6. White Tiger Sect

“Father… no!”

A young man’s voice broke the silence.

There were four youths inside the room, but only one had jolted up from his bed. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping from his brow. He clutched his chest, as if to make sure his heart was still beating. With a long exhale, he muttered in frustration, “That dream again!”

He slammed his back against the mattress, trying desperately to force his eyes shut. But not even ten seconds passed before they opened once more, revealing a pair of deep brown irises.

He stared at the cobwebs clinging to the ceiling. His gaze drifted to his roommates, still sleeping soundly. Clicking his tongue, he grumbled, “Hah… they sleep like the dead, while I can’t sleep because of the dead. Damn nightmare!”

With a weary face, the young man rose from bed. He stepped out of the room, yawning loudly. How was it possible that despite being exhausted, he couldn’t fall asleep?

***

Though the place was now overrun by grass and weeds, the land still felt dead.

Few would believe that once, many homes had stood upon that very ground.

What drew the most attention was a lush ginkgo tree, standing tall with spreading shade. Beneath it rested a moss-covered black stone.

A young man with deep brown eyes knelt before the stone, bowing three times. His sharp eyes closed for a long moment before opening slowly again.

“Who would have thought a severed head lies buried here?” he murmured bitterly. “Ten years have passed, yet my hatred has not faded. No… it has only grown stronger!” His fingers dug into the soil, tearing up clumps of grass and roots.

He fixed his gaze on the black stone, weathered yet still bearing the carved name: Xiu Jian.

Yes, this young man was none other than Xiu Zhangjian.

Time had changed everything, except his hatred for those who had slain his father so brutally.

“Father… sometimes I feel like I can’t hold back any longer. I want revenge! Even if it costs me my life.”

From his robe, Zhangjian drew a peach blossom he had plucked earlier that morning. He laid it gently before the stone, his palm brushing across the engraved name. A shaky sigh escaped him.

“I’ve trained relentlessly for vengeance, but Brother Li Min never once speaks of it. He always says… 'it’s not time yet.' But Father, the longer we wait, the stronger our enemies grow. How much longer must I remain silent?”

Birdsong rose from the ginkgo branches above, filling the heavy stillness.

Zhangjian’s throat tightened. His lips closed, holding back the surge of words.

Moments later, he smiled faintly, helplessly.

“Forgive me, Father. I shouldn’t complain to you,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the stone as if he could never look away. “Alright, let’s end our meeting here. I must return now.”

Bowing deeply, Zhangjian turned to leave Boushan. His steps quickened.

“I just hope… I’m not too late,” he thought as he sprinted toward Huaxi Village, home of the White Tiger Sect.

***

Thanks to his martial training, Zhangjian arrived swiftly at Huaxi. But when he stood before the sect compound, his feet froze.

“Ha! Ha!” The shouts of men training, followed by the sound of stamping feet, rang out from within the sect. Morning practice had already begun.

Cautiously, Zhangjian crept around the outer wall.

“If Brother Li Min finds out I’m late, he’ll punish me half to death,” he muttered, eyes sharp with unease.

He slipped into the sect grounds, his gaze sweeping the area warily. Finding no one nearby, he hurried toward the training field.

But as he stopped beneath a pine tree near the grounds, confusion filled his face.

“Why are they training alone? Where’s Elder Ho? Strange… but good! Seems the heavens are on my side today.” He grinned, thinking he could sneak in unnoticed.

Just as he was about to slip into the training line, a sudden hand landed on his shoulder.

The shock jolted through him so sharply he swore his heart stopped for a beat. He squeezed his eyes shut, images flashing in his mind, harsh men, and worst of all, the cold, stern face of Brother Li Min. His skin crawled.

“Zhangjian, where have you been?”

The gentle, anxious voice made him snap his eyes open.

“Xinyue? What are you doing here?” Zhangjian blurted out, spinning around. He ignored her question entirely.

The girl before him, Feng Xinyue, only daughter of Feng Yin, had been his friend long before the Gongliao Alliance destroyed the Sacred Dragon Sect.

“You!” Xinyue huffed, gripping his arm tightly and pulling him along.

“Xinyue, where are you taking me?” Zhangjian protested, suddenly uneasy. “Does she mean to drag me to Brother Li Min, like some thief?”

“The council hall,” she answered curtly, not breaking stride.

“W-what? Why?” Zhangjian yelped, his suspicion growing.

“I don’t know. But the Sect Leader and the Elders are waiting for you there.”

The Sect Leader? The Elders?

Zhangjian blinked rapidly. This was no ordinary punishment. Normally, a tardy disciple was disciplined on the training grounds, not summoned to the council hall. Why was only he being called?

“Xinyue, is this because I was late?” he asked at last as they neared the hall’s great door.

She shook her head, worry flashing in her eyes. “You’ll have to ask them yourself. Just… watch your words and your temper! Don’t speak carelessly.”

She released his arm and stepped away, leaving Zhangjian standing alone before the door. Her heart pounded nervously, though she didn’t know why.

Inside, silence hung heavy. Zhangjian hesitated, palm pressed to the door, unease gnawing at him.

'There’s no way they’d summon me here just for being late. Something else must have happened. But why me?'

His thoughts spun, but before he could push the door open, a voice thundered from within:

“Enter! How long will you keep us waiting?”