The scent of burning parchment hung in the air like a haunting memory as Lin Ji Chen's boots clicked against the cracked seal of the Verdant Sky Sect. His pulse raced in sync with the rush of power surging through his meridians, each beat a grim reminder that time was running out.
They had been so certain.
The Emperor's spy network—unfailingly meticulous, relentless in its pursuit—was now in tatters. Not even the most seasoned operatives had anticipated this outcome.
No crimson scroll.
No jade slips whispering the secrets of the ages.
Just the lingering scent of lotus oil, the faintest trace of incense, and the bitter tang of—
"Elder Mo's escape route," the Scar-Faced Man muttered, running a finger along the wall. His nail came away damp, streaked with ghost-repelling unguent, freshly applied. "Less than an hour old."
Lin Ji Chen's jaw tightened as rage rippled beneath his skin.
They had been here.
They had taken it.
And now, the city that had burned for this single cause, for this elusive treasure—was a hollow ruin.
---
The Price of Certainty
Months ago, in the Hall of Whispering Steel, a spy had knelt before Lin Ji Chen, her forehead pressing into the cold jade of the altar, her voice steady despite the twisting needles of truth-detectors embedded in her body.
"The Arts rest beneath the sect master's meditation platform," she had sworn, her words unwavering. "I saw the characters myself—'Crimson Phoenix Ascendant' etched in the old script."
The Emperor had smiled that day, a rare gesture of satisfaction.
That smile would now cost lives.
Lin Ji Chen turned to the surviving Black Talons.
"Bring me the spy."
A tense silence followed before the reply came, cold and final:
"She's already dead, my lord. The handler executed her when we found the vault empty."
Of course.
Mistakes are always punished.
But never in the way one expects.
---
What Was Stolen
Lin Ji Chen's golden meridians flared beneath his skin, their light pulsing in time with his rage.
Five centuries of ambition.
Five centuries of constraint.
Now stolen in a single night.
---
The Empire's Reach
The Empire was no paper tiger.
It wielded dozens of Pseudo Core generals, commanders, and agents—unseen hands moving across every battlefield and court in the land. Each loyal. Each powerful.
Yet all bound by the same invisible ceiling.
The same cold iron that stunted their rise.
Until now.
The loss gnawed at Lin Ji Chen's soul with serrated teeth.
---
The Hunt Begins
At the city's smoldering gates, the wind carried the scent of charred flesh and molten steel. The world had been reduced to ash, and yet Lin Ji Chen felt nothing but the gnawing emptiness in his chest.
The Scar-Faced Man pressed a bloodstained map into his hand.
"South," he rasped. "Toward the Shrouded Mire."
Lin Ji Chen studied the crude markings on the map, not the work of seasoned fugitives but of desperate men scattering in fear.
Good.
Let them run. Let them tire.
The Shadow Hawks had already begun circling overhead, their wings slicing through the smoke-filled air like harbingers of doom.
When Lin Ji Chen caught them, there would be no mercy.
He would peel the flesh from their bones slowly, savoring every moment of their terror.
Starting with the eyes.
---
The Emperor's Silent Fury
The great halls of the Imperial Palace, once resounding with steel-edged authority, now loomed silent as Lin Ji Chen approached.
The towering jade doors stood slightly ajar—an invitation, or a warning.
Each step forward drained the heat from his veins. His golden meridians, once brilliant threads of strength, now throbbed with a sickly rhythm, as if recoiling from the fate awaiting him.
He knelt before the throne.
No words were spoken.
None were needed.
The Emperor's gaze, cool and unreadable, fell upon him like a blade honed beyond the reach of mortal craftsmanship.
No shout.
No blow.
Only the crushing weight of expectation shattered.
Lin Ji Chen's forehead pressed against the floor, tasting the dust and bitter ash of his failure.
The burned city.
The broken network.
The lost future.
He dared not lift his head.
He dared not breathe too loudly.
Outside, a gong tolled once—low and hollow—as another star fell from the Imperial sky.
---
Li Yuan Tian's Plans
In the shadows of the Empire, far beyond the Emperor's gaze, a different storm was brewing.
Li Yuan Tian stood at the window of his secluded estate, overlooking the winding streets below. The sprawling city, teeming with life, remained blissfully unaware of the shift that had already begun. But to him, it was as clear as the blood-red dusk painting the sky.
He had played his part. Now, with the Crimson Arts slipping from the Emperor's grasp, his moment was at hand.
Turning from the window, Li Yuan Tian's hand rested lightly on the dagger at his side. The time for subtlety had ended. The Emperor's weakness could no longer be hidden beneath layers of courtly pretense and gilded diplomacy.
Li Yuan Tian's path led straight to the heart of power—the Imperial Capital itself. He would need to move swiftly. Even now, Lin Ji Chen's rage would be fueling a relentless hunt. The Emperor's fury, like a gathering storm, threatened to tear the Empire apart.
But that very storm would be his shield.
In the days to come, as the Empire scrambled to recover its lost treasure, Li Yuan Tian would slip into the heart of power, unseen and unstoppable. A place where even the Emperor's hand could not reach him.
The Imperial Court was ripe for the taking. Every official, every noble, every military commander—each one a potential pawn in his grand design.
Li Yuan Tian's smile was thin and cold. His eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
The Emperor's failure had become his opportunity. And soon, while Lin Ji Chen raged and hunted phantoms, the true strings of the Empire would be pulled from the shadows.
He would rise to power.
And when he did, not even the Emperor's fury would be more than a whisper in the storm he would unleash.
End of Chapter