Ashes Of The Phoenix: The Crimson Pact

The rain fell softly outside the Nine Gates Sect, pattering against the dark tiled roofs like a rhythm only the night understood. Most of the disciples had retreated to their quarters, the courtyard lamps casting long shadows across the stone floors.

Li Feng stood alone in the inner archives — a secret chamber beneath the sect's ancestral hall. Only a few knew of its existence, and even fewer dared to enter without permission.

The room smelled of incense, age, and secrets. Tall wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls wrapped in silk, old texts, forbidden records — and a few pieces too dangerous to be stored above ground.

He unrolled a brittle parchment, the candlelight flickering across the faded ink.

"The Vessel of Flame cannot be opened by brute force."

"It responds to spirit… and bond."

Li Feng narrowed his eyes.

"Bond?" he murmured. "What kind of bond?"

The scroll didn't say. Most of these writings were fragmented — the rest of the knowledge had been lost during the Phoenix Rebellion over a century ago.

Still, one line caught his attention.

"The Vessel sleeps until the heart that carries the mark chooses its fire."

Li Feng stared at it, unmoving. The flame in the lamp beside him crackled faintly.

Not just the mark… it has to choose. It has to trust.

He remembered Shen Yun's laughter at the riverbank just yesterday. The way the boy's eyes had lit up, soft and unguarded, as they watched koi fish dance beneath the water. The way he had thrown a single dumpling at Li Feng when he teased him for nearly slipping.

That was the moment the mark had glowed faintly beneath Shen Yun's sleeve — a flicker, barely visible.

Not from fear.

But from… warmth?

Li Feng rolled the scroll closed slowly, mind racing.

"So I have to gain his trust. Not just control him… not just protect him... but make him choose me."

He stood still for a moment in the quiet chamber. The silence pressed around him like heavy silk. Then, without another word, he tucked the scroll into his sleeve and left.

The storm outside had grown stronger.

As he stepped into the hall, he didn't notice the pair of pale eyes watching from the shadows — Wei Lan, silent and unreadable, having followed Li Feng halfway through the sect.

The Next Morning

The rain hadn't stopped.

Shen Yun sat under the small open pavilion in the courtyard, wrapped in a thin cloak. He watched the raindrops collect on the tips of the bamboo leaves and fall with quiet, perfect rhythm.

He held a wooden cup of warm herbal tea in his hands, gifted by an older disciple who said it was good for restoring energy.

He was getting used to this place now.

The stone paths. The cold misty mornings. The constant smell of talismans and training oil.

And strangely… Li Feng.

The man wasn't as terrifying as he first seemed.

He was cold, yes. Distant. Sharp. But there were cracks in the armor — rare, fleeting moments of gentleness. The way he pulled Shen Yun back by the collar before he stepped into a cursed zone. The silent gesture when he pushed a bowl of rice toward him, pretending not to notice when Shen Yun's hand trembled.

And most of all… the moment during the mission.

He protected me, Shen Yun thought, watching the mist swirl.

Why?

"Tea's gone cold," came a deep voice behind him.

Shen Yun turned to see Li Feng approaching, carrying two fresh cups.

"You… brought me tea?"

Li Feng sat down beside him under the roof. His robes were neat, red sash tied tight at his waist, hair still damp from the rain.

"You looked like you were brooding. I assumed this would help."

Shen Yun blinked at him. "You assumed correctly."

Li Feng handed him the cup.

For a moment, the two of them simply sat — watching the mist roll over the training grounds. The silence was… not awkward. Peaceful.

"You grew up here, did you?" Shen Yun asked suddenly.

Li Feng raised a brow. "Why?"

"You look like someone who grew up being alone."

Li Feng turned his gaze back to the courtyard. A breeze moved through the bamboo.

"Well i did grew up here..but mostly it was lonely as father was focused on leading the sect and mother? Well she was already gone when I was born..."

Shen Yun didn't respond. He only sipped his tea.

They sat like that for a while — just two boys carrying too much, trying to find warmth in a world that had rarely been kind.

Later that Night

Wei Lan walked the perimeter of the inner sect alone.

He wasn't supposed to be — but he didn't want company tonight.

The image of Shen Yun and Li Feng laughing together beneath the rain-slicked pavilion had stayed in his mind all day. Their shoulders almost touching. Their eyes soft.

He knew that look.

He had once been the one beside Li Feng.

Flashback.

Years ago, before Shen Yun ever came to the sect, Wei Lan had stood beside Li Feng in the same rain. He was just sixteen, soaked, injured from a reckless mission. He had collapsed at Li Feng's door.

"You're an idiot," Li Feng had said back then, kneeling beside him. "But you're my idiot."

Those words… they still echoed. Though their relation was never declared something as...love but it still has warmth. Those words were just being said to..Wei Lan..but now-

Now, they were being said to someone else. Or maybe not said at all — just felt. But that was worse.

Wei Lan leaned against a wooden post, eyes heavy.

He had never expected to be replaced.

Especially not by a quiet, injured boy from a destroyed sect.

But Shen Yun had something else.

Something Wei Lan never had.

The mark.

The fate.

And maybe… Li Feng's attention.

"You have a part to play," he whispered mockingly to himself, repeating Li Feng's words to Shen Yun.

"But what part do I play now?"

The night didn't answer.

Deep underground chamber

Li Feng returned that evening to the secret archive, scroll in hand, but this time… he didn't come alone.

He had ordered two masked servants to bring him something rare — an artifact called the Whispering Mirror.

It was said to show hidden truths about spiritual connections.

He placed the mirror before him and cut a thin line across his finger, letting a single drop of blood fall onto its surface.

It shimmered.

Then, faintly, a shape appeared.

A flicker of flame — and the shape of Shen Yun, sleeping restlessly in his chamber, the mark on his wrist glowing softly.

The mirror pulsed.

"So it reacts even without touch…"

Li Feng leaned forward.

"The Vessel needs bond. But if I make him trust me too deeply… he'll become unpredictable."

He touched the mirror's edge.

"What kind of person are you, Shen Yun? Will you fall too easily… or make me fall instead?"

The mirror rippled violently, as if disturbed by those words.

Li Feng's eyes narrowed.

He sat back.

There was another path.

He didn't have to make Shen Yun unlock the vessel.

He could just take the mark.

He had heard whispers. A technique — forbidden, dangerous — that could transfer the essence of a spiritual mark onto another.

But it came with consequences.

And risks.

"Bond… or theft."

He closed his eyes.

"We'll see which is faster."

Shen Yun's Chambers

That same night, Shen Yun sat up suddenly, drenched in sweat.

The mark on his wrist burned.

He touched it, breathing fast. It felt like it was pulsing in warning.

Was it reacting to something?

Or someone?

He stood, pacing in the dark.

The scroll his shifu had given him lay folded on his desk. He had read it a hundred times — but still, some lines remained a mystery.

"Only when the phoenix trusts… will it show the way."

"Trust," he whispered, frowning. "But who can I trust?"

He thought of Li Feng.

The fire in his palms. The gentleness in small moments.

But also… the silence. The unreadable eyes. The ambition.

Shen Yun sat back down and curled beneath the blanket again, heart pounding.

Something was changing.

Inside him. Around him. Between them.

And the mark was waking.

End of Chapter 9...