The air was still. The moon hung low, half hidden behind thin drifting clouds. Wei Ji stood calmly in the center of the chamber, his hands folded behind his back. His bare feet touched the cold stone floor, and his quiet footsteps echoed faintly as he paced from one side to the other. The lanterns had all burned out, but the place glowed faintly from the pulsing green veins of roots that filled the walls and floor.

At the far end of the room, Ren hung suspended in the air, his body wrapped by countless thick roots. They squeezed around his limbs and chest, holding him in place like a fly trapped in a spider's web. His mouth was frozen open in a silent scream. A long, thin root burrowed deep into his mouth, pulsing faintly with life. Beneath his skin, smaller tendrils wriggled and twisted. Some of them had already reached his head, tiny veins pressing under his temples. His eyes were empty, fixed on nothing.

Wei Ji stopped walking and looked at him quietly. "Still trying to fight," he murmured. "Even now, your spirit doesn't want to die."

The vines tightened, a faint crunch echoing through the air. The illusion Ren had been trapped in—the endless battle where he kept killing Wei Ji over and over—was still running in his broken mind. His spiritual sea had been shattered by the confusion. Each time he thought he won, each time he thought he had cut Wei Ji down, it had only been another loop in the illusion. His body kept struggling weakly, but there was nothing left of the man who once stood so arrogantly.

Wei Ji watched in silence for a long moment. The only sound was the low rustling of the roots as they slowly drained the remaining life from their victim.

Then, without warning, the air around him rippled. A cold wind swept through the chamber. The green glow dimmed. The temperature dropped so suddenly that frost began forming on the stone walls.

Wei Ji turned his head slightly. His expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. A presence far stronger than Ren's had entered. It was thick, heavy, and suffocating. The kind of aura that made the air itself bend.

From the far side of the chamber, black mist gathered. It twisted and churned like smoke, then began to form the outline of a man. The mist deepened, and soon a tall figure emerged, cloaked in darkness that seemed alive. His face was mostly hidden beneath a wide hood, but his eyes glowed a faint crimson, burning like dying coals.

"You," the figure said, his voice deep and slow, echoing strangely through the chamber. "Do you know what happened to my disciple?"

Wei Ji's gaze was steady. "Your disciple?"

The figure tilted his head slightly. "Yes. He came here not long ago. A proud cultivator with control over roots, vines, and life essence. A plant user, like you."

Wei Ji didn't answer immediately. He remembered clearly. That man had been the demonic cultivator who came here and planned to kill and replace Han Ji or Wei Ji, before Han Zukong, under Wei Ji's control, killed him.

"I don't know of him," Wei Ji finally said. His tone was calm, his breathing unshaken.

The demonic cultivator elder smiled faintly. "You don't seem frightened." His voice was smooth, almost lazy, yet carried a strange weight that filled the room. "Most tremble when they stand before me. My name alone makes cultivators hide. The righteous sects call me the Crimson Root Elder, though my true title is the Master of the Blood Tree Sect."

His cloak shifted slightly as he stepped forward. The ground beneath his feet blackened, the stone cracking as though burned by corruption. "Even the grandmasters of the righteous path avoid speaking my name aloud. They say my roots stretch through every battlefield, drinking blood from both friend and foe alike. They say the forests whisper my deeds long after the bodies rot."

He smiled wider, revealing teeth faintly stained with red. "And yet, here you stand. Not trembling. Not even sweating."

Wei Ji didn't move. "Fear won't help me."

The elder chuckled softly, a dry rasping sound. "You speak well. Tell me, young one, do you know why people fear me? It is not because I kill. It is because I take. Every cultivator I slay, I feed to my roots. Their essence becomes mine, their memories mine, their suffering mine. That is the path of the Blood Tree Sect. Power born from devouring life itself."

He looked past Wei Ji, toward the body trapped in the vines. "Ah. So this is your doing."

Wei Ji followed his gaze but said nothing.

The elder walked closer, the black mist swirling around his feet. "He is righteous, isn't he? A disciple of some sect, perhaps. The technique you used on him… it's exquisite. His spirit still lingers while his body fades. You've made him experience death a thousand times in his mind before his flesh truly dies."

His eyes gleamed. "Such precision. Such cruelty. Even I am impressed. For someone like me to say that, you should feel honored."

Wei Ji remained silent.

The elder looked back at him, his expression unreadable beneath the hood. "Have you ever wondered what you could achieve with proper guidance? With my teachings, you could master this art beyond imagination. The Blood Tree Sect is not like the righteous ones who shackle you with morals. We reward strength. We cherish those who are not bound by pity."

He spread his hand. Black roots crawled out from his sleeve, writhing across the floor like serpents. They pulsed with crimson light, feeding on the air itself. "Join me, and you will no longer have to hide. You will not fear discovery. The world will kneel to your roots, and the forests will call your name."

Wei Ji's eyes flickered, but his tone stayed flat. "I'm not interested."

The elder tilted his head. "You refuse? Think carefully, boy. The righteous will never accept what you are. Even now, your hands are stained with the essence of life and death. Once they find out, they will hunt you like a monster. But with us, you can grow without restraint. You could reach heights even the heavens would envy."

Wei Ji took a small step forward, his gaze unwavering. "You think I need your sect to grow?"

The elder's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "So proud. But pride without strength is hollow."

He turned slightly, glancing again at Ren's drained body. The roots pulsed once more, glowing a deep red. "That man's suffering was exquisite. You've made him endure more than I have seen in decades. To make a man's mind fight illusions until it crumbles… that requires talent. I want that talent under me."

He looked back at Wei Ji. "Do not make me ask again."

Wei Ji's lips curved faintly, not in a smile, but in something colder. "I don't need to think."

For a moment, the air went still.

The elder's eyes glowed brighter. "You truly refuse me?"

"I do."

The silence stretched, long and heavy. Then, slowly, the elder straightened his back. His voice deepened, dripping with malice. "Then you will die."

The ground split open beneath him. Black roots erupted outward, filling the chamber like a storm of writhing serpents. The air turned thick with killing intent, so dense that the stone walls began to crack and crumble.

Wei Ji didn't flinch. His eyes turned faintly green, glowing softly in the darkness as the first root lunged toward him. The faint whisper of leaves brushed through the air, carrying the echo of a heartbeat before the storm.

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