"Sect Leader!" I rose from my seat, standing over the old man across from me. "I... left because..." I stood there, trembling, tears slipping down my face.
"You abandoned this sect for your own desires," he said calmly, sipping his tea. "You're not worthy of returning here after all these years just to trouble us again. This is no longer your place."
"I know," I whispered. "I left because I was weak. I failed as a martial artist. But please... don't let me fail as a husband too!"
He looked at me, finally setting his cup down. "What do you want?"
"Please, just this once! I beg you, help me find the one who killed her. I don't even know how she died. It's been a month of wandering, but I've found nothing. I can't do this alone."
"A Cultist was seen near that village at the time. That's all I know."
"Thank you, Elder. I won't forget your kindness. I'll never show my face here again."
"You better not." He reached into his robe and tossed a small golden coin across the table. A tiny dragon was carved into its surface. "Take this. Show it to the Beggars Sect. They'll help you."
He turned away. "Now go."
I left the room in silence and walked out to the front of the Shen Family Pavilion. The training ground stretched before me, filled with young disciples in motion, striking, blocking, shouting. I watched them for a moment. The scene felt distant, like a memory from another life.
I didn't linger. I walked past the field, through the gates, and down the long road.
I didn't look back.
I just kept walking, leaving nothing behind but silence.
Before long, I arrived at the local branch of the Beggars Sect. It was small and worn down, nothing like the grandeur of the Shen Sect. A narrow courtyard, a creaky pavilion with a sagging roof, and the scent of old wood and dust greeted me. I half-worried the ceiling might collapse before I got my answers.
Still, I stepped inside.
The people inside turned their heads as I walked through. Dressed in ragged clothes, scattered across the place, they stared in silence. Their eyes were tired, but sharp.
One of them stood up and approached me at the pavilion's entrance.
"Who are you? What's your business here?"
"I am Shen Yuan," I began, then caught myself. "I was Shen Yuan. Now, just Yuan. I'm here for information."
I pulled out the golden token and handed it to him. He studied it for a moment, then stepped aside.
Inside, a man sat behind a desk littered with papers. He looked relaxed in his rickety chair, eyes scanning documents.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.
"Yuan. Your wife died a month ago. You want to know who did it."
I'd heard the Beggars Sect had a good network, but this was beyond what I expected.
"Yes, sir."
"Before we begin, tell me. What do you know about the Cult?"
I clenched my fists. "They kill innocent people. And I want them bastards dead."
He gave a low hum and rose from his seat. He stepped in close, voice low.
"You're too weak to have such ambitions."
He wore a wooden mask. I couldn't read his face, but I could feel the strength radiating off him.
I had nothing to say.
He was right.
"The Cult has existed for centuries. They kill to grow stronger. Feed on dead bodies. Do you really think the Orthodox Alliance has no idea what they're doing?"
"Then why hasn't anyone stopped them?"
"Because their power matches the Orthodox Sects. An all-out war would destroy both sides."
I gritted my teeth. "That's cowardice. If they look away, they're no better than the Cult bastards."
"Shut it. You don't know shit about the Cult. And your skills are shit. And to top that, you don't have the strength to chase revenge."
It took a brief while for me to collect myself.
"Just tell me who did it. That's all I ask."
He watched me for a long moment, then returned to his chair and picked up another sheet of paper.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
He spoke without looking up.
"Mo Tian. Direct disciple of the Seventh Ascendant of the Cult. He was in that village. He killed twenty people that day. He's an Adept Martial Artist. That's all I can give you."
And with that, he stopped speaking. The room fell into silence again.
I still had one too many questions in my mind.
Where is this man?
Mo Tian. A name I had never heard before, but one I now couldn't forget.
And how… how does a Cultist even gain strength from the dead? I always thought they were just murderers driven by madness.
Feeding on corpses to grow stronger... I never knew about that.
My fists trembled.
What am I supposed to do?
I am just a Refiner. A low-level martial artist who barely earned that title and that was decades ago. I hadn't trained since I left the sect. I hadn't even held a sword in years.
How can I fight someone like him?
I can't.
And yet… I can't let this go.
She was everything to me.
If I let this pain rot in my chest without doing anything, then what's left of me?
No. I might not be strong now. I might not even know where to begin. But I will find a way.
Even if I have to crawl through blood and dirt!
He took everything from me.
Now I have nothing left to lose.
I didn't know where to begin.
The Beggars Sect had given me information, but no path forward. I asked them about assassination clans.
I tracked them down one after another, but none of them named a price to begin with.
The moment I mentioned the Cult, every conversation ended. Some looked away. Some walked off. A few just laughed bitterly and closed their doors.
No one wanted to touch it.
Another day slipped away, wasted. Another day closer to nothing.
Maybe this was all just a foolish dream.
Maybe… I should just go home. Back to the quiet life. Back to the empty house and silent dinners. Back to pretending none of this happened.
Because the truth was simple.
I was weak.
Tears slipped down my cheeks before I noticed. I stood in the middle of an empty path, somewhere between nowhere and nowhere, as the sky burned orange and violet above me. The last light of day fading into the arms of night.
I was alone.
As I stood there, a voice behind me broke the silence.
"You seem troubled, old man."
I turned.
A young man stood there, dressed in fine robes that shimmered faintly in the fading light. His presence was calm and composed. There was something about the way he carried himself, the stillness in his posture, the sharpness in his eyes. He wasn't ordinary.
A sword rested at his side, sheathed in an ornate scabbard. He was a martial artist.
I couldn't hold it in anymore.
My knees gave out. I dropped to the ground and wept.
"I'm pathetic!" I sobbed. "I can't even avenge my own wife! I've done nothing but wander aimlessly, begging for help that never comes… Please! someone, anyone… help me."
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, he stepped forward, and offered me his hand.
I took it.