The fragrance of blooming moonflowers drifted through the Imperial Gardens, yet Wen Wuxing could sense the carefully woven tension beneath the surface. The Crown Prince's expression was amicable, his posture relaxed, but Wuxing saw the signs—the minute tightening of his fingers, the weight behind his words.
This was not a simple meeting.
This was a battlefield, and the first move had already been made.
"You speak of interest, Your Highness," Wuxing said, his voice smooth as silk. "Yet it is unusual for the Imperial Court to extend invitations to a fallen clan—unless, of course, they no longer consider us fallen."
Zhao Ming chuckled softly, lifting his own jade cup. He swirled the tea but did not drink. "Perception is a powerful thing, Patriarch Wen. A single stroke of ink can elevate a man to nobility or brand him a traitor. A clan's status is not defined by its strength alone, but by how the world perceives it."
Wuxing narrowed his eyes slightly. This was confirmation—the Imperial Court had taken notice of his movements.
"The Wen Clan is rising again," Zhao Ming continued, placing the cup down with a quiet click. "That much is undeniable. And when a force once deemed dead begins to breathe anew, the Court must ask itself... what shall we do with it?"
"A curious way of phrasing it," Wuxing mused. "You make it sound as though the Court must decide our fate."
"Shouldn't we?" Zhao Ming leaned forward, his golden eyes sharp. "The Imperial Tournament is no longer just about cultivation. It is a stage for power—one where alliances are forged and enemies are marked. And I suspect, Patriarch Wen, that you have no intention of remaining a mere spectator."
Ding!
New Quest: The Emperor's Stage
Objective: Survive the hidden trials within the Imperial Tournament.
Reward: ???
Wuxing allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "Indeed, I do not."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The chirping of distant cicadas filled the air, a stark contrast to the unseen battle unfolding between them.
Then, Zhao Ming exhaled through his nose, as though amused by Wuxing's unwavering demeanor. "Then let us speak plainly. The Emperor himself wishes to test your worth."
The air grew still.
The Emperor.
Wuxing had anticipated many things—a faction trying to suppress him, nobles pressuring the Court to shun his clan—but direct interest from the Emperor himself?
That was unexpected.
Zhao Ming smirked, clearly pleased with Wuxing's fleeting silence. "You are cautious, which is good. But understand this—while I extend my hand, there are others in the Court who would see the Wen Clan crushed before it rises beyond their control."
"And where do you stand, Your Highness?" Wuxing asked.
Zhao Ming tilted his head. "That depends. Are you an asset—or a threat?"
The moon hung high by the time Wuxing left the Imperial Palace, his thoughts layered with new calculations. Zhao Ming's words had confirmed his suspicions—his enemies were no longer limited to sects and rival clans.
The Imperial Court itself was shifting, and the Wen Clan was at the center of the storm.
But something still felt wrong.
As he neared the outskirts of the palace grounds, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Wuxing didn't break stride, but his hand subtly shifted beneath his robe, fingers brushing against the hidden formation disc within his sleeve.
Then, the world slowed.
A faint sound—so quiet it was almost imperceptible—cut through the night air. A whisper of silk against stone. The air shifted, and Wuxing knew.
An assassin.
Ding!
Hidden Encounter Detected: The Phantom Hand Moves
Objective: Survive the assassination attempt.
Reward: ???
Without hesitation, Wuxing vanished from sight, his movement technique activating in a swirl of black mist. The moment he shifted, a dagger whistled through the air, embedding itself into the stone where his throat had been.
He landed several meters away, eyes narrowing as he surveyed his surroundings. The assassin had no presence, no qi fluctuation—a true ghost in the night.
"You move well, Patriarch Wen."
The voice was smooth, without inflection. From the shadows, a figure emerged, clad in void-black robes with no identifying sigils. The only visible detail was their mask—pure silver, featureless except for the faint etching of an ancient rune.
Wuxing had seen many assassins in his time. But this one...
This one felt different.
"Your technique is impressive," Wuxing said evenly, not lowering his guard. "But your mistake was assuming I would walk into a trap unprepared."
The assassin chuckled. "And yet, here you are. Alone. No guards. No allies." A pause. "Tell me, do you know how many men have died in this exact spot? How many powerful figures have vanished, never to be seen again?"
Wuxing smiled faintly. "More than you could count, I'm sure. But tell me—how many of them knew you were coming before you struck?"
The assassin stilled.
Then, the shadows behind Wuxing rippled, and a second figure emerged—Wen Qian. Her blade gleamed in the moonlight, pressed just lightly against the assassin's back.
"You should be more careful," she whispered. "It seems you've miscalculated."
For the first time, a hint of amusement flickered through the assassin's posture. "Perhaps," they admitted.
Then, with a sudden movement, they stepped forward—into the blade.
Wen Qian's eyes widened as her sword pierced flesh—but instead of blood, only a thin mist escaped. In the next instant, the assassin dissolved into shadows, reforming several paces away, entirely unscathed.
Wuxing's smile did not fade. Instead, his gaze sharpened.
"Interesting technique," he mused. "That isn't something any ordinary assassin would have access to."
The silver-masked figure tilted their head. "Then perhaps you should be asking yourself, who am I really?"
A gust of wind rustled the trees. The assassin did not attack again. Instead, they stepped back into the shadows, their form flickering.
"We will meet again, Patriarch Wen," the voice murmured, growing distant. "And when we do... I wonder if you will be ready."
And then, they were gone.
Back at the Wen Clan stronghold, Wuxing stood before the Veil of Shadows Pavilion, the silver mask resting on the table before him.
No sigil. No markings.
Only a name, left behind on a single slip of black silk.
Two words, written in an ancient script.
The Phantom Hand.
Ding!
Hidden Quest Updated: The Phantom Hand Moves
New Objective: Uncover the identity of the unseen enemy who has orchestrated the downfall of the Wen Clan.
Progress: 1% Complete.
Wuxing exhaled slowly. He had always believed the Zhao Clan was the Wen Clan's greatest threat. But now, he knew.
They were merely pawns in a much greater scheme.
And the true enemy... was still watching.