Path of the Li famly:from mortal ashes to immortal flames

The next morning arrived with an ominous stillness.

Despite the sun rising over the horizon, the skies above Dongping seemed to remain subdued, as though cloaked by an invisible shroud. The spiritual energy in the air was denser than Yanhe, refined yet restrained—like a drawn sword sheathed behind silk.

In the Yanhe delegation courtyard, Patriarch Gu stood at the pavilion edge, staring out into the city streets beyond the guarded walls. A cup of untouched tea steamed quietly beside him.

Gu Tian Shen, his grandson and the highest-ranked disciple of Yanhe City, stood nearby, eyes calm but shoulders tense.

"They've started moving," Tian Shen said.

Gu Cheng nodded slowly. "Spies. Pressure. Politics. We're no longer in Yanhe—we're walking into the jaws of wolves."

In another wing of the courtyard, Li Yuan Tian cleaned his blade in silence. The spy he'd captured last night had been turned over to Dongping authorities, but no further message came. No apology. No explanation. Just silence.

That meant the message was received.

"Fei Yuxin blinded a mid-stage Blood Opening Realm cultivator last year with a single strike," Zhao Yufeng said, joining him. "She'll be competing. Xuan Mu's little weapon, they say."

Yuan Tian raised a brow slightly. "That's early-stage Core Blood Qi. At her age?"

"Her technique is vicious, precise. Rumors say she cultivates the 'Thousand Vein Silken Needles'—uses internal threads of blood qi to pierce nerves and meridians. Cold-hearted and lethal. She's only twenty one ."

Yuan Tian sheathed his blade slowly. "Then we'll keep our distance. I'd rather she not get curious."

Elsewhere in the city, the great powers stirred.

There were five prominent sects in Dongping's inner district:

Jade Peak Sect, renowned for defensive talismans and spiritual shields.

Burning Soul Hall, whose disciples cultivate brutal blood-qi techniques through pain immersion.

Nine Petal Pavilion, an elegant but deadly sect dominated by female cultivators who used illusions and poisons.

Iron Gate Clan, descended from a former military general, specializing in brute-force body cultivation and siege combat.

Rainflow Tower, secretive and unpredictable, their disciples were known to vanish between breaths.

Each sect had brought forth their own elites for this tournament.

Among the local favorites were:

Mu Ran, the Iron Gate's beast of a disciple—said to have wrestled a spiritual elephant to death with his bare hands.

Fei Yuxin, of course—deadly, cold, with twin spirit roots of wind and blood.

Yin Lang, a Rainflow Tower disciple who specialized in stealth and assassination; it was whispered he could kill from five meters without ever lifting a hand.

In comparison, the Yanhe disciples seemed like country wolves who had stumbled into a den of tigers.

But wolves, Yuan Tian thought, hunt in packs.

And sometimes, when cornered, they bite harder than any beast.

Just then, a golden-robed elder from Dongping entered their courtyard, escorted by several guards. The elder's face was serene but carried the weight of authority—his eyes spoke of someone who had seen a thousand strategies unfold, each one failing to reach their full potential.

"The city lord has announced the draw for semifinal pairings. All delegations are to gather at the Hall of Whispering Pines by noon."

Gu Cheng grunted. "So it begins."

Li Yuan Tian rose, expression unreadable. His fingers flexed for a moment, as though preparing for battle. He looked once more toward the palace far in the distance—where Xuan Mu waited, eyes always watching.

"Let's see who we draw," Yuan Tian muttered under his breath, a quiet, calculating fire in his gaze.

A new game had begun. This time, Yanhe would not simply be pawns—they would play the game with sharp fangs of their own.