The wedding ceremony was a macabre spectacle, draped in the Moonbone sect's somber grandeur. The great hall, usually reserved for solemn rituals of death and rebirth, was adorned with flickering bone-lanterns and garlands of pale, dried moonlotus blossoms. Nie Yuelian, Empress of Yuegu Zong, stood at the altar, a figure of ethereal sorrow in robes of woven spirit-silk and polished bone, her eyes fixed on the entrance.
Jianyu, as Niánmei, walked down the aisle, his steps light, almost floating. His serene smile was a perfect mask, concealing the cold fury that simmered within. He felt the weight of hundreds of eyes upon him, the collective hope and possessiveness of the Moonbone sect. He was a sacrifice, a battery, a means to an end. But he was also a silent blade, waiting for the opportune moment.
Just as he reached the altar, a sudden, jarring disruption shattered the solemnity. A ripple of sharp, cold qi cut through the hall, freezing the air. The grand doors, carved with ancient symbols, burst open with a resounding crack.
A figure emerged, cloaked in robes of vibrant crimson, a stark contrast to the Moonbone sect's muted palette. It was Gong Xuelan, High Priestess of Chixia Gong, her face unveiled, revealing eyes that glittered with an icy, furious resolve. Her spiritual guards, terrifying in their silent power, fanned out behind her.
"Empress Yuelian," Xuelan's voice, though calm, was laced with a chilling authority that echoed through the bone hall. "I regret to interrupt this… joyous occasion. But the vessel is not yours to claim. It is the property of Chixia Gong. A failed experiment, yes, but its essence remains bound to my sect."
Pandemonium threatened to erupt. Murmurs rippled through the Moonbone court, their solemnity shattered. Yuelian's beatific smile vanished, replaced by a mask of cold fury. "High Priestess Xuelan," she retorted, her voice a low, dangerous growl, "the spirit-aura reading confirmed her as the Moonlotus Saint. She chose to come to us!"
"A choice made under duress, I assure you," Xuelan countered, her gaze flicking to Niánmei, a flicker of possessiveness in her eyes. "The vessel's true origin must be revealed. I demand the Path of Echoing Flesh."
The Path of Echoing Flesh. A forbidden trial, known to expose the true, unvarnished origin of a cultivator, stripping away all illusions. It was a desperate gamble, a political maneuver designed to break Niánmei's facade.
Jianyu, outwardly unfazed, gave a graceful nod. "I accept," he said, his voice as Niánmei, soft and clear, cutting through the tension. He stepped onto the designated pathway, a narrow strip of shimmering, organic material that pulsed faintly, like a living vein.
As he walked, the path reacted. Visions flooded his mind, not his own, but echoes from the vessel's past, from the moment of its creation. He relived the memory of his own death during the experiment, the chaotic qi consuming his body. He saw Gong Xuelan, her face momentarily stripped of its coldness, weeping over his corpse, a rare, fleeting moment of failure and despair. He saw her touch his cold lips, a kiss of morbid fascination. The images were agonizing, visceral, yet he remained outwardly serene, allowing the System to process the raw data.
He emerged at the other end, his aura stable, his perfect facade unbroken. The path glowed, confirming his passage, confirming the truth of his origin, yet his composure had not wavered.
Xuelan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Yuelian stared, her face a mixture of shock and reluctant admiration. The trial had revealed the vessel's true, complex nature, yet Niánmei had endured.
"A draw," Xuelan finally conceded, her voice tight with suppressed rage. "The vessel is too… complex. She will belong to neither sect, for now. She will choose her path."
Jianyu, as Niánmei, offered a polite, enigmatic smile. He was free, for now. But the tension between the two matriarchs was a palpable thing, a silent promise of future conflict. He had survived, exposed a fragment of his truth, and gained a temporary reprieve. But in the eyes of both Xuelan and Yuelian, he saw not freedom, but intensified obsession. He was a prize, a mystery, and a weapon. And he knew, with chilling clarity, that this was just the beginning.