The courtyard buzzed with whispers as the servants huddled in tight circles, their faces pale but their eyes wide with curiosity.
"Did you hear?" one maid hissed, her hands clutching the edge of her apron. "A rank-two martial artist, dead! Blood everywhere—right in the courtyard!"
"Who would dare?" another chimed in, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if. what if we're next?"
Their words spread like fire throughout the house. Fear clung to the air, suffocating and thick. In the dim corners of the room, a few dare to glance at the ground stained with blood before averting their gaze.
While the servants speculated, Zan Xie lay in his cramped servant's quarters, a tiny wooden room that smelled of damp wood and dust. The bed beneath him creaked every time he moved, the thin mattress doing little to mask the hardness of the wooden frame. Insects flitted around, some daring to crawl across the cracked walls.
He sat up in bed, the cool solidity of the green jade resting in his palm as he stared at the ceiling. The piece was small, no bigger than a thumb and etched with the unmistakable symbol of the Wu family-the same piece he'd taken from the rank-two martial artist before leaving the lifeless body behind.
Zan Xie smoothed out the jade, his fingers brushing along the edges. He pocketed it and let out a quiet breath. The Wu family would take the fall; there was no question about that. They were already tied to the fall of the Xin family, a feud that ran far deeper than most knew.
It all started when Wu Shen, the heir to the Wu family, lost his opportunity to be a direct disciple of the Blue Phoenix Sect. Failure was not only humiliating for him but also costly for his family. The same day, Xin Lian confirmed her position in the sect, and revenge rumors started.
Zan Xie remembered it clearly—the failed assassination, the clash of grudges, and the elder from the sect who had intervened just in time. Xin Lian and her brother had barely survived, but the scars left by that day lingered, festering beneath the surface.
The servants began to discuss her in hushed awe and caution. She is a rank-three martial artist, getting stronger with every passing day. It is not just that she awaits revenge; she is preparing for it.
Zan Xie's smile was weak, and the memory was far from clear in his head. Every detail, every scheme—it was all there, sharp as the day it had happened. He rolled over from his bed and went straight to the courtyard where all the servants gathered.
The old man's gaze swept across the courtyard, his eyes sharp with suspicion. "While we know the Wu family may be involved," he began, his voice low and steady, "there may be a spy among us. Someone with knowledge of our movements, our weaknesses."
A murmur of unease rippled through the crowd. The thought of a traitor among them made the air feel thicker, more oppressive.
"I suggest," the old man continued, his voice rising, "that everyone line up so I can assess your cultivation levels. Only a rank-two or higher cultivator would have the strength to kill one of our own in such a manner, unless they were using some underhanded trick."
The servants stiffened, exchanging nervous glances. A few looked hesitant, but the authority in the old man's voice left little room for argument.
Slowly one after another, the servants approached. Their eyes darted from Xin Lian to others on the side, observing calmly. Zan Xie did not move but did not change his countenance. His mind remained clear, catching every sentence and every change in air.
He raised his hand, waving it over each servant, his fingers glowing faintly as he checked their cultivation. His eyes narrowed with every pass, inspecting the subtle energy within their bodies.
Most of the servants were rank one cultivators with faint energy compared to the higher-tiered martial artists. His frown deepened as he moved from person to person, his assessment thorough.
The courtyard was thick with tension as the last of the servants filed into line, their nervous energy palpable. The old man moved slowly, his hands glowing faintly as he checked each person's cultivation level, his eyes sharp with suspicion.
"Rank one," he muttered under his breath after examining each servant, his gaze growing heavier with each pass. "Rank one... rank one…"
The old man raised an eyebrow, his fingers hovering over Zan Xie's body. There was a faint flicker of surprise in his eyes as he assessed Zan Xie's cultivation. Rank one.
"No suspicion here," the old man muttered, more to himself than anyone else, waving him off with a dismissive gesture. "Just another lowly servant."
Zan Xie remained unfazed, his mind already shifting to the next move. He turned slowly, his gaze cold as he walked back toward the shadows.
As he moved, a sudden chill ran down his spine. The courtyard had gone unnervingly quiet, the air thick with an unspoken tension. Just as he reached the door, a sharp voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.
"Stop right there."
Zan Xie froze. The voice—calm, composed, yet carrying an undeniable weight—belonged to none other than Xin Lian.
She was sitting at the middle of the courtyard, her posture graceful, as if unaffected by the chaos. But her eyes were locked on him, piercing through the darkness with unsettling precision.
The servants all turned, and a shiver passed through the group as the young lady's cold gaze settled on Zan Xie.
"Turn around," Xin Lian said, her voice low but firm.