The sect gate opened the way a judge opened a case.
There was ritual, there was formality, and there was the quiet certainty that once you stepped through, you would not be the same person on the other side.
Shen Lu stood with the mission team at the outer boundary while morning fog clung to the pines like damp silk. Disciples in pale robes moved back and forth with crates and bundles, checking lists, tightening straps, muttering final reminders. The whole scene had the careful efficiency of a righteous sect pretending it was above panic, even when everyone knew secret realms made corpses as easily as they made legends.
Helian Feng stood at the front, slightly apart from the group, as if the others were weather he didn't need to acknowledge. The dark line of his robe looked almost too clean against the pale stone and the mist. His sword hung at his waist, and even sheathed, it made the air feel thinner.
Shen Lu tried not to stare.
He failed.
It wasn't that Helian Feng was beautiful, though he was, in that sharp, harsh way that made you think of winter nights and blades polished on stone. It was the way he carried himself. A kind of uprightness so absolute it became its own threat. A man who believed rules were real. A man who believed the heavens watched. A man who, if the heavens did not watch, would watch on their behalf.
Shen Lu had met people like that in his old life, usually in uniforms, usually in positions where their sense of right made them merciless. The difference here was that Helian Feng had the power to make his righteousness physical.
Two elders stood at the gate to oversee the departure. Elder Liu was one of them, face calm, hands folded, robe immaculate as a ledger page. The other was a sword lineage elder, tall and severe, who watched Helian Feng with the pride of someone inspecting a weapon he'd helped sharpen.
Helian Feng bowed to both with perfect respect. He did not bow to Shen Lu.
Shen Lu told himself not to care.
He cared anyway, because being ignored was still a kind of humiliation, and this body remembered humiliation like muscle memory.
The rest of the team filtered into place behind Helian Feng. Shen Lu recognized the arrangement as soon as he saw it: sword lineage first, talisman hall second, beast taming third, alchemy last. A ranking disguised as a formation.
There were eight of them total, not counting the two outer disciples assigned to carry supplies. The outer disciples looked pale with fear and excitement, glancing at Helian Feng the way people glanced at famous swords in museums: awe mixed with the awareness that touching would get them cut.
Shen Lu felt Yuan's weight under his collar like a cold, hidden necklace. Yuan had insisted on coming. Not openly. He was too smart for that. But he had slipped under Shen Lu's robe with the smooth certainty of a creature that considered Shen Lu's body his territory.
Shen Lu had not argued. He didn't have the luxury of refusing protection, especially when he'd been ordered to go "unarmed."
Elder Liu's gaze swept the group.
"Remember," Elder Liu said, voice neither kind nor cruel, simply practical, "this secret realm is not under sect jurisdiction. The sect will not rescue you. Your team leader's judgment is law while you are inside. Return with results. Return with lives if possible."
If possible.
The words sounded polite. Shen Lu heard the truth behind them: if you must choose, bring back the treasure.
Elder Liu turned his gaze to Helian Feng. "You will keep order."
Helian Feng bowed. "Yes, Elder."
Elder Liu's eyes shifted to Shen Lu. "Shen Lu."
Shen Lu met his gaze and kept his face calm. "Elder."
Elder Liu spoke as if reading terms aloud. "Your whip remains sealed. You will not carry poison powders beyond basic medical supplies. You will provide pills for your team and obey Helian Feng's instructions."
Shen Lu inclined his head. "Understood."
Elder Liu's mouth thinned. "Understand this too. If you embarrass the alchemy hall again, the Discipline Hall will not need to wait for evidence."
Shen Lu's dry humor rose like a reflex. It slipped out before he could hold it.
"How efficient," Shen Lu murmured.
Elder Liu's eyes narrowed.
Helian Feng turned his head sharply, as if the sound of Shen Lu speaking had scraped his nerves.
The sword lineage elder cleared his throat, a subtle rebuke to Elder Liu's public threat. "Open the gate."
The gate guards began the opening ritual. They pressed palms to carved stone. Symbols etched into the pillars glowed faintly. The barrier shimmered, the air bending like water.
As the boundary parted, a low hum filled the air. A righteous sect's protective formation recognizing its own disciples and permitting them through.
Shen Lu felt it brush his skin like cold breath.
It felt wrong to be accepted.
It felt wrong to be considered "one of us" by a system that would happily throw him to wolves as long as it could call the wolves "trial."
Helian Feng stepped forward first.
The moment the barrier recognized him, the hum deepened. Shen Lu felt a faint prickling in his own skin, the way air prickled before lightning. Helian Feng's heavenly thunder root resonated with the formation, not violently, but with the quiet authority of a person whose existence aligned with the sect's ideals.
The barrier liked him.
Shen Lu tried not to think about what that meant.
Helian Feng paused just outside the boundary and turned to the group. His voice was calm, crisp, and utterly unyielding.
"Before we leave," he said, "I have conditions."
One of the sword lineage disciples—older than Helian Feng by a few years, proud, mouth already set in a sneer—shifted. "You're a disciple, Helian Feng. Not an elder."
Helian Feng didn't look at him. He looked at the whole group, gaze sweeping like an inspection.
"I lead the team," Helian Feng said. "While we are outside the sect, my judgment is the sect's judgment."
The older disciple shut his mouth.
Helian Feng's eyes landed on Shen Lu.
The air tightened.
Shen Lu kept his expression neutral and waited, because waiting was safer than challenging.
"You," Helian Feng said, voice flat, "will not touch supplies without permission. You will not walk behind anyone. You will remain within my sight."
Shen Lu nodded once. "Understood."
Helian Feng held his gaze. "You will not speak to rival cultivators. You will not make trades. You will not refine anything without notifying me."
Shen Lu's humor rose again, bitter and automatic. He heard himself say, "If I'm going to breathe, should I notify you first?"
The silence that followed was heavy.
Two of the team members looked at Shen Lu as if he had just volunteered to be struck by lightning.
Helian Feng stared at him with the patient coldness of a man deciding whether to swat an insect. Then he said, "If you keep talking like that, yes."
Shen Lu's mouth twitched. "I'll try to file my breathing schedule in advance."
Helian Feng's eyes narrowed further. For a heartbeat, Shen Lu saw something flicker behind the cold—irritation so sharp it was almost emotion. It vanished immediately.
Helian Feng turned away. "Move."
They began walking.
Beyond the sect boundary, the air felt different. Less controlled. Less filtered. The world outside did not care about righteousness. It cared about weather and beasts and hunger and the kind of luck that fell on the living instead of the dead.
The road dropped into forest. Mist clung to trunks. Damp leaves slicked the stone path. Birds called overhead, then went silent as the team passed, as if even animals recognized the smell of cultivated qi.
Shen Lu walked where Helian Feng ordered, slightly to his left, close enough to be watched, not close enough to be mistaken for trusted.
The team moved in a loose formation. Sword lineage in front, talisman hall flanking, beast taming toward the rear, supplies carried in the center.
Shen Lu's hands were empty except for a small pouch of basic herbs and bandages he was permitted to carry. The loss of his whip felt like a missing limb. Not because he wanted to lash anyone, but because it was protection he could not replace.
He kept his face calm and tried to keep his thoughts from spiraling.
Helian Feng glanced back every few minutes.
It wasn't obvious. It wasn't dramatic. It was simply consistent. A leader tracking resources. A jailer tracking a prisoner. Shen Lu couldn't decide which interpretation made him feel worse.
By midday, the terrain steepened. The path narrowed. Pine gave way to rock and scrub. The air grew thinner, and with it, the quiet pressure of cultivation became more apparent. Everyone breathed carefully, conserving energy.
Shen Lu's chest wound ached in the thin air. He adjusted his breathing, telling himself to stop being dramatic. In his old life he'd walked up apartment stairs carrying heavy boxes and cursed the whole way. Now he was walking into a secret realm where death was a common inconvenience, and his body wanted to complain about altitude.
He nearly laughed at the absurdity.
The laugh stuck in his throat when he realized Helian Feng was watching him again.
Helian Feng's gaze flicked to Shen Lu's chest for a heartbeat, then back to the trail ahead.
Shen Lu wondered if Helian Feng had noticed his pain, or if Helian Feng was simply calculating how quickly Shen Lu might collapse and become dead weight.
Probably the second. Righteous people were often practical about weakness.
They stopped near a stream to refill water skins. The water ran cold and clear over stones, singing softly as if the world hadn't just been informed it would host violence.
Shen Lu knelt and filled a skin. His hands moved with practiced efficiency. He kept his eyes down, because looking up would invite attention.
It didn't work.
A sword lineage disciple approached, the older one who had challenged Helian Feng earlier. His eyes flicked over Shen Lu with open disdain.
"So the alchemy hall really sent you," the disciple said quietly.
Shen Lu capped the water skin and set it aside. He kept his voice mild. "It seems so."
The disciple snorted. "Do you plan to poison us in our sleep, or do you prefer doing it in daylight?"
Shen Lu's dry humor rose like a shield. "I haven't decided. Daylight has better visibility."
The disciple's face tightened. "You think you're clever."
Shen Lu glanced up, expression calm. "No. I think you're nervous."
The disciple's hand moved toward his sword.
A cold voice cut in without raising volume.
"Enough," Helian Feng said.
The disciple froze. "Helian Feng—"
Helian Feng didn't look at him. He looked at Shen Lu. "Don't antagonize the team."
Shen Lu almost laughed. The absurdity of being scolded for a response when he'd been provoked. Righteous sect etiquette, wrapped around hypocrisy like paper around a blade.
He bowed his head slightly. "Understood."
Helian Feng's gaze held him for a beat longer, then shifted away.
The older disciple retreated with a glare, as if promising future retaliation.
Shen Lu watched him go, then returned to the stream, washing his hands slowly.
Yuan's voice slid into his mind, smug. "You're going to enjoy teasing him."
Shen Lu thought back, dry as dust, "I'd rather enjoy living."
Yuan's amusement deepened. "Living requires biting sometimes."
Shen Lu didn't answer.
They resumed travel.
As afternoon faded, clouds gathered over the peaks. Distant thunder rumbled once. Shen Lu's skin prickled at the sound, and he noticed Helian Feng's posture tighten slightly. Not fear. Recognition. His spiritual root responding to the sky's mood.
Shen Lu found himself watching Helian Feng's back more than he should.
A disciple. A core disciple. Still young enough to be ordered around by elders, still trapped in sect politics, still forced to accept hypocrisy while calling it righteousness.
Yet already, Helian Feng carried himself as if the world owed him clarity.
Shen Lu wondered what would happen when the world refused to provide it.
They made camp at dusk on a sheltered ledge above the valley. Pine trees grew sparse here, twisted by wind. The ledge overlooked a slope that disappeared into fog, the kind of view that made the world look endless and uncaring.
The team set up quickly. Talisman disciples laid protective charms around the perimeter. Beast taming checked for tracks. The outer disciples started a fire, hands shaking.
Helian Feng assigned watch shifts with cold efficiency.
Shen Lu was assigned no watch.
Not because Helian Feng was being merciful, but because Helian Feng didn't trust him awake while others slept.
Shen Lu accepted it without comment. He sat slightly apart, took out basic herbs, and began preparing anti-insect paste and anti-miasma pellets, because usefulness was the only shield he had left.
Helian Feng watched him from across the firelight, expression unreadable.
The fire cracked softly. Smoke curled upward. The team ate in near silence. Even the arrogant disciple from earlier kept his mouth shut, perhaps because Helian Feng's presence made conversation feel like a risk.
Shen Lu finished mixing the medicine and handed small packets to the team, one by one.
Some took them without meeting his eyes.
Some hesitated, then took them anyway.
No one thanked him.
Shen Lu didn't expect thanks. He expected survival.
Helian Feng didn't take a packet from Shen Lu's hand.
He reached into the pile and took one himself, as if refusing to accept anything "given" by Shen Lu.
Shen Lu watched, then said quietly, "You can also just stab me and be done with it."
Helian Feng's gaze snapped to him.
The air around Helian Feng tightened. Shen Lu felt the faint crackle of restrained thunder, the way a storm held its breath.
Helian Feng spoke softly, which somehow made it worse. "You want me to kill you?"
Shen Lu's humor surfaced again, thin and dry. "Not particularly. But you look like you're considering it between bites."
A few disciples shifted uncomfortably.
Helian Feng's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth."
Shen Lu inclined his head. "Yes, Senior Brother."
Helian Feng's jaw tightened at the title, but he didn't correct it.
Later, when the camp quieted and the watch shifts began, Shen Lu lay on his bedroll near the back of the formation. He kept his eyes closed, but he did not sleep. Sleep felt like surrender.
He listened to the night: wind through twisted pines, distant water, the occasional rustle of a disciple shifting position.
At some point, Helian Feng's footsteps approached.
Shen Lu did not open his eyes immediately. He let his breathing remain slow, letting Helian Feng think he was asleep if Helian Feng wanted to.
Helian Feng stopped near Shen Lu's bedroll.
Shen Lu opened his eyes anyway.
Helian Feng stood over him, face half shadowed by firelight, eyes cold. He held something in his hand.
A small pouch.
Helian Feng dropped it beside Shen Lu's bedroll as if dropping trash.
"Supplies," Helian Feng said. "Anti-miasma and healing. Make enough for everyone by morning."
Shen Lu sat up slowly. His chest ached. He forced himself not to show it.
"Understood," Shen Lu said.
Helian Feng didn't leave immediately. He stared down at Shen Lu's hands, as if searching for the old tremor of cruelty.
Then Helian Feng said, quietly, "You destroyed the only thing my mother left behind."
Shen Lu's throat tightened.
Helian Feng continued, voice flat, as if reciting a sentence he'd repeated a thousand times. "There is no medicine that can replace it. There is no apology that can undo it."
Shen Lu stared at the pouch beside him, fingers curling.
In his mind, he saw the scene from the book: the original Shen Lu laughing while crushing a small token, watching Helian Feng's face twist with helpless rage.
Shen Lu swallowed.
"I know," Shen Lu said, voice low.
Helian Feng's eyes hardened. "No. You don't."
Then Helian Feng turned and walked away, returning to his watch post like a judge returning to his bench.
Shen Lu sat in the dim, holding the pouch, and felt the weight of being hated for something he hadn't personally done and yet could not deny.
He almost laughed, because dry humor was easier than despair.
He didn't.
He opened the pouch, began sorting herbs, and worked by firelight while everyone else slept.
He worked because being useful was the only way to earn time.
He worked because ten chapters was not enough time to become a different person in anyone else's eyes.
He worked because if he stopped, the story would swallow him whole.