The Grand Celestial Palace buzzed with an unusual energy, a flurry of preparations for the Grand Conclave that pulsed through its ancient halls. Long Hu found himself no longer confined to solitary gardens or dusty archives, but ushered into chambers filled with attendants bearing silks, brocades, and gleaming spiritual artifacts. Master Tian, ever stoic, supervised the process, his instructions terse but precise.
"The Empress requires you to present... appropriately," Master Tian stated, his gaze sweeping over Long Hu's simple robes. "The Conclave is a gathering of powers. You are her vanguard. Your appearance must reflect her stature."
What followed was a revelation. Attendants fussed over him, applying scented oils to his skin, trimming his now-healthy black hair, and presenting him with a series of garments. They were not cultivation robes, but exquisitely tailored silks and fine brocades in shades of deep sapphire and charcoal, subtly embroidered with symbols of the Empress's domain. The fabrics flowed, accentuating lines he hadn't known his body possessed.
He caught his reflection in a polished spiritual mirror. The gaunt, sickly boy was gone. In his place stood a young man of striking handsomeness, his features refined, his dark eyes sharp with a newfound intensity. The face was vaguely familiar, almost painfully so, stirring a faint, disorienting echo of arrogance and undeniable charm. This was a face of power, a face he instinctively knew had once commanded legions. A chilling memory from Chapter 9 flickered: *his own face, impossibly strong, surrounded by legions.* This wasn't just clothing; it was a reclaiming of a forgotten visage.
"The Conclave is a viper's nest, Apprentice Long Hu," Master Tian's voice cut through his contemplation, bringing him back to the present danger. "Every Heavenly Lord, every Sect Master, will gauge your every move. Their tributes often carry subtle layers. Do not be swayed by charisma, nor intimidated by power. Trust only your unique perception."
A shiver of apprehension traced Long Hu's spine. He was no longer just sensing decay in weeds; he was to expose potential cosmic rot among the cosmos's most formidable beings. The stakes had never been higher.
Just as the final clasp was adjusted on his outer robe, the air in the chamber stilled. A soft, familiar scent of lotus and ozone filled the space. Empress Xianxia stood at the entrance, already in her full Conclave regalia: robes of imperial gold and azure, radiating an aura that transcended mere power, settling into the very essence of divine authority. Her eyes, however, were fixed on him.
Her gaze swept over his newly transformed appearance, taking in every detail. A flicker—brief, almost imperceptible—of something unreadable crossed her features. Surprise? Recognition? A ghost of a memory from a thousand years ago, seeing that face, that charisma, before it turned to betrayal? Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, then relaxed.
"You look... presentable, Apprentice," she stated, her voice cool, yet with an underlying current that resonated only with him. "Remember your purpose. And remember the consequences." She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his, a silent conversation passing between them. "The fate of realms rests upon your unique sight. Do not disappoint me, Long Hu." Her final words were a low whisper, heavy with shared understanding and a chilling, possessive demand.
He held her gaze, a tempest raging within him. Fear of the unknown shadow, the immense pressure of his task, and the overwhelming proximity of this woman who was both his captor and his only hope. He saw the strategic genius in her eyes, the cold calculation, but also a sliver of vulnerability, a shared burden that had unexpectedly bound them. He simply nodded, a silent vow passing between them that transcended words.
The procession to the Conclave grounds was a spectacle of unimaginable grandeur. Empress Xianxia's celestial palanquin, borne by golden dragons of light, floated through the Azure Heaven Realm, escorted by legions of her immortal guards. Long Hu marched silently among Master Tian's retinue, his new attire making him blend in, yet also stand out.
As they approached the Conclave's central dome, a vast structure of crystallized starlight, Long Hu felt a cold prickle on his skin. A spiritual signature, faint but distinct, brushed against his heightened senses. It was familiar, sickeningly so. Not the overwhelming presence of the cosmic shadow itself, but a lingering touch, a subtle resonance he'd felt before. He glanced around, scanning the converging delegations. His eyes landed on a delegation from a distant, ice-shrouded realm, their leader a gaunt figure whose aura felt… *wrong*. He was utterly distinct from Elder Theron, yet the subtle decay he radiated was unmistakable. The cosmic shadow's influence was far more pervasive than he had dared to imagine.
The grand gates of the Conclave pulsed open, revealing a dazzling hall filled with countless powerful beings, each radiating an aura that could crush lesser worlds. Long Hu stepped inside, his heart pounding, his newly refined face a mask of outward calm. He was no longer just an apprentice. He was a silent sentinel, standing on the precipice of a cosmic war, about to face an enemy hidden in plain sight, with the fate of realms resting squarely on his shattered cultivation and unique senses. His ultimate trial had truly begun.