"Yuan Cai, the exiled vice-captain. They say he still lives. Some claim he crossed the Qianlong River, others that he commanded the outlaws of the northern steppe."

Li Wuji's smile deepened, the air around him rippling faintly with pressure. "Yuan Cai, the wolf who gnawed off his own leg to escape the trap. A man too proud to die quietly." He chuckled, the sound low and mirthless. "Men like him make fine kindling for the fires of change."

He rose from his seat with a smooth, predatory motion and began pacing along the ridge. "The Wu clan is weak, their merchant-lord clutching his city like a miser holding a broken coin. Mu Zhang seeks recognition. Yuan Cai, revenge. And us—" His eyes gleamed red as he looked back at Yuan Yi. "We seek ascendance. Tell me, which of these ambitions burns brightest?"

"The one that feeds on all the others," she said softly.

Li Wuji's laughter rang across the rocks. "Good. You are learning."

As dusk fell over the Qianlong wilderness, Li Wuji led his retinue through the ravines that cut between the cliffs—twenty cultivators in crimson robes, their auras flickering like torches in the wind. Each bore the faint mark of the Blood Path, the veins at their temples pulsing faintly under the moonlight.

"The city will tear itself apart before the next moonrise," said one of his lieutenants, a burly man with a scar running down his jaw. "Do we strike while they're distracted?"

Li Wuji did not answer immediately. His gaze was fixed upon the distant valley where faint smoke still curled from Crescent Moon's eastern quarter.

"No," he said at last. "Let them bleed first. The Wu clan's greed and Mu Zhang's pride will do what my blade cannot—they will empty the streets of faith. Only when the people lose faith does a new power rise."

He turned his head slightly. "Yuan Yi, prepare a messenger. I want word sent to every faction along the river. Tell them the Blood Path watches, and waits. When the city's gates open, we will be there to collect what remains."

Yuan Yi bowed, but hesitated. "And Yuan Cai, my lord? If the rumors prove true?"

Li Wuji's eyes narrowed. "If he still draws breath, bring him to me. Alive."

A murmur rippled through the gathered cultivators. The scarred lieutenant frowned. "Why not kill him outright? A man like that won't kneel, my lord."

Li Wuji's lips curved faintly. "No… but he may bend. Pride and pain share a thin border. I would see which side he stands on when the blood begins to flow."

The night deepened, and the wilderness came alive with quiet murmurs—the rustle of wind in the reeds, the distant howl of wolves. Li Wuji sat alone by the fire, the relic's crimson light casting slow, rhythmic pulses across his features.

He reached into his robes and withdrew a small token—an iron insignia of Crescent Moon's old guard, scorched and half-melted. He had found it near the riverbank days earlier, half-buried in the mud.

He turned it over in his fingers, gaze unreadable. "Yuan Cai… you escaped death, but not its shadow. Let us see which of us carries it further."

The fire hissed as a drop of his blood fell into the flames. A faint whisper stirred in the air—ancient, seductive.

Blood begets dominion… dominion begets eternity…

Li Wuji's eyes glowed faintly red as he murmured, "Then eternity shall know my name."

Far to the west, across the darkened plains, a small campfire flickered against the wind. Around it sat five men—former soldiers by their bearing, though their armor was mismatched and their eyes haunted.

At their center, wrapped in a torn cloak, sat Yuan Cai. His shoulder was still bound in fresh linen, his expression stern but distant as he stared into the flames.

"They say Crescent Moon burns again," one of the men whispered.

"It will keep burning," Yuan Cai said quietly. "So long as men trade their honor for coins."

The others fell silent. Beyond the firelight, the sound of the Qianlong River rolled like distant thunder.

Yuan Cai reached into his cloak and withdrew a broken insignia—his own, the crest of the city guard. He stared at it for a long while, then closed his fist around it.

"Wu Chong will not hold that city for long," he said, his voice low but resolute. "And when the time comes, those who bled for Crescent Moon will return to claim it, not as merchants or lords, but as soldiers who remember what it means to stand."

His men bowed their heads, and for the first time since his exile, Yuan Cai felt the faint spark of something dangerous. aThe wind rose, carrying embers into the night sky. Somewhere far off, the howling of wolves echoed through the ravines.

The howl rolled over the plains like an omen. Yuan Cai lifted his head toward the sound, eyes narrowing. "Even the beasts know unrest," he muttered. "The wilderness stirs before the storm."

One of his men, an older soldier with a jagged scar down his cheek—shifted uneasily. "Vice-captain," he said, using the title out of habit more than formality, "if we mean to reclaim Crescent Moon, we'll need more than memories and wounded pride. The Wu clan's merchants buy blades faster than we can sharpen our own."

Yuan Cai's gaze remained on the fire. "Then we'll forge new ones," he said. "Outlaws, deserters, miners from the western gorges… even the ones the clans cast aside. Every man who's tasted injustice will find a place here."

The soldiers exchanged wary looks. "You mean to build an army?" another asked.

Yuan Cai's reply was soft, yet carried an iron edge. "Not an army, a flock of reckoning."

The wind whipped through the camp, scattering embers like blood-red petals. In that moment, Yuan Cai seemed larger than the dying fire, his presence cutting through the night like a blade honed on bitterness. "Crescent Moon's heart rots from within," he said.

"Wu Chong may rule with wealth, but coin cannot buy loyalty forever. When the first crack appears, we will strive for vengeance on behalf of our fallen, and to remind them that a city's soul belongs to its people."

Silence followed. Then the scarred veteran exhaled slowly. "If that's your will, we'll stand with you. To the end."

Yuan Cai nodded once. "Good. At dawn, we move north. There are still strongholds loyal to the old guard along the river's bend. We'll gather them before it snows."

As his men settled for the night, Yuan Cai rose and walked a few paces away, to where the cliff overlooked the Qianlong River. The moon hung low—an amber disc veiled by drifting clouds. Beneath its reflection, the water shimmered like tempered steel.

"Wu Chong… Li Wuji…" he whispered. "Merchants, devils, vultures—all the same. You think this land belongs to you, but it remembers its own blood."

He unclenched his fist. The broken insignia gleamed faintly in his palm, edges sharp as glass. "I will return," he vowed, "and when I do, the river will run red again—this time, with their blood."

Behind him, the faint crackle of the fire merged with the distant growl of thunder. The wolves had gone silent. Only the restless wind remained, whispering through the ravines as though carrying his words toward the sleeping city beyond the horizon.

And somewhere in that city, a man named Li Wuji stirred from meditation, his crimson eyes opening with a flicker of unease, as if he had just heard a vow carried on the wind.

The night deepened, heavy with promise. Two fires now burned across the wilderness—one fueled by ambition, the other by retribution. And between them, Crescent Moon waited, trembling beneath the weight of what was yet to come.

The wolves had howled for the first time in years. By the next moonrise, men would answer.

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