The inner district of Cloudpetal City was a world apart.

  Where the outer alleys stank of smoke and sweat, this place smelled of incense, sweet tea, and spirit flowers that bloomed regardless of season. Curved rooftops glittered faintly with spiritual runes. Servants moved like whispers. Even the cobblestones underfoot seemed smug—clean, even warm to the touch.

  Darin walked carefully down the stone path, clutching his side where the bruises still ached from his last fight.

  It wasn’t just pain that made him nervous.

  He passed under an arch carved with lotus patterns, then into the heart of the estate—the mansion of Soorin, one of the most feared Outer Disciples in the Cloud Lotus Sect.

  And he wasn’t even at the top yet.

  A soft breeze stirred the garden’s silken trees. Spirit-fed lilies floated in crystal ponds, their roots glowing faintly blue. And there, seated cross-legged on a low platform beside a koi pond, was Soorin.

  Bearded, slim, and sharply handsome in a way that made people either trust him instantly or flinch. He wore his robe half-open, chest bare, sunlight catching faint lines of muscle. His eyes were closed, posture perfect, hands resting lightly on his knees.

  Meditating.

  Darin didn’t speak immediately.

  He waited until the silence stretched thin—until Soorin finally exhaled and opened one eye.

  “What is it?” Soorin asked. His voice was smooth, a lazy whisper. “You’re bleeding on my walkway.”

  Darin bowed quickly, pressing his forehead close to the floor. “Apologies, Senior Brother. I bring news.”

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  “Mm. Go on.”

  “There was… an incident. In the outer district. I was tracking a debtor. Thought it would be simple.” He glanced up briefly. “But someone interfered.”

  Soorin raised an eyebrow. “Interfered?”

  “Yes. A rogue cultivator.” Darin’s lip curled. “No affiliation, no mark. I thought he’d back off when I showed my badge—but he fought me. Beat me.”

  Soorin’s gaze sharpened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “You were defeated. By a no-name?”

  Darin bristled. “He’s stronger than he looks. Bone Refinement stage, I’m sure of it. And skilled. His footwork was strange. Not from any sect style I know.”

  For a moment, Soorin seemed ready to dismiss it all.

  He leaned back, stretching one leg, hand reaching lazily for a nearby teacup.

  “Sounds like you got embarrassed,” he murmured. “Should I have you flogged for losing face?”

  Darin paled. “No, Senior Brother—!”

  Soorin waved him off. “Relax. It’s the outer district. Trash fighting trash. I was going to tell you to kill him quietly and be done with it…”

  He paused.

  Then frowned.

  A thread of memory tugged at him.

  “…Wait.”

  He looked away from Darin, eyes drifting across the koi pond, thoughts turning.

  Bone Refinement. Outer district. Spear style. No affiliation…

  He remembered something. A rumor. A sighting. A name scribbled in one of the many reports that passed through his hands but never fully registered until now.

  That rogue cultivator—the one some of the slum brats whispered about. A boy who’d survived two years in the Redwood. With no sect, no clan. Impossible.

  But apparently not.

  Soorin’s fingers drummed once against the teacup.

  He turned his gaze back to Darin, who straightened instinctively.

  “Find him,” Soorin said. “Bring him to me. Alive.”

  Darin blinked. “You want him… here?”

  “Yes. I want to speak to him.”

  “Do you—should I—?”

  “Do not touch him,” Soorin interrupted. “No fighting. No games. Find him. Speak to no one else.”

  Darin hesitated, but then nodded stiffly. “Yes, Senior Brother.”

  He bowed again and turned to leave, footsteps quick but careful.

  As soon as he passed under the archway, Soorin leaned back with a sigh.

  “Idiot.”

  From the far side of the garden, a figure lounged beneath a flowering tree—bare feet dangling in a pool, chewing on a spiritfruit lazily.

  “So you’re using him,” the figure said, voice light, amused.

  Soorin didn’t even look over. “I’m testing him. But I don’t trust him to follow through.”

  The man under the tree stood up slowly, stretching like a cat. He looked younger than Soorin but carried the same sharp cheekbones and confident air. His robe was messier, though, and his hair tied in a looser topknot.

  “So you want me to follow him?” he asked, tossing the fruit aside.

  “Observe him. Report anything odd. If he tries to run, stop him. If he lies to me, I want to know before he speaks.”

  The man nodded, rubbing his neck. “Name’s Feorin, not errand dog.”

  “Feorin,” Soorin said flatly, “you just broke into Bone Refinement last month. You want a real assignment or not?”

  Feorin grinned. “I’ll babysit the idiot. Don’t worry.”

  He vanished into the trees with a soft laugh, and the sound of rustling leaves trailed behind him.

  Soorin remained seated, his eyes drifting back to the koi pond.

  The rogue boy.

  Bone Refinement. Spear skill. Wild cultivation.

  And somehow… still standing.

  Soorin sipped his tea and smiled faintly.

  “Let’s see what kind of dog I’ve just sniffed out.”