Then, with a short burst of Qi, two skeletal wings erupted from his back. Unlike Elder Guo's sharp, blade-like extensions, these were wider and more gnarled—resembling the twisted limbs of a withered tree. The elder took to the air slowly but with practiced ease, drifting above the gathered groups before banking toward Li Wei's position.
He landed lightly a few paces away from Elder Guo, the wings retracting into his back with a quiet crackle of bone.
Elder Guo didn't bother turning. "Not you again, you old fuck."
The newcomer snorted. "Is that any way to greet your senior?"
"Senior? You're one foot in the grave. Call me when the other's in and I'll pay respects properly."
Their voices carried with a ease—sharp, crude, but casual. This wasn't their first exchange.
The man nodded back toward his group of twenty. "How about a bet? If one of mine makes it through, I get that jar of Red Marrow Resin you've been clinging to."
Elder Guo rolled his eyes. "That? You think any of that first-grade trash you brought can last?"
"I only need one to hide well," the man said, grinning.
Guo shook his head. "And I've only got one. It's not fair. Even if yours are first-grade trash, it's twenty against one."
The man barked a laugh. "You're right. We've both drawn bad lots. I'll throw in a flask of Shadowroot Sap to even it out."
Elder Guo's eyes gleamed for half a second.
The old man chuckled. "Heh. I knew you were eyeing it. I've gotten generous in my old age."
Elder Guo gave a grunt that might've passed for a laugh. "Or senile."
Elder Guo's arms still crossed. "Fine. Mine survives; I get the sap. One of yours does, you get the resin."
The other elder smirked. "Fair. If both sides fail, it's a wash. And we can pretend this whole generation was just cursed."
Guo gave a sharp sniff of amusement. "Wouldn't be the first time."
The man turned, glancing over his shoulder at his disciples without interest. "Still. Be a shame to lose."
Elder Guo shrugged. "Then hope one of your idiots finds a good hole to hide in."
The two elders tapped fingers—barely a gesture, but enough.
They stood for a moment in silence, both still smiling, neither saying what they actually thought. Each treating the Reaping like a bad hand of cards, bluffing to the end.
As the older man lifted into the air with the lightest whisper of Qi.
Elder Guo stood silently for a moment.
Then, just loud enough for Li Wei to hear, he muttered under his breath, "Shadowroot Sap… If you die, I'll piss on you in the underworld."
His tone was dry, almost bored—like he was commenting on the weather.
Elder Guo chucked something at Li Wei with the casual flick of a wrist, as if tossing him a snack. The small flask spun once in the air before Li Wei caught it reflexively, his eyes narrowing the moment it touched his palm.
Li Wei blinked.
"I hope you've been reading up on your elixirs," the old man added, already turning away.
Li Wei turned the flask over in his hands. The seal bore an unfamiliar symbol, but the smell—sharp, bitter, and faintly metallic—was unmistakable.
His eyes narrowed.
Ashfire Core Elixir.
It was rare. Volatile. A high-yield combustion brew, infused with Ghost Flame—Li Wei had only read mention of it. He'd never seen the flame itself, but the warnings were clear: it devoured Qi and flesh alike. This wasn't something meant for Foundation Establishment. Probably not even late Foundation.
A chill crept up Li Wei's spine—not the immediate rush of fear, but the delayed, creeping awareness that came after. The kind that hit once the danger had already passed. Like stepping off a cliff in the dark and only realising once your foot found solid ground again.
He stared at the vial a second longer. His hand hadn't shaken. He'd caught it clean. But if he hadn't? If the stopper had been loose, if the seal had been cracked, if he'd gripped too hard...
That feeling settled in his gut—a quiet, physical wrongness. His breath came slower. Muscles tightening on instinct. The mind catching up to a threat that had already passed, and only now understanding how close it had come. He slid the vial into his pouch with the utmost care, hand steady but his core tensed.
Li Wei slipped the vial carefully into his storage pouch, fingers lingering for a moment to ensure the seal held. That done, he looked to Elder Guo.
Elder Guo gave a short nod. "Don't move until it starts."
Li Wei stayed where he was.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, almost without signal, every elder present lifted into the air—silent and sudden. Their movements were effortless, robes billowing as they rose above the pine canopy, spreading out in a wide perimeter over the basin.
It was quiet. Utterly quiet.
No muttering. No nervous shuffling. Every disciple in the central clearing stood still, the silence so complete it felt unnatural. Like the forest itself had been holding its breath.
The Reaping had not yet begun, but it was close. Everyone could feel it.
The change was subtle.No blast of sound. No great light.
Just a shift—barely noticeable. A ripple in the air, like heat rising off stone. The Qi beneath their feet stirred faintly, and the pressure around them dropped. Not much. Just enough to notice.
Somewhere above, there was a faint metallic click.
A few heads turned. One disciple squinted at the sky. Another adjusted their footing.
Someone muttered, low and uncertain, "It's started."
No one replied.
When the first figures began to move—some hesitating, others bolting—Li Wei didn't wait. He waited, just long enough to be sure there was no repercussions for moving. Then he ran.
He turned without a word and sprinted toward the tree line.
Not flat out. Just fast enough to get clear. No need to be first. Just not last.
The ground was uneven, softened in patches and suddenly firm in others. Roots jutted from the soil like half-buried bones, ready to trip the careless. The pine trees grew thick and close, their long, needled branches clawing at his sleeves as he pushed through.
The air beneath the canopy was cooler, denser. The sharp, dry scent of pine sap filled his nose.
He moved with practiced rhythm, the bone-tooth necklace at his throat giving his stride a subtle edge—longer reach, faster recovery. A low-tier enhancement, but it worked.
Behind him, others scattered. Footsteps, breath, movement. Someone tripped. Someone cursed.
Li Wei didn't look back.
Li Wei heard the commotion behind him—distant shouts, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, the dull clash of metal. Chaos had broken out in the central clearing.
He didn't turn back. Just kept running.
After a few minutes, when the noise had faded into background echoes and his breath was steady, he slowed and stopped.
Nothing. No one in sight.
He scanned his surroundings—dense undergrowth, uneven terrain, nothing obvious nearby. He chose a tree.
Thick trunk. Low, sturdy branches. Old pine.
He approached it cautiously, testing each step for loose debris. When he reached the base, he wiped his hands dry, then climbed.
No rush. No noise. Each movement deliberate—knee, hand, shift weight, look ahead. He pulled himself up branch by branch, careful not to snap twigs or scrape bark.
Even for cultivators, climbing was climbing. Balance mattered. Weight mattered.
Halfway up, he found a split in the trunk—a good perch. He settled in. Back to the trunk. Legs balanced.
Then he listened.
Quiet.
For now.
Li Wei didn't need to activate anything. The Bone Whisper Art was always on now.
The ground told him what he couldn't see. A faint vibration here, a shift in weight there. Earlier, two figures had passed along the edge of his range. Running. Fast. Gone before they registered.
He stayed where he was. Back pressed against the tree, spine aligned with the trunk. Muscles still. Eyes open, but not searching. There was nothing to see—yet.
Time passed.Could've been twenty minutes. Could've been more.
The forest held its breath. No wind. No birds. Just the distant creak of pine limbs under their own weight.
Then—Something new.
The Bone Whisper Art fed him the signal: pressure shifting against the earth, footsteps measured and light. Not running. Approaching. Three of them. Close enough that he could feel the alternating gait through the soil. He supresses his qi
He didn't move. Just adjusted his breathing, chest rising shallowly. The air around him remained still. He waited.
Li Wei stayed motionless. Eyes tracking the angles between branches. Listening. Waiting.
Li Wei suppressed his Qi as low as it would go—not extinguished, just buried. Like damp coals under ash. Just enough to blend with the background of the forest. If someone had swept their spiritual sense past him, it might've felt like an animal burrow, or a rock with a bit of residual heat.
He didn't move.
The Bone Whisper Art gave him a clear read. One set of steps. Then another. Light, careful. Then a third. Patterns in the soil—slow, steady.
Three. Then four. Then five.