True to his word, Liu Mo Fei acted with swift, decisive precision. His "hands-off" approach to daily sect affairs was no accident—it was a calculated risk, a balancing act of control and delegation. But beneath that trust lay something sharper: his own intelligence network. An elite team, loyal only to him, quietly embedded throughout the sect, gathering whispers and rumors long before they reached official ears.
The reports had always been vague—cliques, favoritism, uneven resource allocation—never explicit. But Yan Ping's bruises and Pa Ti Cia's chilling impunity ripped the blindfold from his eyes. This was rot. And Liu Mo Fei was determined to burn it away.
Within a mere two days, the sect was abuzz with whispers. News spread like wildfire: several prominent elite students, known for their arrogance and privileged backgrounds, had been quietly expelled. Others, less prominent but equally culpable, faced severe disciplinary action, including public apologies and lengthy periods of solitary confinement and spiritual deprivation.
The whispers quickly coalesced into a torrent of rumors, all pointing to one source: Jia Wei Xin. She had reported the abuse to the Sect Leader himself, bypassing all traditional channels, and Liu Mo Fei had responded with unprecedented force.
While many disciples, particularly the non-elites, felt a surge of relief and vindication, others—especially those from powerful families or with a vested interest in the old hierarchy—fumed with resentment.
---
That night, a cool, crisp air swept through the sect. Restless, her mind still churning with the day's events, Jia Wei Xin slipped away into a quiet training ground, seeking a rare moment of calm. The rhythmic clang of distant bells and the rustle of leaves felt muted, a deceptive peace overlaying the tense energy of the sect.
A twig snapped.
She stilled. The air shifted—sour with malice, thick with untempered qi.
Ambush.
Shadows surged from the darkness—six masked figures melting from the gloom, their coordinated movements slicing the air. Their qi flared, jagged and aggressive, a corruption of the sect's usual disciplined power. The tallest among them, his voice distorted by a magical mask, stepped forward, blade gleaming.
"You should've kept your mouth shut, outsider."
Jia Wei Xin's lips curled. "Funny. I was just thinking the same about you."
She struck first. Her qi flared, a whip of golden energy lashing out. Two attackers crumpled, but the others adapted fast—too fast. These weren't pampered elites; their footwork screamed military training. A blade grazed her ribs, blood blooming across her robe.
Damn it. She'd underestimated them.
The leader lunged, his dagger aimed at her throat—
"MY TURN!"
A blast of demonic qi slammed into the attackers. Zhang Tian landed in a crouch beside her, his usual grin replaced by something feral.
"Stealing my spotlight again, little disciple? Rude," he mock-scolded, eyes glinting with predatory amusement.
Jia Wei Xin wiped blood from her lip, exasperation sparking. "Took you long enough."
The masked leader staggered back. "D-Demon King Zhang—?!"
Zhang Tian's crimson eyes gleamed. "Oops. You recognized me." He cracked his knuckles, a wicked smile curling his lips. "Now I have to kill you."
His demonic cultivation flared, crackling with raw power. He moved like a shadow, striking with blinding speed. Masked figures tumbled, blades clattering uselessly to the ground.
"You really need to work on your timing, little disciple," Zhang Tian quipped, deflecting a desperate lunge with a flick of his wrist. "I keep missing all the good bits. Last time, it was your Sifu. This time, it's just a bunch of wannabe thugs. Honestly, a demon king has standards, you know." He punctuated his sentence with a powerful kick, sending a masked attacker flying into a tree with a sickening thud.
Jia Wei Xin couldn't help it. A laugh bubbled up, even as the adrenaline pounded in her veins.
Zhang Tian glanced at her, his smirk softening. "You're lucky I like you."
"I'm lucky you like showing off," she shot back, stepping closer as the last masked figure fled into the shadows.
He grinned wider. "What can I say? You bring out the best in me."
In the silence that followed, their gazes met, the banter fading into something quieter. A flicker of something unspoken passed between them—acknowledgment, perhaps, or something neither dared name.
But then, from the shadows beyond the trees, a faint movement stirred. Jia Wei Xin tensed, her hand drifting to her weapon once more. "Stay sharp," she murmured. "I don't think we're done yet."
---
Bodies littered the ground—unconscious, not dead (Zhang Tian had some restraint). Jia Wei Xin sagged against a tree, pressing a hand to her bleeding side.
Zhang Tian tossed her a healing pill. "Swallow that before you pass out and ruin my heroic moment."
She caught it, grimacing, and swallowed the pill with a wince. The high-grade healing qi immediately soothed her injuries, knitting torn skin and staunching the bleeding.
"Why were you even here?" she demanded.
Zhang Tian's grin widened. "I heard rumors. Figured someone might try to stab you." He paused, tone dropping into playful mischief. "Also, I had to get ahead of Liu Mo Fei in saving you this time, so I've been... keeping an eye on things."
Jia Wei Xin huffed, half amused, half exasperated. "Typical demon king."
"Typical little disciple," he shot back with a wink.
After a moment's pause, she sighed. "I should get back."
"Go," Zhang Tian said, a flicker of something serious in his gaze. "And don't get into more trouble before I catch up."
---
Back at the sect, Jia Wei Xin slipped through the quiet corridors under cover of night, her injuries mostly healed but her side aching with residual pain. She winced as she reached her quarters—only to be intercepted by Liu Mo Fei. His usually composed expression was stormy, and his eyes locked onto the thin slash on her cheek.
Without a word, he cupped her face, tilting her head gently to examine the wound, his thumb brushing lightly over her jaw.
"No more risks," Liu Mo Fei said, voice low, resonant with a mix of anger and concern. "Not until this is over."
She pulled away, her breath catching. "Or what? You'll lock me up too?"
A beat. Then—
Liu Mo Fei's lips quirked into a smirk. "I'd rather chain you to my side. More efficient."
Jia Wei Xin choked, her cheeks flushing. "You wish," she shot back, turning away with a smirk, pretending to ignore the flutter in her chest.
After she disappeared down the corridor, Liu Mo Fei's smirk faded, replaced by a cold, calculating glint in his eyes. He turned to his hidden guards, emerging from the shadows as if summoned by his silent command.
"Find out who were they and who sent them," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. "And we need to speed up the punishment."
Then, without another word, Liu Mo Fei vanished into the night.