The Star Ruins Emperor

The cold pool behind Qingyun Sect was shrouded in a faint blue mist all year round. Lin Yi gripped the chipped iron axe in his hand, his fingernails digging deep into his palm. He stared at his reflection in the pool, at the face flecked with wood shavings. Across the clean chin that should have belonged to a seventeen-year-old boy was a stark, dark-red whip mark. "A servant disciple should know his place." Steward Zhao's cold sneer from that morning still echoed in his ears, as did the python-hide whip soaked in brine