Chapter 7
Her eyes brightened slightly, relief and pride mingling in the glance she dared to steal. Wuming allowed it. Let her think she matters. Let her crave it.
In a world where she was scolded, overlooked, and used, a single word of approval weighed more than gold. Humans were simple like that. Starve them of recognition long enough, and even a fragment of warmth feels like salvation.
Lan'er was no different.
He did not need to threaten her. Fear created resistance. Gratitude created dependence.
When someone receives validation where none exists, they begin to crave it. They adjust themselves to earn it again. They bend. They endure. They compete for it.
And once they begin chasing your approval, they stop questioning your control.
He wasn't giving her hope.
He was installing a leash.
The Second Lady spoke harshly of her, he mused, recalling Lan'er's own words from the day prior. And yet, she is willing to serve. She is foolish enough to seek validation. That weakness… I can use it.
His golden eyes narrowed, cold and precise. "Do not mistake my words for trust," he said slowly. "You are a tool. That is all. But a sharp tool can cut deeper than a blunt one, if it knows its place."
Lan'er nodded, swallowing hard, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly at the faint approval. Wuming allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Give them a thread of hope… and they will bind themselves to you willingly. It is human nature.
He rose from the window seat, stepping closer, his presence heavy yet measured. "Remember this," he said quietly, voice low but commanding. "Your loyalty is temporary. Your usefulness is measured only by what I can take from you. Fail me, or dream beyond your place… and the consequences will be absolute."
Lan'er bowed instinctively, her pride tempered by fear, her mind already calculating how to remain indispensable. She did not yet realize that every spark of confidence he gave her, every thread of recognition, was part of a careful design.
People are predictable, Wuming thought, as he stepped back and observed her. Give them a hint of worth… and they will chase it like it is life itself. This is how control is built. Not through fear alone, but through desire. Let them dream. Let them cling. Then bend the world around them.
The demon infant floated closer, sensing his thoughts, its tiny form radiating presence and power. Wuming's hand moved subtly, reinforcing the connection, guiding it silently toward the corridors. It would watch, listen, and report everything—all without alerting the humans who thought themselves clever.
He turned back to the window, gazing at the pale moon. Wei Zhi… wherever you are, you will be the one to test everything. Everyone else is just noise. But Lan'er… she will serve her purpose, if only she believes she is needed.
He thought, if what little Wuming said is true then I will make you a great tool, making you my right hand here would be safe and useful.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint sound of wind rustling through the estate. Wuming's mind continued to turn, cold and unrelenting, mapping every player, every scheme, every weakness. And with every thought, his plans grew sharper.
The demon infant hovered silently, a shadow of power no one in the estate could perceive. Its form, small but potent, pulsed with the essence of Wuming's soul, every heartbeat of its tiny existence linked to his own. He extended his consciousness, threading it through the infant like an invisible wire, a spy no one could detect.
Lan'er thinks she is useful. The Second Lady believes she has leverage. Both are mistaken, Wuming thought, his golden eyes narrowing. And yet… They will provide everything I need, if I guide them carefully.
A faint ripple of movement caught the infant's attention. Wuming guided it silently down the corridors, invisible, undetectable, listening to the hurried footsteps of the Second Lady's servants and her whispered commands.
"—must deliver the poison within the next twenty-four hours. Don't fail me, or everything is wasted," the Second Lady hissed.
A servant faltered, fear clear in their voice. "B-but… young master… he is already awake. And Lan'er…"
"Lan'er is expendable," the Second Lady snapped. "She cannot fail. If she hesitates, the consequences fall on her!"
Wuming's lips curved slightly, barely noticeable. Expendable, yes… but not useless. Not yet. She will serve her purpose until the end.
The demon infant drifted closer to Lan'er, sensing her confusion and fatigue. Two days of the pill had weakened her, sapped her strength, and clouded her judgment. Her body and mind were pliable, and Wuming's control was absolute.
Good, he thought. She will give up secrets willingly if she believes I am unaware. A little fear, a little hope… and everything unfolds.
He allowed the infant to return to his room, bringing back every whisper, every hesitation, every plan the Second Lady had spoken aloud. Wuming's mind processed it swiftly, mapping contingencies, understanding motivations, predicting moves. Nothing escaped him.
Lan'er entered silently with a tray of tea, unaware that the demon infant had returned to its perch near Wuming. He observed her carefully, noting the paleness of her complexion, the fatigue that clung to her movements.
"You look tired," he said, his voice low, calm, but edged with authority. "Rest. You are useful only if you survive. Do not forget that."
Lan'er bowed and nodded, too drained to resist, too conditioned to obey. She will carry my will further than I move myself, Wuming thought. Through her, I watch. Through her, I control. And through this… everything in this clan becomes visible, manipulable.
Xuan Wuming was trying to rule at a small pace. He was a demon emperor and even small pace was larger than miles. Compared to the foot he thought he had taken.
He turned back to the window, the dawn light spilling over his silver hair, eyes sharp, mind calculating. Wei Zhi… you are the one I seek. But everyone else, everyone in this house, is already my pawn. Even those who think they plot against me are feeding me the information I need. Let them believe they act freely. That is how empires bend—without them knowing they bend at all.
I wonder how she will be exactly the way little wuming told me?
The demon infant drifted closer, circling him like an eager child. Wuming extended a thread of thought, and it responded immediately, its form pulsating with readiness. Go. Listen. Learn. Report everything.
Xuan Yin Wuming sended the little demon infant every now and then.
The estate slept unaware, its true master quietly orchestrating every move from the shadows of a child's body, every piece of information bending to his will.
And Wuming, seven years old in appearance, felt the thrill of control—the calm, patient dominance that comes from knowing that every whisper, every fear, every desire around him could be seen, measured, and used.
This world is mine to map, he thought coldly. And no one, not even the Second Lady, can stop what I am about to do.
The night was silent, the corridors of the Xuan estate empty except for the soft rustle of servants' footsteps and the faint hum of lanterns swaying in the halls. Wuming's eyes, golden and calculating, followed every movement through the demon infant's senses. Each whisper, each hesitation, each heartbeat of those unaware of his watch was data.
The Second Lady's voice reached the demon infant first, faint and venomous, as if the walls themselves had ears.
"Two days, or the plan fails! Do you hear me, Lan'er? The poison must reach him, or all our work is wasted!"
"Master… I… I cannot—" Lan'er's voice quavered, weak and hushed.
"You will, or I will ensure your suffering is complete!" The Second Lady snapped, anger and fear blending into sharp edges.
Wuming's lips curved faintly, the shadow of a smile. Fear and loyalty are the same lever, depending on the hand that pulls them. He guided the demon infant closer, threading its presence into Lan'er's subconscious. Make her hesitate. Make her falter. Make her believe she is choosing. And yet, every choice bends to me.
Lan'er froze mid-step, gripping the tray of tea tighter. Her mind clouded by the pill and by the subtle pressure of Wuming's soul threading through her, she thought she was resisting—but it was all an illusion. I am too far, too cautious… I must not fail my young master, she whispered to herself, unaware her thoughts were no longer private.
Through the demon infant, Wuming dissected her reasoning: the fear of the Second Lady, the guilt of her loyalty, the confusion of the pill coursing through her veins. He mapped every possible reaction, predicting what she would do if left alone, what she would do if observed, what she would do if she thought she was free. All outcomes bent around him.
The Second Lady underestimates me. She believes distance keeps her safe. She believes that planning in the shadows can avoid detection. She is wrong. Wuming's eyes glinted like cold steel. Every servant, every whisper, every move is mine to record. Every hesitation is a thread I can pull.
He moved the demon infant subtly to follow Lan'er back to her quarters, yet the threads reached far beyond—through corridors, through closed doors, through the night itself. Let the Second Lady think she manipulates her pawns. Let her tighten the leash she believes is on me. Every tightening feeds my advantage.
Lan'er staggered slightly, head spinning, and Wuming extended the infant's senses further. He tapped into her perception of the pill's effects—her fatigue, her hazy vision, her slowed reflexes. Perfect. She is pliable. She cannot resist now.
The demon infant whispered silently through her consciousness, planting a tiny seed: Observe. Report. Serve. Fail, and your will is mine.
Lan'er froze mid-step, sensing a strange pull in her thoughts she could not explain. She looked around nervously, feeling a pressure she could not see, a presence she could not touch. Wuming's influence was silent, invisible, and absolute.
From his vantage point at the window, Wuming observed everything with surgical precision, calculating the next 24 hours, mapping every contingency, predicting every failure, and already preparing his responses. The rest are pieces. Each piece must move without knowing they move for me. And if one falters… it is acceptable, so long as the outcome is mine.
A faint breeze drifted through the window, lifting his silver hair, his golden eyes catching the moonlight. His hands rested lightly on the sill, yet in his mind, a thousand threads twisted and converged, pulling events, people, and plans together as if they were instruments in his hand.
Humans, demons, sects, heirs, fools—they are all predictable. All fragile. All pawns. And I… He allowed a whisper of cold amusement. I am their master, their unseen hand, their nightmare in waiting.
Lan'er moved again, unknowingly reporting every action, every hesitation, every whispered doubt. Wuming watched through the demon infant, noting the subtle shift in her gait, the way her pupils flickered toward the hall where the Second Lady had spoken last. Good. She is performing beautifully. The illusion of freedom is all she needs.
He leaned back, letting the demon infant curl around him like an eager child, its essence pulsing with his intent. The night stretched ahead, silent but full of unseen wars, whispered threats, and manipulated loyalties. And in the middle of it all, seven-year-old Wuming, appearing fragile and human, was already centuries ahead in thought, strategy, and control.
Let them act. Let them scheme. Let them plan. Every step is mine, every breath belongs to me.
End of 7