By day, Li Wei hauled buckets and chopped firewood, letting his shoulders slump as always. If his movements were slower than usual (due to the injuries sustained from Zhao Feng's gang), no one cared to notice. (Servants were invisible, after all.)

  By night, Li Wei stitched his body back together in silence, lotus petals unfurling once more within his dantian.

  While Li Wei worked quietly, Zhao Feng was anything but.

  “The Buddha Mask Disciple cultivates forbidden arts,” Zhao Feng declared in a gathering of outer sect youths, his tone sharp enough to slice. “You’ve heard the rumors. Ground-splitting fists? Qi that flares like fire? No proper Azure Cloud technique behaves like that. If the elders discover he studies demonic manuals, what do you think will happen?”

  The crowd stirred uneasily. Some frowned, others exchanged whispers. If the Buddha-Mask Disciple cultivates forbidden arts, that was one thing. Forbidden arts weren't inherently evil. But if he cultivates demonic arts, that was a problem. The Azure Cloud Sect was a righteous sect, and demonic arts were not welcome in its midst.

  By the next day, the whispers spread like sparks in dry grass.

  “The Buddha-Mask Disciple is a demonic cultivator?”

  “Maybe that’s why he hides his face.”

  “If the elders catch him, his end will be worse than death…”

  “If he cultivates demonic arts, then is he a disciple of our Azure Cloud Sect or not?”

  “Two things can be true. He can secretly cultivate demonic arts and still be a disciple of the sect... But if he's caught, he'll face untold trouble.”

  As these rumors spread, Zhao Feng found himself smiling more and more. Of course, he himself cultivated a demonic technique known as 'Broken Wings, Never Soar Again'. This was truly a case of the pot calling the kettle black.

  Eventually, the rumors of the Buddha-Mask disciple being a demonic cultivator reached the ears of those in authorities, the elders.

  A summons came at dawn.

  Servant-disciples, outer disciples, including several known troublemakers were gathered in the main courtyard.

  Elder Shen of the Investigation Hall stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back. His face was cut from stone, his gaze unblinking. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but it carried to every corner of the mountain.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “In recent weeks, a masked person has acted outside the sect’s rules. Some call him a hero, but do not be deceived.” His eyes swept across the crowd, pausing briefly—too briefly—on Li Wei. “The path of cultivation is not one of masks and shadows. Righteousness does not hide its face. Those who cloak themselves in secrecy tread close to the ways of demons. You are disciples of Azure Cloud. You will report what you see. If you know, you will speak. If you hide, you will share in his sin.”

  The courtyard shivered with the weight of his words.

  Li Wei bowed his head low, heart hammering. Then, as Elder Shen’s presence swept past, he felt it. A subtle probe, like cool fingers brushing his chest.

  Li Wei stilled.

  Mortal sense? he thought. At higher levels of cultivation, one would acquire the ability to spread their perception outward to better sense the world. It seemed Elder Shen was using his mortal sense to probe Li Wei.

  The lotus inside his dantian folded in on itself, sealing his qi utterly.

  To Elder Shen’s perception, Li Wei was empty—a cripple, nothing more. After a long moment, the elder’s divine sense withdrew and his gaze moved on.

  “Return to your training,” he said. “And remember... our sect stands because order is kept. Without order, we are nothing but beasts.”

  The crowd dispersed in uneasy silence.

  Li Wei exhaled slowly, sweat cold on his back. It had been several months since he regained the ability to cultivate. There was no way he could reveal this to the sect. It would be admitting he was in violation of the True Realm Transparency Edict.

  That afternoon, Xian Lan was stopped near the herb gardens. Three youths in Zhao Feng’s colors blocked his path.

  “Brother Xian,” one drawled, tossing a spirit stone in his palm. “You’ve known Li Wei since childhood, haven’t you?”

  Xian Lan stiffened. “So what?”

  Another leaned in, voice oily. “Zhao Feng only wants to know what that cripple does at night. Where he goes. Who he meets. A friend like you must see everything.” He pressed a small sack into Xian Lan’s hand. The clink of spirit stones was unmistakable. “There’s more where this came from. All you have to do is tell us what you see, hm?”

  Xian Lan’s jaw tightened. For a long moment he said nothing. Then, with a curt nod, he pocketed the stones. “Fine.”

  The youths smirked, satisfied, and left him standing alone.

  Later that evening, Li Wei sat in his tiny courtyard, thinking hard. He had reached the Third Stage of Body Tempering using only ambient qi. That should have been impossible. Ordinary disciples would struggle to reach even the 2nd stage without spirit stones.

  The lotus… he thought. It draws in ambient qi faster than I can on my own. That’s why I’ve advanced this far. But from here on, the air itself won’t be enough. Without spirit stones, I’ll stagnate.

  The gate creaked and Xian Lan entered, shoulders tense, a small sack in his hand.

  “Brother Xian Lan?” Li Wei asked.

  Xian Lan tossed the sack beside Li Wei. “Zhao Feng gave them to me. He wants me to spy on you.”

  Li Wei froze for a moment, then him and Xian Lan burst into laughter. Talk of betrayal between them did not even have to be said.

  “If he wants to waste his stones, let him,” Xian Lan said. “Even if you don’t have a cultivation, maybe they’ll at least buy you some fun things in the sect.”

  Li Wei grinned and took the sack, a feeling of warmth in his heart.

  The two sat together in the fading light, trading jabs at Zhao Feng’s arrogance until their laughter chased birds from trees. For a moment, it felt like years ago, when they were simply boys at the foot of the mountain, dreaming of entering a sect and becoming immortals.

  Unseen beyond the courtyard wall, however, a figure crouched in silence, lips curled in dissatisfaction.

  it was one of Zhao Feng’s lackeys.

  The lackey slipped away into the night.