The stars had not returned to the sky since the Sage descended.
It wasn't that the heavens were angry.
They were simply… listening.
In the heart of the continent, far from the merchant mansion where the Sage now rested, stood the Celestial Court of Jade Echoes—the most powerful divine tribunal of the mortal realm. It had no army, no soldiers, and yet no king disobeyed it. Formed centuries ago by the surviving descendants of fallen gods and dragon-blooded sages, it existed not to protect, but to balance.
Or so it claimed.
Now, it trembled.
Inside the court's mirror halls, where clouds danced through stained-glass ceilings and every word spoken etched itself into time, thirteen elders sat in a circle. They wore flowing robes woven with skyfire silk, their hair untouched by time. Each held a piece of heaven's law carved onto tablets no mortal could lift.
Their faces, however, were not proud today.
They were… tight.
Wrinkled not by age, but by fear.
A servant rushed in with news, eyes downcast.
"Your Eminences," he said, voice shaking, "The Silent Sword has awakened."
The chamber went deathly still.
Elder Mei narrowed her eyes. "You mean… the Sage?"
"Yes."
"How many did he kill?" asked Elder Wu, cold and sharp.
The servant hesitated. "None, my lord. But… the merchant clans are now kneeling. The Gate of Iron shattered itself the moment he stepped near. And a thousand-year-old curse was dispelled when he blinked."
A pause.
No blood.
No battle.
And still—the world obeyed.
"He is walking again," whispered Elder Hua, her fingers trembling. "After five centuries of stillness… why now?"
None of them answered.
They all knew.
Because he had chosen to care again.
And when a man like that begins to care…
The world breaks to make space.
Meanwhile, the Sage sat beneath the golden wisteria tree in the merchant mansion's back garden. Morning light danced through the petals, making them shimmer like strands of heaven's hair. A slight breeze played with his sleeves as he calmly poured water over a fresh pot of tea.
Lian sat across from him, hugging her knees, her chin resting atop them.
"Why are they afraid of you?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he watched the steam rise.
"They are not afraid of me," he said eventually. "They're afraid of what I've already done."
She tilted her head. "But you didn't even fight them."
"Exactly."
His voice was quiet, but it carried weight.
"I once tore a sun from the sky because a god said mortals weren't worth saving. I walked into a realm made of eternal storms and turned it into a meadow with one breath. I rewrote the last page of the Book of Time with the blood of a corrupt saint."
He looked at her.
"I don't have to fight anymore. I just have to walk."
Lian blinked. "So… what do you want now?"
That was the question.
He smiled gently, eyes glancing at the tea leaves swirling.
"I want peace."
She nodded slowly. "But peace… never lasts, does it?"
"No," he said. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't protect it."
At that very moment, in the Court of Jade Echoes, the thirteen elders had finally come to a decision.
They would not confront the Sage.Not yet.Not directly.
Instead, they summoned The Listener.
An old monk who had once been the Sage's closest friend—before silence separated them.
The Listener was ancient, his robes tattered, his body thin and dry like a preserved scroll. He hadn't spoken in over four hundred years. But today, he was brought to the highest altar of the court, where memory could be touched.
They asked him only one question:
"What does the Sage want?"
The Listener's eyes—milky white and glowing faintly—closed.
He didn't speak.
He breathed.
And the court trembled.
Petals fell from trees that hadn't bloomed in centuries. The mirrors along the walls cracked, but didn't break. In that silence, a single answer echoed through all thirteen minds at once.
"He wants nothing.But if you take from him again…He will remember how to burn."
That night, thunder rolled across clear skies.
No storm came.
But every child in the city dreamed of a man in white robes walking alone, holding a blade that whispered their names.
Not to hurt them.
But to remind them that someone was listening.
The next day, the city gates opened again.
Life returned.
Markets bustled. Birds chirped. Even nobles laughed once more—but all with careful words, with glances thrown at the mountains where the Sage now stayed.
They didn't send guards.
They sent offerings.
Scrolls of rare techniques.Boxes of heavenly fruit.Sealed divine cores from the ancient beast wars.
And one letter.
To the One Who Does Not Ask,We offer these gifts not to buy your favor,But to honor your choice to remain silent.May your blade never rise again—But if it does…Let it be for the world's salvation.
The Sage read it. Folded it.And used it to warm the fire beneath his teapot.
Back in the courtyard, Lian watched him.
"You won't accept their gifts?"
"No," he said, smiling. "They're not gifts. They're apologies disguised as tribute."
She leaned closer. "You're not angry?"
"I've let go of anger."
Her gaze softened. "Then… what will you do now?"
The Sage lifted his teacup.
"I'll drink."
She laughed softly.
And then, her tone turned serious. "What if someone like me… wants to learn? To be stronger? To protect what I love?"
The Sage paused.
Then, ever so gently, he asked, "Do you wish to walk the path of strength… or the path of understanding?"
She frowned. "Aren't they the same?"
He smiled.
"They are… only when your heart is quiet."
A petal fell from the wisteria tree, landing on her lap.
She held it gently.
"I want to understand," she whispered.
The Sage looked into her eyes.
"Then stay. And listen."
That day, she became his first disciple.
Not because she was strong.
But because she asked the right question.
And far above, in the highest layer of heaven, a page in the Book of Fate turned blank. The ink faded.
Because destiny had once written:
The Sage will never teach again.
But now—
He had begun.