As the Sword Saint's words hung in the air like a sentence, Lin Feng's voice cut through the silence, steady and clear.
"But that is what makes us human, Sect Leader."
Hong Ye paused mid-stride. He did not turn, but the line of his shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. A soft, dismissive snort was his only immediate reply—the sound of a mountain acknowledging, but not agreeing with, the philosophy of a single stone. He took two more steps, the distance between them growing.
It was then that Elder Lan moved, her form a flash of frost-white as she positioned herself beside Lin Feng, a silent, solid bulwark. Her voice cut through the tension, cold and sharp enough to draw blood.
"Sect Leader."
The single title was an accusation. Hong Ye stopped, glancing back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"I was prepared to draw my blade," she stated, her black eyes boring into him without a flicker of hesitation. "I thought you intended to execute my one and only disciple." Her gaze was a challenge, a declaration that such an act would have started a war. "The least he deserves for surviving your… assessment… is a reward."
The Sword Saint turned fully to face her, a flicker of something complex—amusement, respect, profound irritation—passing through his weathered features. "Always pushing, Elder Lan," he said, his tone a mix of exhaustion and concession. "And it seems your disciple has learned the same talent." He sighed, the sound like wind over high cliffs. "Very well. He may take any one skill, pill, or artifact from the Sect's Sacred Vault." He paused, his gaze shifting to Lin Feng, weighing the political storm the boy had unwittingly summoned. "No. Take three. The phenomenon he created was seen from the Imperial Palace. He will be summoned. When he stands before the Emperor, the foundation our sect has provided him must not appear… lacking."
With that final, weighty pronouncement, his form blurred and vanished, leaving behind only the echo of his authority and the scent of ozone and old stone.
The moment the Sword Saint's presence vanished, the atmosphere shifted from a tribunal to a gathering of intrigued predators. Elder Lan turned her head a fraction, her obsidian eyes settling on Lin Feng.
"See?" she said, her voice a low, precise chill. "You've earned a reward. And the Emperor's attention. Troublesome, but… noteworthy."
A booming laugh shattered the lingering solemnity. "Noteworthy?" Elder Bao guffawed, his butter knives clattering with his mirth. "Sister Lan, understatement is an art form with you! The boy didn't just pass a test, he rewrote it! The world will know his name before the week is out! A man who changes the sky is not a secret one keeps for long!"
Before the echoes of the laugh had faded, a heavy footfall signaled Elder Feng's approach. He stomped over, his lightning-scarred arms crossed, before uncrossing one to clap a thunderous hand onto Lin Feng's shoulder. The impact was like a minor tribulation, forcing Lin Feng to brace his feet to avoid stumbling.
"Bah! The Sect Leader's already given his approval! That's all the politics we need!" Elder Feng's voice was a thunderclap, but his eyes, blazing with a hunter's intensity, were fixed on Lin Feng. "But boy, what is this Qi? It's… magnificent! Raw, untamed, and utterly new! Why was a monster like you hidden away? If I'd known, I would have fought Sister Lan for you myself!" There was a genuine, roaring frustration in his admission, the lament of a master who had almost missed the perfect piece of unrefined ore.
From a pool of coalescing shadows, Elder Xiu materialized a few feet closer, her presence a sudden silence. Her blindfolded face tilted, "looking" at Lin Feng as if he were a complex knot of fate.
"Sister Lan," she began, her voice soft as a spider's step. "Would you be… amenable… to lending me your disciple for a few days? I would very much like to… understand the threads that weave his new existence. To see how this new pattern interacts with the sect's grand tapestry."
Elder Lan did not turn. She did not even blink. But the air around her dropped several degrees, and her voice fell to a whisper that was deadlier than any shout.
"No."
The single word was an absolute, a law carved into ice. It held no room for negotiation, no space for curiosity. It was the final word.
Elder Xiu did not protest. She simply offered a small, knowing smile, as if she had expected nothing else, and retreated back into the shadows from which she came.
Elder Lan's "No" was the final word, a dismissal that slammed the door on the day's chaos.
Elder Bao was the first to break the ensuing silence, his jolly facade firmly back in place, though his eyes still gleamed with avarice. "Three items from the Sacred Vault!" he chortled, shaking his head in wonder. "Kid, if you find any recipe scrolls or a particularly potent jar of Spirit-Souring Nectar, you know where to find me! Drunken Sword Peak's kitchens are always open for a trade!" With a final, cheerful wink, he shot into the sky on a current of shimmering air, his twelve knives trailing behind him like a comet's tail of cutlery.
Elder Feng lingered a moment longer, his thunderous energy a stark contrast to the settling dust. He gave Lin Feng one last, appraising look, a master blacksmith judging a blade of unknown metal. "Remember this feeling, boy," he grunted, not unkindly. "The feeling of your power, truly yours. Nurture it. Don't let the politicians and the schemers," his eyes flicked to where Elder Xiu had vanished, "temper its edge into something polite." He stomped a foot, and a crack of thunder announced his departure, leaving the scent of ozone in his wake.
As the towering figures of the Inner Sect Elders vanished, the dam of silence shattered. The disciples and minor officials, who had been holding their breath in collective awe, erupted into a frantic, buzzing hive of speculation. The air itself thickened with the birth of legends and the venom of envy.
"Did you see?" a young disciple gasped, his eyes wide as he clutched his friend's arm. "He didn't even kneel! He spoke back to the Sword Saint!"
Nearby, a group of senior disciples stood in a stiffer, more silent cluster. Their faces were masks of forced composure, but their knuckles were white where they gripped their sword hilts. One of them, a man with a scar over his brow, finally spat on the ground, the sound lost in the din. "Three items from the Sacred Vault for breaking the rules and disrespecting his superiors," he hissed to his companions. "This rewards arrogance. What does that teach the rest of us who follow the path with diligence?"
His words were a spark to tinder. "He said 'she'!" a female disciple from the Alchemy Department whispered, her curiosity overriding her fear. "Who is 'she'? Does the monster have a lover?"
A minor official, still trembling from the spiritual pressure, shook his head in disbelief. "Forget that! Did you see Elder Lan? I thought she was going to draw her sword on the Sect Leader for him! Who is this disciple?"
From another part of the crowd, a voice laced with cold envy cut through the chatter. "A Foundation Establishment brat, and he gets an audience with the Emperor? While we train for decades in obscurity? It's a farce."
Amidst this symphony of awe, shock, and frantic gossip, a chorus of discordant notes scraped against Lin Feng's heightened senses. They weren't just sounds, but feelings—a bitter counter-melody to the prevailing wonder. His new vision, which saw the world as a tapestry of flowing energy, painted the crowd in hues of resentment.
Most were washed in the pale yellow of shock and the silver-white of admiration. But scattered throughout were pockets of ugly, volatile color. From the scarred senior disciple, he felt that spike of pure, virulent jealousy, so hot and sharp it felt like a brand. From another direction, a colder, more calculating envy, a deep green poison that calculated his worth and found his rise to be a personal offense. There was hatred, too—a crackling, bloody crimson from a disciple in dark blue robes who saw his power as a blasphemy against the natural order.
He didn't need to identify the individual sources. He could taste the collective bitterness—the acrid flavor of qi corrupted by inferiority and spite. A faint, cold smirk touched his lips as he glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes sweeping the dispersing crowd without a flicker of concern.
Let them seethe, he thought, the silent judgment of his new power settling over him like a mantle. Let them choke on their envy. Their resentment was as insignificant as the dust settling around his feet, and just as easily swept away.
The Arena Master stood apart, his single eye wide with a mixture of horror and awe. He looked from the unconscious ape being hauled away, to the gaping hole in his arena's wall, to the open sky where the dome used to be, and finally to the shirtless disciple who had caused it all. He simply shook his head, a man whose entire understanding of power and the natural order had been rendered obsolete in a single afternoon.
And amidst the chaos, the minor elder in the plum robes was a statue of fervent devotion. She had sunk to her knees, her hands pressed tightly over her heart as if to keep it from beating out of her chest. Tears of pure, unadulterated joy streamed down her face as she watched Lin Feng, her gaze unwavering. He was not just a disciple; he was a scripture of divine retribution and beauty, and she had borne witness.
Soon,the last of the major powers had departed, and the crowd, still casting long, complex looks behind them—a mix of awe, envy, and fear—began to thin, leaving the space outside the ruined arena quiet once more.
The wind picked up, whistling through the new openings in the arena wall and carrying away the dust of destruction. The blue sky overhead was serene, a stark contrast to the devastation just behind them.
Lin Feng was left standing alone with his master amidst the ruins of the arena, where the final judgment had taken place.
The current had flowed, and it had left a new landscape in its wake. And for the first time since he had opened his eyes to a world remade, there was a semblance of quiet.
The late afternoon sun cast long, deep shadows from the shattered arena, painting the grounds in hues of gold and violet. The silence between them as they left was not the comfortable quiet of Veiled Silence Peak, but a new, charged thing. The wind carried the distant, fading buzz of a thousand rumors, but here, it was just master and disciple.
Elder Lan spoke first, her voice cutting through the quiet without ever raising in volume. "You have reached Foundation Establishment." It was not a question, but a verdict. "Finally. The tedious part is over. Now, your real training begins. Swords. Movement techniques. The arts that are more than just feeling the flow of qi." She glanced at him, her obsidian eyes reflecting the clear sky. "Do not expect it to be easier than sitting still. It will be worse."
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Lin Feng's lips. "I'd be disappointed if it wasn't, Master."
She gave a slow, deliberate nod, as if his answer had passed some unspoken test. Her gaze, sharp enough to flay skin from bone, then scanned him from head to toe. "The damage you took from the beast is gone," she stated, her tone utterly flat. "Not merely healed. There are no lingering weaknesses in the tissue, no subtle imbalances in the meridians. It is… excessively thorough. I suppose 'someone' won't have to waste their energy fussing over a broken disciple now."
The pointed remark was a needle, precisely aimed. It prompted an immediate, almost reflexive reaction. Lin Feng's hand went to his chest, fingers pressing against the place where a rib had surely cracked. He rolled his shoulder that had been wrenched and bruised, his movements quick and efficient, searching for the ghost of that pain. There was nothing. Not even the faintest echo of stiffness. His body felt… perfectly aligned. As if every cell had been disassembled and put back together with flawless precision.
A quiet, internal sigh of relief, more profound than any he had ever felt, settled within him.
'The Qi of Nothingness... it didn't just awaken,'he realized. 'It reconstituted me. It fixed what was broken.'
It wasn't just about the physical wounds. It was about being whole.
Elder Lan watched his silent self-inspection, her expression once again an unreadable mask of winter. "It seems your new power is a fastidious housekeeper," she said, the words laced with a cold, dry irony. "A useful trait. See that you keep the rest of your affairs in similar order. The mess you make from now on will be of a different magnitude entirely."
The profound realization of his wholeness crystallized into a single, urgent thought.
"I need to find new clothes before I see her," Lin Feng muttered, more to himself than to his master, his brow furrowed in genuine consternation. He looked down at his bare torso and torn trousers, coated in dust and dried blood. "She'll complain about the state of these for a week."
It was a small, mundane concern, a stark and humanizing counterpoint to the god-like display he had just concluded.
Elder Lan watched him for a heartbeat, her expression impassive. Then, with a fluid motion, her hand passed through the air. There was no flash of light, only a subtle ripple in space as she retrieved an item from her spatial ring. It was a folded set of robes—simple, high-collared, and in the same pale white-grey as the one he had been given earlier.
She tossed them to him without a word.
Lin Feng caught them, his fingers tracing the flawless, minimalistic seams. It was an exact replica. He didn't ask how or why she had a spare ready. Some questions, when posed to Elder Lan, were better left unspoken. He simply pulled the outer robe on over his torn clothes, the fabric settling against his skin with a familiar, cool weight.
The moment the last tie was secured, he moved.
He did not offer thanks or farewell. He simply broke into a sprint, his body becoming a pale-grey blur against the late afternoon landscape. His feet hit the first of the golden, transparent stairways that arched between the peaks, the spiritual constructs humming faintly under his passage. He was a arrow shot from a bow, his trajectory unwavering—straight towards Medicine Soul Peak.
Elder Lan stood motionless, a statue of frost and silence, watching him diminish into the distance. The wind caught a few strands of her ink-black hair as he disappeared into the shimmering mists that wreathed the higher peaks.
"So impatient," she murmured to the empty air, the words so soft they were stolen by the breeze almost instantly.
A beat of silence passed. Then, her voice, sharp and clear as a shard of ice, cut across the vast distance without seeming to rise in volume at all, carrying perfectly to the retreating figure.
"Do not forget. Be at my pavilion first thing tomorrow morning to claim your reward."
The command delivered, her form seemed to lose its substance, dissolving from the bottom up into a wisp of cold, silver mist that was swiftly scattered by the wind, leaving no trace that she had ever been there at all.
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