The day after the accident, Lin Tian and Lady Yun had wasted no time. Driven by desperation, they summoned envoys from across the regions. They even sought help from the Bloodshadow Tower, an organization with a sinister reputation, specializing in dark arts and blood tracking. Even Lin Tian as the leader of the rising Peng Sect, felt uneasy about involving them. Yet, the situation was dire, and they had no other choice.
In exchange for their services, the Tower had demanded a steep price—one that Lin Tian didn't hesitate to pay, despite its cost. Their methods were grim but effective. And although the Tower's blood arts required a physical connection to the target, they had Xuan's severed arm—a terrible reminder of his son's fate, but their last hope.
The Bloodshadow Tower quickly tracked Xuan's trail, following the faint resonance between his body and the severed limb. The journey led them to the river where the kun had disappeared with Xuan. But then, something strange happened—the trail went cold. It wasn't natural, as if someone or something had severed the link between Xuan and his arm, blocking them from finding him.
Yet, in the eerie silence, there was a glimmer of hope. If Xuan were simply dead, the Bloodshadow Tower would have been able to track him without issue. The severance suggested something else—the possibility that something or someone was hiding him, and that meant he could still be alive.
Unable to push further though, Lin Tian and Lady Yun had no choice but to send out Xuan's image to their subordinates, hoping that someone, somewhere, would find him.
Soon days turned to weeks, and their search continued relentlessly, though each day without results weighed heavily on their hearts.
---
At time passed more than four weeks had went by since the accident, and the Lin household, once filled with life, had fallen into a somber silence. Mei sat by the window, staring blankly into the courtyard below, where a few servants shuffled around, setting up decorations for her tenth birthday. But it was a pitiful contrast to how lively Xuan's birthday had been just months earlier. She could still remember the warmth of that day—the laughter, the gifts, and how Xuan had teased her about eating like a little tiger. But now, everything felt hollow. Her brother was gone.
No matter how much her parents searched or how many powerful cultivators they enlisted to aid them, they couldn't find him. Mei had withdrawn from everyone, locking herself in her room, too sad to celebrate anything.
Outside, the rain began to drizzle, fitting the somber mood that seemed to hang over the Lin household. Her mother, Lady Yun, had tried to make this day special for her, but it was impossible. How could it be special when Xuan wasn't here?
A soft knock came from the door. "Mei," her mother's voice called softly, "it's time."
Mei didn't respond at first, but eventually, she opened the door. Lady Yun stood there with a sad smile, holding a delicate scroll in her hands. "This is for you," she said, handing it to her daughter. "You're ten now. You've reached the age for cultivation."
Mei took the scroll, her fingers brushing over it. She should've felt excited—cultivation was something she had always looked forward to—but now it just felt like another reminder of Xuan's absence.
But before she could turn away, Mei caught a glimpse of something unexpected. Lady Yun's eyes were red, her cheeks damp. She'd been crying.
It struck Mei like a blow to the chest. She had known it all along, but seeing this made her realize the situation again. It wasn't just her who was in pain. Her mother, who had always been so strong and composed, had been hiding her pain for weeks. And it wasn't just Lady Yun. Her father, Lin Tian, had grown distant, his heart consumed by the desperate search for his son, unwilling to face the inevitable. Mei felt a pang of guilt deep in her chest.
"I'll make it right," Mei whispered to herself, a newfound resolve settling over her, her fingers tightening around the scroll. In that moment, it was as if she had grown up all at once. "I'll become strong… so you won't ever have to cry for me."
---
In a dark, secluded cave far from the Lin estate, Uncle Wu knelt before a dimly lit figure, his face hidden in the shadow.
"It's done," Uncle Wu said quietly, his voice strained. "Xuan has been… taken care of.... So where is my family?"
For a long, agonizing moment, the figure remained silent, the weight of the air growing thick with tension. Finally, a raspy voice replied, its tone laced with dark amusement, "Your family is safe... for now. As long as you don't get any foolish ideas. You'll find them at your house."
Uncle Wu's shoulders relaxed slightly. His alibi had held up; despite the chaos that followed Xuan's disappearance, no one had suspected any foul play on his part. He might not have emerged completely unscathed—there had been whispers, and the Lin family had cast some blame his way—but nothing concrete had tied him to anything more than unfortunate circumstance. He had kept his head down, played his role well, and escaped suspicion.
But before he could speak again, the voice cut through the stillness.
"Oh, was there anything else of note?" the figure asked, its disinterest almost palpable.
Uncle Wu hesitated, his mind racing. Could the presence know something? He dared not hold anything back. "Mei. Xuan's sister. She's… talented. Far more than any of us ever expected. And this incident—it's driven her to cultivate in a madness." He didn't want to involve Mei, but they had his family.
The shadowed figure let out a low, dismissive chuckle. "That's fine," the voice rasped, its tone cold and indifferent. "It matters not how gifted she is. So long as she doesn't possess his body, she poses no threat."
Uncle Wu swallowed reliefed, as cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck. He knew what the figure meant. It wasn't Mei's talent that concerned them, but the unique potential in Xuan. A body that could harmonize two opposing bloodlines—something that could, if left unchecked, lead to the rebirth of something far worse.
"We can't allow that body to awaken," the voice continued, its tone growing sharper, more menacing. "That thing must never be reborn... And it never will now."
---
In a shadowed, crumbling hall, a monstrous spider, with deeply unnatural proportions and a body armored in scales was lurking. A venomous glow shone from it's pulsating veins. It was the spider that had picked Xuan up by the river. But it wasn't just a normal spider—it was a dragon spider. A dangerous predator infamous around the world.
The dragon spider stretched its many legs with deliberate ease. The once grand chamber it now inhabited had long since fallen into disrepair—cracked stone pillars lined the walls, and faded tapestries, now tattered and forgotten, hung like relics of a bygone era. Still, it suited the creature's tastes. A lair of sorts, where it could plan and observe, hidden from the eyes of the world.
It skittered toward an ancient stone table, its eyes gleaming as it gazed into the dim light that flickered from a single, worn lantern. The thought of Xuan lingered in its mind—a chess piece, not yet fully formed, but brimming with potential. The spider clicked its mandibles in satisfaction.
"That boy," it mused, with a soft rasp in its voice, "he could grow into something quite useful. And once he does..." A flicker of dark amusement danced through the creature's many eyes. "Oh, how delicious it will be when he discovers the truth of it all."
The dragon spider's thoughts turned back to the games of power and territory it had long been embroiled in—fighting for dominance against its fellow disciples. Always looked down upon, never considered worthy, merely because it was not a pure dragon. The bitterness tasted sweet on its tongue now. That resentment had fueled its ambition, pushing it to play a longer, more intricate game.
And Xuan? Xuan would be its hidden card—a piece to be molded and wielded when the time was right.
"Grow strong, little one," it whispered, almost mockingly, its gaze drifting toward the far side of the room, where another shadow loomed. "When the time comes, you'll be fighting for more than just yourself."
With that, the spider settled back, its legs curling as it nestled into a corner of the darkened hall. It would wait, quietly, patiently. The pieces were in place.
But what amused it most—what brought a faint clicking sound from its mandibles—was knowing that the boy had no idea of what truly lay beneath his skin now. No idea about the tattoos he had been branded with.
When the time came for Xuan to realize he wasn't alone—that another soul was stirring—the spider let out a low, sinister chuckle. It would be an intriguing spectacle to witness.