Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World

Chapter 702: Chapter 702 - A Succession War

The forest floor was already painted red.

Four bodies lay scattered across the mossy clearing. Three of them groaned, clutching ribs, holding broken arms, spitting teeth into the dirt. The fourth was still standing. His sword, a mid-grade spirit blade with a faint blue edge, dripped blood onto the ferns. His chest heaved. His knuckles were split. A cut above his left eyebrow leaked a thin line of red down his cheek, curving along his jaw, dripping from his chin.

Xu Ran was nineteen years old and he had never lost a fight in his life.

He was tall for his age. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, the build of a body-tempering cultivator who had spent five years hammering his muscles against iron dummies. His hair was black, cropped short, the kind of practical cut that wouldn’t get grabbed in a clinch. His face was angular, handsome in a hard way, the kind of handsome that made mothers uneasy and daughters curious. He wore the gray and silver robes of the Crimson Peak Academy, the collar torn, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms wrapped in spirit-forged bandages that were now soaked through.

He flicked his sword. The blood slid off the edge.

"That’s four," he said. His voice was steady. Unimpressed. "Who else wants to explain to the branch family why their sons can’t walk home?"

The three on the ground groaned louder. One of them, a heavyset boy with a shattered nose, tried to rise. His elbow buckled. He fell face-first into a root.

"Stay down," Xu Ran said. Not cruel. Factual. "I’m not carrying you."

He turned. The clearing was deep in the Whispering Pine Forest, a half-hour flight from the academy walls. The trees here were old, their trunks wide enough to hide behind, their canopy thick enough to block direct sunlight. The perfect place for an ambush. The perfect place for four branch family disciples to corner the main family heir and teach him a lesson about humility.

The lesson had not gone as planned.

Xu Ran sheathed his sword. His hand went to his ribs. The smallest one, the one who had been fastest, had gotten a kick in before going down. The rib wasn’t broken. Cracked, maybe. He’d know in the morning.

’Four against one. And they still couldn’t do it. Branch family sends their best and their best can’t land a clean hit on me. Is this supposed to be a challenge?’

He started walking. The forest path was narrow, the stones slick with evening dew. The light was fading. The canopy above had turned from green to black, the last rays of sunset filtering through in amber slivers.

He heard the footsteps behind him. Light. Fast. Familiar.

He turned. His hand went to his hilt.

"Relax, Ran," the voice said. Warm. Friendly. The voice of someone he trusted. "It’s just me."

Lin Zhao stepped out from behind a pine trunk. He was tall, lean, with a scholar’s face and soft eyes. His robes were clean. Unmarked. No blood. No dirt. No signs of struggle. He smiled. The kind of smile that had gotten him out of trouble since childhood.

Xu Ran’s hand relaxed on the hilt.

"Zhao," he said. "You missed the party. Four of them. Branch family. They wanted to talk about the succession."

Lin Zhao’s smile widened. He walked forward. His hands were in his sleeves. The posture of a friend, casual, comfortable. "Sounds like it was a good talk."

"One-sided," Xu Ran said. He turned back to the path. "Let’s go. I need to get this cut looked at before Mother finds out and makes it a week-long lecture."

"Wait," Lin Zhao said.

Xu Ran stopped. He looked over his shoulder.

Lin Zhao was three feet behind him. The smile was gone. The soft eyes were different. Hard. The warmth had drained from his face like water from a cracked cup, leaving behind something cold and flat and calculating.

"Ran," he said. "You know I’ve always respected you. We grew up together. Trained together. Ate at the same table."

Xu Ran’s hand tightened on the hilt. "Zhao. What are you..."

"But you’re not the only heir," Lin Zhao said. His voice was still calm. Conversational. "You’re the main family’s son. I’m the branch family’s son. And the branch family has waited seventeen years for the succession council to acknowledge us."

"Zhao..."

"My father has been sect elder for twenty years," Lin Zhao continued. "Twenty years of service. Twenty years of loyalty. And what does the main family offer? A boy. A talented boy, yes. A skilled fighter, yes. But still a boy. A boy who thinks four branch family disciples are a joke. A boy who flicks blood off his sword and asks who’s next."

Xu Ran drew his blade. The blue edge hummed. "Step back, Zhao. Now."

Lin Zhao didn’t step back. He stepped forward. His hand came out of his sleeve. In it was a short blade. Not a spirit sword. A dagger. Dark. Thin. The edge coated with something that shimmered faintly purple in the fading light.

Poison.

"You always were faster," Lin Zhao said. "Stronger. Better with the sword. Better with the girls. Better with the teachers. Better at everything."

The dagger came.

Xu Ran moved. His sword swung. The blade cut air. Lin Zhao had ducked, sliding under the arc, the dagger in his hand tracing a line across Xu Ran’s side. Not deep. But the blade touched skin. The purple shimmer transferred.

Xu Ran felt it. The cold. Spreading from the cut. Through his ribs. Into his meridians. His spiritual energy stuttered. His Core Formation qi, cycling smoothly a moment ago, hiccuped. The cycle broke. The energy scattered.

His legs went weak.

He fell to one knee. His sword, suddenly too heavy, dropped from his fingers. The blue edge dimmed. His vision blurred.

"Why?" he whispered. The word came out thick. His tongue was numb. The poison was fast. Spiritual suppression poison. The kind that sealed meridians, that locked dantians, that turned a Core Formation cultivator into a mortal.

Lin Zhao stood above him. The dagger was in his hand. The smile was back. But it was different now. Not the warm smile of a friend. The thin, tight smile of a man who had done something he had rehearsed a thousand times in his mind.

"You are the main son," Lin Zhao said. "I am the branch. The succession council meets in three days. And the main family’s candidate needs to be... unavailable."

"You’re my best friend," Xu Ran choked. Blood came up. Not from the cut. From inside. The poison was eating his meridians. His body, temper-strengthened, was fighting, but the spiritual suppression was absolute.

"Best friend," Lin Zhao repeated. He tilted his head. "Yes. I suppose I was. Which is why this will look like a branch family ambush. Four attackers in the forest. Your friend tried to save you. Failed. Tragic."

He raised the dagger.

Xu Ran looked up at him. At the face he had known for seventeen years. At the eyes that were no longer soft.

’I’m going to die here. In a forest. Killed by my best friend. Over a succession that I didn’t even want.’

’Mother. I’m sorry.’