The Blasphemous Way

The morning sun hidden through a gauze of drifting snow, soft flakes falling upon like rivers

The snowstorm outside howled over a hundred miles of eastern wilderness. Wind shrieked like wolves pacing beyond the edge of civilization. 

In Linshui City — a village too insignificant for most maps, too weak in qi to draw sect attention — the storm swept low over rooftops, freezing rivers and frosting the bamboo groves silver. Beast tides came every ten years here, enough to keep cultivators away. 

No great clan ever claimed it. No sect ever cared.

Which made it the most desolate place in the world for those who sought pas from sight — and the perfect place to disappear.

Men laughed over cups of warmed wine. Hunters bartered over the corpses of rabbits and boars, still bleeding from the neck. A group of elderly peasants crowded around a Go board, tossing coins, arguing over placements, while a few rowdier youths teased the tavern maids, their flirtations bold but harmless.

Peasants haggled loudly over sparrows and wild boars, slamming their catches on the butcher's table outside.

Inside the tavern, a single bowl of Noodles and pork chops steamed between two people.

"Ow! It burnt my tongue!" Min He gulped ice water in chugs, blowing on her tongue.

Min He said, blowing on her Soup, cheeks puffed.

She leaned over the table, red scarf looped loosely around her slender neck, contrasting her white robes. Her long hair glimmered silver-white, loose and wild as falling snow. Her features were almost too delicate — her body like carved jade with soft rose-petal lips that pouted when she grumbled about the cold. 

And at the far corner, Li Qiong sat like a ghost in daylight.

There was no trace of arrogance or discomfort — just the faint, forgettable presence of a wanderer passing through.

He wore robes so white they seemed woven from snow. His long sleeves were folded neatly. His hands rested still. The green sword beside him leaned against the table, its scabbard chipped, its cloth wrappings faded. 

Li Qiong thoughts were on something.

He simply sipped his broth. Quietly. 

And that was the point.

The maid passed by his table, giving him a glance—Interest. She didn't ask if he needed anything. She simply refilled the pot of wine and left quietly her face was so red.

He didn't move much—just slowly sipped his soup, eyes half-lidded, as if the world outside his bowl didn't matter. But in truth, he was listening. Every drunken slur, every idle whisper, every clatter of dice and flirtatious laugh from the tavern maids passed through his ears and lingered.

Near the shrine, a hunter pounded his mug on the table, wild-eyed and flushed from drink. "I swear on my ancestors, I saw it! A three-tailed fox—white as snow, big as a mountain cow! Right past the ridge near Cold Stream!"

Mocking laughter answered him. One of the gamblers threw a peanut at his head. "Must've been the wine, old man! Or your wife's spirit come to haunt you!"

The hunter didn't flinch. "Laugh all you want. That thing looked straight at me. Eyes like blue emerald . The snow didn't even touch its fur. I didn't shoot—I couldn't…"

Li Qiong's fingers paused around his bowl. His head didn't turn, but his attention focused sharp. His eyes, half hidden beneath lowered lashes, locked on the man.

The hunter leaned in toward his tablemates, lowering his voice. " if you don't believe me see it for yourself. It was near the curve where the pine trees dip low—just before the frozen river bends west."

Min he was shocked because those guys vomitted on the table and passed out. 

A quiet sip. Li Qiong stood without a word.

Min He, across from him, was slurping her soup in a gulp panicking. She swallowed the last of it in one exaggerated gulp and yelped, "Hot-hot-hot!" Her red scarf bounced as she flailed.

Li Qiong placed two coins on the table, one for the meal, one for the room. "Stay here," he said, his voice barely more than wind brushing a blade. Then he turned.

Before she could shout another complaint, the door had swung shut behind him. Snow met his face. The storm swallowed him whole.

In the mainlands, far west of here, the hunt continued like a war without mercy.

"Any man named Li. Any age. Kill first. Verify later."

These words had passed through the mouths of elder cultivators, kings, Emperors, Sect leaders, and wandering assassins alike. It was a Decree.

Cities were burned. Villages razed.

A baby boy in the Southern Province was killed last week he's not even three days old. His name had been given by his grandmother, unaware of the weight it carried.

Li Qiong.

It wasn't just a man anymore.

It was a stain on the world — and every faction wanted to be the one to clean it permanently.

Outside, the snow thickened. No one moved on the streets. No spies. No sects. searching for the hidden heir in the storm.

Far west, in the Pavilion, an old cultivator stood before a massive map of the Eastern Wastes.

We've searched every province. No sign of anyone finding him.

"Then keep killing every Li until he surfaces,"

In the eastern corner Morning came with the sound of wind scraping across rooftiles, howling like wolves pacing beyond the walls. Snow hadn't yet stopped falling, The storm hadn't left either. It lingered in the outside.

The storm winds howled outside again, rattling the tavern door briefly before the latch caught. Some customers glanced over but returned quickly to their drinks. Just weather.

Five travelers stepped inside, each wrapped in thick cloaks and wearing broad, straw hats pulled low against the wind. Their boots left melting trails behind them as they moved toward an empty table near the corner.

They looked tired from the road. One of them gave a polite nod to the barkeep, and soon warm wine was brought to their table. They took off their hats one by one, revealing faces weathered by travel—one had a small scar beneath his eye, another rubbed his gloved hands together as he sighed with relief.

It wasn't unusual for travelers to stop by the tavern during long winter routes, but something about this group made a few heads turn. They didn't speak much, just exchanged quiet words among themselves. Then, one of them carefully unrolled a map on the table. 

It was old and faded, marked with places—villages, towns, mountains, and winding rivers. A few names of sects were scribbled along the borders. Circles had been drawn in red ink around several remote areas, including a small village near the edge of the Hills.

The snow crunched beneath his boots as Li Qiong moved swiftly through the snow covered forest. His breath was steady, his robes waving, behind him, blending with the pale mist that sway in the air. The blizzard had long since cloaked the mountain path, yet his steps never faltered.

A flash of white fur—a three-tailed fox the size of a cow—vanishing into the snowy trees like a gust of cold wind. No one had believed the hunter's drunken tale back at the tavern, but the moment the man described the fox's eyes—silver with a blue sky at the core—Li Qiong knew. This is the sign he was waiting for.

The path wasn't quiet. Several beasts stirred, creatures hardened by years of isolation and survival.

 A tusked snow-boar grunted and charged, its breath steaming. He sidestepped, gave it a big slap enough to knock the beast out cold. A mountain-backed white ape leapt from the cliffs above. He parried its claws and sent it skidding into a drift with a single palm. Again and again, spirit-beasts-in-the-making challenged him, their senses controlled by something nearby.

But Li Qiong did not kill. Each one, he only subdued—his strikes firm but merciful. 

Settled in a hollow protected by the rules of the world a small clearing untouched by the storm. The winds howled above, but here, all was still. A hush fell upon the world as he stepped closer. Snowflakes danced lazily, orbiting a single plant at the center like stars drawn to a moon.

A rose.

It stood tall on a stem of crystalline ice, its petals cast from living ice. Each fold glittered like glass, yet pulsed faintly with life. The flower was small—almost the size of a plum—but impossibly delicate. The air around it was cool and silent, reverent. It radiated power beyond comprehension.

Snowflakes circled the rose but never landed, as if paying silent tribute to its enduring will. The blizzard raged beyond, yet this pocket of space remained untouched. Within the heart of the rose, one could faintly feel the sound of Dao.

A cultivator from the past once had used this very flower to ascend the ranks beyond the sky.

Now, it stood before Li Qiong. A heavenly treasure tempered by dao. A treasure of the world.

He stepped forward, snow crunching no more beneath his feet, eyes fixed on the snow rose presence.