The morning sun spilled over Azure Peak, gilding the tiled roofs of the sect's halls.
For most disciples, dawn meant morning cultivation or menial chores.
For Lin Yan, it meant pretending nothing had happened last night.
His palm still stung from the cut.
The pearl sat hidden inside a small pouch tucked beneath his robes, its faint warmth pressing against his skin.
Every step he took, he expected someone to stop him, to demand a search. But no one looked twice.
---
By the time he reached the Hall of Records, the courtyard was already bustling. A group of senior disciples stood near the entrance, whispering. One of them glanced at Lin Yan — too quickly, too sharp — before looking away.
He ignored it.
The Hall of Records was the sect's oldest building, and inside it smelled of dust and ink. Scroll shelves lined the walls, with tables set out for copying and cataloguing.
Lin Yan headed straight for the shelves containing the sect's "Cleansed Names" — records of those who had been erased from official history. Usually, the pages were empty, or only bore faint ink marks where names had been struck through.
He pulled down the heavy ledger, flipping through with steady fingers.
Until his hand froze.
There.
On the most recent page, in bold, dark ink — Lin Zhaoran.
His father's name.
---
His breath caught in his throat. That name was supposed to be gone — not just erased, but burned from every record. The elders had made certain of it when his father…
Lin Yan swallowed hard.
What's more, there was no note explaining why the name was restored. No date. No signature from the archivist.
He was still staring when a shadow fell over the page.
"Looking for something, Junior Brother?"
Lin Yan turned. The man standing behind him wore a faint smile, but his eyes were cold — Senior Disciple Zhao Feng, one of the Sect Master's favored pupils.
Lin Yan closed the ledger slowly. "Just… learning more about the sect's history."
Zhao Feng's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Some histories are dangerous to touch."
Then, without another word, he turned and left.
---
Lin Yan replaced the ledger, forcing his hands to remain steady.
His mind was a storm. Why was his father's name back? Who put it there? And what did it have to do with the pearl?
He left the hall and made his way toward the rear gardens, a quiet place where he could think. But when he rounded the corner, he stopped dead.
Someone was already there.
Bai Qian.
She stood with her back to him, the wind teasing strands of her hair. In her hands, she held a folded slip of paper. She turned when she heard his steps, her expression unreadable.
"You went somewhere last night."
Lin Yan's heart skipped. "What makes you think that?"
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Because the pendant is different. It's awake now."
---
He glanced around — no one else in sight. "What do you know about it?"
Bai Qian hesitated, then pressed the folded paper into his palm. "Meet me tonight at the old bell tower. Don't tell anyone."
Before he could ask more, she walked away.
Lin Yan unfolded the paper.
It contained only six words.
They know what you took. Run.
---
All day, he felt eyes on him.
Zhao Feng watched him in the training hall. Two outer disciples whispered when he passed. Even the elders' gazes seemed heavier.
By sunset, he'd almost convinced himself to ignore Bai Qian's warning. Running would only confirm suspicion. But as darkness fell, his unease grew sharp.
The bell tower was on the sect's far edge, near the cliffs. Abandoned for years, it was half-collapsed, its great bronze bell covered in moss.
When Lin Yan arrived, Bai Qian was already there — and she wasn't alone.
A tall, hooded man stood beside her. His voice was deep and rough. "You have something that belongs to us."
---
Lin Yan's fingers tightened around the pearl in his pouch.
"Who are you?"
The man stepped forward, pulling back his hood. His face was marked with faint, glowing lines that shifted like living ink. His eyes — a molten gold — fixed on Lin Yan.
"Your father was my sworn brother. And if you value your life, you'll leave this sect before they finish what they started years ago."
Before Lin Yan could speak, a sharp voice rang out from the shadows.
"Too late for that."
Zhao Feng stepped into the moonlight, flanked by three armed disciples.
His smile was gone.