Mini?Scene: The Night Before the Battle

  “Let’s return to the night before.”

  The back courtyard of Azure Edge was quieter than the front.

  Disciples sharpened swords and set formations in the training grounds,

  preparing for the battle they knew would come with dawn.

  But in this corner,

  only a single oil lamp flickered.

  Sunri sat on the stone steps,

  holding the sleeping Pardy.

  The child’s breathing was steady and soft—

  as if he knew nothing.

  As if he didn’t know how many would die tomorrow.

  As if he didn’t know this sect had reached its end.

  Ye Lingyun approached from the shadows,

  steps light,

  as though afraid to wake the child.

  He looked at Pardy for a long time

  before whispering,

  “…He sleeps so peacefully.”

  Sunri gave a faint smile.

  “Children don’t understand these things.”

  Ye Lingyun nodded

  and sat beside him.

  Only insects and the distant scrape of whetstones filled the silence.

  Suddenly, Pardy turned in his sleep

  and grabbed the corner of Ye Lingyun’s robe.

  As if holding onto something safe.

  Ye Lingyun froze.

  No one had ever relied on him like this.

  “…Does he do this often?” he asked quietly.

  Sunri shook his head.

  “No. Only with people he trusts.”

  Ye Lingyun’s eyes trembled.

  For a moment,

  the grief in them eased.

  He reached out

  and pulled Pardy’s fallen coat back over him—

  carefully,

  as if afraid to hurt him.

  “…Don’t let him see what happens tomorrow,”

  Ye Lingyun whispered.

  A plea,

  and a request.

  Sunri nodded.

  “I’ll protect him.”

  Ye Lingyun looked at the child’s peaceful face.

  His throat moved.

  “…How nice,” he murmured.

  “If I could’ve lived a few more years…

  maybe… I could’ve had a child like this too.”

  Sunri looked up.

  But Ye Lingyun had already stood,

  the cold mask returning to his face.

  “Dawn is coming,” he said.

  “I should return… and do what a sect master must.”

  He turned away.

  His silhouette looked as though the wind might carry it off.

  Sunri held Pardy tighter.

  The child hummed softly in his sleep—

  as if comforting someone.

  Back to the Present

  Sunri ran down the loft stairs with Pardy in his arms,

  feet slipping on blood?stained stone.

  He saw the flicker of fear in Aunt Mei’s eyes—

  a sign she could no longer intervene.

  He wasn’t a martial artist.

  He had no lightness skill.

  His body was nothing like these warriors’.

  But he still ran.

  Because Ye Lingyun was about to die.

  Because Aunt Mei was crying.

  Because he couldn’t watch another good person be cornered.

  And because of the child in his arms—

  he couldn’t entrust Pardy to anyone else.

  He had already lost family once.

  He couldn’t survive losing another.

  The moment he stepped into the courtyard,

  the stench of blood hit him.

  Bodies lay scattered—

  Azure Edge disciples,

  and members of the Seven Sects.

  Blood pooled into thin streams

  between the stones.

  The Seven Sect leaders turned toward him.

  “Another one seeking death!”

  the Iron Fist Sect Master roared,

  his right fist gathering force,

  air swirling around it.

  Several killing intents locked onto Sunri at once.

  The pressure hit like a physical weight,

  stealing his breath,

  as if invisible hands gripped his throat.

  This was the “force” of martial masters—

  the killing aura forged through countless deaths.

  Pardy shrank against him,

  tiny hands gripping his clothes,

  but he didn’t cry.

  He only watched.

  Sunri gritted his teeth

  and raised the gun.

  He knew the sound wouldn’t scare them this time.

  These men had seen blood.

  They had killed.

  A gunshot would only stun them for a heartbeat.

  He wasn’t even sure

  he could pull the trigger under this pressure.

  His fingers stiffened.

  His arm trembled.

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  His vision blurred.

  The seven sect leaders struck at once.

  No hesitation.

  No mercy.

  Five palm strikes,

  two sword energies—

  a tide crashing from seven angles.

  Palm winds roared,

  making the air vibrate.

  Sword energy sliced the stone beneath his feet.

  Sunri felt his blood freeze.

  His legs rooted to the ground.

  He couldn’t move a single finger.

  Death closed in—

  real,

  immediate.

  And then—

  “Meow—”

  A sound so soft it barely existed.

  Yet in this battlefield of killing intent and clashing inner force,

  it tore open everyone’s focus for a heartbeat.

  Mo?Dou leapt from the roof of the main hall,

  landing lightly three steps in front of Sunri.

  The black cat’s fur bristled.

  Its body arched into a sharp curve.

  Golden eyes glowed like twin lanterns in the morning light,

  fixed on the seven sect leaders.

  It didn’t hiss.

  It didn’t roar.

  It simply swayed its tail—

  slow,

  elegant,

  unnerving.

  A warning.

  One more step,

  and you will regret it.

  The seven sect leaders hesitated.

  Their attacks slowed.

  “A cat?”

  “Unholy!”

  “What’s wrong with its eyes?”

  Mo?Dou lowered its head

  and pushed something toward Sunri with its paw.

  A green leaf.

  On it,

  charcoal lines formed a simple drawing—

  mountains,

  a path,

  an arrow pointing deeper into the range.

  A crude map.

  Or a symbol.

  Sunri hadn’t understood yet

  when Mo?Dou lifted its head,

  golden eyes narrowing toward the back mountain cliffs.

  The next instant—

  A presence surged from afar.

  Like wind sweeping treetops.

  Like thunder rolling across the sky.

  Like a wave crashing against the shore.

  Yet light—

  as if it belonged to the world.

  The seven sect leaders paled.

  They were martial masters.

  Their senses were sharp.

  This aura was impossibly deep.

  Terrifyingly pure.

  Approaching fast.

  “This… this is—”

  The Iron Fist Sect Master’s face twisted.

  Before he finished,

  a figure descended from the sky.

  Not a leap.

  Not lightness skill.

  He truly fell from the heavens—

  from the hundred?meter cliff behind the mountain—

  drifting down like a leaf,

  landing in the courtyard

  without stirring a speck of dust.

  He looked around sixty.

  White hair,

  rosy complexion,

  skin firm except for faint lines at the eyes.

  He wore a faded grey robe with patched sleeves,

  grass shoes,

  and a polished wine gourd at his waist.

  A bamboo staff rested in his hand,

  smooth from years of use—

  the tool of a simple mountain hermit.

  But when he lifted his eyes—

  Every martial artist present,

  including the seven sect leaders,

  felt an invisible pressure.

  His eyes were clear as mountain spring water—

  reflecting every stain in the human heart,

  seeing through every disguise.

  “So lively,” the old man said,

  voice gentle,

  yet reaching every ear.

  “Seven old men bullying one child.

  You’ve truly aged backward.”

  The Iron Fist Sect Master’s face drained of color.

  He finally recognized him.

  “You’re… the Nameless Elder?

  You died twenty years ago!”

  Twenty years ago,

  the Nameless Elder shook the martial world—

  master of sword, palm, and inner force.

  He never founded a sect,

  never sought fame.

  Then he vanished.

  Rumors said he died from a cultivation mishap.

  “Dead?”

  The old man laughed softly,

  a sound full of weary amusement.

  “I simply stopped playing your childish games.

  Living in the mountains—

  fishing, drinking, gathering herbs—

  is far more pleasant

  than watching hypocrites like you perform.”

  “Senior,”

  the Flying Sword Sect Master stepped forward,

  bowing with forced respect,

  voice edged with threat.

  “This is a righteous purge.

  For the safety of the martial world.

  Please do not interfere.”

  “Purge?”

  The Nameless Elder looked at Ye Lingyun—

  bloody,

  barely standing with his sword as support.

  His gaze softened.

  “I watched this child grow.

  Held him at one month old.

  Taught him to read at three.

  Guided his sword basics at seven.

  When his parents died fighting the Demonic Cult,

  where were you?

  And now you call him the demon?”

  The seven sect leaders exchanged glances.

  This was bad.

  The Nameless Elder had been unmatched twenty years ago.

  Now he stood before them again.

  But the wealth of Azure Edge—

  its lands, shops, escort agencies—

  was too tempting.

  They had already agreed on how to divide it.

  They couldn’t back down now.

  “Since Senior insists on interfering,”

  the Iron Fist Sect Master growled,

  “then forgive us!”

  Seven pairs of eyes met—

  a silent agreement.

  Eliminate the greatest threat first.

  “Attack!”

  The seven sect leaders struck together—

  not at Ye Lingyun,

  but at the Nameless Elder.

  Their coordination was flawless—

  three aimed high,

  two at the center,

  two at the legs.

  Seven killing moves,

  each containing a lifetime of cultivation,

  closed in from all directions.

  The Seven?Star Heaven?Locking Formation—

  their deadliest combined technique.

  Even the strongest in the world

  could not withstand seven masters’ full power at once.

  Mini?theater: Mo?Dou’s Triumph

  Mo?Dou meowed—

  a crisp, clear sound.

  The seven sect leaders froze.

  Their attacks faltered.

  “A cat?”

  “Unholy!”

  The Iron Fist Sect Master shouted—

  and was immediately punched and kicked

  by the other sect leaders.

  “How could such a cute cat be unholy,”

  they scolded in unison.

  Three seconds of silence.

  Mo?Dou tilted its head

  and delivered a second strike.

  “Meow?”

  “……!!”

  And so,

  Mo?Dou saved everyone.

  A joyous occasion indeed.