Chapter 12: The Relic That Should Not Shine
The relic should not have glowed. Not after centuries of silence.
The Lantern of Transcendence—a sacred artifact once said to illuminate the path to divine ascension—sat in the heart of the Spirit Vault, untouched and unmoved by time. Its golden light hadn't flickered in over four hundred years, not even during the rise and fall of sect masters.
But tonight… it pulsed. Once. Briefly. As if exhaling after a long slumber.
Mu Yelan's breath caught in her throat.
She stood in the Vault's inner sanctum, her white robes dimly lit by the faint glow. The other elders hadn't noticed—yet. They meditated in the outer chamber, unaware that history had just shifted.
She approached the lantern with cautious reverence, her violet eyes narrowing.
Why now?
Her thoughts spun like wind-swept paper talismans.
Only one variable had changed.
Luo Qingshen.
The name echoed in her mind like a forbidden bell chime. The outer disciple who arrived without warning. No history. No background. Just… a face too calm. A voice too quiet. A presence that didn't ripple—it warped.
Her fingers hovered near the relic, feeling the ambient qi twist, responding to her suspicion. Even the Vault felt uneasy.
She clenched her jaw.
"If this truly is because of him… then we've invited more than just a stranger into our sect."
Across the mountain compound, Luo Qingshen sat beneath a peach tree, lost in quiet thought.
The petals fell gently onto his shoulder, catching faint moonlight. In his hand, he held a plain wooden cup of tea—cold now, though he didn't seem to mind.
Nearby, disciples trained under torchlight, shouting names of techniques and unleashing bursts of qi. To them, he was nothing more than another new recruit sitting under a tree.
But the air around him told another story.
Qi flowed differently here. It circled him like a forgotten current finding its source. The ground beneath his feet hummed. Even the roots of the peach tree bent ever so slightly in his direction.
He took a slow sip of tea.
"So the Lantern has stirred…" he murmured softly, as if the breeze had whispered it to him.
He closed his eyes.
A ripple—too faint for others to feel—spread across the sect.
On the outer edge of the compound, a dark figure watched the mountain from the shadow of a broken shrine.
A long cloak rippled in the wind. His face remained obscured beneath a jade mask, its surface etched with forgotten runes. He held no scrolls. No weapon. Only a single cracked spirit stone, blackened and pulsing with faint red light.
"He's here," the figure whispered.
His voice was hollow, like wind howling through an ancient cave.
"The God Who Walks as Mortal…"
From the depths of his robe, he pulled out a parchment—an old prophecy scroll, torn and stained.
When the Lantern blazes once more, the Sealed One shall walk beneath peach blossoms.
And death will follow in golden silence.
The figure clenched the scroll.
"We're too late."
The next morning, the sect buzzed with whispers.
Some claimed a divine pulse had flowed through the Spirit Veins overnight. Others swore they saw the lantern glow. One outer disciple said the peach tree near the eastern pavilion had briefly bloomed out of season—a bad omen.
Elder Mu Yelan, however, said nothing.
Instead, she visited the archives. Alone. Her hands trembling as she reached for a scroll sealed in red wax—one that hadn't been opened in three generations.
It bore a single name:
Qingshen.
That afternoon, Luo Qingshen stood quietly beside a koi pond, his gaze lost in the reflections. Clouds drifted across the surface like memories too old to surface.
Mu Yelan approached in silence, her footsteps barely making sound.
"You're not from any of the border sects, are you?" she asked.
Qingshen didn't turn. "No."
"Then where are you from?"
He let the question hang in the air like incense smoke.
"…I don't remember."
She narrowed her eyes. "Convenient."
"I suppose so."
She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "What did you do before coming here?"
Qingshen's gaze remained on the water.
"I forgot how to live like a god… so I decided to try living as a man."
Mu Yelan froze.
The words were too calm to be a bluff.
"…Are you mocking me?"
He finally turned to face her—eyes deep and unreadable, as if they had witnessed civilizations burn.
"No. I'm just tired of remembering."