The valley, once a stage for the ambitions of many, had become a hunting ground for one.
Disciples of the Raging Tiger Clan swept through the forest like a forest fire. Led by the furious bellows of Hu Jin, they crashed through thickets, their powerful auras sending lesser beasts fleeing in terror. They were a force of nature, intimidating and raw, but they were searching for a man. They found only echoes and the lingering scent of ozone from their own frustration.
"He must have a burrow somewhere!" Hu Jin roared, incinerating a patch of thorny vines with a wave of his hand. "Spread out! Check every cave, every hollow log! I want him found!"
His disciples obeyed, their search a chaotic and destructive rampage. They were hunting a tiger, expecting to find a lair filled with torn banners and gnawed bones.
Miles away, the disciples of the Black Tortoise Clan moved with the silence of a creeping fog. Gui Ren stood on a small rise, his eyes closed. He was not listening for a roar, but for a whisper. He wasn't tracking a man, but the absence of one.
"Forget the marsh," he commanded, his voice a low hum that carried perfectly to his team. "That was the scene of the crime, not his home. A ghost does not linger where it has been seen. Think. Where would you go if you wished to be ignored? Where have we not yet looked?"
His disciples paused, their gazes shifting from the obvious paths to the forgotten edges of the valley—the steep, rocky scree of the western bluffs, the tangled, swampy estuaries to the south. They were hunting a shadow, and they knew a shadow's strength was in avoiding the light. Their search was slow, meticulous, and infinitely more dangerous.
Far from both hunting parties, near the northernmost cliffs where the wind blew thin and cold, Jian Feng moved with the unhurried grace of a scholar in a library. He ran a hand over the rough, almost metallic surface of a gnarled tree.
Iron-Skin Bark. Low-grade, only 5 points per sheet. But the entire grove is untouched.
He calmly drew a short, sharp knife and began to peel away large sheets of the bark, stacking them neatly. He worked with an efficient rhythm, his senses not on high alert for attack, but expanded outward, feeling the quiet pulse of the valley. He could feel the distant, angry surges of power from the Tiger Clan, a blind rage that told him exactly where they were and where they were not. He could also feel the unnerving, patient stillness of the Tortoise Clan, a far more significant threat, but one that was still searching blind.
He had gathered over eighty points in the last hour from resources the likes of Hu Jin would have considered beneath his notice. He paused, looking back in the general direction of the marsh.
Pride is the heaviest shield, he thought, a faint smile touching his lips. It protects the ego but blinds the eye. Let them hunt the predator who struck in the heart of the valley. I shall be the scavenger who grows fat on its edges.
In the Azure Dragon Clan's temporary camp, Jian Liwei held court.
"Their incompetence is staggering," he announced with a self-satisfied smirk, polishing the hilt of his saber. "To be robbed by a supposed 'ghost'… the Raging Tigers have truly lost their nerve. Our strategy of steady accumulation is clearly superior. We avoid such foolish risks."
The other disciples murmured in agreement, their confidence in their Senior Brother unwavering. They were safe, their point total was respectable, and the strongest clans were busy chasing a phantom.
Jian Qiao sat apart from the group, sharpening an arrowhead. She heard Jian Liwei's words, but they sounded hollow, like the boast of a man who mistakes the size of his cage for the scale of the world. Her mind kept replaying the calm, precise instructions Jian Feng had given her. Three steps right. Thrust low. Duck. He hadn't fought the viper; he had dismantled it. He hadn't faced it with power, but with understanding.
Now, he was doing the same to the entire trial.
She looked at her clan mates, at their relaxed postures and their blind faith in their leader. They believed they were playing a game of strength. Jian Feng was playing a game of information. And he was the only one who knew all the rules. A cold certainty settled in her stomach: their "safe" camp was the most dangerous place in the valley, for it was drowning in ignorance.
Late in the afternoon, a disciple from the Black Tortoise Clan called out, his voice sharp but controlled. "Senior Brother Gui Ren!"
Gui Ren was there in an instant. The disciple pointed not at a footprint or a broken branch, but at a small stream that trickled down from the northern highlands. Caught on the thorns of a river-briar bush was a single, tiny shred of fabric. It was dark blue, almost black with moisture. Standard issue for an Azure Dragon disciple.
"It could have been washed down from anywhere," the disciple noted.
"Indeed," Gui Ren murmured, his eyes scanning the area with unnerving intensity. He knelt, ignoring the fabric itself. His gaze fell upon the bank on the far side of the stream. There, in the soft mud, was a faint impression. Not a footprint. It was the mark of a knee, placed with care by someone who had knelt to drink from the clean, upstream water. It was already fading.
Someone had been here. Someone careful. Someone who understood that a stream washes away scent and tracks. Someone who was moving along the forgotten waterways of the valley.
Gui Ren stood up slowly, his gaze turning north, towards the barren, rocky territories everyone else had dismissed as worthless. The ghost had a direction. The hunt had truly begun.