Chapter 330: Wronged

~~~

Only four contestants remain in the Crimson Cloud Tournament: one from the Divine Frozen Palace, one from the Infinite Mountain Sect, two from the Eternal Flame Clan.

None from the Endlessly Raging Valley.

“I thought you would be displeased,” Ruan Chenshu says, looking at the Wandering Wind. Though most people have begun drifting out of the arena, the Wandering Wind remains in her seat. She stares at the molten ring with a pensive look, her cheek resting against her palm.

“Should I be?” the Wandering Wind asks.

“Your disciple lost,” Ruan Chenshu points out.

It is the sort of thing he usually wouldn’t dare utter. To interact with the Wandering Wind in any way means leaving himself open to whatever whim catches her fancy. Any other day, Ruan Chenshu would have been the first to leave.

However, this tournament has already been a disaster in various ways. What is one more?

“She did.” The Wandering Wind yawns into her hand. “I expected her to. A pity.”

Ruan Leji stares at her.

He wants to ask—demand—an explanation. Elder Ruan Haoran will surely demand one from him before the day is over. No one was happy when the Wandering Wind took an outsider as a disciple, but expectations were still placed on that girl. It could be no other way. Ultimately, the Endlessly Raging Valley is a place where people hopelessly look for someone to pin their expectations on.

That is what the Wandering Wind turned it into.

When she upended the Endlessly Raging Valley, the Wandering Wind irrevocably triggered the search for the one who would succeed her. A whimsical woman who wouldn’t think twice about leaving them forever if the mood struck her could not possibly be their leader. Someone else was needed. Someone who could one day ascend to the Divine Realms and lead the Sect to a bright future. That became the standard to which every single disciple was held subject to.

In many ways, that sort of thinking has done them much harm. Disciples who would have been greatly valued in the past suddenly seemed ordinary. Why bother putting all their resources on them if they were never going to become what they needed? Talents like Ruan Leji suffered greatly as a result.

That is why, when the Wandering Wind chose a disciple, alarming as it might have been for some, there had been hope.

At last, a successor.

At last, a guiding light.

How could she fall before reaching the Top Four? The Elders are going to be furious.

“The Elders were foolish to place any hopes on her,” the Wandering Wind says. It is such a perfect reply to his thoughts that Ruan Chenshu takes a step back. “Just as they were foolish to place their hopes on me once upon a time. I suppose that is the only thing that pack of old fools can do, shamelessly thrust their expectations on others without realizing this is not about them.”

She stands up.

Ruan Chenshu takes another step back.

“She lacked the resolve to stand on that stage. I always knew that,” the Wandering Wind says. “You would have noticed the same had you bothered to pay attention. All of you threatened, bribed, and cajoled your disciples into doing their best while neglecting to realize the most basic thing: True resolve cannot be faked. The motive does not matter, but the thirst—the want—it needs to be born from within. That stage belongs only to those with the resolve to stand on it. That is what is proper.”

Ruan Chenshu does not say anything as the Wandering Wind leaves. He merely stares at the molten ring. Minutes pass before a smile forms on his face.

“I do believe you are right.”

~~~

Several miles away from Imperial Cloud City and its glorious arena, a group of twenty people moves unseen across the vast plain. They hide within the earth, below the shades of the trees, and even under the shadow of a passing cloud. They wear no emblems and hold no weapons. There is not a single thing that can be used to link them together.

They are the Hidden Hand.

Officially, they do not exist. No group by that name has ever joined the Crimson Cloud Tournament or any other competition in the Crimson Cloud Empire. No Sect will ever claim to have had dealings with them, and few people have even heard of the name. Those who have largely dismiss it as an old tale told to scare children.

And yet, sometimes, very rarely, an envelope will be sent to a group that does not exist.

People die soon after.

Like so many other times before, the Hidden Hand has been summoned. A target has been named. A mission has been given. It will not be long until they are in Imperial Cloud City to carry it out. None escape the Hidden Hand. That is how it has been for centuries.

Light falls from the sky.

It happens so unexpectedly, so suddenly, that the members of the Hidden Hand cannot react in time. The attack falls on them with fulminating intensity, the very wrath of Heaven made manifest. Due to the timing of the event, most people dismiss the sudden rumblings felt for several miles as an aftereffect of the Crimson Cloud Tournament.

Nine members of the Hidden Hand die in an instant. The others are left dazed, but training takes over quickly. Their bodies begin moving. Their eyes assess the area for threats. They have been raised to be some of the deadliest assassins in the Empire.

Unfortunately, as soon as an assassin is exposed, the battle is lost.

Another blast of light comes down from above. The assassins dodge, but in doing so, they enter the ambush waiting for them. A large man falls between them like a boulder, his weight cracking the ground and sending them flying. An ashen-haired man moves in. His hand, glowing with heat, slices the air.

By the time the assassins hit the ground, they are already dead.

“That was pathetic!” says a red-haired woman as she floats down from above the clouds. She cast a disdainful look at the dead men. “These are supposed to be the best assassins in the Empire? No wonder we have so many useless people!”

Her name is Shi Qingxia, once a traitorous member of the Eternal Flame Clan, now a maid of the Storm Dragon Palace.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“The Hidden Hand is not to be underestimated,” says the ashen-haired man. He is Yong Zhunyi, another former disciple of the Eternal Flame Clan turned servant of the Storm Dragon Palace. “Their services have been used by many prestigious Sects to eliminate countless targets.”

Shi Qingxia raises an eyebrow and waves a hand at the corpses.

“Admittedly, this is not the type of mission they normally undertake,” Yong Zhunyi adds. Only a keen observer would notice the hint of red on his cheeks. “They are a tool for the Four Great Sects to interfere with those beneath them. A conflict of this scale exposes them far too much.”

“You’re just saying they’re useless with more words!” Shi Qingxia says, huffing and crossing her arms. She kicks one of the corpses for good measure.

“There is a point to Senior Brother Yong’s words,” says Ye Zheyu, the third member of their group. His voluminous figure makes him stand out from the others. “The Hidden Hand would not usually be called for this. Their presence shows how urgent the situation has become.”

“What it shows is how many worthless groups there are in the Empire. It gives those self-righteous idiots up high too many ways to meddle with others!” Shi Qingxia shakes her head in exasperation. “The Hidden Hand, the Veiled Knife, the Secret Gravekeepers, the White Owls! How many has it been already?”

“Ten, perhaps?” Ye Zheyu says, counting with his fingers.

“Eighteen,” Yong Zhunyi corrects.

Ye Zheyu blinks. He counts in his head again, before turning to Yong Zhunyi. “Truly?”

“A few of the ones we killed were disguised as their competitors,” Yong Zhuyi explains, kneeling down next to a corpse and rummaging through its pockets. “There is always demand for good assassins, and many are those who rush to fill it. Most of these people were born into their profession. Raised to be knives in the dark and little else. You should have realized that.”

Shi Qingxia frowns but says nothing.