Elder Tang's room smelled of pine resin and old paper.
It was the kind of room that had been lived in for a long time — not cluttered, but layered. Every object in exactly the right place and clearly there for a reason.
Wen Dao sat across from him and waited.
Tang poured two cups of hot water. He didn't reach for the tea. Just hot water. He looked at it for a moment.
"The assassin works for a group called the Pale Remnant," he said.
Wen Dao went still.
"Remnant of what?"
"The Pale Flame Sect." Tang wrapped both hands around his cup. "Shao Wei's sect. You know it was destroyed seven years ago. What you don't know is that not everyone died. Twelve disciples survived. They went underground. They have been moving through the region since, under different names, working for different employers — but their core purpose has not changed."
"They want the inheritance back."
"They believe it was stolen. Shao Wei's decision to give his core inheritance to an outsider was considered a betrayal by the survivors. In their view, the Pale Flame technique belongs to their sect bloodline." Tang paused. "Not to a fourteen-year-old boy from a burning village."
Wen Dao looked at his wrist. The mark was still faded, the single-use charge spent. But the technique itself burned steadily in his dantian.
"Shao Wei chose me," he said.
"They don't accept that choice."
"Did any of them ask why he made it?"
Tang looked at him.
"No," Tang said simply.
Wen Dao considered that.
"How many of the twelve are at Qi Condensation Level Three or above?"
"Four." Tang set his cup down. "The one who came through your window was one of the four. She is called Iron Moth. She has been hunting the pendant since the moment she learned Shao Wei had given it to someone."
"What does she want? The technique itself, or just to destroy what he gave away?"
A pause.
"Both," Tang said. "In that order."
Wen Dao thought about the assassin in his room. The efficiency. The complete absence of hesitation or speech. A person who had been carrying a seven-year wound.
"There is something else," Tang said.
He reached into the cabinet behind him and placed a folded map on the table between them.
It was a regional map. He had marked three locations in red ink.
"These are the last three confirmed positions of Iron Moth's group. The first was two months ago, sixty miles south. The second was three weeks ago, thirty miles east. The third was four days ago." He pointed to the third mark. "Eight miles from this sect."
Eight miles. Moving closer on a timeline.
"She was watching before she struck," Wen Dao said.
"Yes. The attack on your room was a probe. She wanted to assess the level of what she was dealing with before committing a full effort."
Wen Dao looked at the map.
"Then the full effort is coming."
"Yes." Tang met his eyes. "And before it does — you need to be significantly stronger than you are now."
Outside the window, the sky was turning the dark blue that comes before first light.
Somewhere in that darkness, Iron Moth was calculating.
And far to the north, the yellow eyes were still open.
Still patient.
Still watching.