouldered man strode toward them, his dark robes fluttering slightly with each step. His presence exuded authority, and the disciples nearby instinctively straightened their postures.
Lu Chen turned to face him. The man's sharp eyes studied him with interest, then flicked over to Qian, hardening.
"I'll take him from here," the man said curtly. "To the main hall."
Qian opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak, he raised a hand.
"You should return to where you belong."
She flinched, but stood her ground.
His gaze dropped to the emblem on her arm. "Take that off," he said coldly. "You're no longer one of us."
Silence hung between them for a moment. Qian hesitated, her expression caught between defiance and sorrow. Then, slowly, she reached up and unfastened the emblem, her fingers trembling just slightly. She didn't say a word.
Before the emblem could fall from her hand, a soft but firm voice broke through the moment.
"That won't be necessary."
Doctor Hui stepped forward from the corridor behind them, his calm presence cutting through the tension like a breeze. He draped a shawl over Qian's shoulders and placed a hand gently on hers.
"As long as I'm still here," he said, his voice unwavering, "you are my disciple. And that emblem—" he glanced at the insignia in her palm, "—you hold onto it."
The mentor frowned but said nothing, the authority in Doctor Hui's voice carrying a weight he couldn't dismiss.
Lu Chen looked between them, sensing an invisible thread of history and conflict deeper than he could yet understand. The moment passed like a shadow, but its weight lingered.
"Come," the mentor barked, turning to Lu Chen. "The Elder Kuo is waiting."
The mentor led Lu Chen through the aged corridors, the creak of wooden floors echoing beneath their steps, until they arrived at the main hall.
It wasn't grand—at least, not anymore. The place bore the weight of time: faded murals clung to the walls like ghosts of a forgotten era, and cracked stone lanterns lined the chamber, long since unlit. Dust filtered down from high beams where cobwebs draped like curtains. Yet amidst the decay, one thing stood untouched.
At the far end of the hall, stretching nearly to the ceiling, was a statue—massive, monolithic.
It portrayed a seated figure cloaked in heavy robes, hands folded in its lap in eerie calm. The face was expressionless, yet utterly inhuman. Horns curled back from its temples, and the eyes—though carved in stone—seemed to gaze down upon Lu Chen with an unnerving serenity. It was demonic, yet composed. Serene, but dreadful.
Around the base of the statue, six smaller figures knelt in reverence, each one uniquely crafted—warriors, scholars, and even a childlike figure—etched with painstaking detail. They emanated an eerie reverence, as though forgotten gods, long forsaken by time. The figures... the Engagers he'd fought.
Lu Chen found himself staring.
That was the real face of the Shadow Champion—the one he had fought in the dark. Not the flickering phantom. This was the true form, rendered in stone. He hadn't just slain a monster. He had interfered with something ancient.
And someone noticed.
Elder Kuo stepped into view from the shadows, his robes trailing the floor, his presence slicing through the still air like a sharp wind. His face, weathered by age, contorted with fury as his eyes locked onto Lu Chen.
"So you're the one," he said, his voice low and tight. "The outsider who interfered."
Lu Chen turned slowly, eyes still half on the statue. "You call it a god, but it's not divine. I saw its face."
Elder Kuo's voice rose like a crack of thunder. "You don't know what you saw! You have no idea what you've done!"
He stormed closer, his Qi flaring faintly—Level 8 Qi Condensation, but thick with age-hardened resentment.
"That girl—Qian—was the offering. The pact was clear. One life, every ten years. That's what keeps us safe. You should've left it be. Let her be devoured like the ones before her."
Lu Chen's eyes narrowed. "So you keep feeding people to this thing. And you call it protection."
Elder Kuo slammed a hand against one of the smaller statues, causing dust to rain from the ceiling.
"You arrogant fool!" he shouted. "You think you saved her? You doomed us all! The rites are binding. The silence will end. Do you understand what's coming?!"
The air in the room shifted, a chill pressing in from unseen corners. Even the great statue seemed to lean forward, just slightly, as if listening.
Lu Chen said nothing.
Just as Elder Kuo's fury seemed to reach its peak, the heavy doors of the main hall creaked open once more.
A gust of perfumed wind slipped through before the figure even entered, followed by soft, deliberate footsteps that echoed like silk sliding across marble.
The man who walked in wore a flowing pink robe embroidered with golden thread, its sleeves long and elegant, trailing just enough to suggest extravagance but never impracticality. His hair was tied back loosely with a silver band, and his face—almost too perfect to be real—glowed with a strange, unplaceable charm. His beauty was disarming, the kind that made people forget to breathe for a moment.
Even the dust-laden, timeworn hall seemed to stir with a subtle energy at his arrival.
Elder Kuo's posture tightened at the sight, his voice sharp with restrained frustration. "Zhen Yuan... you've finally come. We've waited five days for you."
Zhen Yuan's smile was faint, not one of warmth, but of quiet understanding—as if he had anticipated the summons before the words ever reached him.
"I heard," Zhen Yuan said, voice smooth like honey over ice. "That the statue... was destroyed."
His gaze slowly slid to Lu Chen, eyes scanning him as if peeling back every layer. He didn't speak further, but the weight of that gaze made Lu Chen's spine stiffen.
"We need to talk," Zhen Yuan continued, turning back to Elder Kuo.
"The pact has been broken. And the old silence… may not last much longer."
Elder Kuo clenched his jaw. "There must be something we can do."
"There always is," Zhen Yuan said gently, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "But there will be a price."
"Of course! Our village will be forever in your debt!" Elder Kuo replied, his voice bright with relief and gratitude.
Zhen Yuan's gaze lingered on Lu Chen for a breath longer. Then, surprisingly, he smiled.
A gentle, almost affectionate smile.
He stepped forward, and with the grace of a drifting petal, placed a hand lightly on Lu Chen's shoulder. "You must be Lu Chen," he said. His tone was calm, almost soothing. "The one who shattered the statue."
Lu Chen tensed, unsure of what would come next. But instead of blame, he felt a soft pat—comforting, steady.
"Thank you," Zhen Yuan said simply. "Truly. That thing has stood for far too long. I've been meaning to replace it someday... but you know how it is." He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "Cultivation, rites, endless ceremonies. I got a little... distracted."
Lu Chen blinked, unsure if he had misheard.
"You... don't blame me?" he asked cautiously.
Zhen Yuan's eyes twinkled. "Why would I be? You've saved us the trouble of tearing down an old relic. Perhaps this is the sign we've waited for."
Elder Kuo looked as if he were about to explode. "That relic was the pact!"
Zhen Yuan waved his hand dismissively. "A pact is more than a statue, Elder Kuo. It's a promise. One we can renew. Or... reshape."
He turned away, walking slowly toward the towering statue once more—its eyes seeming to follow his every step—and looked up at it with a strange mix of nostalgia and disdain.
"Let me take the boy with me for a while, Elder Kuo," Zhen Yuan said, a quiet smile playing on his lips.
"But..." Elder Kuo hesitated, flinching slightly. He dared not object. For decades, he had placed his trust in Zhen Yuan—the one who had kept their village alive.
"Don't defy me... Kuo," Zhen Yuan said, his smile fading in an instant, replaced by a cold, commanding gaze.
Elder Kuo stepped aside without another word. "Of course..."
Zhen Yuan turned to Lu Chen, his expression shifting again, this time softening into something almost playful. "Shall we?"