Chapter 17: The Cracked Sword Arrives
The peach blossoms on Silent Peak fluttered gently in the evening breeze. The sky was soaked in gold and crimson as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Clouds curled like smoke across the horizon, casting elongated shadows over the Misty Cloud Sect.
Lin Mo lay half-asleep on a wooden recliner, a teacup resting on his chest, his leg dangling lazily off the side. His long black hair was untied, swaying slightly as the cool wind whispered through the trees. A faint trace of a smile hung on his lips—not from happiness, but from comfort. The quiet. The peace. The illusion of a world that no longer demanded anything from him.
Nearby, under the shade of a peach tree, Luo Yixue sat cross-legged, the divine egg floating beside her. She had grown quieter in recent days, focused. Determined. A light aura of frost clung to her shoulders, marking the steady rise of her cultivation.
The divine egg pulsed gently, as if asleep.
Then, without warning—
Clang.
A single metallic sound pierced the air.
Lin Mo's brow twitched. "Huh… that better not be the sect's dinner bell. I didn't ask for dumplings."
Luo Yixue paused her breathing technique. "That wasn't a bell."
Clang. Clang.
He sat up slowly. The sound was closer now—sharp, dragging, and deliberate.
Someone was climbing Silent Peak.
And not casually. Every step felt like it echoed through the bones of the mountain.
"People don't climb this peak," Lin Mo said softly, placing his teacup down. "Especially not this late."
The spiritual energy in the air began to twist. Birds flew from their nests. The usual calm of Silent Peak shifted—something ancient and unseen stirred. The trees bent away from the path, leaves rustling like whispers.
Within minutes, a figure emerged from the mist.
A boy.
Teenage, tall, gaunt. His face was pale as parchment, his eyes hollow yet burning with something dangerous. On his back, a sword—long, cracked, and wrapped in tattered cloth that looked soaked in blood.
From its seams leaked red mist—Blood Qi.
Luo Yixue instinctively reached for the egg, shielding it.
"That sword," she whispered, "it's alive…"
Lin Mo stood, brushing dust from his sleeves. He walked forward, hands behind his back, casual but watchful. He knew danger when it walked with such calm.
The boy kept approaching, not breaking eye contact.
"This is Silent Peak," Lin Mo said. "Didn't you read the sign? It says 'no visitors.' Also says 'trespassers will be yeeted.'"
The boy stopped.
"I saw it."
"Then?"
"I climbed anyway."
Lin Mo's smile vanished. The evening light caught his eyes, making them glint with steel.
"Name?"
"Yan Zhentian."
Luo Yixue moved closer, her voice low. "Senior Brother… he's dangerous."
"I know."
The boy stood still, as though even his breath was silent.
"That sword on your back," Lin Mo said. "You planning to use it?"
Yan's voice was quiet but firm. "Only if I must."
"And why are you here?"
"I came to ask a question."
Lin Mo raised an eyebrow. "Alright. Ask."
Yan's eyes flashed with pain.
"If heaven takes everything from you… what right does it have to exist?"
Silence.
The wind paused.
Even the birds went quiet.
Luo Yixue stared at the boy. "What…?"
Lin Mo slowly sat down on a nearby stone. "That's not a question most people ask. That's a scar talking."
Yan didn't respond.
Lin Mo turned toward his disciple. "Go inside."
"But—"
"Now."
She hesitated, then obeyed.
Once she disappeared into the courtyard, Lin Mo looked up. "Go on."
Yan sat cross-legged. His cracked sword leaned against his shoulder like an old companion.
"My mother came to this sect years ago," he began. "She was weak, wounded. My little sister had a rare spiritual root. One of your outer elders noticed it. Took her. Said it was for her future."
Lin Mo stayed silent.
"They promised to raise her well. Promised she'd be trained, protected."
A breath.
"My mother was left outside the gates. For days. Weeks. She cried. Begged. Starved. No one helped. She died waiting."
The red mist from the sword grew thicker.
"I survived on scraps. Then I learned to fight. Not to kill. To be heard."
Lin Mo narrowed his eyes. "And you believe this sect owes you an answer?"
Yan looked up. "I believe someone must be held responsible."
A long silence followed.
Finally, Lin Mo stood. "I'll give you this much. Come back tomorrow. I'll find the names of those responsible. I'll make them listen."
Yan's eyes widened. "You'll help me?"
"I didn't say that. I said I'd make them listen. Whether they help… depends on them."
The boy nodded slowly. "Then I'll return."
He turned to leave.
As he descended the steps of Silent Peak, the red mist around his sword pulsed—once.
Lin Mo exhaled.
"Luo Yixue," he called.
She peeked out. "Yes, Senior Brother?"
"Make tea. I need something strong. This night's about to get heavier."
She blinked. "Are we… helping him?"
"I don't know," Lin Mo whispered. "But I know this: If we don't try… that cracked sword will return with cracks no longer dormant."
Above them, the first star of the night appeared—watching silently, like the past that refuses to stay buried.
Chapter 18: Blood-Stained Memory
The next morning, Misty Cloud Sect's outer arena buzzed with commotion.
A notice had gone up—announcing the arrival of an intruder at Silent Peak. Disciples whispered nervously, exchanging rumors.
"Did someone really climb Silent Peak?"
"They say he carried a broken sword that bled!"
"Senior Brother Lin didn't kill him?"
"No one's ever climbed that peak and left alive…"
In the training ground, the quiet tension cracked.
Tap... tap... tap…
Slow footsteps echoed as the boy from last night walked across the stone courtyard — pale-faced, hollow-eyed, with the cracked sword still strapped to his back.
He didn't flinch as dozens of disciples stared. Their spiritual pressure filled the air, but the boy walked through it like it was fog.
One disciple stepped forward. "Who are you?!"
The boy didn't answer.
He kept walking — until he stood in the center of the arena. His hand rose slowly.
Then he drew his sword.
CLANG.
A burst of red light exploded outward. The smell of iron filled the courtyard. The ground cracked.
"Blood Qi!" someone shouted. "He's using forbidden techniques!"
Three inner sect disciples charged forward without waiting for orders.
The boy moved like a shadow—his cracked sword humming as he knocked one away with a sweep of his blade, spun low, and struck the second in the gut with the hilt. The third stopped midair as the blade stopped just inches from his neck.
No fatal cuts. Not even deep ones.
Just pain. And fear.
He didn't kill.
He wanted them to remember.
---
In that moment—
A calm voice echoed from above.
"That's enough."
Everyone looked up.
Lin Mo descended slowly from the sky, arms folded behind his back, dressed in loose robes. His expression was unreadable.
The boy looked up. "I knew you'd come."
Lin Mo landed before him, raising a brow. "Causing trouble this early in the day?"
"I came to return pain."
"And you think drawing your sword here is justice?"
The boy's eyes gleamed with sadness behind his anger. "My mother died at these gates. She was sick. Begged for help. No one answered. Your sect left her to rot."
Gasps echoed among the disciples.
Lin Mo's gaze narrowed. "Name?"
"Yan Zhentian."
The crowd stirred. Even some elders appeared at the edge of the arena.
A wrinkled voice scoffed.
"Still dragging up that old story? That woman was delusional," Elder Zhao said, stepping forward.
Yan's hands trembled. His sword hummed again.
Lin Mo held out a hand. "Stay your blade."
"I won't kill him. I'll make him beg."
"You think that's strength?" Lin Mo asked.
"No. I think that's mercy."
Yan's sword pulsed, the crack glowing red now.
"She begged," Yan whispered. "She fell on her knees outside the sect gates. She had my sister in her arms. They were starving. Sick. And you shut the doors."
"I was a child back then. But I remember."
"Your sect branded her a beggar. But she was a cultivator once. She saved people. No one saved her."
He pointed the blade toward the crowd.
"I don't want this whole sect. I want those who spat on her name."
A few disciples looked away. The truth was uncomfortable.
Lin Mo stared silently. "You don't hate all of us."
"No," Yan said. "But someone will answer me."
---
Up on Silent Peak, Luo Yixue watched from afar. The wind was still.
She clutched the golden egg in her lap. Her fingers tightened.
"Is this… the pain that cultivators carry?"
She whispered to herself, unsure what to feel.
"His anger isn't wrong," she said softly.
Down below, Lin Mo stood before Yan, the cracked sword humming between them.
"Tell me, Yan Zhentian," Lin Mo said. "What if I told you… I'll help you get those answers?"
The boy blinked.
"You?"
"I'm not them. And I don't serve the ones who pretend to be blind."
"…You're still part of this sect."
"I am. But I'm also the master of Silent Peak," Lin Mo said. "And on this peak… I write my own rules."
Yan's sword slowly lowered. He didn't speak. But the red light around him faded slightly.
The crowd didn't cheer.
They just watched.
Because for once… someone listened.
---
Later that day…
Yan stood at the edge of Silent Peak, gazing at the distant sky.
He had not drawn blood, but he had made his pain known.
Lin Mo stood beside him, silent.
After a long pause, Yan spoke.
"I was going to kill everyone responsible."
"I know."
"I still might."
Lin Mo took a sip of tea. "Then I'll stop you."
"But not today?"
"Not today."
Yan turned. "Why?"
"Because today… you needed to be heard."
Yan chuckled bitterly.
"I still hate your sect."
"That's fine," Lin Mo said. "Just don't become the thing that killed your mother — someone who looked away."
Yan turned away.
"I'll return. When the moon is red."
Lin Mo looked up.
"I'll be waiting."