Tangled Threads of Tradition and Love

Chapter-17 🅿🅰🆁🆃1

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✦𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓼𝓽?✦

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Huan was just about to set Woliu down when an urgent beeping broke the silence. The gem-like light embedded in the hilt flashed red, a color he had never seen before. It usually glowed a serene blue or vibrant green, but now it blinked violently as if in warning. His senses heightened, Huan glanced around the room. Everything appeared normal at first—until he noticed the door, slightly ajar.

His heart pounded in his chest, a wave of cold dread washing over him. The air suddenly felt thick, tingling with a familiar energy. His throat tightened.

"Who...who's there?" Huan's voice trembled, though he tried to steady it.

No answer.

But then he felt it, the unmistakable, oppressive aura of another cultivator. His instincts screamed at him to reach for Woliu, but before his hand could grasp the hilt, the door slammed shut.

He turned toward the fire exit, planning to flee—but before he could even take a step, a shadow lunged from the darkness, slamming him against the wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and a hand pressed tightly over his mouth, silencing any chance of a scream.

Huan's eyes flew open, heart racing. He saw a pair of cold, light blue eyes staring back at him- Xian. The sight sent waves of terror through him. He squirmed in Xian's iron grip, his mind scrambling for a way out, but Xian was too strong. He felt the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, the helplessness swelling within him. But he couldn't—he wouldn't cry.

Not again.

Xian's lips curled into a sickening smile. "You've adjusted to this place quite well, haven't you? It seems the outside world has been good to you." His voice was a purr, dripping with malice.

Huan's hands clawed at Xian's wrist, trying to tear himself free, but it was useless. He felt Xian's breath on his neck, his body trembling with fear and anger. He hated this—hated how weak he felt, how utterly vulnerable.

"You know," Xian continued, his tone mocking, "the Chen spies followed you and your mother. Made sure neither of you ran your mouths about the clan."

Huan's chest heaved, panic creeping up his spine. He could hardly breathe. Xian's words were like poison, seeping into the corners of his mind, taunting him.

"Pitiful eh? You had to work alongside your mother," Xian said with a cruel giggle, leaning in closer. "A prostitute. How fitting for you."

The words cut deep, hitting a nerve. Something inside Huan snapped. Rage surged through him, raw and painful. His core pulsed, and in an instant, Woliu flew into his hand with a flash of light. Without thinking, Huan swung the sword in one swift, fluid motion. The sudden attack forced Xian to fall back, sliding across the floor. A thin line of blood appeared on Xian's cheek, the blade just grazing him.

For a brief moment, Huan stood there, stunned. Woliu hummed softly in his hand, as if saying, need help? Huan's grip tightened on the hilt, his pulse racing.

Xian's eyes widened with surprise, but the shock quickly melted into amusement. His grin stretched wider. "Well, well. That's more like It." He wiped the blood from his cheek, eyes gleaming with thrill and hunger.