It was already past midnight when they finished drinking. Liu Xiaolou wanted Yun Ao to stay until morning, but Yun hated the heat. Thinking the night air would be cooler for travel, he decided to leave. The two clasped hands and said their goodbyes.

“Brother Yun,” said Liu Xiaolou, “you’ve got a long journey ahead. By the time you come back, it’ll probably be winter already.”

Yun Ao laughed. “Doesn’t matter. I come out twice a year anyway. Call it my little adventure! Haha. In any case, you’d better start preparing early these next few days. If things get rough, just head down the mountain and lay low for a while.”

Liu Xiaolou bowed slightly. “Thank you for the warning, Brother Yun. And Sorry for not seeing you off down the mountain.”

Yun Ao waved his hand. “No need, no need…”

Just then, the wind chime under the eaves began to jingle sharply: ding-dong, ding-dong!

Before they could react, a fierce gust of wind swept through, kicking up sand and stones. In the swirling dust, a figure appeared, sleeves billowing like clouds, moving with unearthly grace. In the blink of an eye, the figure landed atop the ridge. So fast it seemed almost impossible.

The man’s face looked strangely familiar. If not for the conversation they’d had earlier, Liu Xiaolou and Yun Ao might’ve needed a moment to place him. But right now…

It was Lu Yuanlang!

Funny how these things happen. Start talking about someone out of nowhere, and somehow they show up soon after. Neither of them expected that “soon” would mean this soon.

Liu Xiaolou spun around and bolted straight into the bamboo grove. Yun Ao, however, didn’t move an inch. No hint of escape in him. He even started to speak: “Yo—”

He never finished. Lu Yuanlang struck before the word was out, and Yun Ao dropped like a stone. Yun Ao hadn't even seen how he’d done it.

Liu Xiaolou didn’t get far either. Something smacked the back of his head, and darkness swallowed him whole. Lu Yuanlang had simply kicked a chicken bone -- the same one they’d just been gnawing on -- and it hit him squarely on the Fengchi acupoint.

Lu Yuanlang flicked his fingers, and in an instant, a gust of wind tore through the place. Several thatched huts collapsed as if swept away by a storm. Amid the flying dust, he grabbed Liu Xiaolou with one hand and Yun Ao with the other, then leapt off the ridge. Moments later, he was already standing atop Ghostdream Cliff, tossing the two of them down before the stone cave at its peak.

Without so much as a glance back, Lu Yuanlang descended the cliff again. Not by any path, but straight down, riding the roaring wind as he vanished into the depths below.

Liu Xiaolou woke to the first glimmer of dawn. His head throbbed, his body felt heavy and numb, and he found himself lying half on his side. Blinking through the haze, he saw Yun Ao beside him, lying motionless, back turned. To the right were several others. The eldest of Guzhang Mountain, Zhang Shihua, and Old Daoist Hu Du.... all sprawled unconscious on the ground.

Then his eyes caught the edge of a stone cave and the gnarled trunk of an ancient pine. Realization hit him. This was Ghostdream Cliff. And with that came the memory of last night’s encounter: Lu Yuanlang’s sudden, ghostlike appearance.

Just as Yun Ao had warned, Lu Yuanlang really was reckless beyond measure. He’d ignored the rules set by all the great sects and stormed straight in, not even waiting for the second Sword Trial Conference to end!

Liu Xiaolou had been on Wulong Mountain for sixteen years, but he’d never experienced anything like this. Whenever there’d been signs that one of the great sects might launch an assault, folks would always slip away early. And when some powerful master came seeking revenge, he never dragged bystanders into it. But Lu Yuanlang... he’d captured a whole group of them at once. That was a first.

In the end, it was their own carelessness.

They’d started to believe too much in those so-called “rules” the major sects had agreed upon, treating them like a protective charm. Everyone thought Wulong Mountain was safe now. Untouchable. No wonder their sense of danger had dulled.

Still, this was what true cultivation looked like. A Golden Core cultivator was unstoppable. Against him, they had no chance at all.

Not long after, Liu Xiaolou heard two heavy thuds -- thump, thump! -- as more people were tossed to the ground behind him. Their meridians were sealed; they couldn’t move or speak. He couldn’t tell who they were… only that neither of them was Wei Hongqing.

Then came the sound of movement. Footsteps, shifting fabric, the scrape of boots on stone. It was likely Lu Yuanlang. And he was likely pacing around, doing who-knew-what. Liu Xiaolou tried to guess, but before he could make sense of it, someone grabbed him by the back of his collar and hurled him a good ten feet. He hit the ground hard enough to rattle every bone in his body.

He finally managed to sit up straight, leaning against the cliff wall. His head could move again, though his mouth still wouldn’t form words.

Around him were fifty or sixty of his fellow Wulong Mountain men, all captured. Some sat in a row beside him, some slumped under trees, others leaned against rocks. Lu Yuanlang had arranged them in a half-circle around him, standing tall at the center.

Lu Yuanlang swept his gaze over them. “I’m Lu Yuanlang,” his voice was cold, “third-ranked of Tianmu Mountain’s inner sect. You all know why I’m here today. My cousin Lu Zhongqiu, a proud son of the Lu clan and an inner-sect steward, was killed by that Wei guy. And that Wei comes from your Wulong Mountain gang!

You lot think hiding out in Wulong Mountain means no one will touch you? Think again. I, Third Master Lu, came here today to make it clear. No matter where you run, no matter what hole you crawl into, you can’t escape my grasp!”

He paused for a moment, then went on, his tone getting even colder. “I don’t have time to waste on you people. I’ve got things to do. So I’ll keep this simple, I’ll ask my questions once. Give me an answer I like, you live. Give me one I don’t… you die. Think it through.”

He walked to the left side of the circle and hauled one out. As he grabbed him he loosened the bindings at one of the man’s acupoints. “What’s your name?”

The man’s face went white; he gulped. “Y… Ye Fan…”

Lu Yuanlang, who had never really wanted his name in the first place, didn't let him finish. "Where is Wei Hongqing? Is he on the mountain? And who are the two men he's working with?"

“I… I don’t know. I really don’t know…” the man stammered.

Lu Yuanlang took a slow breath, turned halfway so all the captured Wulong cultivators could see him, and shook his head. Suddenly, he brought his hand down in a knife-like strike. Blood sprayed up, splattering his forehead and clothes.

Liu Xiaolou shut his eyes, a wave of grief hitting him. Junior Ye…

Lu Yuanlang let the body drop and stood there, wiping the blood from his face with both hands. “That answer doesn’t satisfy me,” he said.

Then Lu Yuanlang grabbed another man from the side, loosened the acupoints on his upper body just enough for him to move,. And this time didn’t even bother asking his name. “You,” he said coldly. “You talk.”

The man trembled all over, shaking like a leaf. “D-Don’t kill me… I don’t know Wei Hongqing, I swear! I’m new here… just joined… just joined…”

He really was

new. Even Liu Xiaolou didn’t recognize him. But his answer still didn’t please Lu Yuanlang. A sharp hand move, another flash of blood. Fresh splatter across Lu Yuanlang’s robes.

The third man he dragged out, Liu Xiaolou vaguely remembered. His name was Zhou Wai, he thought. They’d both been at the third layer of Qi Refinement years ago. Liu Xiaolou had since reached the seventh, while Zhou Wai was still stuck at the third.

“Wei Hongqing hasn’t come back to Wulong Mountain, Third Master Lu, please spare me! I swear I’m telling the truth!” Zhou Wai cried.

“Oh?” Lu Yuanlang’s eyes narrowed. “And how do you know he hasn’t come back?”

“I—I haven’t seen him…”

“That’s useless, then!”

The third body hit the ground, and the fourth man was dragged out. This one was Zhang Shihua.

“I’m Zhang Shihua, Third Young Master Lu,” he said, anger and fear tangled in his voice. “You barge into Wulong Mountain and start killing our people. Have you thought about the consequences? The Zhanglong Sect, the Qingyu Clan, the Dongyang School won’t stand for this. If they come down on Western Xi and Badong, can you really handle the fallout?”

Lu Yuanlang tipped his head back and looked at the sky for a long moment, as if remembering something. “Zhang Shihua… your real name is Zhang Shihiua.… hm.”

Zhang Shihua’s face went pale. “Third Young Master, you’ve got the wrong person. Shi, what's, Hua? I have no idea what you’re talking about...”

“You cultivate the Huayan Xiao-Wei technique,” Lu Yuanlang cut him off. “I don’t make that mistake. And you’ve picked a name that’s almost the same as your real one? That’s dumb even for you. I heard you killed Elder Hua’s daughter at Xiaowei Mountain sixteen years ago. To think you’d desert your sect and hide out in Wulong Mountain all this time... the net is wide and it catches everyone. Today I’ll cleanse Xiaowei Mountain's honor and get revenge for Elder Hua.”

“Lu, where the hell were you when we were fighting for our lives against those Badong bandits in Zhuoshui?” Zhang Shihua shouted.

Lu Yuanlang didn’t even bother to answer. With a flick of his finger, Zhang Shihua’s head flew off. Lu reached out, caught it in midair, and tossed it into some kind of storage artifact. No one even saw where it went.

In just a blink, he’d killed four people. Everyone from Wulong Mountain felt their scalps go numb. Their meridians were sealed; they couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. All they could do was watch, cold fear creeping into their hearts.

Not that it would’ve mattered. Even if their meridians weren’t sealed, who among them could stand up to an expert at the Golden Core stage?

Then came the fifth… And by the time Lu Yuanlang was done with the sixth, his face had twisted into something wild and manic. Soon, he was standing right in front of Jiang Feihu.

“I’m not going to repeat the question,” Lu said, staring him down. “Tell me...”

Jiang Feihu took a deep breath. “I’ve got two things to say. First, my name’s Jiang Feihu. Same when I’m standing, same when I’m sitting. I’m Jiang Feihu of Wulong Mountain’s Flying Tiger Cave.” He paused, clearing his throat.

Lu Yuanlang frowned impatiently. “And the second?”

Jiang Feihu spat a thick glob of phlegm at him. “Fuck your ancestors!”