The wind sliced through the black bamboo forest like invisible blades. Leaves rustled in the moonless night, whispering secrets no man could understand. Somewhere in the branches above, a shadow moved—fast, silent, and focused.
Ling Ye crouched low on a bamboo stalk, his breath steady, eyes sharp like a hawk. The forest was thick, but he knew every path through it. He had trained here for a decade under the Shadow Sect—trained to kill, to vanish, to survive.
But tonight felt different.
Beneath his black robe, his heart beat faster than it should. He wasn't afraid of death. He had long accepted that fate. What unsettled him… was the name.
Shen Qian.
Leader of the Qingyang Temple. The target. The mission. But also—his father.
Three months ago, everything changed. A hooded figure approached him during a quiet night in the training grounds. The man handed him a jade pendant shaped like a dragon and said only seven words:
"You are Shen Qian's only son."
Ling Ye had laughed at first. But something about the pendant felt… right. Familiar. Like an echo in his blood.
Now here he was—sent by his Sect to kill the very man who might be his father.
His hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger.
No emotion. No doubt. No hesitation.
That's what the Shadow Sect demanded. But doubt was already in his bones.
He sprang silently toward the mountain temple.
**
The Qingyang Temple sat on a cliff, glowing with lantern light. Its gates were guarded by elite disciples in white and gold, but they might as well have been statues to Ling Ye.
With his Dragon's Shadow technique, he slipped through cracks in space itself—blinking past guards, floating through shadows, unheard, unseen.
Within minutes, he stood in the main hall.
Incense burned softly. Ancient scrolls lined the walls. A statue of the celestial dragon loomed over everything, its eyes glowing faintly blue.
At the center of the hall sat Shen Qian, alone, meditating in silence.
His long silver hair fell over his shoulders like a river of moonlight. He looked peaceful, powerful—and older than Ling Ye had imagined.
The assassin crept forward, dagger in hand.
One step.
Two steps.
Three—
"I knew you'd come," Shen Qian said, without opening his eyes.
Ling Ye froze.
How?
"Your footsteps are lighter than mist, your aura buried like stone," Shen Qian continued, standing slowly. "But a father… always feels when his son returns."
"You're not my father," Ling Ye snapped, though even he wasn't sure if he believed it.
"You carry the jade," the old man said, turning to face him. "And you have her eyes."
"Her?"
"Your mother. She died to protect you."
Ling Ye's hands trembled slightly. He lowered the dagger, just an inch.
"Why didn't you find me?" he demanded. "You left me to rot in that place!"
"I searched for years. But someone… someone wanted you hidden."
Silence stretched between them. Two lives, two paths, both shaped by shadows.
"Who are you really?" Ling Ye asked.
"I am Shen Qian, yes. Leader of Qingyang Temple. But before that, I was the guardian of the Dragon's Lineage. And you…" Shen Qian pointed to Ling Ye's chest, "you are its last heir."
Ling Ye's world cracked.
"The Shadow Sect raised you to be their weapon. But your bloodline carries something far greater than you've ever known."
A loud boom cracked through the sky outside. Thunder. The wind screamed.
The storm was coming.
And with it, war.
"You must choose, Ling Ye," Shen Qian said softly. "Kill me and fulfill your mission… or stand with me, and uncover the truth."
Ling Ye looked down at the dagger in his hand.
Everything he had known said: kill.
But something deep inside said: stay.
The storm raged louder.
He slid the dagger back into its sheath.
"Then tell me everything," he said.
Shen Qian smiled, pain flickering behind his eyes.
"Good. The Dragon awakens."
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