The village sat quietly beneath the golden blush of morning, its earthy houses tucked between slopes of green hills and trickling streams. The rising sun cast soft light over the thatched rooftops, dew glistening like diamonds on leaves and fences. To the casual eye, it looked like a peaceful haven.
But for those who had just arrived Zhang Wei, Pan Qiang, and Prince Han Yu the air held a tension too subtle for the untrained to detect.
The trio had settled in a modest guesthouse, their rooms sparse but neat, with warm tea already waiting on low wooden tables. The villagers had been courteous, if not overly warm. The village had the feeling of a place wounded, as though something terrible had passed but left no visible scar.
By midday, a commotion rose near the village square.
Zhang Wei had just returned from a short stroll around the medicinal gardens when he noticed the gathering of cultivators and townsfolk. Cries of panic echoed across the square. The village chief and several other elders had collapsed, foaming at the mouth, their skin pale and clammy.
Zhang Wei knelt beside the chief, his hand on the man's pulse, then lifted his wrist to his nose and narrowed his eyes. The scent was faint, but not unfamiliar, a complex blend of herbal compounds with a metallic aftertaste. Poison.
Pan Qiang hovered nearby, alarmed. "Did the food get tampered with?"
Zhang Wei didn't respond right away. His gaze shifted across the collapsed figures most of the elder villagers and some of the cooks and herbalists had fallen. But not all. A portion of the villagers stood unharmed, pale-faced but alert, confused.
Meanwhile, the disciples from the sects gathered too. Wu Sheng of the Divine Cauldron Sect strode forward arrogantly, arms folded over his chest. "Clearly the poison was improperly stored or brewed. And who handles poison and antidotes in a village like this? We don't even need to investigate, it's obviously their own incompetence."
A Divine Cauldron disciple beside him murmured, "Still, the signature of the poison is similar to the Crimson Vine toxin. That's one of ours."
Whispers broke out. Accusatory glances were cast at the Divine Cauldron Sect. Suspicion swelled like a stormcloud.
One villager stepped forward, trembling. "You! you all are experts in medicine and poison. If someone were to poison us, it must be you who did it! Or who let it happen!"
"Ridiculous!" Wu Sheng snapped. "We would not waste our time on you insects. You think we'd bother to poison a backwater village?"
But the seed of doubt had been sown. Zhang Wei, still kneeling, looked up. "This poison. It's too complex to be local. The synthesis requires control of temperature and timing. The Crimson Vine is indeed part of it but it has been altered. This isn't an accident. This is deliberate."
Han Yu stepped forward, calm but cold. "Are you saying the Divine Cauldron Sect is being framed?"
Zhang Wei nodded slowly. "Most likely by the same bandits that plague this village. They poisoned the villagers, then used one of the sect's signature poisons to shift suspicion onto Divine Cauldron, hoping to cause discord between the sects and the royal observers."
Wu Sheng scoffed. "And you, what proof do you have, peasant?"
"It's clearly the Divine Cauldron Sect," spat a young disciple from the Sword Sect. "You people handle poisons, don't you? What if this is your doing?"
Wu Sheng's face darkened. "Watch your tongue. We don't poison innocents."
"But who else could have done this?" another asked. "None of us carry such methods. And the timing right after your arrival? Suspicious."
The disciples argued under the village chief's roof while the poisoned moaned softly around them. Even the chief had fallen ill.
Zhang Wei kept silent, his sharp gaze scanning the room, mind spinning. This doesn't feel right. Why would Wu Sheng or the sect poison those they came to protect? Unless.
Han Yu stood calmly beside him, arms folded. "Too fast. Too clean. Whoever did this wanted the sects to fight."
"You mean, they're being framed?" Pan Qiang asked.
Zhang Wei nodded. "Someone wants us divided."
Just then, a shout came from outside. One of the not-yet-sick villagers approached, desperate. "You're supposed to be experts, do something! Divine Cauldron Sect, you know poisons. Heal them!"
With eyes still burning from accusation, a junior disciple from the Divine Cauldron Sect stepped forward. He knelt beside one of the villagers and began circulating his qi to diagnose the symptoms. But seconds later, his face went pale. He choked, stumbled back, he had been poisoned too.
Gasps spread across the village square.
Wu Sheng clenched his fists and moved toward the fallen villager. He crouched low, examining the pulse, the bluish tint of the lips, and even the scent of the breath. But after a long silence, his brows drew together, and he stood, defeated. "I don't recognize this poison."
Just then, Zhang Wei felt it , the soft warmth of the jade pendant against his chest, pulsing like a heartbeat. A subtle vibration coursed through his bones, as if ancient knowledge stirred within him.
It's calling again.
In his mind's eye, ancient texts unfolded like scrolls caught in wind, pages inked in scripts of old, faded diagrams of poison roots, toxin cycles, forgotten brewing techniques. He inhaled sharply.
Whispering Rot…
The name echoed in his mind like a whisper on the wind. A forgotten poison, crafted in the shadow of the old wars between sects. It was meant not to kill instantly, but to deceive—mimicking known toxins, responding to healing attempts by multiplying its effects, and even spreading through qi contact like wildfire. It had been banned and buried long ago.
He looked up, now with certainty.
"This poison…" he said aloud, drawing the attention of everyone nearby, "...is not just from the Divine Cauldron Sect. It is a forgotten creation. A mutated variant of the Crimson Vine compound, known only in banned texts."
The gathered cultivators murmured.
Han Yu's brows twitched. "You recognize it?"
"I do now," Zhang Wei answered calmly. "Because my master once warned me about poisons that pretend to be familiar. This is one of them. Whispering Rot. It lies dormant until qi flows near it, then it awakens and spreads. The scent it's faint, but it's here."
Without another word, he strode toward the cookfire near the back of the plaza. Several villagers—mostly kitchen workers—were gathered there, confused and trembling. Zhang Wei sniffed the air, moving from one person to the next.
Then he stopped in front of a hunched man, gray-bearded, wearing an apron stained with soup. The faint smell of Cloudroot one of the key to make the poison clung to him like a ghost.
Zhang Wei narrowed his eyes. "What's in your pouch?"
The man flinched. "N-nothing but my spices, young master…"
Zhang Wei turned. "Someone check it."
Immediately, a smug voice rose from the side. "Hmph, let me handle this." A disciple of the Divine Cauldron Sect, dressed in green and white, swaggered forward. "You country bumpkins can't even check a pouch properly—"
He reached forward to grab it—
The cook moved first.
A palm strike, laced with mid-stage Qi Gathering cultivation, exploded outward.
The disciple flew back, blood spurting from his mouth as he crashed into a fruit stand, splinters flying. Cries of alarm burst from the crowd.
Pan Qiang roared, stepping forward with his fists clenched. "You dare!"
But before he could charge, Han Yu raised a hand. "Surround him!"
In an instant, Han Yu, Wu Sheng, and several sect disciples dashed in. Their movements were sharp and practiced, the moment of surprise already fading. Wu Sheng struck with a swift burst of poison mist that forced the spy backward, coughing. Han Yu circled to the left, his sword glowing faintly with cold light.
The old cook snarled, dropping the pouch as he leapt away, knocking aside crates and villagers. "You were supposed to be distracted! This wasn't supposed to happen yet!"
Suddenly, shouts erupted from the crowd.
Other villagers at least half a dozen threw off their outer garments, revealing light armor and hidden blades. They dashed toward the crowd, aiming to cause chaos. Bandit spies.
"More of them!" cried a disciple from the Sword Sect.
But the cultivators were faster. The disciples from Sword Sect, Divine Cauldron, and Heavenly Cult moved like wolves, intercepting the bandits in pairs. Steel clashed, qi flared. Pan Qiang joined the fray, slamming a bandit into the dirt with a single punch. Even Zhang Wei stepped in, using swift movement to pull injured villagers to safety.
Meanwhile, the main fight centered on the cook-turned-assassin.
The old spy lashed out with venomous techniques, claws glowing green, but Wu Sheng countered with anti-poison strikes, while Han Yu's swordplay cut off every retreat. The spy tried to leap into the air—
But he never made it.
Shink.
Han Yu appeared before him like a phantom. One clean stroke.
Blood splashed across the dirt. The man fell, twitching, then still.
Silence returned to the square, broken only by the labored breathing of the wounded.
Han Yu flicked his sword clean and turned. "Cowards who prey on villagers deserve no mercy."
Zhang Wei exhaled and walked over to the discarded pouch. He picked it up with a cloth and peered inside. Powdered herbs, crushed roots, everything matched what he had sensed.
He turned to Wu Sheng, who was glaring at the fallen spy. "This was a setup. They planted their own, poisoned the villagers, and used one of your sect's signature poisons to frame you."
Wu Sheng clenched his jaw but nodded. "Then I owe you for clearing our name. That bastard…" He glanced toward the fallen disciple who had been wounded. "Still alive, but unconscious."
Zhang Wei kneeled to begin non-spiritual treatment. "Leave the healing to me. Don't use qi. This poison is reactive."
Pan Qiang stood nearby, bruised but grinning. "You're getting good at calling the shots."
Zhang Wei smiled faintly. "I just listen to what the world tells me."
Han Yu folded his arms and surveyed the quieting square. "This was only the first move. We'll need to stay vigilant. Whoever sent these spies wants to pit sect against sect. And they nearly succeeded."