Dawn broke like a blade over the jade hills, casting gold light over the Jiang Manor's eastern gate, where a caravan had assembled like a procession of war and wealth.
Two lavish carriages, each gilded in bronze and pulled by spirit-oxen with polished horns, waited under ceremonial banners stitched with the clan's sword sigil. A dozen inner disciples in matching silver-blue robes stood armed at the ready, most no older than twenty but already steeped in years of cultivation and cruelty.
At the heart of the gathering stood Jiang Wei, flanked by his cousins Jiang Tao, Jiang Ren, and Jiang Fei — the fourth, the unwanted.
Fei alone wore a simple gray robe, free of gold embroidery or family crests. His sword was unadorned. His expression unreadable. Yet when he stepped forward, even the cultivators bowed slightly, acknowledging his presence.
> He will be chosen, many thought.
But three did not bow. Three stood behind the second carriage — backs straight, eyes down.
Huang, Mu Xiaoyi, and Luo Sen.
They carried the weight of six satchels between them. Food rations, field maps, spirit torches, spare robes, ointments, emergency talismans, and water gourds. They would walk the entire way, while the nobles reclined on silk cushions.
---
Before Departure
"Load that trunk carefully," one disciple barked, pointing at Huang. "That contains spirit scripts older than your ancestry."
"I don't have an ancestry," Huang said flatly.
The disciple blinked. Then sneered. "Keep your tongue, slave. Or I'll cut it out and make you thank me."
Huang bowed slightly, concealing the flash of heat in his eyes. Soon, he thought, we'll see who bleeds first.
Nearby, Mu Xiaoyi caught his glance. Her expression said: Don't get yourself killed before we reach the tomb.
Luo Sen adjusted his pack with a grunt. "They're taking more talismans than usual," he whispered. "Do they expect a fight?"
"No," Huang replied. "They expect a death."
---
The Final Farewell
Elder Jiang Qiu, master of the outer branch, approached the cousins. He was gaunt and sharp-faced, like a hawk that had forgotten how to fly. His spirit blade hovered above his right shoulder, spinning lazily without being drawn.
"You represent the clan," Jiang Qiu intoned. "Return with something worthy of your names."
Fei bowed. "We will."
Wei did not.
"We return with the legacy of Veilcut," he said instead, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Let this expedition show the Pavilion which sword strikes truest."
The disciples murmured in approval. Elder Qiu gave a slight nod. "Go, then."
---
The Road Into the Wastes
By mid-morning, the carriages had rolled past the last village on the jade plains, entering the Waning Steppes, where the green faded into pale gray and wind carved patterns in the soil like forgotten glyphs.
Huang walked behind the second carriage, his shirt damp with sweat. The wheel tracks churned up dust, choking his lungs.
He did not complain.
Every so often, he listened — not to the nobles' conversation, but to the rhythm of the road. The squeak of the axle. The cadence of hoofbeats. The wind that tugged at his hair and whispered like an omen.
Ahead, the steppes gave way to jagged black stone — the border of the Ghosting Wastes, where the tomb of Master Veilcut was said to lie beneath layers of forgotten qi and bone.
---
That Night: First Camp
They stopped near a twisted tree that had long since petrified. The nobles set up ornate tents reinforced by spirit patterns. One disciple even summoned a heat orb to warm the air.
The slaves built a fire near the edge of camp — far enough not to disturb.
Xiaoyi handed out roasted mantou buns. "Four days to the tomb entrance," she said.
"Four days," Luo Sen muttered, "until something goes wrong."
Huang didn't respond. He was watching the cousins across the firelight.
Jiang Wei laughed at a joke only he found amusing.
Jiang Tao carved a seal into his blade with powdered ghoststone.
Jiang Ren stared at Fei like a hawk waiting for a rabbit to blink.
And Jiang Fei… sat alone, polishing his sword in silence.
He looked up — just once — and met Huang's eyes.
No hate. No condescension.
Only… curiosity.
As if he saw something.
Something no one else ever bothered to look for.
---
Later That Night
Inside the nobles' main tent, Ren placed the forbidden talisman into a lacquered pouch. The seal pulsed faintly with blood-red script.
"Tomorrow," Wei whispered, "we begin splitting the group. He'll wander left. You place the talisman. We let the tomb kill him."
"And the slaves?" Ren asked.
Tao answered with a yawn, "They're already dead. They just don't know it."