A Waste of Time

Chapter 127: Silted Harmony

“You need to wear this before we go out. Erm… Sect rules.”

Su An’s voice wavered as she helped Daemon dry off after his soak in warm water. She packed away the wooden barrel and other items into her Space-Pouch, then handed him a black-and-white robe and a thin ankle-bracelet. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she avoided his eyes.

Daemon noticed at once: she wasn’t troubled by the bracelet—clearly a tracker meant to bind him should he dare use his Space ability to Teleport. No, her sorrow rested on the robe.

He dressed quietly, slipping into the new clothes before fastening the bracelet. It cinched around his ankle automatically, snug yet leaving just enough space for his skin to breathe and his bones to grow. Then he lifted the robe in his hands, studying it, before asking:

“What does this thing signify in the Mountain?”

Su An froze. She fiddled with the hem of her robe, humming nervously, eyes darting everywhere but at him.

“I will not blame you, nor hold it against you,” Daemon said gently, his tone magnanimous. “I promise.”

Those words undid her completely. Her eyes welled up, and she broke into tears. Suddenly she lunged forward and hugged him—the first time she had ever dared such closeness. She wept openly, wailing into his shoulder, pouring out everything she had bottled inside. When at last her sobs slowed, shame left her clinging to him, too afraid to lift her face and meet his eyes.

“Feeling better now?” Daemon asked softly.

“En…” Su An nodded faintly. His small but strong arms circled her waist, and for the first time she felt untouchable—safe.

Daemon patted her back. “Your knees must be hurting from kneeling like that for so long. I’m really quite short, huh!” He helped her up, still holding her hand. “You don’t have to answer my question if it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll figure it out soon enough once we’re outside. Forget I asked. Just focus on the Sect-Competition. You know I won’t forgive you if you don’t make the top one-thousand and become an Inner Disciple like we agreed.”

Her grip tightened around his hand, fighting spirit igniting in her eyes. “I’ll definitely become an Inner Disciple. I promise!”

“Good.” Daemon smiled faintly, releasing her. He draped the black-and-white robe over his shoulders and cast one final look at the Azure Lock Chamber before pushing open the stone gate. “Let’s go see the wonders of your Sect. I’ve been dying to know what kind of place this Ten-Thousand Beasts Mountain really is.”

The shimmering Formation didn’t resist him. The ankle-bracelet flickered in sync with the murals etched into the surrounding pillars, permitting his passage.

“I’m sorry,” Su An whispered under her breath. “I’m so sorry… I just can’t be the one to deliver this truth to you. I’m too weak.” She followed close behind, unsurprised that he’d opened the heavy gates without her jade slip.

Only a day earlier she had been summoned to Elder Bai Sui’s Pavilion, where he’d rewarded her breakthrough with a dozen Fire Stones, several hundred Contribution Points—and the grey bracelet Daemon now wore. The orders had been clear.

When she returned, she had found a Pill Pagoda Elder waiting, frowning as he inspected the jade vials and the squat gourd. His eyes flicked between Daemon and the tools siphoning his blood. Reluctance warred on his face. At last, he removed the Silver-Ghost Needles and Blood-Leech Threads, grumbling under his breath about wasted resources as he left. Su An had nearly kicked his backside in rage—but she didn’t dare, not if she wanted to avoid sharing Daemon’s fate.

Now, stepping outside the sealed chamber, voices lashed out:

“Watch where you’re going, slave!”

“Out of the way, slave!”

“Lower your eyes, slave!”

“How dare you glare at your masters, slave!”

A group of Outer Disciples and Merit Hall staff had Daemon cornered in the corridor. Su An’s heart plummeted. Panic surged through her chest as he slowly twisted his neck, glancing back at her after circling the hostile faces.

“So that’s why, huh?”

Her breath caught when he smiled—easy, carefree—as though none of this mattered. He laced his fingers behind his head and grinned. “Where to next, Lady Su?”

The words mirrored the way he always spoke to her in the chamber. Lighthearted. Carefree. Unbothered by rules or scorn.

The disciples faltered. They had expected defiance, a wild beast lashing out. Instead, his obedience left them feeling like they were swinging fists at air. Their effort seemed wasted.

But plans were already forming. A boy this soft, this compliant, would be easy to bleed. All they had to do was wait. The Sect-Competition began tomorrow, and slaves would be swarming everywhere. There would be chances—plenty of them—to corner him again.

Su An hurried him through the corridors, leading him into the exchange hall and then out the Merit Hall’s front entrance. Sect disciples frowned as they passed, muttering curses at the sight of a “slave” using the same path as them—until they realized who it was. The boy. The one the whole Sect had heard about.

But none gained anything from the encounter. Su An acted quickly, steering him toward two Law Enforcement Disciples, exchanging a few words before leading their group away.

Daemon remained unruffled, eyes wide and curious, drinking in every sight around him like an eager child stepping into the world for the first time.

The mountain greeted him with a sight that could drown the senses.

The Ten-Thousand Beasts Mountain spread like a sprawling city carved into stone and forest. Spiraling terraces climbed the ridges, each crowded with stone halls, training arenas, beast-pens, towering pagodas, and countless disciples in ash and yellow robes moving in precise order. Beast-roars echoed from every direction, mixing with the clang of weapons, the roar of waterfalls, the distant thunder of Qi techniques colliding in sparring fields.

Daemon tilted his head back to drink in the view. His black-and-white robe made him stand out immediately—everywhere his eyes turned, gazes followed, judging, scorning. But he only smiled faintly, like a boy strolling through a festival, eyes wide as though this was nothing more than wonder instead of a cage.

“Keep moving,” one of the Law Enforcers barked, though his tone lacked edge. They led him deeper, through a massive stone archway carved with roaring lions and coiling serpents, until they arrived at a squat administrative hall.

Inside, the air was stale with incense and old parchment. Behind a low desk sat an old, decrepit man in grey Outer Elder robes. His skin was paper-thin, stretched over bones, but his eyes gleamed sharp with life. His nameplate on the desk bore the words: Elder Zhou Liang.

Zhou Liang peered over his scroll, studying the boy. “So… this is the one.” His cracked lips curved into something between a smile and a sigh. “You wear that robe now, child. A slave. Don’t let the word crush you. I wore one myself, once.” He tapped his bony chest, his voice growing stronger with memory. “But I endured. I persevered. I climbed, step by step, until I earned this seat.”

He leaned forward, his breath smelling of bitter herbs. “So can you. Don’t let the whispers or the scorn steal your strength. Take it from someone who’s seen worse.”

Daemon met his eyes calmly, then gave a polite bow. He didn’t say anything, but his smile carried more weight than words.

With a flourish of his brush, Elder Zhou wrote his name into the logs, assigning him a number. A slave token was pressed into his palm, etched with his name and digits glowing faintly in red Qi. The weight of it was light, yet carried chains all the same.

Su An lingered in the administrative hall long after the two Law Enforcers departed. She hovered at Daemon’s side, her words soft but insistent, urging him to remain patient, to stay obedient, to wait just a little longer. She promised she would come visit him again—after the Sect-Competition ended.

But in truth, she was only trying to distract him. She knew all too well what thoughts were surely coiling inside his mind. Revenge. That was what kept him still. The only reason he hadn’t lashed out at the jeers and the scorn, the only reason he endured every insult without a word, was because he was waiting. Waiting for the truth. For the names of those he believed had slain his followers.

And Su An could not tell him. Could not admit that his followers were still alive. That secrecy gnawed at her, eating away from the inside out, every time she met his gaze.

At last, she forced herself to say goodbye.

Daemon sent her off with a smile—gentle, warm, impossibly soft for someone bearing such a burden. It lit his childish features with an expression that didn’t belong on a slave, nor on someone shackled by hatred.

Su An froze, stunned. She couldn’t believe it. How could he smile like that, carrying so much weight?

Her heart quivered with admiration. He’s stronger than me… much stronger. Stronger in spirit, in will. He was capable of separating his burning hatred for the murderer of his friends from his bond with her, even though she was a disciple of the Sect that had branded him a slave.

And in that moment, Su An admitted it to herself: Daemon’s strength wasn’t in his body, not in his muscles. It was in his heart.

From there, a senior slave—broad-shouldered, scarred, yet oddly cheerful—beckoned Daemon along. “Come on, lad. I’ll show you to the quarters.” Then he led him out of the Inner Circle by taking a narrow path where they rarely crossed path with yellow robed Disciples. 

The slave quarters were simple stone halls tucked into the far corner of the Outer Circle, practically the servant kitchens and beast stables. Inside, the air smelled of sweat, metal, and faint medicine. To Daemon’s surprise, not all the slaves wore despair on their faces. A handful were sharpening blades, adjusting armor, or quietly cultivating with focused expressions. They looked up when he entered, their eyes narrowing in curiosity.

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