The deputy's tone remained calm. After a pause, he spoke, unhurried:
"This case concerns a sealed mind and an unstable artifact. Authority over such matters—especially when tied to unclaimed Seal-rights—requires judgment from at least three major sects and five affiliated houses. Per Clause Forty-Two of joint law."
His words were measured.
Polite.
But each one is a stone in a procedural wall.
Ling Wanzhou showed no reaction.
"The Seal Order falls under Divine Review," he said evenly.
"It overrides regional consensus."
The deputy offered a thin smile.
"Even so, Ningyuan must record the decree through propers. Signatures. Witness chains. You must understand. Such matters require due clarity. We will proceed… with care."
A few of the senior clerks began transcribing.
One slipped quietly from the hall.
Another passed a note down the corridor, toward the outer chambers.
Footsteps echoed softly outside—runners dispatched, fast and precise.
Shen Jin remained motionless.
But he felt it.
Not concern.
Not protection.
They were stalling.
For the Seal.
Not for him.
He raised his eyes. Looked at Ling Wanzhou.
His face was still unreadable.
But he, too, was waiting now.
Watching. Measuring.
Only a moment passed before he turned away.
Shen Jin lowered his gaze, folding his right hand into his sleeve.
The scar still pulsed beneath his palm—like a thread of ink etched into bone, drifting faintly, as if it too could hear the silent battle being fought between protocol… and time.
Ling Wanzhou's voice remained soft.
But something had shifted.
There was a glint in his gaze now—subtle, cold—not sharp like a drawn blade, but sharp like a blade sheathed just under the skin.
He turned to the hall—not to any one person, but to all.
His words were slow. Precise.
"The order stands. Those who obstruct it—under Clause Nine of Review Protocol—may be entered into joint trial under the charge of 'Aiding Refusal to Submit.'"
A breath passed through the chamber.
Several junior officers stiffened.
No one had expected him to say it aloud.
The deputy offered only the faintest nod, his tone neutral:
"Ningyuan will consider that clause with the care it deserves. Under regional customs, we reserve three days for formal consensus."
Ling Wanzhou didn't argue.
He only said:
"If Ningyuan prefers deliberation, the Court may revise the escort structure. I may serve as a personal guardian envoy—not arrest, not containment. Just an escort. Freely judged, once in divine jurisdiction."
He said it gently.
Almost with grace.
Which made it all the sharper.
Shen Jin heard the words—personal escort—and knew exactly what they meant.
It was a common euphemism used by the Lingyuan Council for soft detainment.
No chains. No prison.
But the moment he stepped into that path—he walked beneath the law.
Every step traced.
Every word recorded.
And once at the Court—
Release was never part of the design.
The deputy's brow twitched.
He understood.
Ling Wanzhou had not drawn a blade.
But he had laid one on the table.
A divine blade.
"…Then I must notify the High Magistrate," the deputy said quietly.
Ling Wanzhou gave no reply.
Only looked at Shen Jin.
His lips moved—no sound.
It wasn't a command.
Just a gesture.
One that said:
Choose.
Shen Jin didn't move.
But within him, the Seal trembled faintly.
As if it, too, had heard the call of law—
And was waiting… for the next stroke to fall.
He said nothing.
But within him, something had moved.
The Seal, long dormant, stirred—
Not loudly.
Not with light.
But with pressure.
A silent undertow rising from the base of his mind.
The scar on his hand shifted—its gleam fading into something darker, more internal.
Not fire.
But ink turned inward, threading along the bones of his palm, settling like a quill poised above a page that had not yet been written.
It was responding.
To pressure.
A shape curled within his mind—unformed, waiting, restrained.
He pressed his hand against his robe, fingers tightening—
Not against pain.
But against release.
He knew—
If the Seal reacted openly now, it would justify everything Ling Wanzhou had brought.
So he waited.
Still.
The chamber held its silence.
Neither Ling Wanzhou nor the deputy pressed further.
Outside the hall, however—
A second layer of the Judiciary had already stirred.
From the inner scriptorium, sealed messages were dispatched—coded, marked in official ink, and sent directly to emissaries of the Five Orders and Eight Sects.
Three lines only:
The Ningyuan Judiciary proposes that the case of the Seal
Be submitted to "Five Orders and Eight Sects" for joint review
Presence required within three days, formal deliberation pending.
No name.
Only law.
None dared ignore it.
—
Elsewhere—
Taiqing Sect · Hall of Quiet Observation
Elder Shang closed the scroll with a smile.
"Three days," he mused.
"Plenty of time… to test whether the Seal truly bends the law."
Miaoji Pavilion · Mirror of Stars
Mistress Song stood before a brass mirror.
"This isn't an invitation," she murmured.
"It's a bait."
"But I've long since mapped the shape of the trap."
Withered Lotus Temple · Hall of Silence
Master Mingjue lit incense, eyes closed.
"If the Seal has surfaced," he said,
"then karmic fire has already begun. This journey… may burn or bless."
Southern Wild Gate · Tower of Black Spirits
Wu Dulu barked a laugh as he read.
"To the pit we go. Bring the dream-spider. If we get even half a page of that Seal's trace—it's worth it."
Taixu Dao · Tower of Yang Veil
Master Xuanmo failed to divine the outcome.
So he stood.
"If Shen Jin can truly rewrite law," he said, "the gods won't hold their seats much longer."
—
The Five Orders moved.
The Eight Sects watched. Waiting. Stirring.
Ningyuan, outwardly calm—
had already cast the stone.
And Shen Jin still sat—
Breath even.
Hands folded.
Beneath the incense ash that had not yet fallen.
The fire—
Had yet to speak.
—
The Mirror Wave Study sat in silence.
No wind moved the curtains. The candle did not flicker. Even the city beyond the window seemed submerged—held in the deep, quiet breath before sleep fully settles.
Luo Qinghan sat alone in the side hall.
Before her lay a half-unread scroll, forgotten. Her thoughts had long since drifted elsewhere.
Her eyes were drawn to a soft green glint on the table—her personal mirror. Small. Fixed to a brass stand. It always gave off a gentle golden sheen, no brighter than moonlight.
Tonight, the sheen dimmed.
Slowly. Softly. Until it was gone.
She did not move.
Only one thing silenced that mirror.
A message. Not written. Not summoned.
But delivered through the sect's silent path—a form of mirror-sending only bloodline carriers could perceive. The glyphs would not ink. They would not burn. They would appear, for a breath, only on the inner surface of the mirror's heart.
She tapped the rim once, lightly.
The surface trembled.
Then—
A phrase appeared. Faint. Pale as mist. No signature. No preamble.
"If the Seal cannot be controlled—take the mirror, leave the bearer."
That was all.
Not a letter. Not even a directive. Just a verdict—cold and algorithmic, like something not written by a person, but processed by something older than authority.
She stared. Didn't move.
The line faded.
And in its place, something else surfaced—
A single mark. Small. Subtle. Pressed into the corner of the mirror's edge like wax—but it wasn't wax.
It wasn't drawn, or burned, or etched.
It emerged—a faint grey filament, shaped like the wick of a flame half-consumed, jagged, broken.
She knew that shape.
It wasn't part of any current Jing Sect iconography. She had seen it only once—buried deep in the Trial Archives, in a document marked "RESTRICTED: Experimental Sealing - CODENAME: Grey Candle".
It had been classified under the failed attempts to fuse consciousness layers during the Zhulong Synchrony Trials.
Supposedly, it was dead knowledge. Banned. Burned. Erased.
And yet here it was.
Alive. Glowing. Pressed into her personal mirror.
Her face stayed still.
But something beneath her gaze began to shift.