Gu Qingxi tilted her head, examining the pale, unassuming orb adhered stubbornly to her palm. "So… how exactly does one prove this resonance?" she asked the Yu Ling Head Disciple, genuine curiosity in her tone. "Does it need to hatch? Or is simply… feeling something… enough?" Her fingers twitched slightly under the egg's persistent pressure.
The disciple, tall and usually composed, waved a hand dismissively, his attention already drifting towards the exit and the inevitable report to his Master. "Any sign suffices, really. But honestly, the likelihood of it actu—"
His words strangled in his throat.
The final syllable died unfinished as his eyes snapped back to Gu Qingxi's hand. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, with almost comical deliberation, he raised his hand and rubbed his eyes vigorously. When he lowered it, the sight hadn't changed.
The egg, that centuries-dormant mystery, pulsed with a soft, pure white luminescence where Gu Qingxi's fingertips met its shell. It wasn't a flash; it was a gentle, steady glow, like captured moonlight awakening. And as the light pulsed, the egg… shifted. It nestled itself even more firmly into the curve of Gu Qingxi's palm, clinging as if magnetized.
A strange suction held it fast against her skin.
"Huh?" Gu Qingxi frowned, instinctively trying to peel the sticky object off with her other hand. It resisted like warm, particularly adhesive tar. "This thing's got some grip!"
The Yu Ling Head Disciple finally found his voice, a strangled squawk escaping him as he witnessed Gu Qingxi's admittedly rough attempt at detachment. "STOP! Gently! Treat it with GENTLENESS!" Horror painted his face stark white. Master's heart… his life's obsession… if she cracks it like an ordinary egg… He'll render me into spirit beast chow!
Within the Grand Audience Hall:
Chaos, previously simmering, boiled over.
The Lord of Yu Ling Peak rocketed to his feet, his chair screeching backwards. Years of despair vanished, replaced by a blaze of vindicated triumph that illuminated his weathered features. "SHE IS THE ONE! The Destiny-Touched!" he roared, his voice trembling with unbridled emotion. "Her Qi resonates with the primordial! She belongs to Yu Ling Peak! I claim her as my personal disciple!"
"PREPOSTEROUS!" The Lord of Ling Yue Peak shot up like a blade unsheathed, his earlier resentment exploding. "That girl was destined for my sword long before this gimmick! Her roots are Steel and Spirit – a Natural Sword Physique! It is I who will forge her brilliance!" His gaze burned with possessive fury.
"Denied!" Yu Ling's Lord bellowed back. "My claim stands paramount!"
"Absolute garbage!" snapped the Mistress of Liuyun Peak, her icy voice cutting through the tumult. "Liuyun possesses her destiny. Is my voice suddenly silent?!"
"Junior Sister!" Ling Yue's Lord rounded on her, his tone attempting reason but edged with desperation. "Be sensible! She possesses no inherent gift for our Resonance Arts! It was a fluke, a clever trick amplified by a strange tool! Let her join my Peak! Once she's settled, I'll order her to craft you half a dozen of those sound-boxes! Stand down!"
"Denial? Impossible," stated Yu Ling's Lord, adopting an expression of bewildered innocence worthy of his Junior Sister's earlier performance. "I harbor no memory of doubting her potential. Utter fabrication!"
A small, almost timid voice piped up from the head of the table. "Technically... you all did initially suggest she might fit well within Heaven's Chasm Peak..." the Sect Leader ventured weakly.
The combined glare of three furious Peak Lords pinned him to his seat. "WHO AGREED?!" they thundered in terrifying unison.
A deep, profound sigh rattled the Sect Leader's chest. Treacherous, he thought with weary resignation. My own brothers and sister… utterly, shamelessly treacherous. He fought the powerful urge to roll his eyes heavenward. Dignity. Composure. The Sect's Anchor must remain unshaken. He retreated into stoic silence, settling back with the air of one enduring familiar familial chaos.
Below their viewing platform, Lu Tianyu, the loyal Zi Lin disciple, paced like a tiger trapped in a bamboo cage. To him, Gu Qingxi was already kin – his future shimei! Each demonstration of her courage and cunning had filled him with fierce pride. Now, seeing the ravenous wolves circling – especially his own seemingly passive Shifu! – threatened to push him into spontaneous combustion.
Meanwhile, the Lord of Zi Lin Peak remained the eye of the storm. He sat serene as deep mountain stone, sipping fragrant tea. The tempest of competing claims raged around him, yet he uttered not a single word. Only his gaze, locked on Gu Qingxi within the Reality Mirror, held a warmth that deepened with every passing second, a silent, utterly proprietary satisfaction.
Inside the Testing Chamber:
Gu Qingxi glared at the stubbornly adhered egg. She gave her hand an experimental shake, testing the limits of the egg's adhesive grip. Plop. Thud. It remained firmly plastered.
"AIIIIIEEE!" The Yu Ling Head Disciple's shriek was pure terror. He leaped forward instinctively, hands fluttering uselessly. "DON'T! Mercy! You must show it mercy! What if it falls?! What if it SHATTERS?! My life hinges on its integrity!"
"Then how, exactly, do I extricate myself?" Gu Qingxi demanded flatly, abandoning the fruitless shaking. "It's not exactly practical for swordplay."
The Head Disciple mopped his suddenly sweat-drenched brow. "I... I genuinely don't know," he admitted, his voice hoarse with panic and awe. "But the resonance is undeniable. You... you must accept its presence. Guard it. Safeguard it! I must report to Shifu immediately!" He stared at the egg with reverence, yet utter helplessness. "For now, it appears it belongs… with you." The final words held a sense of profound, yet terrifying, significance.
Gu Qingxi eyed the egg, its faint glow still discernible against her palm. "Fine," she agreed with pragmatic resignation. Sticky luggage it is. She examined the smooth surface critically. "But seriously, what is this creature?"
"My Lord Yu Ling… only he knows its secrets," the disciple confessed, lowering his voice as if guarding a sacred truth. "But know this: it is beyond precious. You must nurture it. Handle it with infinite care. Force," he stressed, meeting her eyes with absolute solemnity, "is anathema."
Force is off the table. Soft tactics it is, then.
Gu Qingxi shifted her approach. Her voice dropped, adopting a smooth, almost crooning cadence she'd perfected observing various unsavory types in her market days. "Listen, little one," she murmured, stroking the shell with feather-light fingertips, pure sincerity infused with flawless artifice. "You cling like this, and how am I supposed to wield my sword? How can I shield you from harm if my hands are bound? Hmm?" Her logic was unassailable. "I won't banish you to some cold Spirit Beast Pouch, promise. Just a simple fabric bag, tied close to my heart. Warm. Secure. You wouldn't lose my presence for a moment. Think it over?"
A low thrum vibrated through the shell. Then, to Gu Qingxi's astonishment and relief, the egg detached. It didn't fall. Instead, it… rolled. It rolled playfully across her open palm, nudging gently against her fingers like a cat craving affection, radiating unmistakable waves of contented acquiescence.
The Yu Ling Head Disciple gaped, utterly dumbfounded. Years of silent dormancy… Master's whispered laments of fading vitality… and this? It wasn't just alive; it was playful! Intelligent! And utterly susceptible to sweet words! He stared at Gu Qingxi, a dawning realization washing over him. This young mistress… she possesses an undeniable gift. Not for beast-taming techniques, perhaps, but for the fundamental Art of Persuasion.
With reverence mixed with profound gratitude that his skull remained intact, the Head Disciple watched as Gu Qingxi borrowed a small, sturdy pouch from the equally bewildered Xu Baozhu. Carefully, she nestled the now-cooperative egg inside. The pouch found its place securely tied at her hip, nestled against her robes.
The Final Seal: Heart's Interrogation
One chamber remained for the final twenty-one. It was unadorned stone, lit only by a single glowing rune etched into the ceiling. Inside, an elder of profound stillness awaited each candidate. His eyes, ancient as mountains, saw through youthful posturing. He stroked his long, white beard as the candidate settled, then delivered the question that sealed their path:
"A vile Qi-Drainer holds a single hostage – a defenseless mortal. Simultaneously, five others writhe within the dying embers of his corrupted Soul-Grinding Array. You arrive. You possess power sufficient only to shatter one barrier before the draining completes. Choose: Save the one in hand? Or liberate the five trapped in the cage? Where does your resolve lead your blade?"
The moral landscape offered no shelter. Each path, meticulously presented, opened onto a vista of inevitable loss.
Many faced the question, their expressions hardening into the determined mask of consequence. The logic was brutal, mathematical. Save the greater number. Sacrifice the one. They chose swiftly: the five.
Xu Baozhu found herself facing the stoic elder. She bit her plump lower lip until it turned white. Her cheeks flushed; her eyes darted away. The simple, awful arithmetic tangled in her gut. The burden of choosing… it felt like being asked to carve away pieces of her own soul. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
"I…" she stammered, her voice thick. "...I refuse." The admission escaped as a barely audible whisper. "I refuse this choosing."
She could not. Would not. Both outcomes tasted like poison.
In the next identical stone chamber, Gu Qingxi sat across from the same ancient figure. His quiet presence filled the small space like deep water.
She met his gaze, steady, unflinching.
The elder leaned forward slightly, the ghost of an implacable smile touching his lips. His voice, when it came, was a low rustle of dead leaves.
"So. How will you choose?"