The night was quiet.

Too quiet, Aaryan thought.

There were no whispers, no rustling disciples shadowing his steps, not even the skitter of some cowardly sect rat slinking through the grass. Just the moonlight, long and pale, stretching over Evernight's sleeping courtyards like the hand of something watching.

Aaryan hadn't expected this. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, honestly—an ambush? A dramatic challenge from some jealous peak-stage disciple? A scroll nailed to his door that said "You die next, monster"?

But definitely not this eerie calm.

He slowed his pace near the last bend before his courtyard and stopped.

Someone was there.

He could feel it—a pressure behind him, not hostile, but heavy. Quiet, but impossible to ignore. Slowly, he turned.

Silver glinted under the moonlight.

The Fourth Grand Elder stood silently behind him, arms folded within her sleeves, expression unreadable. Her hair was unbound and cascading like liquid starlight down her back. She didn't speak. Just stood there. Watching him.

Aaryan blinked.

Well. That was unexpected. And mildly terrifying.

'Great. This is how they do it,' he thought. 'You impress a little too much, and suddenly someone decides you're too clever to be left alive. Midnight stroll. Boom. Vanished. The perfect sect crime.'

Still, his face remained the picture of polite serenity. He bowed slightly, though his muscles coiled beneath his robe, just in case this was the setup for a particularly dignified assassination.

"Fourth Elder," he greeted smoothly.

She nodded once. Not a single emotion on her face, not even the usual disapproval most elders had perfected when looking at him.

He glanced toward his courtyard, only a few paces away, then gestured loosely. "Well… I was just about to return. Would you care for tea? I keep three kinds: stale, staler, and one that smells like a cursed spiritual beast corpse."

He even managed to make it sound like an offer and not a final request.

Still nothing from her expression. For a moment, Aaryan genuinely wondered if she was human or just a spirit tool sculpted into a person.

"It's safer here," she said at last.

Aaryan's smile flickered.

"Here?" he echoed, pretending to look around. "You mean, standing out in the open? Where anyone could see us? Rather than my perfectly ordinary, absolutely-not-bugged courtyard?"

His gaze sharpened ever so slightly. "Interesting."

Her head tilted. "You may call me Elder Shiela."

"Ah," Aaryan said. "We're on first-name basis now. I assume that means I'm either being promoted or eliminated."

Still no smile. But there was a subtle glint in her eye now.

"I came," she continued, "to check if the new thing is functioning well."

'Thing?' Aaryan's brows twitched, but he said nothing for a moment. 'Functioning well'? He was being evaluated like a spiritual artifact with questionable aftereffects.

"I suppose I'm not sparking unexpectedly or emitting smoke," he said lightly. "But I'll keep you informed if any odd runes appear on my back."

She watched him for a beat longer.

"You're not the first," she said.

His breath caught—but only for a second. He knew better than to show it.

"Oh, good," he replied. "I was starting to think this was personal."

"There are eyes on you," she murmured. "There always were. But now, after your… performance… some of them have turned sharper. Less curious. More certain."

"And more likely to stab," Aaryan added with a shrug. "That's usually how sect attention works."

"Some smiles hide teeth. Especially now," Shiela said. "Everything has begun to shift. And sooner rather than later, they will act, may be even personally."

Her voice was calm, but Aaryan could hear it beneath the words: warning. Maybe even sympathy.

"So, the game's started, then," he replied, smiling faintly. "I was wondering when the pieces would move. I suppose I should've expected the Fourth Elder to be the one holding the board."

She said nothing.

But in that silence, everything was said.

They stood like that for a moment, two shadows under moonlight—one ancient, unreadable, steady. The other younger, sharper, and starting to see the outline of the blade hovering above his path.

"Good," Shiela said softly. "You just might survive this."

Aaryan tilted his head, curious. "And which particular someone is aiming to make sure I don't?"

Shiela turned away. "If I told you… it would only worsen it."

"Does it matter… if they've already begun?" And with that she stepped lightly into the shadows and disappeared between the pines, like a ghost vanishing into mist.

"That bad, huh?" he muttered.

Aaryan stood there a moment longer, staring at his gate.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

He stared at the entrance of his courtyard, then chuckled under his breath. "So now I can't trust anyone, anywhere. Perfect."

He pushed open the gate and walked in.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Inside, everything was untouched. Neatly swept stones. An old pot of spiritual herbs by the window. Even the training mat lay just as he'd left it—worn, but firm. His space.

His war zone.

He exhaled and sat down cross-legged. No lamps. No tea. No comfort.

He closed his eyes.

If people were planning to test his strength, then he'd give them something to choke on.

Let them come.

But they'd best pray they were ready.

Because he would be.

Aaryan opened his eyes.

The night hadn't changed—still draped in silence, still cloaked in pale moonlight—but something inside him had. The haze of uncertainty had cleared. What remained was a glint of purpose, sharp and deliberate, simmering beneath his calm expression.

He needed to grow stronger. Fast.

Not just because of the warning Elder Shiela had given, but because deep down, he could feel it—something was moving in the dark corners of the sect. And whatever it was, it wouldn't wait for him to be ready.

His thoughts drifted towards his spatial ring, hidden close to his chest.

Two divine fruits still rested inside, pulsing faintly with hidden energy. Their fragrance was subtle, but to a trained cultivator, unmistakable— potent enough to shatter the gates to Qi Condensation.

He thought for a moment. The temptation was there. The idea of forcefully stepping into the next realm, of silencing every whisper of threat with raw cultivation… almost made sense.

But he scoffed softly. No.

He wasn't desperate. Not yet. And even his breakthrough wouldn't guarantee safety, then why take the risk.

His foundation was still young—Qi Condensation now would be like building a fortress on sand. It would crack eventually. Fatally.

That wasn't the path.

If things spiralled beyond control, he had other options. He thought about the jade tablet given by Maya. She had told him to shatter it if he faced something beyond his ability to handle.

Aaryan didn't know who she truly was. Not yet. But if there was one thing he trusted, it was her power. She'd saved him once already, and the weight of this jade shard whispered of something ancient and absolute.

He wouldn't break it for fear. Only necessity.

So, Qi Condensation was out. So was blind reliance.

What about his body cultivation?

He flexed his right arm slowly, peering inward—runes glowed faintly, etched deep into bone, linked like the sinews of some ancient beast.

The Dominion Tyrant Physique.

He had completed the first stage—Primordial Tyrant Bone—up to his right forearm before even returning to Green Veil City. Back then, progress had been slow. Painful. But it had felt worthwhile.

Since returning, though…

His expression tightened. He'd practiced it—once, twice—but it was like punching stone underwater. No matter how much he endured, the returns were negligible. His body simply wasn't ready to progress faster. The constitution's growth was like a mountain forming—majestic, but slow as eternity.

It would take months. Maybe longer. Too long.

He let his sleeve fall and leaned back slightly, eyes narrowed.

The Soul Anvil Method, then.

Now that was something.

It still felt like madness—enduring strikes from the hammer pounding against his soul—but it worked. He could withstand two soul-forged strikes without crumbling. It had nearly driven him to the edge each time, but the progress was undeniable.

This past week, he'd trained it again—brief, brutal sessions that left him reeling for hours. But compared to the Dominion Tyrant Physique, it was a storm he could actually steer.

He was confident now. With the right medicinal herbs to speed up his soul's recovery after each strike, he could endure the third hammer-blow within a month. Even without the herbs, he'd make it in two.

And once he advanced, he'd step into the Spirit Awakening realm—an unconventional path, true, but its strength rivalled that of true Qi Condensation.

Aaryan grinned faintly.

He didn't need to win every fight. He just needed to survive long enough to make them regret starting one.

He cracked his neck and was about to begin a fresh cycle of soul-forging meditation when another thought drifted up—quiet, but persistent.

That other technique.

From the tomb.

The Heavenly Silken Mask Art.

His grin faded.

He hadn't forgotten about it—just hadn't had the time.

The memory of the man in the tomb returned like a whisper. Only two people in the world had this technique—and it wasn't just some common utility trick..

The Silken Mask wasn't a conventional utility art. It was a disguise art, hiding the user in plain sight, perfect for survival.

Aaryan sat still, the idea unfolding in his mind like a lotus in the dark.

It wouldn't grant him raw power.

But if people were watching… if enemies were lurking… then perhaps the greatest strength he could wield right now wasn't a blade or a punch.

It was misdirection.

A smile tugged at his lips again.

It was time to stop thinking like a warrior—and start moving like a ghost… preferably one that didn't get stabbed the moment it showed up.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan settled into a cross-legged position, spine straight, breaths steady. The night clung to the courtyard like a breath half-held. Pale moonlight spilled across the stone tiles, casting long shadows that didn't dare move. In that stillness, he closed his eyes and sank inward—plunging into memory.

The Heavenly Silken Mask Art.

Even the name carried a trace of arrogance. And yet… it had earned it.

He retraced each line that had etched itself into his mind during those fevered moments in the tomb, like fire carving runes onto his soul. Slowly. Carefully. As though unfolding an ancient tapestry with fraying edges. The more he studied, the more it revealed. Hidden beneath the surface of every sentence were interwoven meanings, silent wisdom strung like pearls between cryptic phrases.

At first glance, it resembled other disguise techniques he'd heard of—methods taught to spies, assassins, or clever rogue cultivators. Smoke-and-mirror tricks. Glamours that faded under spiritual pressure. Talismans that flickered with use. Cheap, brittle things.

But this… this was something else entirely.

The deeper he read, the more the art began to unfold like a blooming flower. Layers beneath layers. Threads of soul. Filaments of Qi. Each strand delicate as spider silk—yet sharp enough to pierce through perception itself.

His eyes snapped open.

A glint of raw surprise flickered within them, quick and bright—like lightning behind clouds. It lingered for just a breath, then gave way to wonder.

"...Damn," he muttered, eyebrows arching. "This isn't a technique. It's an art form."

The Silken Mask wasn't just about changing appearance. It was built on duality—Qi and soul, flesh and spirit, deception and embodiment. Where most arts painted over the truth with illusion, this one rewrote it.

Aaryan leaned back slightly, brows furrowing, marvelling.

Most disguise arts were surface tricks—light, illusion, spiritual veils. Enough to fool a glance, never a gaze. And even then, a strong cultivator could sniff them out with a flick of their spirit sense.

But this... this wove the lie into your bones. Into your presence.

He remembered the tomb guardian's words, the ones he'd barely paid attention to then—"On their own, they're impressive. Together, they're divine."

Two paths. Two halves of a perfect mask.

The first path: Silken Flash.

Qi-based. Physical. Real.

It demanded precise control over facial meridians—those delicate pathways that ran like fine rivers beneath the skin, often overlooked in standard cultivation. Most used their Qi to enhance strength, speed, resilience. Almost no one learned to control it at the level of skin texture or vocal tone.

But Silken Flash? It demanded nothing less.

Aaryan visualized it now—those strands of Qi like glowing threads, moving through his face. Tiny acupuncture points lighting up one by one as imagined Qi needles wove them together. Not just a mask—reconstruction.

Tug here, shift there. Slight tension to the brow, soften the jawline, widen the eyes. The art allowed for sculpting bone, relaxing muscle, even shifting height by manipulating tension along the spine and legs.

It was like folding origami—but with a human body.

And if mastered, the disguise became flawless. A warrior could hold your face in their hands, scrutinize every freckle, and still be fooled. No illusion. No light bending. Just change.

Aaryan let out a long breath, part awe, part frustration.

"Silken Flash…" he whispered, shaking his head slightly. "No wonder the old man in the tomb sounded smug."

He could see the potential already. With that level of control, he could be anyone. Slip into places no spy could dream of. Whisper lies with another man's voice. Steal secrets. Rewrite narratives.

Too bad it was useless to him.

His smirk soured.

"…Too bad I can't use it."

He flexed his fingers absently, watching the dim moonlight gleam off his skin. He was still in Body Tempering. Qi hadn't begun to flow through his meridians. They were like dry riverbeds—cracked, silent, and inert.

Trying to perform Silken Flash now would be like handing a scalpel to a toddler and telling them to perform facial surgery.

A disaster in the making.

'Fine. Let the blade rest. For now.'

Because the second part—that was what he could practice.

Silken Shadow.

It didn't touch the flesh. It reached deeper.

Aaryan felt his heartbeat slow. A familiar thrill coiled in his chest. This was his world now.

He smiled faintly to himself.

"Not a warrior," he murmured again, voice low, almost fond. "Not tonight."

He closed his eyes again, this time not to remember—but to begin.

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