Elder Xu Ming stood atop the Jade Flame Spire, robes fluttering in the wind, hands clasped behind his back.
Below him, the Azure Flame Sect breathed with life—disciples training, alchemists refining pills, sect guards patrolling with precision. From this height, everything looked orderly.
But Xu Ming knew better.
There was a misalignment.
He had felt it three days ago, the moment Jin Tai fell during that courtyard duel. Not just the loss of a promising disciple—but the way it happened.
Too fast. Too clean. Too precise.
Jin Tai's cultivation was chaotic, yes, but even chaotic fire should have scorched the ground. Instead, he had simply… collapsed. As if his movements had been mathematically unwoven mid-technique.
Elder Xu had reviewed the moment through a scrying mirror over a dozen times.
No surge of Qi from Li Shen. No defensive stance. No visible technique.
"He didn't fight," Xu murmured to himself. "He dissected."
Worse still, the spiritual winds around the boy had changed.
Subtle. Barely measurable. But enough to disturb the ambient flow of cause and consequence.
In recent days, Elder Xu noticed flame formations taking longer to ignite when the boy was near. Wind techniques that fluttered against non-existent resistance. Sect beasts acting anxious when he passed.
Threads of fate fraying in real time.
"We've bred something quiet," Xu said under his breath. "And dangerous."
He summoned a jade slip from his sleeve and pressed two fingers to it.
The transmission was brief.
"Keep watch on Li Shen. Do not engage. If he speaks, listen. If he disappears… track only from a distance. Do not provoke."
He stared off into the mist-covered horizon, voice barely a whisper.
"Some talents bloom under the sun. Others… sharpen in the dark."
And sometimes, Xu knew, those forged in silence were the ones that cut deepest.