"Please, spare him!"
A desperate voice cut through the tension.
Han's focus broke as Yin Shuang spoke out, her eyes wide with urgency.
"You've already won! Please… don't kill him."
Han hesitated.
His mind was still clouded with the high of battle, the taste of victory, the rush of conquering a strong opponent.
But as he looked into Yin Shuang's eyes…
Something in him snapped back to reality.
His grip loosened. His mind cleared.
Han knelt down beside Uncle Wood's unconscious form.
The ring was still on his finger, glowing faintly.
Han reached forward, gripping it firmly—
And pried it off.
As soon as he did, the Qi within the ring pulsed, a strange energy briefly flowing into his hand before settling.
Yin Shuang watched silently, relieved yet wary.
"You're leaving?" she asked quietly.
Han turned away.
"I got what I came for."
Without another word, he started toward the dungeon exit, his newly acquired ring glinting under the torchlight.
And with that, Han Long vanished into the shadows.
Yin Shuang walked along the stone paths of the Heavenly Radiance Sect, her mind heavy with thoughts about that intruder who confronted Uncle Wood. The battle last night between Han Long and Uncle Wood kept replaying in her head.
She couldn't shake the image of Uncle Wood. His power, his history and most of all, his true identity.
"He's not just a prisoner. He chose to be locked away, to protect the ring."
That revelation shook her to her core. The sect had always treated Uncle Wood as an abandoned old man, a relic of the past. But the truth was far more complicated. He had sacrificed himself to guard something important.
Now, that man Han Long had taken the ring, and Yin still had no idea why.
But there was something else troubling her, the sect.
Ever since her promotion, Yin had gained respect in name only. In reality, she was still an outsider. The other disciples didn't see her as an equal. They saw her as a threat.
It wasn't long before trouble came knocking.
"Junior Sister Yin," a voice called out to her as she was returning to her chambers.
She turned to see Senior Disciple Luo Jian.
A man of influence in the sect, Luo Jian had always been arrogant, but lately, his disdain toward her had turned into something far more malicious.
Still, he approached her with a respectful bow and a fake smile on his lips.
"I was hoping to speak to you in private," he said smoothly.
Something about his tone made her uneasy, but she couldn't outright refuse a senior.
"…Fine," she said reluctantly.
He led her toward a secluded courtyard, far from where other disciples would wander. The moment they were alone, his expression changed.
The smile disappeared.
His eyes darkened with cruel amusement.
"You must think you're special now, don't you?" Luo Jian sneered, stepping closer.
Yin tensed. "What are you talking about?"
"You've been acting so high and mighty ever since you got promoted. But don't forget, you're still just a nobody compared to us."
He grabbed her wrist. Hard.
She tried to jerk away, but his grip tightened.
"You should be grateful," he whispered, leaning in close. "A lowly girl like you, given a position you don't deserve? You need to be taught your place."
Panic surged through her veins.
She struggled, but Luo Jian was stronger. His free hand brushed against her waist and shifted further up.
"Let go of me!" she hissed.
He only laughed. "Come on, you want this, right?"
His fingers dug into her arm. "Say it. Say that you—"
Her hand grasped the hilt of the old, rusted sword that she had picked up earlier, desperate for something—anything—to defend herself.
She swung wildly, the blade shaking in her hands.
Luo Jian stepped back and snorted in amusement.
"You want to kill me with this rusted piece of metal?" he mocked.
With ease, he knocked the sword from her grip, sending it clattering to the floor. He grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look up at him.
"Pathetic," he smirked. "You should just—"
Suddenly, a blast of golden light erupted from the fallen sword, knocking Luo Jian backward several meters.
Yin gasped as the entire courtyard was bathed in a powerful aura.
The sword—the same rusted, broken blade—was suddenly glowing, radiating an ancient power.
Light began to swirl around her, wrapping her body in an unearthly embrace.
Her vision blurred—
And the next moment, she was no longer in the courtyard.
When her sight cleared, she found herself somewhere else entirely.
The air was heavy with a deep, spiritual energy.
She stood in a vast, endless landscape of white mist and floating, shattered ruins. Ancient stone pillars, inscribed with forgotten symbols, hovered in mid-air.
The sky was dark, yet streaked with ethereal golden lights that flickered like distant stars.
A woman emerged from the mist.
Tall, elegant and unreal—like a ghost from a lost era. She wore flowing white robes, her presence cold and distant.
Her silver eyes locked onto Yin with an unreadable expression.
"You are here," the woman stated plainly.
Yin staggered back. "Who… who are you?"
The woman ignored the question.
Instead, she raised a delicate hand—
And suddenly, Yin's body moved against her will. Her arms lifted, her fingers tightening around the glowing sword. The blade in her grip was not the rusted blade that she owned. It was pristine, shimmering with divine radiance.
"You are weak," the woman continued.
Yin struggled to move, to resist, but she was powerless.
"You lack the strength to wield this sword," the woman said coldly. "But… perhaps you may yet learn."
And the attacks began.
From nowhere, phantom blades came slashing toward her.
Yin barely had time to react—her arms moved instinctively, blocking the strikes with impossible precision.
Her feet shifted in ways she didn't understand. Her hands gripped the sword as if guided by an unseen force.
It was not her own skill.
It was something else.
The woman watched without expression.
"You will train," she declared. "Until you are worthy."
Yin Shuang had no choice.
The mysterious woman forced her into battle, her body moving in ways she had never been trained for.
Each attack came faster.
Each strike became sharper.
She blocked. She countered. She dodged.
And through it all, she felt herself change.
She wasn't just reacting, she was learning.
Her grip on the sword became natural. The footwork, the angles, the timing—everything began to flow.
She didn't understand how, but somehow, the knowledge of swordsmanship was being burned into her soul.
Yin Shuang gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance instinctively as the next strike came.
She had been helpless before. She had been weak, but now, she was something else.