The Path No One Saw

Chapter 10: Beneath the Storm

The sun still hung low over Verdant Mountain, casting long shadows across the Wu Clan's assembly hall. But inside, the air felt heavy—charged.

At its center stood Elder Lei Jinghong, the Fifth Elder of the Lei Clan, his expression as dark as the thunderclouds embroidered on his robes. Static shimmered faintly along the silver threads, the residue of his lightning affinity refusing to fully settle.

Across from him, Wu Lin offered a measured bow.

"Elder Lei Jinghong, since Wu Yuan has made his decision, let us not dwell on this matter further. What do you say?"

The tone was polite. Almost gentle.

But everyone present felt the tension beneath it—like the stillness before a storm breaks.

Jinghong's lips curled in disdain. His pride had been scorched. The Lei Clan, renowned across Stormrise for its lightning cultivation, had extended an olive branch—only to watch it snapped in full view of a junior clan.

"Heh." Jinghong scoffed, eyes narrowing. "If the Wu Clan cannot recognize a rare blessing, then we can only pity you."

He turned sharply, robes crackling with latent energy.

"We're leaving."

The younger Lei cultivators bristled, sparks flickering faintly at their cuffs like restrained fury.

But Wu Lin, ever composed, stepped forward once more.

"Elder Lei," he said with quiet courtesy, "since you've come all this way, why not stay the night? Rest before returning to Stormrise."

Jinghong barely spared him a glance.

"There's no need. We've seen all we came to see. The sooner we return to Stormrise Mountain, the better."

At that moment, Wu Lingtian stepped forward from his position at the side of the hall—he had been silently observing ever since handing the matter to his elder brother, Wu Lin. His arms remained clasped behind his back, posture firm, expression unreadable.

"Elder Lei," he said with a faint smile, "thank you for your generous visit. Truly, the Wu Clan is honored."

There was a strange glint in his eyes—not gratitude, but something sharper. A quiet edge that didn't belong in words, only in the weight of presence.

"Originally, I had even prepared compensation for requesting your assistance in verifying Wu Yuan's talent," Wu Lingtian said, voice smooth as silk. "But it seems —he let the pause stretch— we've benefited from a free appraisal."

The sarcasm dripped like venom.

Jinghong's jaw tightened. His pride had already been wounded—now it was insulted.

Not only had the Lei Clan failed to secure Wu Yuan…They had lost the high ground as well.

The younger Lei cultivators shifted uneasily, unsure if their elder would lash out or let the insult fester.

But Lei Jinghong said nothing. His robes snapped with sudden motion as he turned on his heel.

"We're done here," he growled. "Let's go."

As the Lei Clan's delegation swept out of the Wu compound, their departure stirred more than just dust—it stirred whispers. Words unsaid crackled in the air, as if lightning still lingered in their wake.

Once the final echo of footsteps faded, Wu Lingtian stepped forward, his voice cold and unyielding.

"They'll return," he murmured, like steel drawn in silence. "And next time, it won't be with words."

Wu Lin stood still, his face unreadable, but his eyes had narrowed.

"You think I was too soft," he said quietly.

Wu Lingtian didn't blink.

"You were. And softness invites vultures."

The silence between them stretched—cold, brittle, edged like a blade held too long.

Lingtian's gaze remained fixed, his voice low but firm.

"He's your son. But he's also the Wu Clan's future. You'll have to choose soon—the clan, or your ambitions."

Wu Lin didn't answer.

But his jaw clenched.

Above, from a shadowed corridor wrapped in silence, Wu Yuan stood alone, watching. The flicker of lightning trailing behind the departing Lei robes did not shake him.

If anything...It stirred something deeper.

Resolve.

It thrilled him.

"Let them come."

Not far from him, hidden deeper in the shadows, Wu Xiao watched too. Her fists were clenched tight at her sides. For the first time, she truly understood how power could arrive without warning—and threaten to tear everything away.

High above the cliffs, among mist-wrapped trees, an ancient talisman fluttered in the wind. Its surface pulsed once—soft, subtle, alive.

Then... silence.

But the mountain could feel it.

Stormclouds were gathering once more.

Far beyond the Wu Clan's gates, as the sun dipped behind the forested peaks of Verdant Mountain, the Lei Clan entourage descended winding paths dappled in shadow and mist. They moved swiftly toward their waiting mount—a massive, feathered beast tethered in a small clearing among ancient trees and fragrant spirit herbs.

Its shrill cry split the quiet, like thunder cracking through wood.

Moments later, the creature rose with a sweep of its wings, scattering leaves and petals as it soared skyward. In a breath, the Lei cultivators vanished beyond the canopy-covered ridges that cradled the Wu Clan's domain.

Their expressions were as storm-heavy as the skies they hailed from.

One of them—Zhenyu, a lean youth with sharp silver eyes and a lightning-patterned robe—paced restlessly at the rear of the group. Sparks crackled faintly around his fingertips, mirroring the storm in his chest.

"Elder! This is too much," he snapped, voice tight with frustration. "That puny Wu Clan dared to humiliate us in front of their entire hall! How are we supposed to show our faces again?"

He paused, clenching his fists.

"That boy…" Zhenyu muttered, jaw tight. "I looked into his eyes. There was no fear—none. He actually thinks… he can stand above us?"

The words hung heavy in the mist-choked air, electric with the sting of insult and the ache of pride.

Another junior spat, voice edged with frustration.

"We should wipe them off this mountain entirely. When the Lei Clan wants something, others should offer it with both hands!"

Elder Jinghong remained silent at first. The storm-beast beneath them soared steadily through the clouds, its wings slicing the mist while lush forested valleys drifted far below.

Then—he turned.

"Zhenyu," he said, voice calm but cold, "you are the Lei Clan's most promising talent. That's why I brought you here—not to bark like a child, but to learn."

He let his gaze sweep across them, slow and sharp as a lightning blade.

"So listen carefully."

"The Wu Clan… is not what it appears to be."

Confusion flickered across the disciples' faces.

"They have no Core Formation expert now, true. No formal backing from the great sects. On the surface, they look like a declining backwater clan."

He paused—then continued, voice quiet but cutting.

"But their former Clan Head—Wu Langshui—was once a true Core Formation cultivator."

The juniors stiffened. Even the wind seemed to hush.

"And not just any Core expert," Jinghong said, his voice dropping further. "One of the most feared men in all of Verdant Mountain in his prime. Ruthless. Brilliant. Unpredictable."

Zhenyu's brow furrowed.

"But he's gone. Disappeared, hasn't he?"

Jinghong nodded slowly.

"Yes. Disappeared… but never declared dead. No body. No tomb. No enemies claiming the kill."

He let the silence settle for a beat.

"Now ask yourselves—why has no other power dared to seize the Wu Clan's land, even after all this time?"

None of the juniors answered. They didn't need to.

"Because no one knows if Wu Langshui is still alive. And no one wants to find out the hard way."

A younger disciple whispered under his breath, half in jest—half in fear:

"...That old ghost might still be watching."

Jinghong's lips curled into a faint, unreadable smile.

"There's even a rumor," he said, "whispered among the older cultivators of the Verdant Kingdom—that the name Verdant Mountain is a lie."

He paused, letting the wind whistle through the silence.

"That long ago… it was called Wu Mountain."

Zhenyu's eyes narrowed, voice hushed.

"You're saying the Wu Clan once ruled this entire region?"

Jinghong didn't answer immediately. He let the weight of the idea settle around them like stormclouds gathering.

Then, calmly:

"If there's even a grain of truth to that rumor… would you still call them puny?"

The younger Lei disciples exchanged glances, unease flickering in their eyes.

"People say our brains are fried from lightning," Jinghong said with a dry smirk. "But if that were true, the Lei Clan would've vanished from history long ago."

He glanced at them all, voice cooling.

"Anger without strategy is suicide. Learn to master both."

One of the juniors stepped forward, tone hushed but seething.

"Still, Elder… we can't just let this go. The Wu Clan humiliated us. We have Core Formation experts too. What could one old Wu Langshui do against all of us now?"

Jinghong stopped in his tracks.

Jinghong's expression darkened.

"They are strong. But our Core experts… are unavailable."

He paused, then muttered under his breath—just loud enough for them to hear:

"Preoccupied. With matters even the Seven Storm Pagodas wouldn't dare whisper of."

A hush swept through the group—silent, sharp, and heavy, like distant thunder rolling through clouded skies.

"The Clan Leader informed me before I departed. They're preoccupied with matters… elsewhere. Even I wasn't supposed to know."

He glanced around sharply.

"And none of you were supposed to hear that. Speak of it, and you'll answer to me."

His voice dropped, quiet as distant thunder—but twice as threatening.

"So keep your mouths shut about it."

The juniors nodded at once.

"Yes, Elder."

Then Zhenyu stepped forward, brows furrowed.

"So what now? We just act like this never happened?"

Jinghong's eyes glinted with cold fire.

"No. I never said we'd do nothing."

He turned, the mist swirling as he walked ahead.

"We'll request permission from the Clan Leader when we return. Once granted…"

He paused—then looked directly at Zhenyu.

"You may do as you please."

"Challenge their juniors. Humiliate them. Break their pride. You may do as you please. As long as no elder lays a hand on them, no one can call it foul play."

He gave a quiet, humorless laugh."Let's see if their so-called hidden depths can save them from public collapse… or the battlefield."

As they descended farther from the Wu Clan's grounds, the wind rose—cool and sharp—carrying with it the scent of pine, moss, and impending conflict.

High above, wrapped in silence and fading light, Verdant Mountain stood watch.

And within its heart, the Wu Clan remained unaware...

That stormclouds were gathering once more.