The invitation arrived at dusk.
Carried not by hand, but by wind.
A single black feather drifted through Yuan Zhi's chamber window, spinning once before embedding itself in the stone floor with a sharp crack.
It pulsed once.And began to burn.
Black flame rose from it, and in its smoke, a voice whispered:
"Feast. Midnight. Wear red."
Then it vanished.
The robe they sent was crimson, silk woven from corpse-spiders and soaked in blood qi. It shimmered faintly in the dark, whispering when moved.
Yuan Zhi wore it without question.
He knew what this was.
Not a celebration.
A test.
The Blood Feast was held high in the Twisting Fang Pavilion, a spiral structure carved into the mountain's peak. It overlooked the entire Black Rain valley like a beast watching its own chained prey.
As Yuan Zhi stepped through the archway, the scent hit him first.
Not incense. Not food.
Rot.
Cloaked in perfume.
Tables of spirit beast meat — raw, twitching, half-alive — were laid out on obsidian slabs. Disciples and elders alike lounged beside them, hands dripping red as they tore into still-warm organs.
One elder bit into a three-eyed wolf's heart while it was still beating.
A younger disciple laughed as he poured molten gold into a struggling lizard's mouth.
This wasn't a meal.
It was domination. Display. Tradition.
The Blood Feast was held high in the Twisting Fang Pavilion, a spiral structure carved into the mountain's peak. It overlooked the entire Black Rain valley like a beast watching its own chained prey.
As Yuan Zhi stepped through the archway, the scent hit him first.
Not incense. Not food.
Rot.
Cloaked in perfume.
Tables of spirit beast meat — raw, twitching, half-alive — were laid out on obsidian slabs. Disciples and elders alike lounged beside them, hands dripping red as they tore into still-warm organs.
One elder bit into a three-eyed wolf's heart while it was still beating.
A younger disciple laughed as he poured molten gold into a struggling lizard's mouth.
This wasn't a meal.
It was domination. Display. Tradition.
Cruelty made sacred.
Yuan Zhi was the last to arrive.
All eyes turned. Some sneered. Others smirked. A few whispered.
One inner disciple raised his cup. "The dog with teeth has come."
Laughter followed.
Yuan Zhi said nothing.
He took his seat.
Not at the center. Not near the elders.
At the base of the spiral — the seat given to the lowest.
His presence was tolerated. Barely.
A servant placed a platter before him.
A writhing serpent-beast. No eyes. No skin. Just muscle and mouth.
Its tongue flicked, sensing him.
He met its gaze and stabbed it through the head.
The table went quiet. Then laughter resumed.
Feng Lian was there, across the pavilion.
She wore a fresh robe, but her movements were slower now. One arm limp. Eyes darker.
Yuan Zhi caught her gaze once.
She looked away.
Good.
He hadn't crippled her body alone.
He had crippled her name.
Halfway through the feast, a gong sounded.
An elder rose — tall, robed in layers of skin-thin silk, with no facial features at all.
His voice was silk too. Slow. Smooth.
"Tonight, the feast turns inward."
He raised one hand.
Servants entered — dragging chained disciples behind them.
Outer sect. Starved. Bloodied. Broken.
A girl, no older than fourteen, knelt with split knees and shaking shoulders.
A boy, eyes gouged out, trembled beside her.
"These," the elder said, "are your reminders."
"Of what you once were."
"Of what you must never be again."
The crowd began to chant.
"Break them. Bleed them. Burn them."
One inner disciple rose. Walked to the girl.
Smiled.
And began slicing her scalp off with a heated blade — slow, laughing, as she bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming.
Another disciple poured wine into the blind boy's open eye sockets.
Laughter echoed.
Yuan Zhi did not move.
He watched.
And then, he stood.
Every head turned.
The elder tilted his blank face.
"You object?"
Yuan Zhi stepped onto the center dais.
"No."
He pointed at the chained boy.
"I want that one."
A few chuckled.
The boy trembled.
Permission was given.
Yuan Zhi knelt before the boy. The room hushed.
He leaned close.
"What is your name?"
"…Jian," the boy whispered.
"You begged to enter this sect?"
"…Yes."
Yuan Zhi nodded.
Then raised his voice.
"Did he beg to enter our hell?" he asked the crowd.
They laughed.
"He begged!"
Yuan Zhi smiled.
"Then let him see it clearly."
He stood behind the boy.
And tore the blindfold off.
Two gaping sockets. Red. Empty.
Yuan Zhi grabbed a brazier from the table, its coals still glowing.
He tipped it.
Let the fire flow into the boy's face.
Screams. Real. Deep.
The scent of seared flesh filled the air.
Yuan Zhi didn't flinch. He turned to the elders.
"Your rituals are stale. They evoke nothing."
"This?"
He pointed at the burning boy.
"This is what Black Rain is."
Some disciples recoiled.
Others… stared.
One elder, seated high in the shadows, smiled faintly.
Later that night, Yuan Zhi was summoned.
Not to punishment.
To reward.
The chamber was dim. Incense thick. A single lantern lit the room.
Inside waited the elder with no face.
"I expected posturing," he said. "Not performance."
Yuan Zhi said nothing.
"You'll be moved. To the Fang-Root Cells."
Elite training grounds. Off-limits to all but future core disciples.
"Tomorrow," the elder added, "you'll be evaluated."
"For technique alignment."
"And soul compatibility."
Yuan Zhi narrowed his eyes.
"That's forbidden."
The elder's mouth rippled beneath the silk.
"Precisely why we do it."
That night, Yuan Zhi sat alone.
He didn't dream.
Just heard the boy's screams again.
He didn't regret it.
But he remembered it.
And that mattered more.