The Sanctuary was quiet once the Elders left, their footsteps fading into the stone. Xu Wuzhou remained alone on the cracked altar, every nerve taut.
He was still alive.
They believed. For now.
But belief was fragile. Soon, they would expect more than words. They would expect results.
The Seed stirred in his chest, cold as a second heartbeat. Its whisper pressed against his mind: Deceive. Control. Survive.
He touched his palm against the altar where his blood had spilled. The stone no longer pulsed, but faint warmth lingered there.
I cannot win by strength. Only by control of information.
When the council reconvened the following night, Xu Wuzhou entered later than them, deliberately keeping them waiting. They stood in silence, like officers waiting for a general.
He sat on the altar and let his gaze move from one to the next.
"Report."
Mo, as ever, was the first. He knelt. "Patrols sighted along the eastern ridge. Azure torches. Six cultivators, all Foundation rank. Rhythm steady — one circuit every seven days. They avoid the Bleeding Lake. Afraid of it."
Xue's lips curved faintly. "They fear what they do not understand."
Xu Wuzhou tapped the altar once, a scholar's habit turned into a gesture of command. "Good. Continue."
Yan shuffled forward, sparrow perched on his shoulder. Its glassy eyes reflected the candlelight. "Sparrows flew. One tunnel collapsed. The other two open. Vault holds twenty-six corpses intact. Ready. The half-buried vault will take longer. Stones heavy."
Xu inclined his head. "Catalog them. Do not deploy until ordered."
Yan's grin widened, chains rattling. "They wait, Lord. They wait."
Xue adjusted her veil. "I went to the wells. Recovered five tubes. Each still sealed. Names of orthodox collaborators in Ashveil Kingdom. One name repeats often — Magistrate Shen of the southern trade post. He funneled coin to the Pavilion once. He still holds office."
Xu's mind sharpened instantly. An orthodox magistrate compromised. That is leverage.
He kept his expression flat. "Useful. Keep that knowledge sealed. No movement until we decide how to exploit it."
Finally, the Black Envoy spoke. His voice was low, even. "The Ash Key is prepared. Blood was required. It waits your command."
Xu Wuzhou considered this. The Pavilion was bound to the Sanctuary, but with the Ash Key, he could let them move. Yet each use carried risk. The orthodox watched the Ashlands closely.
He let silence weigh, then said: "The Key will be used sparingly. We reveal nothing until forced."
All four inclined their heads.
He leaned forward slightly. "The Azure Sky garrison. Their Watcher Envoy — do we have his name?"
Mo shook his head. "Not yet. He avoids showing himself. Operates through deputies. But his patrols are precise. Calculated."
Xu Wuzhou's jaw tightened. A man trained to see deception. Exactly what I must avoid.
He asked evenly, "Strength?"
The Envoy answered. "Likely Nascent Soul. They would send nothing weaker."
Xu's stomach sank. Against such a man, even the Pavilion's Elders might hesitate. Against him, Xu Wuzhou had no chance. He hid his fear behind stillness.
"Then we avoid him," he said. "For now."
Xue arched a brow. "Avoidance is survival. But survival without ambition is only waiting for the blade."
Xu Wuzhou met her gaze, unblinking. "Survival is position. Position is leverage. Ambition without leverage is suicide."
The chamber fell silent. Even she bowed her head.
Later, when the council dispersed, Mo lingered. He stepped closer, his expression sharp.
"You command as though you never left, Lord. Yet your words cut differently than before."
Xu Wuzhou kept his voice flat. "Adaptation is survival. The world changes. I change with it."
Mo studied him, then inclined his head. "Good. The others may hunger for blood, but I value caution. I will bring you maps of every patrol within the fortnight."
When Mo was gone, Xu Wuzhou allowed himself to exhale. He suspects. But suspicion cuts both ways. He thinks I am adapting, not ignorant. That is an advantage I must keep.
Two nights later, the reports returned.
Mo unfurled a crude map across the altar, sketched in ash and charcoal. Patrol lines, Citadel routes, watchfires. "Their pattern repeats every thirty days. Gaps exist — two hours each circuit. Enough for movement, if needed."
Yan cackled. "Then we strike in the gaps. Cut them. Bind them. Use them."
Xu raised a hand. "No. We are not exposed yet. To strike now is to invite Heaven's gaze."
Yan's grin faltered. He looked disappointed but bowed his head.
Xue placed one of the recovered bone-tubes onto the altar. "Magistrate Shen. His name ties to smuggling routes. He still writes accounts, still bribes soldiers to look away. A soft throat to squeeze."
Xu tapped the tube with one finger. "Not yet. We hold this blade until it cuts deepest."
The Envoy spoke. "Caution keeps us invisible. But too much caution breeds rot. When will you move, Lord?"
Xu Wuzhou let silence hang. Every second made his next words weightier. Finally, he said:
"When the orthodox strike elsewhere. When their attention shifts. Then we move in shadow, and no one sees."
Mo nodded slowly. "Strategic."
Xue's smile returned. "Cold. But cold knives cut deepest."
Yan muttered to himself, chains rattling. "Waiting, waiting. But when the gates open, oh… the children will sing."
That night, Xu wandered the Sanctuary again, studying the Ash Numerals etched into the pillars. He counted them, noting the uneven spacing, the differences in depth. Each was deliberate.
Marks of councils past? Or warnings?
The Seed whispered: Every Lord counted. None survived.
Xu Wuzhou clenched his fist. "I am not them."
The whisper laughed softly in his mind.
Three days later, Mo returned with another report. "The Watcher Envoy's men executed two smugglers near the Ashen Plains. Burned them with azure fire. They suspected heresy."
Xue's tone was light. "Did they speak our name?"
Mo shook his head. "No. They believed the men tied to the Crimson Sabers."
Xu Wuzhou's thoughts sharpened. A scapegoat. An opportunity.
He said calmly, "Then let them keep believing it. If Heaven hunts Sabers, we breathe easier. Feed the fire when possible."
Mo's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Understood."
As the council ended, Xu Wuzhou rose from the altar and looked over them all.
"Strength will come. But not yet. For now, we are dust beneath Heaven's heel. Dust survives because it hides in every crack, every shadow. Dust endures when stone is broken."
The words were not grand. They were strategy dressed in metaphor. The Elders bowed their heads, each interpreting it as wisdom.
Xu Wuzhou hid the tremor in his hands. He had no cultivation, no certainty, no safety. Only lies and the will to make them truth.
And as the council dispersed, he told himself again and again:
Dormancy is a blade.