The night cloaked Heavenly Radiance Sect in darkness, thick and suffocating. Wisps of mist coiled like spectral serpents across ancient flagstones and the soft glow of lanterns did little to pierce the gloom.
A heavier darkness moved stealthily through this muted landscape, Master Shen himself, his brilliant white robes muted beneath a dark cloak, slipping like a phantom through deserted pathways.
He paused at the entrance to Yin Shuang's chamber, his breath slow, controlled. His hands, hidden beneath the folds of his cloak, trembled slightly, not with fear but with anticipation.
Finally, he thought. Finally, the Peerless Sword will be mine.
A predatory smile twisted Shen's usually serene features as he pushed open the door with silent care, stepping into Yin Shuang's personal sanctuary.
The moonlight spilled across the room, bathing everything in a cold, ethereal glow. There, resting atop the meditation altar, lay the sword—gleaming softly, as if awaiting him.
Shen's breath quickened, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable. He moved closer, each step deliberate, savoring the moment.
As he extended a hand toward the sword, his mind raced with visions of power.
With the Peerless Sword under his command, no one could oppose him. The failures, the betrayals, the humiliation suffered at the Obsidian Peak Sect, they would all be erased. In time, the entire cultivation world would kneel before the new era he would forge with his own hands.
His fingers brushed the hilt. A sharp pulse of Qi leapt from the blade, stinging his hand and sending a jolt up his arm. Shen hissed in pain but gritted his teeth, forcing his will over the sword's resistance.
"You will obey me," he muttered under his breath. "You have no choice."
Why? The thought festered bitterly in his mind. Why would this sword, this artifact of power, connect so readily with a weak, unseasoned girl like Yin Shuang and yet reject me? Me, the revered leader of the great Heavenly Radiance Sect?
His pride recoiled from the insult. It was absurd. Outrageous. He, who had mastered countless techniques, who commanded the respect—or at least the fear—of every righteous sect across the Central Plains, now found himself repelled by a mere sword?
The sword resisted still, vibrating faintly in rejection but Shen ignored it, twisting the hilt with a growl, forcing it from its resting place.
That was when he heard it the quiet sound of footsteps behind him, impossibly soft yet unmistakably deliberate.
Shen froze.
Slowly, he turned.
There she stood, framed perfectly by the open doorway, moonlight crowning her silhouette.
Yin Shuang's eyes locked onto Shen with a calm intensity that unsettled him more than any shouted accusation could have.
"You shouldn't have come here, Master Shen," she said softly, her voice almost gentle. "Or perhaps you should. Fate has been waiting for this meeting."
For a heartbeat, Shen hesitated, caught between arrogance and an instinctual flicker of unease. But pride—always pride—won swiftly.
He laughed. A low, mocking sound that filled the small chamber.
"You clever little fool," he sneered, stepping away from the altar, still clutching the Peerless Sword tightly. "Did you really think luring me here would save you? You should have gone to the Great Hall as summoned. Perhaps then, you might have lived a little longer."
Yin smiled faintly, tilting her head. "I had no intention of answering your summons, Master Shen. That was never part of the plan."
Shen's eyes narrowed sharply. His jaw clenched as realization dawned.
"You… baited me," he whispered, fury simmering beneath his words.
Yin nodded once, serene. "You were predictable."
The arrogance Shen so carefully cultivated cracked further under the weight of her calm defiance. His face twisted into something uglier—anger, resentment, deep insecurity.
"You think yourself clever?" Shen spat. "You think you're different from your mother? You're just like her—naïve, foolish. She trusted too easily. And she paid the price."
Yin said nothing, only watching him with steady, unblinking eyes.
Confession in the Dark
The silence pressed down between them, thick and suffocating. And Shen, perhaps sensing that victory through violence was slipping from his grasp, chose instead to wound her spirit first.
He sneered, stepping closer, voice lowering into a vicious, poisonous whisper.
"Your mother was never a paragon," he hissed. "She was a fool elevated by luck and connections. Her so-called purity? Weakness, nothing more. It was her reliance on that foolish scholar Mo Xuan that enabled her to ascend to her level. She learned her to craft that sword based on Mo Xuan's Celestial Eclipse Manual! None of her achievements were of her own merit."
Yin's fingers twitched at her side, but she remained still, forcing herself to listen. This was what she needed—the confession.
"And righteousness?" Shen continued with a laugh, bitter and sharp. "Righteousness invites death. It blinds you to the truth. Your mother believed herself untouchable, believing her so-called virtue made her invincible. But in the end… all it took was a little pinch of poison in her tea to tip the scales."
His grin was vicious, his eyes alight with the madness of long-buried resentment.
He leaned closer, the stolen sword glinting ominously between them.
Shen remembered all too well how the sword had refused him, remaining stubbornly inert even after he rid himself of Jiang Xue. But this time would be different. This time, he would force Yin to yield—to transfer the sword's ownership willingly—before he silenced her for good.
"And soon," he whispered, almost lovingly, "you'll join her. But not before that sword belongs to its rightful master."
Shen moved then, swift, vicious, a blur of Qi and killing intent.