Shen Yun had barely settled into the Nine Gates Sect.
Though Li Feng had given him a room — a modest one near the outer hall — the moment he walked past the others, he could feel it.
The stares.
The whispers.
The venom hidden behind polite smiles.
Disciples who had trained here for years, mastered countless techniques, bled to earn Li Feng's notice — now watching a stranger arrive injured and nameless… and be personally escorted by the young sect leader.
It didn't sit right with them.
Especially not with Wei Lan — the top inner disciple, known for his sharp blade and sharper tongue.
"You don't belong here," he said the moment Shen Yun entered the training ground for basic drills. "This isn't a hospital, it's a sect. We train. We fight. We win."
Shen Yun paused, his gaze calm. "I didn't ask to be here."
"No," Wei Lan smirked. "You just begged the young master and got special treatment. Smart move."
Laughter followed.
A few disciples murmured in agreement. Others remained silent but didn't step in.
Shen Yun lowered his gaze. His fingers clenched tightly around the sword hilt Li Feng had handed him the day before.
He hadn't begged. He hadn't even wanted to stay.
But what else did he have?
His sect was gone. His shifu was gone.
All he had was this mark… and nowhere else to go.
Wei Lan stepped closer. "Don't bring your weakness here. This sect doesn't need freeloaders."
"Then don't look at me," Shen Yun said, quietly.
"Oh?" Wei Lan's eyes narrowed. "You got a tongue now?"
He reached out — lightning quick — and grabbed Shen Yun's wrist.
The marked one.
Shen Yun flinched, a surge of panic rising. The bandages he'd wrapped it in were thin. Too thin. If Wei Lan pulled hard enough—
"That's enough."
A sharp voice cut through the courtyard like thunder.
Everyone froze.
Li Feng stood at the edge of the courtyard, dressed in flowing dark robes, the crimson threads glinting in the sun.
Even from a distance, his presence pressed down like a storm cloud.
Wei Lan immediately let go and knelt. "Young Master—I was only—"
"Bullying a guest in my sect?"
"No! I just… I thought he was disrespecting—"
Li Feng didn't even glance at him.
He walked straight to Shen Yun.
Shen Yun didn't know where to look. His wrist still ached. The heat from the mark pulsed faintly under the bandage.
He thought Li Feng would scold him too.
But instead—
Li Feng reached out… and gently pulled Shen Yun's sleeve back down.
"Your robe's torn," he said flatly. "Go to Elder Yun and get new ones."
Shen Yun blinked. "I… I can fix it—"
"You're not a servant. You're a disciple now."
Those words echoed.
A disciple…? Not a guest. Not a burden.
Disciples around them exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. Wei Lan's fists clenched beside him.
"But—" Shen Yun started again.
Li Feng cut him off.
"Don't speak back."
There was silence.
Then Li Feng's hand dropped from his sleeve. He turned back to the crowd and spoke without emotion.
"Anyone who touches him again without my permission…" He paused, his voice like ice. "Will answer to me."
And then he walked away.
Just like that.
Leaving chaos in his wake.
That night, Shen Yun sat quietly on the edge of his new room, staring at the clothes he'd been handed — dark blue robes of the Nine Gates sect, far too clean for someone like him.
He touched the bandage on his wrist, feeling the mark still burning underneath.
Why did Li Feng protect me?
He didn't know.
But deep inside… something had shifted.
Elsewhere, in Li Feng's private study…
The young master stood alone before a candle-lit map. Dots marked every major sect. His gaze landed on one: the ruins of the Crimson Wing Sect.
"Shen Yun…" he murmured.
He remembered the slight tremble when Wei Lan had grabbed his wrist.
He hadn't missed it.
That wrist.
Li Feng poured tea for himself, lips curved slightly.
"He's hiding it well."
Then, more softly—
"But he doesn't know how much I already know."
The betrayal would come later.
But first…
He had to make him trust.
Completely.