Chapter 249: Invitation From The Ancient Liu Clan.
"Have you heard?"
"Heard what? If you’re talking about the various rising stars during the martial battle, how could I not know? The clashes were epic. I can’t wait for tomorrow’s duels to start."
"What nonsense are you saying? I’m not talking about the martial battle at all."
Disciples poured out of the summit ground in twos and threes, their voices filling the night with scattered chatter.
They replayed the most exhilarating moments, debating who fought best, which sects showed brilliance, and which ones crumbled under pressure.
Normally, the martial contest was the heart of the summit—where geniuses rose and sect reputations were forged in blood and spirit.
But this year was different. Something else had seized the crowd’s attention.
"The martial battle was incredible, yes," one girl said with a teasing smile, "but that isn’t the story on everyone’s lips."
"Then what are you talking about?" The thin, handsome boy beside her furrowed his brow in confusion.
"You’re so dense." She smacked his shoulder playfully. "I heard a small sect dominated almost all the side professions."
"What? How is that even possible?" He blinked in disbelief.
"Look carefully," she said, pointing ahead. A group of elders walked together, whispering in serious tones. "Even they are talking about it."
He squinted. "Hmm? So you’re telling the truth?"
"What, you think I’d lie to you? Humph!" She pouted and crossed her arms. "I heard the sect is called the Dust Valley Sect. Their disciples finished every test in half the time it took the others. Can you imagine that?"
"Really? What about the ancient clans and major forces?"
"All of them were left in the dust. Now, everyone’s waiting to see the results tomorrow...." She trailed off, her thoughts racing ahead.
"Tomorrow will be explosive. If they come out on top, the summit will be set ablaze."
"Then we can’t miss it," her boyfriend said firmly. "We’ll wake up early and get a good spot."
Across the entire continent, clans, sects, and hidden families echoed this conversation. The Dust Valley Sect had stolen the spotlight, turning side competitions into the main stage.
...
Meanwhile, the Dust Valley Sect disciples had returned to their hotel. They gathered in the common hall, laughter and cheer rising like smoke from a fire.
Their pride was obvious; even those who hadn’t competed shared in the glory.
They hadn’t touched the martial battle, yet their victories in other fields were enough to shake arrogant sects and ancient clans.
Every disciple replayed the looks of disbelief they had seen earlier—the gaping jaws, the unwilling frowns, the clenched fists of their rivals.
To them, this was sweeter than any medal.
But high above, on the fifth floor of the hotel, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Inside a private chamber, three figures sat in silence.
No laughter.
No cheer.
Only tension.
The Sect Master sat upright, his sharp gaze fixed on his wife.
"What are you going to do?"
His voice was calm, but beneath it lay the weight of years. They both knew the truth: they couldn’t keep running. The past had caught up with them.
Liu Zexian lowered her eyes. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together.
She shifted her gaze briefly to her son, who watched her quietly. Mo Jian’s expression carried none of the youthful pride from earlier. Instead, his eyes held patience and understanding.
"I don’t know..." she whispered, her voice unsteady. For the first time in years, the fearless, arrogant woman seemed small, her confidence cracked by the shadow of her past.
If the sect disciples saw her now, they would not believe it. To them, Liu Zexian was untouchable—a woman who defied heaven itself. But here, before her family, she revealed her scars.
The Sect Master said nothing further. He exchanged a subtle glance with Mo Jian. Both understood: prolonging the issue would not make it disappear.
But the matter belonged to her. It was her clan, her father. They could not force her hand.
Mo Jian inhaled deeply. He had to step in.
"Mother," he said softly, his tone like a gentle breeze brushing against her heart, "do you want to return to the clan?"
Liu Zexian froze. Memories surged back like tidal waves.
The faces of elders, the words spat at her, the betrayal of blood.
Slowly, she shook her head.
How could she return?
Her father had cast her out, his judgment cold and merciless. The very people she had trusted most had turned their backs on her, labeling her a disgrace.
For choosing love over prestige, she had been branded a traitor to her lineage.
Once, she had been hailed as a prodigy of the imperial capital, a woman of unmatched talent and beauty.
Admirers whispered her name in awe. But none of that mattered when she chose an "ordinary man" over the alliances her clan demanded.
Their marriage had been her defiance.
A gamble.
A declaration that she would follow her heart, no matter the cost.
And the cost was exile.
She had been spat upon, called shameful names, treated like a stain to be erased. Some elders even demanded her cultivation be crippled, but she escaped before they could lay hands on her.
The pain had cut deep. For years, her heart bled silently.
But it had not killed her. Slowly, she healed. Slowly, she realized she was stronger without them.
They thought she would wither away without their support.
They were wrong.
They thought she would never rise again. They were wrong.
Now, looking at her husband and son—their eyes filled with trust—she knew where her true clan lay. The Liu Clan was nothing but a memory, a wound she no longer wished to reopen.
Mo Jian studied her carefully. He saw it in her eyes. She was done with them. The pain lingered, but she had moved on. Her priorities had changed.
He exhaled, then spoke slowly, his words deliberate.
"Mother, since you don’t wish to return to the clan, that is the exact reason we must go."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"We must end it once and for all," Mo Jian continued, his tone steady. "If we don’t, they will never stop haunting us. They’ll hound our steps, question our victories, undermine our sect’s rise. Only by facing them directly can we bury the hatchet."
The room fell into silence again, but it was a different kind of silence. Heavy. Resolute. The air vibrated with unspoken determination.