Yanwei sat on the cold floor, carefully wrapping a clean strip of cloth around his injured arm. The wound wasn't deep but the damage beneath was serious—it would take years to truly heal.
"Bandages won't speed up the healing," he said quietly. "This kind of injury takes years to recover. Only spiritual energy can do that."
He tightened the bandage just enough to protect the injury without cutting off blood flow.
"Being Rank 1 means my body is basically mortal—just a bit tougher and more durable than an ordinary person's. It's not strengthened by spiritual energy yet."
He flexed his fingers slowly, testing the movement.
"Rank 2 is when cultivators start to really harness their spiritual power. Rank 1 is just a threshold—my body is still mortal in nature, just sturdier."
Yanwei's lips curled into a sharp smirk.
"But even a mortal body needs to stay mobile."
He stood, stretching his arm carefully.
"Bandages won't heal me faster, but they keep infection out. And that lets me move better—especially when battle comes."
Yanwei finished securing the last strip of the bandage, his movements precise and efficient. He gave his injured arm a few careful flexes, confirming the cloth was snug but not restrictive.
Without wasting a second, he turned to his worn-out clothes. Slowly, methodically, he peeled off the tattered shirt, exposing pale skin marked by bruises and faint scars.
He reached for a fresh set of garments he had prepared earlier—simple, durable, and unassuming. Pulling the new shirt over his head, he adjusted it until it fit comfortably.
The act was almost mechanical, devoid of any unnecessary movements or hesitation. Each piece of clothing slid into place with purpose, preparing him for whatever was next.
Once dressed, Yanwei glanced at his reflection in a nearby shard of broken glass—his expression unreadable, calm, yet sharp.
Just as Yanwei was about to step out of the cave, a sudden, sharp knocking echoed through the cold silence. The rough sound reverberated off the stone walls.
"Senior brother!! This is Xiao Ge! Are you back??!!" the voice shouted urgently from outside the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The persistent pounding continued, each strike demanding attention.
"Yanwei was quite starled, but then suddenly remembered he was at the place of the disciple he was impersonating."
Yanwei's mind flickered with a cold thought. Should I kill this brat now?
But he quickly pushed the idea away with a sharp tsk.
No, I'm too arrogant. Everyone's probably being monitored right now—after all, the sect would suspect there might be a spy impersonating a disciple. The secret realm just closed, making it the perfect chance to use a disciple to kill another from Cloudveil Sect and take their place.
So those who came out of the secret realm are definitely under surveillance.
I can't change my face right now—for reasons I don't even fully understand yet. I'm just going to stay in the Growth Space and wait for this shithead to leave.
And with that thought, in the cold, dim cave, Yanwei suddenly vanished.
…
Xiao Ge staggered down the quiet corridor, his steps uneven, blood dried at the edge of his mouth. One eye was swollen shut, the other filled with desperation. His robes hung in tatters, dirt smeared across the fabric like bruises made visible. Every step was a limp, every breath a gasp.
He reached the cave door and slammed his fist against it with all the strength he had left.
"Senior Brother!! Are you there?!"
His voice cracked. His fist pounded again, each knock more frantic than the last.
"Senior Brother! This is Xiao Ge! Please… please tell me you're back!"
Silence.
Only the dull thud of his knuckles on the wood, and the echo of his voice bouncing back at him.
He slumped forward, resting his forehead against the door. His knuckles trembled, blood starting to seep from a reopened cut.
The sect had announced the secret realm expedition was over. Senior Brother… he has to be back now. He's the only one I'm holding onto—the only hope I have left.
His eyes, one half-blind, scanned the corridor from the corners. Nothing. No movement. No shadows out of place.
But he felt it.
That presence.
Slow. Heavy. Drawing closer.
His breath caught in his throat.
He saw no one. Not a single flicker in his peripheral vision. The hallway was empty.
But he knew.
Something—someone—was coming.
It felt like talking to a ghost, screaming into the mouth of death.
He spun around with wide eyes, chest heaving.
"Goddamnit, the sect rules say no killing is allowed!!!"
The words spilled from his mouth like a shield, trembling and useless.
But even as they left his lips, his thoughts betrayed him.
Fighting's allowed. And if they have connections? They'll walk free even if I die. They won't even need excuses. And even if they don't… there are ways. Quiet ways. Accidents. Disappearances.
He looked again.
Still no one.
Still empty.
But the pressure on his lungs grew heavier, like the corridor itself was holding its breath.
He backed up until his spine hit the cave door again. Hands shaking. Eyes darting.
"Senior Brother…" he whispered, his voice barely holding.
"…please open up."
Out of sheer desperation, Xiao Ge clenched his fist and slammed it against the cave door—again and again—until the wooden barrier cracked open with a harsh creak. The door swung inward slightly.
His heart skipped.
He pushed it open the rest of the way, peering inside.
Dark. Still. Cold.
Completely empty.
Not a single footprint. Not a trace of presence.
His breath caught in his throat as a tremor ran down his spine. The cave's silence wasn't the kind of quiet that brought peace—it was the suffocating kind. The kind that swallowed sound.
"…Senior Brother is not here?" he muttered, voice barely audible.
Then louder—more frantic, like a child finally realizing they were alone in the dark.
"Senior Brother is not here!? Dammit… dammit!!"
The words cracked with something raw—fear, disappointment, abandonment.
Suddenly, his body froze.
A feeling crawled up his back, icy and unnatural.
Like breath on his neck.
Like something unseen was right behind him.
His knees nearly gave out. He didn't dare turn around. He couldn't. His body wouldn't let him.
The fear twisted into something primal.
His heart thundered. His hands trembled.
And without thinking—without planning—he bolted.
Ran.
Fled down the corridor with no regard for who saw, no regard for pride or image.
Because in that moment, it felt like his last hope might've died in that cave.
And if Senior Brother was gone…
Then there was no one left to save him.