The Sun Clan estate was, on the surface, exactly what one would expect from a family of their standing. It featured the same high-arched pagodas, the same manicured pine trees, and the same scent of expensive incense that drifted through the halls of every major cultivation house.

  But there was a quality to the silence here that felt heavy, like the air in a room just before a massive storm breaks. Nothing moved unless it was meant to. Nothing existed without purpose.

  Sun Gang sat in the central pavilion, his robes of cream-colored silk flowing around him in perfect, unmoving folds. He was smiling—a gentle, fatherly expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes—as he performed the tea ceremony. His movements were fluid and traditional, the mark of a man born into the highest echelons of society.

  Yet, as he poured the tea, there was an unsettling precision to it. He didn’t spill a drop, not because of a cultivator’s grace, but because he seemed to be watching the liquid with the intensity of a man witnessing a play's climax. When he looked up at his guest, his smile remained perfectly fixed, never wavering, never reaching the cold, dark depths of his pupils.

  It was the smile of a predator that had spent decades learning how to look like a host.

  Gao Ren sat across from him, his spine rigid. He had dealt with arrogant elders and bloodthirsty generals, men who shouted their threats across battlefields.

  Those men were simple.

  Sun Gang’s gentleness made his skin crawl.

  If the man across from him ever raised his voice, it would mean something had already died.

  "The tea is made from Cloudspirit Leaf, deep within the southern peaks," Sun Gang said, his voice a soft, melodic baritone. "I find it has a very predictable character. It doesn't fight the water; it accepts it. Don't you agree, Sect Leader?"

  Gao Ren took a sip, though it felt like ash in his mouth. "It is excellent, Patriarch Sun."

  "And tell me," Sun Gang continued, leaning back slightly, his eyes never leaving Gao Ren’s face. "How is my son? I trust Sun Ba is maintaining his... integrity? I should hate to think that the we’ve placed in the Azure Cloud Sect is being wasted on a boy who cannot handle the load of leadership."

  He said it with a light chuckle, as if it were a joke between old friends. But the way he highlighted the word investment instead of son hung in the air like a threat.

  He wasn’t asking as a father.

  He was checking whether the sect still knew its place.

  "He is ahead of most of his peers in terms of cultivation," Gao Ren replied, keeping his voice level. "His progress is... remarkable."

  "Remarkable," Sun Gang repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like he was tasting it for flaws. "I am pleased to hear it. It would be a very messy affair if he were to underperform. I dislike messes, Gao Ren. They are so very hard to... ."

  Gao Ren understood what that meant. If Sun Ba stumbled, something else would be dismantled to compensate.

  He didn't even want to think about it.

  Sun Gang took a slow sip of his tea, his eyes fixed on a point just over Gao Ren’s shoulder, his smile still perfectly, terrifyingly in place.

  "There is a ripple in the Droven Weald," Sun Gang said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Our scouts have seen the 'Ghost Shards'—those strange, metallic glints in the air where the sky seems to be tearing. The records are quite clear on what that means. The Gilded Sepulcher is returning to our realm."

  He leaned back, his eyes tracking a single leaf falling into the pond. "It is a vault of ancient metals and weapons that haven't been seen in generations. Imagine it, Gao Ren: High-tier ores strewn about like common river stones, and blades forged by masters whose names have been lost to time. It is a treasure trove that could sustain a clan for a century."

  Gao Ren’s heart tightened despite himself.

  A century.

  That was how long the Azure Cloud Sect had struggled just to survive.

  "Of course, a vault of that size is never left unattended," Sun Gang continued. "The realm is crawling with those... golems. Constructs of bronze and steel that do not tire and do not feel. They simply kill anything that breathes."

  Gao Ren pictured outer disciples—boys and girls who still tripped over their own robes—standing before tireless bronze fists.

  They would die quickly.

  "The problem, as always, is the Empire," Sun Gang went on with a weary sigh. "They’ve blockaded the Weald. To enter, one must pay an 'Imperial Fee' per head. It is a staggering amount of Spirit Stones. I was looking over the Azure Cloud Sect's accounts... purely to see if I could help, of course... and I realized, you simply don't have the capital to send your children into that vault."

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  Gao Ren felt the cold stone of the pavilion beneath him.

  Children.

  He thought of them training at dawn. Of calloused hands. Of hopeful eyes that still believed effort mattered.

  "The sect is... stretched thin, Patriarch."

  "It is a tragedy," Sun Gang said warmly. "Which is why I would like to offer my hand. The Sun Clan will pay the Imperial Fee for the entire Azure Cloud expedition. Every disciple, every sword. We will sponsor you."

  Gao Ren already knew the shape of the blade before it was unsheathed.

  "In exchange," Sun Gang continued softly, "I only ask for a small favor in the interest of... efficiency. The Azure Cloud Sect will be the vanguard. You will enter the Sepulcher first. Your sect will serve as the front-line."

  Gao Ren’s throat went dry.

  Vanguard.

  When golems were involved, that meant they were the first to bleed.

  "They are such messy things, those golems," Sun Gang said, his voice smooth as silk. "They attack with relentless aggression—and endless stamina to match! It would be a waste for my son, and the other geniuses of my clan, to exhaust themselves against mindless constructs. Your disciples will enter, trigger the traps, and keep the golems busy until their energy cores begin to flicker. They will 'clear the room,' so to speak."

  Gao Ren saw it clearly.

  Young bodies breaking against bronze.

  Screams swallowed by stone corridors.

  Sun Ba walking in afterward to collect relics from a floor still warm.

  "You're asking for human shields," Gao Ren rasped.

  "I am asking for a partnership," Sun Gang corrected gently. "And I am not ungenerous. Your disciples may keep any 'scrap' they find. Shattered golem limbs, common-grade steel... it’s all yours to salvage. My clan, of course, will secure the high-tier artifacts and the legendary weapons. It’s only fair, given that we are providing the funding."

  Scraps.

  Their lives in exchange for scrap.

  Sun Gang stood up, smoothing the front of his robe. He looked down at Gao Ren with a smile that was perfectly polite, perfectly kind, and utterly devoid of mercy.

  "Think of it, Sect Leader. You save your sect from bankruptcy, and your disciples get to keep the scraps of the gods. All I ask is that they blunt the golems' first strike for my boy."

  Gao Ren looked at the tea, then at the perfect, silent garden.

  If he refused, the sect would wither. The Sun Clan would tighten the noose slowly—funding withdrawn, trade restricted, influence applied where it hurt most. His disciples would starve in a different way.

  If he accepted, some of them would not come back.

  He had sworn to protect them.

  Now he was calculating how many he could afford to lose.

  "I accept," Gao Ren said.

  The words tasted like blood.

  "Wonderful," Sun Gang chirped, patting Gao Ren's shoulder with a hand that felt as heavy as iron. "I'm happy you see value in our continued partnership, Sect Leader. Under your leadership, I'm sure the Azure Cloud Sect will soar."

  Gao Ren did not look back as he left the pavilion.

  He was already counting coffins.

  Gao Ren entered the Grand Hall, his footsteps echoing against the high ceiling. The Elders were already waiting, a semi-circle of men and women whose faces were etched with the same anxiety that had plagued the sect for years.

  "The news from the Droven Weald is confirmed," Gao Ren said, his voice flat as he reached the center of the hall. "A secret realm is expected to appear. The Gilded Sepulcher."

  A ripple of excitement, brief and fragile, passed through the room. "A Grade-3 realm?" Elder Chen asked, leaning forward. "If we can secure even a fraction of the ancient metals within, we could pay off our debts to the Merchant Unions. We could actually breathe."

  "But the Imperials," interjected Elder Mu, a stout man with a temper that had only sharpened as the sect’s fortunes dwindled. "They’ve already blocked the mountain passes. They’re charging a king's ransom just to step onto the grass. We don't have the spirit stones to send a scouting party, let alone an expedition."

  "The Sun Clan," Gao Ren said, "is willing to sponsor us."

  The silence that followed was so absolute it felt like a physical weight. It was a pin-drop silence that stretched until it became uncomfortable.

  "Sponsor us?" Elder Mu finally roared, his face turning a mottled red. He slammed a fist onto his chair’s armrest. "What will those bastards ask of us now? An arm and a leg? Their brat Sun Ba is already strutting around our training grounds like he owns the very air we breathe! Now we’re taking their charity?!"

  "Keep your voice down, Mu," Elder Chen cautioned, his eyes darting toward the shadows of the hall. "The Sun Clan has ears everywhere, and some of their retainers are still on the grounds. Do you want to bring their 'discipline' down on us before we even reach the Weald?"

  "They didn't ask for much," Gao Ren said, staring at the floor. "Only that we act as the vanguard."

  Another silence, deeper and colder than the last. They all knew the term. It was a military honorific used to mask a death sentence.

  "The vanguard?" Elder Zhou, the oldest among them, asked in a trembling voice. "Gao Ren... do we really have to do this? To be the first into a realm crawling with ancient golems? A lot of our disciples—the children we’ve raised—are going to die."

  "There is no other way!" Gao Ren’s voice finally cracked, the weight of his afternoon with Sun Gang breaking through. "Look around you, Zhou! The sect is dwindling. Our spirit veins are drying up, our merits are spent, and our reputation is a joke. I promised the ancestors I would revitalize this sect. I will not let it die on my watch."

  "I will follow the Sect Leader," Elder Chen said softly, bowing his head. "Better to die with a sword in hand than to starve in a gutter."

  Elder Mu exploded. He stood up, his chair clattering backward. "Are you out of your minds? Both of you! Can’t you see? We aren't being 'sponsored.' We’re being devoured! Sun Gang isn't helping us; he’s using us as bait to clear the path so his golden boy can walk in and claim the glory without getting dust on his boots!"

  "If it keeps the sect afloat," Gao Ren replied, his eyes cold and hollow, "then I will play the part of a loyal hound."

  "Then you’ll do it without me," Mu spat, reaching up and unpinning the Elder’s jade brooch from his chest. He threw it at Gao Ren’s feet. It skittered across the floor, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "I didn't join this sect to be a labor supplier for the Sun Clan. I’m done."

  Mu turned and stormed out of the hall.

  "Mu, wait!" Elder Zhou called out, his voice cracking with genuine fear. "It is a time of great upheaval. Have you forgotten the last Beast Tide? To be a lone cultivator out there now, without the walls of a sect to back you... it is a death sentence."

  Elder Mu didn't even look back. "Better to be carrion in the woods than a tool in this hall."

  The heavy doors slammed shut, the echo ringing through the silence like a hammer on an anvil.

  Another silence flooded the room, thicker than any that had come before. Gao Ren looked down at the discarded jade brooch, then at the remaining Elders. He had his funding. He had his entry. The rest, the doubt, the weight of what he'd just agreed to, he folded carefully and set aside. A sect leader could not afford to second-guess a decision already made. He had to believe this was the right path. He had to.

  Wednesdays and Saturdays. Two reasons: first, I have coursework I've fallen behind on, and I need to prove to some old monsters that this junior isn't slacking off. Second, I want to revisit and rewrite some of the earlier chapters. Rereading them now, they don't quite meet my expectations. Simply put, I think they freakin' suck!!!

  think I've mostly grown out of. Now I just use them sparingly, only for emphasis, or so I hope. Once I'm happy with the revisions and have a bit more breathing room, I'll bump the updates back up to three times a week. I will however make the chapters a bit beefier as compensation, so there's that :)