The sky was pale gold, streaked with faint traces of red, as if the heavens themselves were reluctant to watch the Han Family part ways. The courtyard was filled with murmurs, soft sobs, and the rustling of robes in the mountain wind. The Sword Shandian Sect elders stood in formation, their faces calm yet proud, while the Han Family knelt in respect before them.

Han Zhanjian stood silently beside his older brother, Han Zukong. The younger's hands trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on the sword hanging by his waist. His eyes were red, but he tried to hide it behind a forced smile. Han Zukong turned his head and looked at him, his usually sharp tone soft for once.

"Don't cry, little brother. You'll embarrass yourself in front of the sect elders."

Zhanjian's voice quivered, but he forced out a chuckle. "You're crying too."

Zukong froze for a moment before snorting. "Nonsense. I'm sweating from the eyes."

That small exchange drew soft laughter from the Han servants and family members gathered nearby, though the sound quickly melted into silence again. The two brothers looked at each other for a long time. There was no need for more words. They both knew this separation was the start of something greater—and the end of their childhood.

An old Han woman, their grandmother, stepped forward with slow steps. Her wrinkled hands trembled as she held out a small pouch. "Take this," she said, her voice shaking. "It's not much, just some dried herbs and talismans I made. They'll keep you safe."

Han Zukong knelt and accepted it with both hands. "Thank you, Grandma. I'll make sure to come back stronger."

She smiled weakly and placed a hand on his head. "Just come back alive. That's enough."

Han Zhanjian's lips trembled. "Grandmother… what if we can't come back soon?"

"Then I'll wait," she whispered. "Even if my bones turn to dust, I'll wait."

The elders of the Sword Shandian Sect exchanged glances but said nothing. It was a family's farewell—something sacred, something beyond the reach of sect formality.

Wei Ji stood a little apart, watching everything with a calm gaze. He didn't say anything at first. His posture was straight, his presence quiet, but his eyes carried a weight that silenced anyone who tried to speak to him. When he finally stepped forward, everyone turned.

He looked at his two younger brothers. "Zukong, Zhanjian." His tone was steady, neither soft nor stern. "From here on, your paths will be your own. Don't let pride rule you. Remember the reason you hold your sword."

Han Zukong clenched his jaw and nodded. "I know, big brother."

Han Zhanjian, on the other hand, stepped closer. His voice cracked. "Brother, what about you? Why aren't you coming with us?"

Wei Ji smiled faintly. "Someone has to watch over the family. And…" He turned his eyes toward the distant mountains. "There are things I still need to settle."

Zhanjian lowered his head, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. "I'll become strong too. One day, I'll fight beside you again."

Wei Ji placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then grow fast. The world won't wait for you."

One by one, they exchanged their goodbyes. The courtyard grew quieter until only the sound of sniffles and the evening wind remained. Finally, the Sword Shandian Sect elders motioned for the two brothers to step onto their flying sword.

The moment they did, the wind howled, carrying dust and petals through the air. The blade rose slowly, lifting the two figures above the courtyard.

Han Zukong looked down at Wei Ji. "Brother!" he shouted. "Don't die before I surpass you!"

Wei Ji raised a hand, smiling faintly. "Heh!"

Han Zhanjian waved desperately. "Brother! Don't forget us!"

The flying sword ascended into the clouds, leaving only their echoes behind.

When the last shimmer of light disappeared, Wei Ji stood alone. The courtyard was empty now, the laughter gone, replaced by the whispering wind brushing the old stones. He stood there for a long time, silent, before turning around and walking back toward his chamber.

The wooden doors closed behind him with a soft creak. The flickering lamplight painted his shadow across the wall. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his breathing calm, his expression unreadable. Then his lips curved slightly.

"I know you're here."

A ripple moved through the air like heat above fire. From the dim light, a figure stepped out. Ren, dressed in dark robes with a sword hanging from his side, smirked coldly.

"So you noticed me after all," he said, tapping the blade with his fingers. "I didn't expect less from you. Let's finish our business, Wei Ji. I'll take your wife, whether you like it or not."

Wei Ji's expression didn't change. "You talk too much."

Ren chuckled. "You're still calm, huh? That won't help you."

He moved first. The sword flashed—a streak of silver light that cut through the darkness like lightning. Wei Ji tilted his head slightly and the blade missed him by an inch. Ren didn't pause. Another strike came, faster, sharper. Wei Ji slid backward, his robe fluttering, his movements smooth like flowing water.

Ren growled. "You won't escape me this time!"

His sword aura erupted, sending waves of pressure through the room. The walls cracked, dust falling from the ceiling. Wei Ji stepped back again, calm, unreadable. Every strike Ren unleashed cut the air with explosive sound—shhhk, clang, whoosh—each swing heavier than the last.

"You're dodging well," Ren sneered between strikes. "But how long can you keep that up?"

Wei Ji's gaze stayed still. "Long enough."

Ren thrust again, the blade grazing Wei Ji's shoulder. Blood splattered, staining the floor. Wei Ji didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his hand and the wound vanished in seconds. Ren froze, eyes wide.

"What… what did you just do?"

Wei Ji smiled faintly. "You seem surprised."

Ren roared and charged again. "You think you can scare me with tricks?"

Their swords clashed. Sparks flew. The ground cracked beneath them. The noise was deafening. Ren's breathing grew heavier, sweat running down his face. He slashed again and again, his strikes wild but desperate.

Then, with a final roar, he struck straight through Wei Ji's chest. The sword pierced him cleanly, blood splattering across the walls. Wei Ji staggered back and fell to his knees. Ren pulled his blade free, panting, a grin spreading across his face.

"It's over," he muttered. "Finally."

But as the body collapsed, it shimmered—then vanished like smoke.

Ren froze. "What—?"

A calm voice came from behind him. "Done already?"

He spun around. Wei Ji stood there, completely unharmed, his robes spotless, not a trace of blood anywhere.

Ren's grip on his sword tightened. "Impossible… I killed you. I cut through your heart."

Wei Ji tilted his head. "Did you?"

Ren's heart pounded in his chest. His instincts screamed danger, but his pride refused to let him stop. He lunged forward again, roaring, his sword glowing with spiritual energy.

Wei Ji didn't move. He simply raised his hand—and the next instant, Ren's sword shattered into pieces, scattering like shards of glass across the floor.

Ren stumbled backward, eyes wide, breath ragged. A deep dread crawled into his chest. His legs felt heavy, his breathing sharp and shallow.

Wei Ji's eyes glowed faintly under the lamplight. "You should have left when you had the chance."

Ren's body trembled. His instincts screamed louder now. He didn't know what kind of monster he was facing, but he suddenly understood one thing very clearly—

This was bad.

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