Feiyin sat cross-legged within his practice room, the scent of refined herbs thick in the air. The cauldron before him bubbled with a controlled intensity, golden liquid swirling within as he carefully adjusted the heat with his oscillation sense. His hands moved with practiced ease, feeding in ground lotus root and crushed fire-marrow leaves, each ingredient dissolving into the mixture in perfect harmony.

  But despite his flawless technique, his mind was not at peace.

  For the past few days, he had felt a gnawing unease. It wasn’t something tangible—there was no clear danger, no immediate threat—but it was a feeling he couldn’t shake. It reminded him too much of that time, when his village had been attacked for the second time. A subtle shift in the air, an unspoken warning from his instincts that something was wrong.

  Yet, no matter how much he trained, how much he focused on refining pills for his friends before their separation, the restlessness did not fade.

  The others were busy with their final preparations for the branch tests. Shen Mu was finishing the last of his theoretical studies, Yue had been training relentlessly, and Ren had spent his days battling other disciples to sharpen his combat instincts. Feiyin, on the other hand, had been spending long hours perfecting batches of pills—stockpiling anything they might need once they separated. Healing elixirs, stamina restoratives, mind boosters—anything to ensure they had a safety net.

  Still, his mind wandered.

  Outside the alchemy practice room, Feiyin leaned against the cool stone wall, staring at the rising sun. Beside him, Shen Mu and Ren sat nearby, the three of them having naturally drifted together in their final days before the tests.

  “You’re distracted,” Shen Mu noted, tapping his fingers against his knee.

  Feiyin exhaled, watching the thin wisps of steam rise from the nearby furnace. “I’ve had a bad feeling these past few days.”

  Ren frowned, rubbing his temple. “You too? I thought it was just me, but I haven’t been sleeping well. And that’s saying something, considering I’m usually the first to pass out.”

  Feiyin and Shen Mu exchanged a glance, the unspoken tension between them growing thicker.

  “It’s nothing solid,” Feiyin admitted, crossing his arms. “Just a feeling. But the last time I ignored something like this…” He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The memory of fire, blood, and loss still burned in the back of his mind.

  Shen Mu pursed his lips. “We should be on guard.”

  Ren rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. “No complaints here.”

  Kui Long strode confidently through the menial disciples’ quarters, his chin raised with an arrogance that barely masked his irritation. Sixteen years old and born into nobility, he had been forced to live among peasants, forced to eat the same slop and breathe the same air as those beneath him. It was disgraceful.

  But he had a plan.

  His father’s name meant nothing here, but power did. And power came in many forms. Some gained it through cultivation, others through influence. Kui Long had no patience for the long, grueling path of cultivation, but he had found another way—one far more enjoyable.

  The Joyful Union Branch.

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  A smirk curled on his lips. A path where he could indulge in pleasure while growing stronger. What more could a man ask for? With the right techniques, women would become nothing more than vessels, existing only to feed his growth. And they wouldn’t last long—drained of their primal yin essence, discarded when they were no longer useful, so he could always taste new ones.

  The thought alone sent a thrill through his body, a heat pooling in his lower half, but before his fantasy could take full root, a voice interrupted.

  “Young master, did you truly receive a task from Young Master Feng?”

  Irritated at being pulled from his daydream, Kui Long scowled before the reminder sent a fresh wave of excitement through him.

  “Of course. Who do you think I am?” He sneered, adjusting his robes. “My worth is going to be recognized soon.”

  Young Master Feng—first-class outer disciple, a rising figure in the Joyful Union Branch, and infamous even within his sect for his sadistic tastes. Kui Long had met one of his subordinates half a year ago, and with a stroke of genius, pledged his loyalty to this powerful backer.

  Since then, his fortunes had turned. No longer a mere stray disciple, he had gathered a small group of subordinates, all eager to reap the rewards of their service. His task was simple: deliver fresh beauties to Young Master Feng.

  And today, his luck was good.

  As he strolled through the sect grounds, his eyes landed on a young girl no older than fifteen, her bright blue eyes shimmering like gemstones. His pulse quickened. Young Master Feng would enjoy this one.

  He gestured subtly, signaling his subordinates to follow as they trailed after her into the forest.

  Hui hummed softly to herself as she picked through the underbrush, carefully selecting ingredients for the meal she planned to prepare. This would be the last meal they shared together before they went their separate ways, and she wanted it to be special.

  She picked a soft, creamy root Yue liked, knowing she would appreciate it in a dessert. A bundle of fragrant herbs Ren favored, often throwing them into his meals despite Yue’s complaints about strong flavors. And, of course, a few bitter-tasting greens Shen Mu always pretended not to like but ate anyway for their medicinal properties. Feiyin had more of a sweet tooth, so she would have to find some berries—perhaps hawthorns, the ones he always said reminded him of home. It made her smile, thinking of how he would always pretend not to care about food yet subtly savor every bite. These small gestures, these quiet acts of care, were what bound them together, what made this meal more than just nourishment—it was a final gift before their paths diverged.

  Smiling to herself, she reached down to pluck another ingredient when something in the air changed.

  A whisper of movement.

  Before she could process it, instinct took over. She spun, scissors raised, deflecting a glinting needle that would have struck her neck. It clattered against the rocks.

  Her heart pounded as she straightened, eyes scanning the figures surrounding her. A dozen young men, all between thirteen and eighteen, formed a loose circle, cutting off her escape.

  The one in front stepped forward, his oily smirk sending a chill through her.

  “We have a big opportunity for you,” he said, voice mockingly smooth. “Someone who appreciates your beauty wants to get to know you.”

  Her stomach twisted. She knew what that meant. Everyone did. The fate of those taken as cauldrons for the Joyful Union Branch was well-known.

  She inhaled sharply, forcing her voice to steady. “You can get to know him yourself.”

  With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a cloud of poison powder—one Shen Mu had given her for emergencies. As she had already taken the antidote, she turned to run, but before she could get far, her limbs wavered.

  A cruel chuckle came from behind her.

  “You think you’re the only one with poison?” Kui Long’s voice was laced with amusement. “This is Numbing Breath, a gift from Young Master Feng. Colorless, scentless, and quick. How do you like it?”

  Her legs buckled, vision swimming.

  “You won’t… get away with this…” she murmured, barely holding on.

  Kui Long approached, tapping her cheek with his fingers, a smirk on his face. “And you think you will?”

  Her vision darkened, and the last thing she heard was his voice instructing his men.

  “Wrap her up. Let’s get her to Young Master Feng before she wakes up.”

  Then, everything faded to black.