The boy hurried past the sect gates, not stopping for even a second. Once past the entrance, the full expanse of the Venomthread Sect revealed its glory before him.
Stone buildings stretched across the mountainside, their dark, jagged architecture blending with the natural rock. Tiered courtyards carved into the cliffs shimmered faintly under the setting sun, while narrow paths wound their way up and down the steep slopes.
At the highest points, two massive stone pillars loomed—markers of the sect's long history and power.
As the boy ascended the familiar stone paths, his eyes barely registered the scattered lanterns floating in the cold, dark air. He soon reached a medium-sized abode tucked away from the main path. Unlike the other abodes he had passed, which were mostly plain stone buildings surrounded by sparse greenery, this one was different. A larger garden sprawled around it, filled with a wide variety of flowers and plants.
As he walked closer, a small wooden sign standing next to the entrance became visible. Written there in delicate penmanship were two simple words: Jasmine Garden.
This was the boy's home for the past few months.
Quickly walking past the garden and entering the building, the boy dropped the lantern near the door and gently set the case containing the Frostdew Flower on a nearby table. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he sank onto his mattress, his body screaming for rest.
The boys eyelids fluttered, fatigue seemingly dragging him toward unconsciousness. But just as he started to drift off, his eyes shot open again, as pain reflected in his eyes.
His hand went to the wound on his chest as he peeled the material back slightly, grimacing at the sight. It wasn't just a scratch; the wound was deeper than the boy had initially realized.
Knowing that the wound needed treatment but lacking the necessary skills, he quickly concluded that he would have to seek help. Yet, the boy barely knew anyone in the sect. Having joined only a few months ago, his interactions had been few and cautious.
There was only his Master—Master Shen. But something about the man always made the boy hesitate, a lingering mistrust gnawing at the back of his mind.
And then a different person's figure visited his thoughts.
>>>
In the dimly lit Resource Hall sat a young girl, around thirteen or fourteen, behind a wooden counter. She wore the Venomthread Sect's standard cultivation robes, her dark hair tied back in a slightly messy ponytail that framed her sharp, lively eyes. A badge pinned to her chest indicated her rank as an inner disciple. She was Lan Yue, working part-time to earn extra merit points, something common for inner disciples who wanted to supplement their cultivation resources.
It was a day like any other, routine and quiet, until her gaze landed on a strange boy entering the building. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she recognized him. He was a core disciple she had met just a few days ago—a strange one, much younger than any core disciple she had ever seen and also missing an arm.
"Back so soon? Need Big Sis to help you out again?" she called out with a playful grin, leaning forward slightly as the boy approached.
By all rights, she should have been calling him "Senior Disciple" or "Senior Brother", but Lan Yue flat-out refused to address a ten-year-old boy as such. The last time they met, she had convinced—or rather, subtly forced—him to call her "Big Sis" instead. With that dynamic, she neatly avoided the awkwardness of calling someone so young by a senior title too.
While reminiscing about that encounter, Lan Yue's gaze fell on the boy's pale face, the torn robe clinging to his small frame, and the dark stain of blood seeping through the fabric. Her playful demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by sharp concern.
"What happened?" Her voice took on a more serious tone. "Xuan?"
The boy—Xuan—was a recently joined core disciple of the Venomthread Sect, though he didn't fit the usual image of one. Too young, missing an arm, and with a wary expression that suggested he trusted no one entirely. Well, that last part did fit the image of a Venomthread Sect's disciple.
Xuan flinched slightly, surprised by the genuine concern in her tone. After a brief hesitation, he explained the situation in a few words.
Lan Yue's brow furrowed as she leaned in to inspect the wound more closely. Relief flickered across her face as she sighed softly. "It looks worse than it actually is. The real problem is the blood loss—that's why you're pale. But you'll be fine if you treat it properly."
Without waiting for a response, she turned toward the shelves behind her, her hands moving swiftly as she retrieved a small jar of salve. Turning back to Xuan, she handed it to him with a steady gaze.
"This will stop the bleeding and help with healing, but you need to wash the wound first—warm water is best. Apply this while your skin is still damp," she instructed firmly.
Xuan reached out to take the jar, nodding. "Thank you, Big Sis Yue."
Lan Yue held onto the jar for a moment longer before letting go. Her expression softened slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You're welcome. But remember—you owe me for this. Merit points don't grow on trees," she added with a teasing lilt, though the concern in her voice hadn't entirely faded.
Just as Xuan turned to leave, Lan Yue's sharp eyes caught on his torn robe. "Wait," she said, stopping him mid-step. "That robe's in bad shape. Bring it back to me later, and I'll get you a new one. Call it customer service."
Xuan blinked, a bit taken aback by her offer.
"I'll check on the wound when you bring the robe," she added, crossing her arms. "I want to make sure this salve worked."
Giving her a grateful nod, Xuan agreed. "Alright, Big Sis Yue."
As Xuan walked away, his thoughts lingered on Big Sis Yue. Recently, whenever he was near her, he felt a faint warmth in his heart, as if her presence was gently soothing wounds he thought would never heal. It was a weird feeling, that he didn't quite understand yet.
Lost in thought, he wandered along the winding stone paths of the sect. Soon, the familiar sight of his home came into view.
The soft crunch of gravel underfoot pulled him back to the present as he noticed a figure with a quiet demeanor ahead. It was Lin Ran, a young girl of a similar age to him, assigned as his maid. She was petite, with delicate features framed by dark hair tied into a simple braid.
Lin Ran's eyes flickered briefly to the torn, bloodied robe and the faintly visible wound beneath it. For a moment, something unreadable passed over her face—concern, perhaps—but it was gone before Xuan could dwell on it.
"You're hurt," she said softly, stating the obvious.
"Yes." Xuan blinked. Even though they had lived together for a while now, they still hadn't grow very close.
"I will take a bath first." Xuan informed.
The girl paused for a second. "Should I prepare towels for you?"
Taken aback for a moment Xuan blinked, but then nodded. "That would help. Thanks."
Lin Ran gave a small nod and turned toward the house, disappearing through the entrance as Xuan continued on, making his way to the small lake behind the house, pushing the awkward conversation to the back of his head.
Situated on the opposite side of the garden, the lake was nestled in a quiet corner, bordered by smooth stones that gleamed softly in the dimming light. Besides an entrance from the house, a small stone path wound its way around the building, offering a scenic route from the garden to the lake. Xuan opted for the outside path.
Once there Xuan set the jar of salve on a flat stone at the water's edge and shrugged off his outer robe, revealing the torn and bloodied undershirt beneath. His chest wound throbbed faintly as he peeled away the fabric and stepped into the cool water.
The shock of the temperature sent a shiver through him, but it was refreshing in its own way. He crouched near the edge, carefully splashing water over his chest to clean the dried blood and dirt from the wound. Each movement brought a sharp sting, drawing occasional winces from his lips.
Once satisfied, he reached for the salve, dipping his fingers into the jar. The cool paste felt soothing as he applied it directly to the wound, working methodically to cover every part of the gash.
As Xuan focused on his task, the faint sound of petite footsteps reached his ears. They came from behind him, light and hesitant.
Xuan's fingers froze, and he instinctively straightened as he heard a familiar voice: