**Chapter 10 – Three Days of Fragile Light**
The first day passed in uneasy quiet.
Bright Peak felt like a held breath. Patrols doubled along the outer walls, but no arrows flew. Ming Flame scouts watched from distant ridges—black silhouettes against the morning mist—yet kept their distance. Inside the pavilions, orthodox disciples trained in subdued silence, glancing toward the western guest wing where Lin Wuji now resided openly, no longer under guard.
He spent the morning alone in a small meditation courtyard behind the Wudang guest quarters. A single ginkgo tree stood at its center, leaves golden despite the season, as though refusing autumn's command. Lin Wuji sat beneath it, both weapons laid flat before him on a clean silk cloth.
He did not grip their hilts. Instead he extended both palms upward, fingers spread, and simply *invited*.
Golden threads drifted from the Heavenly Sword—fine as spider silk, warm as sunlight on still water. Crimson wisps rose from the Dragon Slaying Saber—thicker, hotter, carrying the faint scent of scorched earth and old blood. They met in the space between his hands, twining slowly, testing.
No pain this time. Only a gentle expansion in his chest, like lungs learning to breathe deeper than they ever had.
He felt the phoenix essence: vast, luminous, yearning for order without tyranny.
He felt the dragon essence: raw, defiant, raging against chains it never asked to wear.
Together they whispered—not commands, but memories.
A celestial court long ago.
A forbidden love between a phoenix envoy and a young dragon prince.
Heaven's wrath.
The tearing apart.
The forging of punishment into legacy.
Lin Wuji opened his eyes when the sun reached noon.
The threads had formed a small, perfect orb between his palms—half gold, half crimson, slowly rotating like a miniature taiji symbol. It hovered there, stable, neither growing nor fading.
He exhaled.
This was no union of blades.
This was the beginning of reconciliation inside a single mortal frame.
---
Afternoon brought Zhou Qingruo.
She found him still beneath the ginkgo, the orb now dimmed to a soft glow between his fingers. She carried a bamboo tray: steamed buns, clear broth, a small pot of mountain tea.
"You haven't eaten since yesterday," she said, setting the tray down beside him.
He smiled faintly. "I forgot."
She knelt across from him, careful not to disturb the floating orb.
"May I see?" she asked.
He extended his hands slightly. The orb drifted closer to her—curious, almost playful.
Zhou Qingruo's breath caught. She reached out one finger, not quite touching.
"It's beautiful," she whispered. "Like… dawn and dusk holding hands."
Lin Wuji watched her face in the golden light.
"Qingruo," he said quietly. "If this path ends the way the essences showed me—if I become nothing so the world can choose freely—you need to promise me something."
Her eyes lifted to his. Already glistening.
"Don't."
"I have to say it."
She shook her head fiercely.
"Then say it later. When there's no other choice. Right now, let me pretend we have more than three days."
He reached across the small space and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His fingertips left a faint trail of warm gold light on her skin; it faded slowly, like a blessing.
"Alright," he murmured. "Later."
They ate in companionable silence, sharing the tea while the orb rotated between them like a third presence—watchful, patient.
---
Evening brought Zhao Min.
She appeared without announcement, slipping past the outer guards as though they were statues. She wore no cloak now—just black silk robes bound at the waist with a crimson sash, hair pinned simply with a single jade hairpin. No guards. No weapons visible.
She stopped at the courtyard entrance, leaning against a pillar.
"Am I interrupting a tender moment?" she asked lightly.
Zhou Qingruo stiffened. Lin Wuji merely looked up.
"You're not interrupting," he said. "You're expected."
Zhao Min raised an elegant brow.
"Expected? How flattering."
She stepped inside, circling the ginkgo tree once before settling on a low stone bench opposite them. Her gaze fixed on the hovering orb.
"So that's what happens when phoenix and dragon stop trying to kill each other," she mused. "Pretty. Almost disappointingly peaceful."
Lin Wuji regarded her calmly.
"You didn't come to mock."
"No." She leaned forward, elbows on knees, suddenly serious. "I came to offer you an alternative."
Zhou Qingruo's hand drifted toward her sword hilt. Zhao Min noticed but ignored it.
"Three days is generous," Zhao Min continued. "But my father grows impatient. The dynasty smells weakness in this stalemate. If you truly want to break the cycle, you need leverage. Real leverage."
She reached into her sleeve and produced a small scroll—black silk, sealed with the Azure Dragon crest in molten gold.
"Give me your word—your true word—that you will not use these weapons against the throne. In return, I can guarantee safe passage for you and anyone you choose to take with you. Anywhere in the Nine Provinces. Beyond them, even. No pursuit. No assassins. A clean slate."
Lin Wuji looked at the scroll, then back at her.
"And if I refuse?"
Zhao Min smiled—slow, almost sad.
"Then dawn after tomorrow brings war again. Larger this time. My father doesn't bluff."
Zhou Qingruo spoke before Lin Wuji could answer.
"You would let thousands die just to force his hand?"
Zhao Min's gaze flicked to her.
"I would let thousands die to keep my family alive. Same as you would for yours, Emei sword maiden."
Silence.
Lin Wuji finally spoke.
"I'll consider it," he said. "But not tonight."
Zhao Min rose gracefully, tucking the scroll away.
"Wise. Sleep on it. Dream of choices that don't end in ash."
She paused at the courtyard gate, looking back over her shoulder.
"One more thing, fulcrum. If you do choose oblivion… make sure it's worth it. Because the rest of us still have to live in whatever world you leave behind."
She vanished into the twilight.
Zhou Qingruo exhaled shakily.
"She's dangerous."
"She's honest," Lin Wuji corrected gently. "That's worse."
He let the orb drift back between the weapons. It settled, dimming.
Night fell.
The second day would bring more tests—more visions, more temptations, more cracks in the fragile peace.
But for now, beneath the ginkgo tree, two people sat close enough to share warmth, pretending the world could wait just a little longer.
(End of Chapter 10)