Immortal Paladin

There was no need to invite trouble.

That was Hei Yuan’s immediate thought.

So, instead of answering, he deflected.

With well-practiced ease, he lied through his teeth, his voice smooth as polished jade.

”Black-masked people? Are you referring to robbers and thieves, Young Master?”

It was a blatant misdirection, but it was the safest route.

Hei Mao’s expression visibly deflated.

That reaction alone told Hei Yuan that the boy was not some cunning schemer.

A slight pause.

Hei Yuan made a quick decision. If he wanted to probe further, he needed to appear agreeable.

So, with a polite tone and a small, ingratiating smile, he addressed the young man properly this time. Hei Yuan emphasized the term ‘Young Master’, hoping to appear agreeable to the young man.

”Young Master Hei Mao, if I may ask—why do you seek these masked men?”

Hei Mao hesitated.

His gaze flickered toward Da Wei, as if silently asking for permission.

Da Wei merely shrugged, ”It’s your story to tell.”

Hei Yuan observed the exchange carefully.

Up until now, he had seen Hei Mao as a young man with potential, someone with a promising future given his cultivation.

But now…

Now, he saw the truth.

Hei Mao was still just a boy.

A boy who wore his heart on his sleeve, too earnest, too sincere.

Hei Yuan’s suspicions grew.

What kind of story was hidden behind this question?

Hei Mao took a deep breath as if preparing himself.

Then, he looked at Hei Yuan.

…And then he looked at Da Wei again, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

”I… I don’t even know where to start.”

A beat of silence.

”Wait a sec.”

Da Wei’s voice broke the moment.

With a casual wave of his hand, an ornate table and two chairs appeared out of thin air.

The craftsmanship was exquisite, carved from darkwood and inlaid with delicate golden patterns.

Hei Yuan’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Even for a cultivator, producing something of such quality so effortlessly was no small feat. Seriously, though… Was it really necessary to have furniture in one’s storage ring? It seemed excessive.

Da Wei gestured to the seats, his tone polite but firm.

”For Elder Hei Yuan to understand Hei Mao’s question, he must first learn the context.”

His lips curled into a faint smile.

”Please, take a seat.”

Hei Yuan sat down, his posture composed but his mind alert.

Hei Mao followed suit, seating himself across from him.

Da Wei, standing between them, waved his hand once more.

With an effortless motion, a tea set materialized atop the table.

It was… unusual.

The teapot was not made of jade or porcelain, nor was it adorned with calligraphy or auspicious symbols like the ones Hei Yuan was used to. Instead, it had a simple, rustic elegance—smooth, dark clay shaped with an artisan’s care, the edges slightly uneven, as if hand-molded. The cups were small and delicate but lacked the refinement of what one would find in noble courts or sect halls.

Hei Yuan narrowed his eyes slightly. This was not the work of a cultivator.

Da Wei poured the tea for each of them, the steam rising lazily into the air.

Hei Yuan discreetly scanned the liquid with his Qi Sense.

Nothing.

No odd fluctuations, no traces of poison, no hidden formations.

…Was this really just ordinary tea?

Hei Yuan still hesitated, but etiquette dictated that he at least acknowledge the gesture.

He nodded toward Da Wei.

”Many thanks.”

With practiced ease, he brought the cup near his lips, but didn’t drink.

Instead, he waited.

His amulet, a relic refined by Shadow Clan alchemists, would glow if the tea was laced with any harmful substances.

A few breaths passed.

The amulet remained dull.

Hei Yuan finally took a small sip.

…It was fine.

Not exquisite, not terrible—just fine.

In fact, it was disturbingly ordinary.

Too ordinary.

There was no Qi infusion, no medicinal benefits, no subtle notes of spirit herbs. It tasted like something a mortal would brew.

Hei Yuan’s eyebrow twitched.

Da Wei, watching him, suddenly smirked.

”Oh, it’s exactly as you suspect. It’s just tea made by mortal hands,” Da Wei said, as if reading his thoughts.

His voice carried the slightest hint of amusement.

”It was advertised as the finest tea in Riverfall Continent, though. Honestly, I kind of liked it. What do you think?”

Hei Yuan had to fight the urge to put the cup down in disgust.

He had been made to drink mortal goods?

A cultivator of his realm partaking in something so… mundane?

He resisted the impulse to lambast Da Wei for this insult, instead forcing himself to remain composed.

Still, he would not let it sit in his body.

Without a word, Hei Yuan drew upon his Qi, subtly guiding the tea’s essence out of his system.

A faint layer of perspiration gathered at the back of his neck as the liquid evaporated from his pores.

Across the table, Hei Mao casually remarked:

”I don’t drink tea.”

Da Wei’s smirk widened.

”More for me, then,” he said cheerfully, taking another sip.

Of course.

This man was an eccentric through and through.

Then, suddenly—

”Ah!”

Da Wei let out a soft yelping noise, as if just remembering something.

With a flick of his wrist, a plate of candied fruits appeared before Hei Mao.

The fruits were glossy, vibrant, coated in a thin layer of crystallized syrup.

Da Wei pushed the plate forward, his expression expectant.

”Here. Try these instead.”

Hei Mao looked at them for a moment before shrugging.

”I wouldn’t mind a taste.”

With another flick of his hand, Da Wei produced a transparent glass and filled it with chilled tea, the amber liquid swirling as condensation formed on the surface.

He set it aside for Hei Mao.

Hei Yuan observed the scene with a neutral expression, but inwardly, he was unimpressed.

Another mortal product.

Hei Mao picked up the glass, took a small sip, then perked up slightly.

”Oh. It’s sweet.”

Da Wei’s lips curled into a proud smirk.

”Of course it is,” he said, resting his chin on one hand. ”I take pride in my status as a foodie. That iced tea? A byproduct of one of my suggestions to a shop during the Yellow Dragon Festival.”

Hei Yuan was this close to rubbing his temples and losing composure.

He had lived hundreds of years, had experienced great battles, navigated deadly political intrigue, and stood before some of the greatest figures in the world.

And yet, here he was… listening to a man boast about mortal tea.

Enough of this.

Hei Yuan faked a cough, his voice carrying a hint of impatience.

”Ahem. If we may proceed with the Young Master’s business… I do not have all day.”

Hei Mao, still munching on a candied fruit, pushed the plate forward toward Da Wei.

”Thank you, Big Brother,” Hei Mao said sincerely. “Er… Senior… I mean, Senior…”

“It’s fine,” said Da Wei.

Hei Yuan nearly froze on the spot.

Big Brother?

This Da Wei… Hei Mao considered him family?

Before Hei Yuan could fully process this, Hei Mao relaxed his shoulders and exhaled.

”Alright. I’m calm now… But I’d like another glass of that iced tea.”

Da Wei chuckled, taking the plate of candied fruits before refilling Hei Mao’s glass.

Then, as if remembering Hei Yuan’s presence, he turned his gaze toward him.

”Elder Hei Yuan, would you like some as well?” Da Wei offered, his tone lighthearted.

Hei Yuan shook his head, keeping his expression unreadable.

”No need. Do not mind me.”

Da Wei shrugged, leaning back as he took another sip of his own tea.

Hei Yuan exhaled slowly, regaining his focus.

Now, at last… they could begin.

Hei Mao set down his glass, his fingers tightening around the rim as he took a steady breath. His dark eyes, usually filled with youthful energy, now held a quiet storm.

”I used to have a father, a mother, and a twin sister,” Hei Mao began, his voice even but carrying a weight that belied his years.

Hei Yuan’s gaze hardened.

Something in the way the boy spoke—not with grief, but with resolve—sent an uneasy feeling crawling up his spine.

Hei Mao continued, his expression unreadable.

”And then one day… they came.”

A pause.

”Black-masked cultivators.”

Hei Yuan’s chest tightened, but he said nothing, keeping his expression neutral.

”They attacked our home. Burned it down to the ground. My family… they didn’t make it.”

The boy’s voice did not tremble, but the hand resting on the table clenched into a fist. His nails dug into his palm, yet Hei Mao didn’t seem to notice.

Hei Yuan took a slow sip of his tea, but his fingers had stiffened around the cup.

A child.

A child was telling him about the night his world was burned down.

Da Wei said nothing, only watching. His golden gaze flickered between Hei Mao and Hei Yuan, as if gauging something.

Hei Yuan exhaled through his nose.

He had heard many stories like this before. Tragedies caused by grudges, by old sins that refused to stay buried.

But hearing it from someone this young…

It gnawed at him.

Hei Yuan leaned back slightly, arms crossed. He kept his voice calm and measured.

”And you seek the truth?”

Hei Mao lifted his chin, his expression set in stone.

”I will find it.”

For the first time in a long while, Hei Yuan felt something stir in his old bones.

Was it guilt?

No.

Perhaps… respect.

Hei Yuan offered a placid smile, attempting to frame the black-masked cultivators as nothing more than shameless rogues.

”Such villains are heartless. Men like that hold no empathy, no honor. Surely, the heavens will punish them in due time.”

The words left his lips smoothly, effortlessly. A well-practiced response—one he had given to many before.

But even as he spoke, his thoughts lingered on Hei Mao’s story.

Was it a coincidence that the boy had come here?

Perhaps.

The world was vast, and black-masked cultivators weren’t exactly rare. There were always those who used disguises to commit atrocities. Maybe the ones who destroyed Hei Mao’s family were just lowly bandits looking to make quick money.

And then Hei Mao spoke again.

”Their masks were pitch black,” the boy said, his voice eerily steady. ”Made of porcelain. And carved with unreadable scripture… written in blood.”

Hei Yuan’s blood ran cold.

His fingers twitched slightly against the porcelain tea cup, but he held firm.

Hei Mao’s dark eyes fixed onto him.

”Do you know something about them?”

Hei Yuan shook his head immediately. Too quickly.

Hei Mao took another sip of his iced tea, seemingly indifferent.

Then, without looking up, he asked:

”Is that... the truth?”

Hei Yuan’s breath hitched.

He met Hei Mao’s gaze, trying to keep his expression neutral. ”Of course.”

Hei Mao tilted his head slightly, watching him.

”Then why are you lying?”

Hei Yuan froze.

A single heartbeat passed.

He forced himself to chuckle, feigning confusion. ”Young Master, I fear I do not understand your meaning.”

But in truth, he was nervous.

How?

How had such a young boy seen through him?

Hei Yuan swallowed, then turned toward Da Wei—and found himself staring into cold, unfeeling golden eyes.

A bead of sweat formed at the back of his neck.

It was him.

Da Wei had been guiding the boy.

Hei Yuan suddenly felt cornered, ensnared not by force, but by something far worse—his own emotions.

Because when he looked at Hei Mao…

He saw the late Shadow Clan Patriarch.

And when he met the boy’s earnest, unwavering gaze…

Lying felt… tainted.

Like staining something pure.

Hei Yuan’s fingers dug into his sleeves, his nails nearly piercing through the fabric.

He was angry.

Not at Da Wei. Not even at Hei Mao.

At himself.

The contradiction tearing through his heart, the wavering in his own beliefs—it was infuriating.

For a brief moment, he wanted to lash out, to let his emotions dictate his actions.

But reason won.

This couldn’t go on. He had let himself be cornered for too long. Emotionally cornered, yes. But still cornered.

With a sharp breath, he forced a composed smile onto his face. ”I must say, the tea was enjoyable.” He set the porcelain cup down with a deliberate clink. ”However, I believe it is time for the guests to see themselves out.”

The air stilled.

”We aren’t done yet,” Da Wei softly remarked.

Hei Yuan narrowed his eyes.

His patience snapped.

The wooden planks beneath him groaned as his Qi surged, a quiet but undeniable force pressing onto the surroundings. It wasn’t an outright attack—but it was a warning. A declaration.

”We are done.” His voice carried the weight of his cultivation and the authority of his position.

He had allowed himself to be intimidated by Da Wei’s display of skill, by his casual mention of an audience with the Emperor.

But why?

The empire was vast, its courts filled with frauds and self-important figures. If Da Wei truly had an audience with the Emperor, where was his proof?

”If you are truly on your way to the Empire and claim to meet the Emperor himself…” Hei Yuan’s voice was sharp. ”Then where is your evidence?”

He let the words settle, his Qi pressing ever so slightly.

”Perjury is not a light crime. It could very well get you killed.”

Da Wei scoffed. ”Now, now. Let’s not be too hasty.”

Hei Yuan’s gaze hardened.

He was the strongest cultivator in the Shadow Clan, the one responsible for protecting his people. He had endured wars, betrayals, and the treacheries of the Abyssal Clans.

He would not allow an unknown force to shake him.

”Leave,” Hei Yuan commanded one final time.

”Or there will be violence.”

Hei Yuan’s expression remained firm, though his fingers twitched at his sides.

“You don’t want to go down that path,” Da Wei remarked, his voice carrying a weight that felt unnatural, as if reality itself agreed with him.

Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he added, “Trust me.”

It was the kind of self-assuredness that grated on Hei Yuan’s nerves.

Contempt crept into Da Wei’s tone. “What’s so hard about answering a few questions?”

Hei Yuan didn’t bother responding.

Instead, his fingers moved subtly, activating the formation beneath their feet.

The wooden planks of the harbor hummed, intricate arrays flaring to life. Invisible energy surged, aiming to eject these unruly visitors far from the island.

The killing array remained dormant—for now.

Hei Yuan had no desire to shed unnecessary blood, but these people had to leave.

And then—

A soft whisper left Da Wei’s lips.

”Judgment Severance.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

A golden cross-shaped rupture appeared in the air.

Hei Yuan’s eyes widened in horror as the tear in space devoured everything in its radius—Qi, energy, even the lingering presence of the formation itself. 

In an instant, the entire defensive array collapsed.

Even the killing array reserved for emergencies was stripped of its function entirely.

The ground shuddered, and the lake rippled violently, as if it, too, had felt the severing of power.

Hei Yuan froze.

The Clan’s most trusted defenses, shattered like brittle glass.

Da Wei exhaled, looking almost disappointed. “Please, let’s just talk,” he sighed, the eccentric expert acting as if nothing had happened. “No need to resort into violence.”