The old man's eyes twinkled with an eerie light as he snapped his fingers, turning away from the riverbank.
"Show me something interesting," he said, his voice low but laced with threat. "Or, you know the consequences."
His figure vanished into the mist.
The young man sat in silence for a moment, expressionless. Then, with a small shake of his head, he rose and walked away from the river, white robes trailing behind him like ghostly silk.
When he reached the city gates, two guards stepped forward, spears crossed before him.
"Who are you?" one asked, suspicion thick in his tone.
The young man didn't answer.
Instead, his hand moved so fast it blurred like lightning and before the guard could blink, a wet, crimson object was pulsing in the young man's grasp.
His heart.
The guard dropped without a sound, his body slumping forward as the second froze in terror. He never got the chance to scream.
By the time two hours had passed, the once-quiet city had turned into a silent slaughterhouse. Streets ran red, and silence replaced laughter. And there, in the heart of it all, sat the young man now dressed in crimson.
The white robes were soaked, dyed by the blood of dozens, maybe hundreds. He sat cross-legged in the lotus position, eyes closed, face calm. Like a monk in meditation. A god of death in repose.
The old man reappeared, stepping over corpses with an almost casual grace. He stood before the young man and stared, awe flickering in his eyes.
"It seems you've found your Dao," he murmured. "Truly miraculous. To think that someone like you exists in this small world"
He paused, voice growing more solemn.
"Even I never had such qualifications. To comprehend the Eternal Dao through the path of slaughter." He chuckled, and a strange smile curled his lips. "I believe you will be of great help to me when you grow stronger. A perfect supplement."
The young man's eyes opened slowly. Still blank, still cold.
"No," he said quietly. "It will be your life that fuels my rise to greater heights."
The old man's smile faded just slightly but only for a moment. Then it returned, broader and darker than before.
The scene dissolved.
Back in the present, Feng Ming's eyes snapped open. He stood motionless, the echoes of the vision still churning in his mind. The cruelty. The silence. The blood.
He turned to his master, who stood calmly, watching him with a faint smirk.
"You, that young man," Feng Ming said slowly, "that was you?"
The old man nodded once, confirming what Feng Ming already knew.
A strange smile formed on Feng Ming's face, not unlike the one he had seen in the memory.
"So, you're alive which means the old man died." His voice was steady. "In the future it'll be the same with us, won't it? Either I become your supplement or you become mine."
His master didn't deny it. He only looked at Feng Ming with that same mocking amusement, as though daring him to try.
"So this is your truth" Feng Ming thought, a fire beginning to flicker in his chest.
"I see," he said aloud, stepping forward. "It will be interesting, then. Let's see if I can find my Dao."
Without waiting for a reply, he strode toward the city. Behind him, his master raised a hand and snapped his fingers.
In that instant, a surge of power flooded Feng Ming's body. Bones cracked, muscles tightened, and energy raced through his meridians.
He had stepped into the Bone Refining Realm.
Three hours later, his master appeared again hovering in the air above the blood-soaked outskirts of the city. His eyes scanned the destruction, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he descended and stood before Feng Ming, who was leaning against a crumbled wall, blood-stained but alive.
"It seems," the old man said, his voice oddly quiet, "your path will be different."
Feng Ming said nothing. He looked down at his bloodied hands, then toward the sky, where storm clouds gathered like silent witnesses.
He didn't know what his Dao was yet.
But he was walking toward it one step at a time.