The Path No One Saw

Chapter 17: Layers of Power, Shadows of Respect

The flickering lanterns of the City Lord Manor cast soft shadows on the walls as Wu Cheng, steward and second-in-command of Wu City, stood before a long table, a map of the Verdant Kingdom unfurled across its lacquered surface.

He spoke in measured tones, eyes never leaving the ancient inkwork. "The Verdant Kingdom is layered like the mountain it was built upon. Each level, a rung on a ladder most mortals never even see."

Wu Yuan stood beside him, arms behind his back, eyes sharp and attentive.

"The Lower Ring Plateaus," Wu Cheng continued, tracing a ring near the mountain's base, "are frontier lands. Chaotic in spirit, yes—but not lawless and ruled mostly by early or mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators. Power there is still stable, thanks to the presence of the Empire's enforcer sects and city guards. They maintain order, suppress rogue cultivators, and ensure that no external force dares to launch open attacks. Still..." His finger circled a cluster of small city symbols on the map. "Clan rivalries simmer constantly. Every city has its internal strife, and those hidden disputes often run deeper than any outside threat."

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Cultivation there is survival. Not because of constant war—but because growth demands constant vigilance. A city might be peaceful one day, and the next, you're caught in a silent power struggle between heirs."

Wu Yuan nodded slowly. "And the Middle Rings?"

"Civilization begins there. Cities. Trade. Clan strongholds," Wu Cheng said. "Most governed by Core Formation realm cultivators. Wu City, however, is an exception." His gaze flicked toward the window as if ashamed. "Our city lord is only in the Foundation Establishment realm. The Wu Clan's internal decline… has taken its toll."

A pause stretched between them.

Wu Yuan's brows furrowed. "What about the Upper Ring Plateaus?"

Wu Cheng's finger moved upward. "Home to ancient sects. Some say Nascent Soul cultivators dwell there—rare, but not impossible. Few have seen them. Fewer still survived the encounter."

"And the Peak Plateau?"

Wu Cheng's eyes narrowed. "Verdant Kingdom's capital. Closed. Cloaked in mystery. Rumored to be guarded by a Nascent Soul realm cultivator—or something more. No one enters unless summoned."

Wu Yuan gazed at the top of the map, where the Peak Plateau was inked in golden lines. There was something impossibly distant about it… and yet strangely inevitable.

Wu Cheng shifted the parchment, drawing Wu Yuan's eyes to a broad, jagged line.

He pointed again, this time to the bottom of the map.

Wu Cheng redirected the map to a wide horizontal spread. "The east slopes—jungles and wild forest. That's the Endless Forest. Spirit beasts, beast tides, sect remnants. Clans there are forged in blood."

He then gestured to the west.

"The west, where we stand, leans toward cultivation, trade, and alchemy. Our spiritual resources are gentler, our politics more complex."

"And below all of this?" Wu Yuan asked.

Wu Cheng nodded, flipping the map to reveal a sketched swath of lowlands.

"Beneath even the lowest plateaus lie the human lowlands—scattered settlements, mortal villages, nomadic clans. These aren't cities, Yuan. They're pockets of survival."

Wu Yuan's eyes narrowed.

"A Body Tempering cultivator is a king there," Wu Cheng added. "Foundation Establishment is a myth. But even they are protected… indirectly. Many of these mortal settlements are affiliated with clans from the plateaus—sometimes even the Upper Rings."

Wu Yuan blinked. "So they're not abandoned?"

"Far from it. No one wants their affiliated base disturbed. If something happens—something major—support arrives. Quietly. Discreetly. No one risks letting a rival gain a foothold there."

"And the capital city?"

"Silent," Wu Cheng said with a flicker in his eye. "Officially, it has no presence in the lowlands. But that… might not be the whole truth."

Wu Yuan didn't speak.

His thoughts turned to the vast forest belt—thirty thousand square kilometers of it, encircling the mountain like an emerald sea. Beyond it, the next peaks rise—Verdant is merely one among the hundred that shape the empire's true spine.

"Travel between mountains…" Wu Yuan murmured, "must be impossible without Core Formation strength."

Wu Cheng raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Correct. You're thinking ahead. But that brings us to your question, doesn't it?"

Wu Yuan looked up. "How did the Lei Clan arrive in Wu City? There were no Core Formation experts with them. But travel through the lowlands… is suicide without one."

Wu Cheng smiled thinly. "You've been paying attention."

He poured two cups of tea, passing one to Wu Yuan before speaking again

"They arrived via a flying-type Core Formation beast - Cloud Feather."

Wu Yuan nearly dropped the cup.

"A Core Formation… beast?"

"Yes," Wu Cheng said, amused. "Surprised? You shouldn't be. It's common. Docile, fast, wind-element aligned. Not bred for combat—but for transport."

Wu Yuan was silent for a long moment. "But to own such a beast…"

"Is not a sign of overwhelming strength," Wu Cheng interrupted gently. "Even the Wu Clan has one—though we keep it hidden. In times like these, even the illusion of strength can invite unwanted attention. These beasts are gentle, easily tamed, and their combat power is so weak that even a peak Foundation Establishment cultivator could kill one. Still…"

He leaned back.

"They are rare. Only one mountain raises them. It's ruled by a beast-taming kingdom aligned with the wind element. That mountain's unique climate—air turbulence, wind currents—makes it ideal."

Wu Yuan exhaled, understanding dawning in his gaze.

"So that kingdom… controls the supply."

"Exactly," Wu Cheng said. "They don't sell to just anyone. And they control distribution tightly. That kingdom holds a soft monopoly. Wind-borne trade, through beast-taming clans. No one challenges them—not for something so essential, yet so unthreatening."

The connection sparked something deeper in Wu Yuan.

Monopolies. Greedy, hidden powers. He'd seen them in his past world. Here, they simply wore different faces.

A long silence followed. Then Wu Yuan spoke, voice low.

"Even the roots of the mountain are dangerous… Then what kind of monsters dwell at its peak?"

Wu Cheng gave no answer.

Because there wasn't one.

An Unexpected Impression

What Wu Yuan didn't know—what he couldn't possibly have guessed—was the impact his presence had already made.

Wu Cheng had expected a child. A brat, more specifically. The kind raised in privilege, dripping with arrogance and ignorance. Wu Yuan's choice to come straight to the City Lord Manor instead of swaggering through Wu City's open markets shocked him to his core.

And then came the questions. Thoughtful. Focused. Strategic.

Wu Cheng found himself speaking things he hadn't said in years. Explaining details that even Wu Yuan's mother, Su Qing, hadn't heard. He wasn't just sharing information.

He was giving respect.

And for Wu Cheng, second-in-command of one of the Verdant Kingdom's fifteen great power centers, that meant something.

Back at the Wu Clan

By nightfall, Wu Yuan returned quietly to the Wu Clan estate. Not a single ripple disturbed the city behind him. No scuffle. No boast. No announcement.

But the ripples were already moving.

Wu Lingtian and Wu Lin, expecting a report of haughty missteps or childish bravado, were instead met with stunned silence from their informants.

"He went straight to the City Manor?" Wu Lin asked in disbelief.

"And met with Wu Cheng?" Wu Lingtian's brows shot up.

Their gazes turned toward the courtyard where Wu Yuan had retired without a word.

The boy was eight.

Yet he had shown more restraint, initiative, and awareness than many of their adult clan members.

Wu Lin: "He doesn't just act older than his age—he thinks beyond his years."

Wu Lingtian: "That boy walked into the City Manor like a cultivator walks into a battle—eyes open, senses sharp."

Two days later, Wu Yuan's feet carried him to the Core Circle of Wu City—into the marble-floored, Qi-humming walls of the Trade Pavilion.

It was a different world.

Walls inscribed with shimmering spiritual contracts pulsed gently. Items floated in defensive formations—beast eggs, rare pills, tempered steel blades.

Black-armored guards lined the edges, unmoving yet dangerous.

Wu Yuan, dressed in the blue robes and brown sleeves of a Wu Clan direct descendant, drew eyes immediately.

And whispers.

"Wu Clan? They still send their heirs here?"

"That robe's not even reinforced. They're really slipping."

He ignored them. Barely.

A crystal orb crackled with lightning essence near a merchant's stall. Wu Yuan stepped forward.

"Look all you want, young master," the merchant said with a smile too sharp, "but don't touch unless you can afford the price."

"Once, we owned this silence. Now we walk through it like ghosts."

Wu Yuan turned away without a word.

This was Wu City.

And this was how far the Wu Clan had fallen in its own home.

The next day, he stepped into its twin—the quiet halls of the Medicine Pavilion.

A cleaner place. Calmer.

Healers moved with grace, needles floating mid-air as they aligned damaged meridians. Spiritual incense hung in the air. Monks brewed elixirs over silent cauldrons, stirring with hands wrapped in seals.

He was denied access to the upper floors—expected.

But allowed a Qi diagnostic—unexpected.

An old alchemist, robes gray with age and rank, pressed two fingers to Wu Yuan's pulse and closed his eyes.

Minutes passed.

Then the man opened his eyes slowly.

"Your lightning…" he murmured, voice low and hollow. "It burns differently. Do not let it consume your soul."

Wu Yuan stepped away with a nod.

But something lingered in the air as he left—like an echo that didn't belong to this world.

It began on the eleventh day.

Wu Yuan faced a Level 4 Body Tempering cultivator—a junior from the Jiang Clan known for his filthy tongue and vicious hands.

The match began like any other. Balanced. Restrained.

But then came the insult.

"You Wu bastards should stick to licking the boots of alchemists. That's all your clan's good for."

He had kept his power suppressed. Held it in. Measured. But when that insult came—crude, venomous, aimed not just at him but his family—it cracked something inside him. No technique. No restraint. Only the storm.

The body surged with power.

Gasps rippled through the city as the Jiang boy crashed to the ground, bones broken, pride shattered.

For a moment, silence ruled the arena. And then, the crowd erupted—not in rage, but in awe and disbelief.

But high above the noise, in the halls where power whispered, the consequences were already stirring.

The Jiang Clan was furious.

But they couldn't act openly—not yet. The defeated boy, while loud and arrogant, was not a core descendant. His status within the clan didn't warrant all-out retaliation without risking the balance of power. And the duel had been public, sanctioned, and fought within the rules.

Wu Cheng moved swiftly. As City Steward, his authority over the public duel platforms was absolute. He issued an official reprimand to the Jiang elders:

"If your disciples are too weak to endure a sanctioned match, then perhaps they should train before spitting filth."

The message was clear. The duel ring was not a place for politics—it was a place for strength.

Cornered, the Jiang Clan could not protest further in public. They withdrew their complaints in shame, their name sullied, their honor dented.

But humiliation burns hotter in the dark.

Behind closed doors, a different order was passed down.

"If Wu Yuan shows his face again on duel ring… cripple him. Or kill him."

It wasn't a formal declaration of blood feud. Not yet. But in the shadows of Wu City, it was enough.

The hunt had begun.

And then came the consequences.

Four days.

Five Jiang juniors.

One after another, they came to duel him.

One after another, they left broken.

Reactions Across Wu City

The Shan Clan reacted first. Their disciples, proud and battle-hardened, arrived on the duel platforms with smirks and taunts.

The Shan Clan disciple stepped onto the platform like a rolling boulder in human form—tall, broad, and wrapped in the kind of brute confidence that came from crushing opponents underfoot. Each footfall struck the stone with a grinding weight, his earth-aligned steps shaking dust from the edges. He didn't bow. He didn't speak. He simply raised a fist and roared—a war cry that echoed like cracked stone.

The crowd murmured. Shan Clan was known for its raw, unyielding force—cultivators who honed their bodies like granite and struck like falling peaks.

Wu Yuan, in contrast, looked almost too composed. Slender. Calm. Unarmored. But when the duel began, that stillness broke into motion.

One move. That was all it took.

A flash of movement—half a step forward, a twist of the waist, and then a precision strike to the ribs. The Shan disciple's eyes went wide just before the impact—before his body was lifted from the ground and hurled backward like a sack of stone.

Silence followed.

Because it wasn't just power.

Wu Yuan had learned. In his earliest duels, he'd relied purely on the strength honed through pain—his body carved by days under the cruel refining burn of lightning essence. It had made him faster, harder, and stronger than any ordinary Level 3 Body Tempering cultivator. But raw strength alone couldn't sustain victory forever.

And so he adapted.

With each match, he learned where to strike. How to bend, not break. While others relied on Qi for control, he had only pain-forged instincts and lightning essence channeled through sheer will. No flows. No techniques. Just resonance born from suffering.

Against the Shan disciple, it wasn't just power that spoke.

It was mastery in motion.

And the city watched, silent.

Because storms, when focused, no longer just destroy—they pierce.

And this storm was still sharpening its edge.