The sky deepened into shades of bruised violet, as though the heavens themselves recoiled from what was about to unfold. Crescent lanterns flickered high above the plaza, their orange glow swallowed by something heavier like fear and grief.

A palpable weight pressed upon the city, like the air before a storm.

Then—

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

War drums thundered through the avenues, their dull roar rippling across tiled roofs and echoing through the bones of every citizen.

The beat was slow, each strike a reminder of the Oolong Group's authority. Citizens gathered in uneasy clusters around the plaza's perimeter, as Merchants whispered, pale-faced behind embroidered sleeves.

Children clung to their mothers, burying their faces against worn cloaks and trembling quietly. It had been years since Oolong officials invoked the Drums of Mandate. The last time… a rebellion had ended after a great deal of bloodshed.

Tonight, the drums returned.

At the plaza's center stood a massive platform of jade, green as serpents' eyes with a polished surface that gleamed like frozen water. Lanterns ringed its base, their forms tall and imposing, illuminating formation lines carved deep into the stone beneath.

Ancient runes pulsed with a faint golden glow, forming a network of sigils meant to trap cultivators stronger than the guards who manned the perimeter. Only the Oolong Group would engrave formations designed to bind heroes… not criminals.

It was a stage built for a public spectacle, likely a prison disguised as law. An execution masquerading as justice and at the heart stood the man orchestrating the farce, Han Zhuo.

Clad in ceremonial armor—a lacquered chestplate, jade-lined bracers, and a sweeping mantle of braided gold—he stood tall and imperious. Even from the edges of the plaza, his figure dominated the platform like a general poised at the gates of triumph.

He unfurled a scroll with theatrical flair.

His voice carried like thunder.

"BY DECREE OF MAGISTRATE YUN AND BY THE AUTHORITY OF THE OOLONG GROUP—"

Silence fell so sharply it seemed the city itself held its breath.

"The group of fifty prisoners, accomplices to the theft of sacred property, shall be executed at dusk."

Gasps broke from the crowd.

A few women covered their mouths.

Old men shook their heads in despair.

Fifty lives.

Fifty families.

Fifty fates shackled to a single name.

Han Zhuo raised his chin higher.

"Unless the thief known as Li Wei delivers both himself and the stolen ledger to this platform."

An oppressive stillness blanketed the plaza.

The slaves marked for death were forced to kneel in rows along the outer ring of the formation. Chains bound their wrists, necks, ankles. Several trembled. One fainted. A few locked their gaze onto the crowd, silently begging for mercy.

None came.

Murmurs rippled like a cold wind.

"This punishment… for a ledger?"

"What cruelty…"

"Has the Oolong Group lost all face?"

"They've gone mad. Absolutely mad."

"No… they are sending a message."

The drums ceased.

Han Zhuo lifted his voice once more, the cadence sharp as a blade drawn across stone.

"Any attempt to obstruct justice shall be punished by public branding or death."

Cries of outrage erupted—quickly stifled when guards slammed the butts of their spears into the ground.

The air itself trembled with tension.

Above the jade platform, on a private balcony, Magistrate Yun watched with calm amusement. His robes—white embroidered with gold lotus sigils—fluttered lightly as he lifted a cup of tea.

"This will draw him," he murmured to the man at his side.

Steward Huo bowed with stiff reverence. His eyes were cold, viper-like.

"He cannot hide forever, Magistrate. A man haunted by a moral code is easier to track than game hunted in an open field."

Yun's smile curved thinly.

"No cultivator can ignore the debt he owes."

He did not finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

There, high above the plaza on the roof of the Three-Spire Archive, crouched the man who would overturn this decree.

The wind brushed softly across the tiled roof. Heavy with the scent of smoke, fear, and incense, it carried the cries of the crowd to the solitary figure perched above them.

Li Wei.

One knee bent, one foot firmly braced, he crouched low, cloak trailing behind him like a dark banner. The evening light painted his features with sharp shadows—the determined line of his jaw, the calm narrow-set eyes, the soft but deadly poise in his stance.

He did not hide his cultivation aura anymore.

He allowed it to seep free, faint but unmistakably present—a quiet thunder rolling beneath the sky.

Beside him stood two figures. Tang Li, trembling despite standing as straight as she could.

As well as the child whose rescue had brought the Oolong Group's fury upon them both.

The child pressed her face against Tang Li's side, too scared to look at the plaza below.

Tang Li's own hands shook. She held one of Li Wei's sleeves tightly, as though releasing it would cast her into a void of terror.

"Brother Wei…" she whispered. Her voice cracked.

Li Wei placed his cloak around her shoulders, his tone soft yet firm.

"Stay beside me. Whatever happens….do not run."

She nodded furiously, though fear still clouded her gaze.

"Brother… what will you do?"

Li Wei did not look at her when he answered. His eyes stayed fixed on the jade platform, studying the intricate formation patterns, counting the number of archers, calculating the level of the formation masters gathered.

Seven archers hidden in balconies and four formation pillars engraved with suppressive runes. Thirty armored guards, while fifty prisoners stood firmly tied up. One executioner and magistrate overseeing the proceeding

More than enough to kill an average cultivator, not enough to kill him.

He exhaled slowly, expression unreadable. "I will kill Magistrate Yun," he said quietly. "And overturn the one law he lived by."

Tang Li's breath halted. "What law…?" she whispered.

Li Wei rose as the wind lifted his hair behind him like dark silk fluttering beneath the heavens. "The law that says his organization decides who dies."

He stepped to the edge of the rooftop.

Below, the drums began again.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

But Li Wei heard something else within their rhythm, the sound of chains breaking by his word. He turned slightly, looking at Tang Li.

"Watch carefully."

The emerald compass in his hand began to flicker, the glow brightening until it burned like starlight captured in jade. "When a man fights alone," he said softly, "he must be both blade and shield."

He took one step forward.

The compass surged as emerald light flooded his form, before the young man leapt from the rooftop.

Straight into the heart of the plaza.

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