The last echoes of Lu Mao's voice drifted upward into the vast arches of the Hall of Feathers.
Then the hall forgot how to breathe.
The enormous chamber—moments ago alive with laughter and whispered mockery—suddenly fell into a silence so thick it seemed to press against the skin.
Golden torches burned along the towering pillars, their flames wavering slightly as currents of qi stirred in the air. The carved feather motifs lining the walls caught the light, each one shimmering faintly like the wings of some ancient bird watching from stone.
No one spoke.
Dozens of saint-level elders sat along the elevated rows surrounding the hall, their presence alone enough to crush ordinary disciples into submission.
And yet—
In the center of that pressure stood a young thief who had just suggested that perhaps one day… a few of them might lose their seats.
Lu Mao did not move.
His arm remained draped lazily across Marco's shoulder.
His posture looked so relaxed that it almost felt insulting.
Behind him, Bao Fu was losing a war with his own lungs.
A strangled snort escaped before he could stop it.
He clamped both hands over his mouth instantly, but his shoulders had already begun to shake.
Marco's lips twitched upward beside him.
The tribal warrior folded his arms across his broad chest, watching the hall with quiet amusement.
Yan Mei, on the other hand, closed her eyes slowly.
"Idiot," she muttered under her breath.
But there was no real anger in the word.
More disbelief than anything else.
Because even she had not expected that.
Lu Mao, meanwhile, simply waited.
He had grown up in alleys where survival depended on understanding one simple rule—
When you tossed a stone into still water…
You watched the ripples first.
And right now the ripples were beginning.
Across the chamber one of the elders leaned forward slightly in his seat, thick brows drawn together as his gaze settled on Lu Mao like a blade sliding from its sheath.
"Arrogant brat."
Another elder beside him gave a cold snort.
"A disciple who has yet to circulate a single strand of qi speaks about defeating elders."
His voice carried clearly across the chamber.
Several elders nodded in agreement.
A few disciples standing along the walls lowered their heads instinctively.
The pressure in the hall was beginning to shift.
Not violently.
But noticeably.
Like distant thunder building behind clouds.
Yet not every reaction carried anger.
A quiet chuckle sounded from farther down the row.
The man who had laughed wore simple grey robes that looked almost plain compared to the ornate garments surrounding him. His long hair was tied loosely behind his back, and his expression carried the relaxed calm of someone who had lived long enough to stop taking certain things too seriously.
Elder Ji Han.
He tapped a finger lightly against the armrest of his chair.
"Young people should dream."
The words were spoken gently.
Several elders turned toward him.
Ji Han's gaze rested on Lu Mao with mild curiosity rather than irritation.
"If their ambitions are small from the beginning…"
He gestured vaguely toward the young disciples standing below.
"…how will they ever survive the road of cultivation?"
One elder across from him scoffed loudly.
"Dreaming is one thing. Disrespect is another."
Ji Han tilted his head slightly.
"Every elder in this hall once dreamed of surpassing someone."
His eyes drifted briefly toward the towering ceiling of the hall.
"The path ahead of them will crush most of those dreams."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"But if a few stubborn fools refuse to abandon them…"
His gaze returned to Lu Mao.
"…then perhaps the world will remain interesting for a little longer."
A few elders chuckled softly.
Others merely snorted.
From another seat along the elevated rows, the blue-haired woman elder leaned back slightly, her long azure hair cascading across one shoulder like a flowing river.
She had been watching the entire exchange with quiet interest.
"A dream alone means little," she said softly.
Her voice was calm.
Yet it carried clearly across the chamber.
"Cultivation devours dreamers."
Her gaze settled briefly on Lu Mao.
"But…"
The corner of her lips curved faintly.
"…the ones who survive are usually the ones foolish enough to begin with impossible ambitions."
Several elders exchanged amused looks.
Across the chamber, however, one man did not appear amused at all.
Al Scar.
The dark-robed elder still stood beside the glowing stone slab where the four cultivation techniques shimmered faintly in golden script.
His hands remained folded behind his back.
His expression still carried that thin smile.
But something colder had crept into it now.
"Well," he said slowly.
"That is certainly a memorable introduction."
His eyes swept across the recruits standing behind Lu Mao.
"A group of disciples enters the Hall of Feathers for the first time…"
His gaze returned to the young thief.
"…and already speaks of replacing its elders."
A few elders allowed themselves quiet laughter.
Al Scar's smile widened slightly.
"Ambition is admirable."
His tone remained smooth.
"But ambition without strength…"
He allowed the sentence to drift into silence.
The implication hung in the air like a blade.
Lu Mao tilted his head slightly.
"If ambition required strength first," he replied easily, "no one would ever start cultivating."
A few disciples near the walls nearly choked trying to suppress their laughter.
Even one or two elders hid faint smiles behind their sleeves.
For the briefest moment, Al Scar's smile froze.
Then—
A low laugh rolled across the hall.
The sound carried authority.
Every voice died instantly.
The source sat upon the crimson throne at the center of the chamber.
Madam Yan.
She leaned forward slightly, resting one elbow on the armrest of her seat.
Her robes spilled down the stone steps beneath her like flowing flame.
"Interesting."
Her gaze settled on Lu Mao.
"You speak of surpassing elders."
The pressure in the hall shifted.
It was subtle.
But everyone felt it.
Even the torches along the walls flickered as her qi stirred faintly.
"Of taking their seats."
Lu Mao met her gaze without lowering his head.
Madam Yan studied him for several quiet breaths.
Then she asked,
"Tell me, boy…"
"What do you believe lies beyond those seats?"
Lu Mao did not hesitate.
"Stronger enemies."
The answer came naturally.
Madam Yan's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Correct."
Her voice softened.
"This world does not lack monsters."
The hall seemed to grow colder.
"Beyond the lands protected by guilds…"
"Beyond the borders of the kingdoms…"
Her gaze moved slowly across the gathered disciples.
"There are things that devour cities."
No one laughed now.
"Nightmares."
The word settled into the hall like a shadow.
Even the elders grew quiet.
"They care nothing for our pride."
"Nothing for our factions."
"Nothing for the petty arguments we hold inside halls like this."
Her eyes returned to Lu Mao.
"If a child dares dream of surpassing elders…"
A faint smile appeared.
"…then perhaps that child may someday stand against them."
Behind Lu Mao, Bao Fu finally burst into open laughter.
"See?" he whispered loudly. "Even Madam Yan likes your idea."
Yan Mei elbowed him sharply.
But her attention had already shifted.
Because for the briefest moment—
Madam Yan's gaze had moved.
Not to Lu Mao.
To her.
Mother and daughter looked at one another across the enormous hall.
The moment lasted no longer than a heartbeat.
Yet Yan Mei felt it clearly.
A quiet warning.
And beneath it—
Something warmer.
Then the gaze moved away.
Across the chamber another figure had been watching the entire exchange closely.
Li Xian.
When Lu Mao had spoken earlier…
Her reaction had not been anger.
It had been shock.
A small flicker of disbelief had crossed her silver eyes.
Because she understood something the boy clearly did not.
Saint-level cultivators did not merely watch.
Their attention shaped destinies.
For years she had tried to keep the Black Dragon faction quiet.
Forgotten.
Out of sight.
Too much attention would only invite more humiliation.
More pressure.
And yet—
Here stood a boy who had dragged them straight into the center of the storm.
Did he even understand what he had just done?
Her gaze lingered on him.
Lu Mao stood there casually, as though the oppressive presence of dozens of powerful saints meant nothing at all.
For a brief moment frustration stirred inside her.
Reckless.
Foolish.
But beneath that frustration…
Something else appeared.
A strange warmth.
It had been a long time since anyone standing beneath the name Black Dragon had spoken with such fearless confidence.
For years the faction had endured mockery.
Silence.
Shame.
Yet this boy had stood before the entire hall and declared that perhaps one day—
They would surpass the elders themselves.
Li Xian felt something shift quietly inside her chest.
Then she stepped forward.
"Madam Yan."
Her voice cut cleanly through the chamber.
The murmurs faded.
Silver hair shifted softly as she lifted her head.
"The Black Dragon faction may have fallen."
She did not look away from the elders seated above.
"But it has not died."
A faint stir moved through the hall.
For a moment her gaze drifted upward toward the towering pillars.
And memories surfaced.
Years ago—
This hall had felt different.
The elders' gazes had carried respect.
Not mockery.
At the center of those memories stood a tall silhouette.
A man clad in black robes embroidered with a coiling dragon.
The former leader of the Black Dragon faction.
She could almost see him again—standing proudly before the elders with his back straight, his presence filling the chamber like an unsheathed blade.
The faction had once been strong.
Respected.
Feared even.
Until everything collapsed.
Li Xian lowered her gaze slowly.
The memory faded.
But something remained.
A spark.
"I remember what this faction once was."
Her voice grew firmer.
Her eyes moved briefly toward the recruits behind her.
Lu Mao.
Yan Mei.
Bao Fu.
Chen Yuan.
Marco.
"These disciples stand with me now."
The hall listened.
"And I will ensure that the Black Dragon faction rises again."
No one laughed.
"For years its name has been spoken with mockery."
Her gaze hardened.
"That will end."
A faint current of qi stirred around her.
"I will restore its honor."
Her voice rang against the pillars of the Hall of Feathers.
"And I will see it stand where it once did."
Silence followed.
But this silence felt different.
Not mocking.
Not dismissive.
It was the quiet that came when something long buried…
began to stir again.