Inside her private residence, Elder Jin Rou stood by the window, her jaw clenched so hard it looked like her teeth might break.
Her son, Jin Renshu, was still unconscious, laid out on a healing bed surrounded by glowing formations. His face was swollen and purple, one arm twisted, his ribs shattered. Even with the best healing pills, it would take weeks before he could walk properly. His dignity—well, that might never come back.
Jin Rou stared at him, and her hands trembled with rage.
"That rat…," she spat under her breath.
Her fingers clenched tighter around the porcelain teacup in her hand until it cracked. Tea dripped from between her fingers, but she didn't even notice.
How could a no-name orphan like Jin Wu-ren humiliate her bloodline in front of the entire sect? Her son, the son of an elder, lying beaten in front of everyone—and not a single elder said anything. Not even the Patriarch.
She turned and swept the cup across the room. It shattered against the wall.
"Unacceptable," she said coldly.
A moment later, the door creaked open. A tall man with a sharp face and dark robes stepped inside. His hair was tied tight, his eyes sharp but empty. This was Jin Shu—one of her most loyal personal servants. A cultivator in the Core Formation Realm. Not flashy, but good at following orders. Especially the kind that weren't meant to be known.
He knelt.
"You summoned me, Elder."
Jin Rou took a deep breath and composed herself. When she spoke, her voice was low and controlled.
"There is a disciple. Jin Wu-ren. I want him taught a lesson."
She walked over, picked up a fresh cup of tea, and took a slow sip, as if the world wasn't spinning from fury a moment ago.
"Beat him. Badly. But don't kill him." She set the cup down. "And take one of his eyes."
Jin Shu didn't flinch.
"May I ask why?"
Jin Rou narrowed her eyes at him.
"Because I said so," she said flatly. "That lowborn trash laid a hand on my son. Broke him. I want him to remember who his betters are."
She turned away and looked out the window again.
"The Patriarch said not to kill disciples. Fine. I won't kill him. But an eye is a small price to pay for raising a hand against his elder."
Jin Shu bowed again.
"It will be done."
"Make it look like an accident. Or a robbery. Or… something." Her voice was cold and casual. "I don't want to hear the Patriarch's whining. Just get it done."
"Yes, Elder."
Without another word, Jin Shu rose, bowed again, and walked out, silent as a shadow.
Jin Rou stared at the sky beyond the window. Somewhere out there, that quiet little bastard was walking around like nothing had happened—like he wasn't about to be reminded of his place.
Her fingers curled again.
"You'll learn," she whispered. "One way or another, you'll learn what it means to offend my bloodline."
---
Jin Shu moved like a shadow through the back corridors of the Jin clan's disciple housing. His breath was steady, his steps silent. He was a veteran of dirty jobs—ambushes, disappearances, forced lessons. This one was simple. One lowborn brat. A message, not a murder.
He found Wu-ren walking alone on one of the stone paths behind the cultivation resource hall. The kid was calm, hands behind his back, like he had nowhere important to be. It would've been easy.
Jin Shu dropped from the rooftop, his fist already glowing with focused qi, aimed straight for Wu-ren's side.
But he never landed the blow.
The moment he touched the ground, Wu-ren moved. A simple turn of the waist, one step forward—and then a slap.
Flat, open palm across the face.
The sound was loud, like someone smacking a slab of meat.
Jin Shu's body twisted mid-air and hit the dirt hard. He twitched once, then stopped moving.
He didn't die. Wu-ren had no interest in killing someone so beneath him. That would be boring.
Instead, Wu-ren crouched down next to the unconscious man and placed two fingers on Jin Shu's forehead.
A thin wisp of black qi slid into Jin Shu's mind like a thread through a needle.
"Let's see what keeps you awake at night," Wu-ren murmured.
Inside the man's soul-sea, Wu-ren planted a living nightmare. One specifically tailored for maximum suffering. When Jin Shu woke, he'd find himself inside a dream-version of the Jin clan compound—empty, silent, not a soul in sight. Except one.
A hunched, wrinkled old woman in tattered robes. Her skin sagged, her teeth blackened, her eyes wide and filled with madness. She would chase him, slowly at first, then faster and faster, screaming his name with a voice like broken glass.
"Come here, sweetie," she'd croak. "Let grandma love you…"
Wu-ren chuckled to himself.
He left the body slumped in the shadows and walked off like nothing had happened.
Half an hour later, Wu-ren arrived near the Elder Quarters. He stopped at a window and casually peered inside.
Elder Ling—the same one who had tried to force himself on a female disciple days ago—was inside his private chambers. He looked pale and sunken, dark circles under his eyes. His qi was disordered. His expression was hollow.
The damage Wu-ren had done to his lower body was permanent. But that wasn't enough.
Wu-ren flicked a speck of dark energy through the open window. It slipped into the room like a breath of wind and sank into Elder Ling's head.
A deeper suggestion, buried beneath his conscious mind, bloomed quietly.
On the table was a simple ceramic teacup. Nothing special. Old, cracked, maybe unwashed.
But Elder Ling's eyes locked onto it.
And stayed locked.
His lips trembled. His hands shook.
He stepped closer, slowly, breathing heavily.
The suggestion whispered in his head like a lover's voice:
"It's beautiful."
"You want it."
"Touch it."
"More."
Elder Ling fell to his knees. His breath grew louder. He licked his lips.
Outside, Wu-ren turned away before it went any further.
He didn't need to see it.
He already knew it was happening.
The laughter that bubbled up from his chest was quiet, but honest.
"Better than the combat trials," he muttered, walking off. "Much better."
---
It had been three days since Elder Jin Rou ordered Jin Shu to teach Jin Wu-ren a lesson.
Three days.
Yet the result was nothing like what she expected.
Instead of bruised flesh, broken bones, or a missing eye, what she got was a servant found unconscious—screaming about sagging tits in his sleep.
He was discovered by a group of inner disciples early in the morning, slumped under a crooked tree near the eastern wall of the Jin Clan compound. His robes were torn and soaked with sweat, his face pale, lips trembling. At first, they thought he was drunk.
But then he started thrashing and muttering:
"No... please... no... not the wrinkles... not again..."
When they tried to wake him, nothing worked.
One slapped him across the face—twice. Another poured a bucket of cold water on his head. A third jabbed a thin acupuncture needle into his arm.
Jin Shu didn't respond.
He just kept trembling and muttering, as if trapped in some endless nightmare.
Eventually, the disciples reported it up the chain, and word reached Elder Jin Rou. She rushed over and stared at her broken servant lying in the dirt.
It took a high-rank Soul Dispel Talisman—something meant for cleansing demonic illusions or soul curses—just to bring Jin Shu back to the real world.
And when he woke up…
He screamed.
He leapt to his feet, eyes wild, then collapsed to the ground and curled into a ball.
"She was there…" he gasped. "Old… teeth missing… the skin… it touched me—she chased me! I ran, but she found me in every corridor! Every door I opened, she was there! She kept calling me 'sweet boy'—I couldn't get away! She—she was going to—!"
He broke down crying.
The disciples stared in stunned silence. One even took a step back, his face pale.
Jin Rou didn't speak.
She just stared at Jin Shu, a tight knot twisting in her gut.
She was no fool. Jin Shu wasn't weak. He was a killer, calm under pressure. Whatever he experienced—it wasn't a bad dream. It was an attack. A subtle one, powerful enough to trap him in his own mind for days. But it left no external mark, no spiritual wound, no traceable signature.
When she pressed him harder—asked who did it, if he saw anyone—Jin Shu only shook his head over and over, whispering about a "grandma" with long yellow fingernails and a toothless grin.
He was useless now.
Broken.
And Jin Wu-ren?
Still walking around the outer sect like nothing happened. Still wearing that same calm, unreadable expression.
"Who's protecting him?" Jin Rou muttered in her private quarters later that night.
It made no sense. Wu-ren had no backing, no family, no strong connections. No one had ever heard of him before the outer sect trials. Just a name on a list.
And yet…
Someone was clearly shielding him. Someone powerful, subtle, dangerous. Maybe another elder. Maybe even someone from outside the clan.
That thought made her skin crawl.
"He's not just a brat," she whispered to herself, staring out into the night sky. "But who is he?"
She would find out.
She had to.
Because the idea that some unknown monster was lurking inside her clan made her stomach turn.