The chamber was dim, lit by a single lantern whose flame flickered softly against carved wooden walls. Haotian sat cross-legged on the bed, his breath steady, though the lines of strain had not left his face.
A light knock came at the door.
"Enter," he said simply.
The door slid open, and Yin Shuyue stepped in. Her veil was in place again, but her movements were hesitant, her fingers tightening faintly at her sleeves as though uncertain why she had come.
For a moment she stood silently. Then, gathering herself, she walked to him and stopped at the side of his bed.
Her voice was soft, but carried a rare edge. "Why did you do it?"
Haotian raised his brows slightly. "Do what?"
Her eyes lowered, veiled lashes shadowing the faint tremor beneath. "…Carry me. In that way."
The air grew still.
She had cultivated the Heart-Sealing Art for years, binding her emotions in frost and silence. Yet since that moment—since his arms had lifted her from the battlefield, her body pressed against his—her heart had not been still. She could not understand the warmth that lingered, the way her breath had caught, the way she had clung to him without thought.
Now, faced with him, the memory surged again.
Haotian regarded her quietly. "Because you were injured. Because you protected me. Because in that moment, leaving you behind was unthinkable."
Her fingers tightened further at her sleeve. "That… was unnecessary. The sect would have tended to me. Carrying me like—like that… why would you—"
Her words broke, the seal within her heart straining against unfamiliar weight.
Haotian leaned back slightly, his expression calm, his voice steady. "Would you rather I had left you bleeding in the snow?"
Her breath caught. She looked up at him sharply, but his gaze was unwavering.
"Shuyue," he continued, "you risked your life to shield me. That is not something I will forget, nor something I will answer with cold courtesy. If carrying you shamed you… then forgive me. But I will not apologize for protecting those who protect me."
Silence stretched between them.
Shuyue's lips parted, but no words came. Her heart ached strangely, unfamiliar, as though some part of the seal she had cultivated for years had cracked beneath the weight of his words. She turned her gaze aside, her voice trembling just faintly.
"…You are reckless."
A ghost of a smile touched Haotian's lips. "Perhaps. But sometimes recklessness is the only path left."
She said nothing more. Her fingers loosened from her sleeves at last, though her veil still hid her expression.
When she turned to leave, her steps faltered just slightly at the door. Her voice drifted back, quiet but lingering.
"…Thank you."
The door closed softly behind her.
Haotian sat in silence, the faintest echo of her words warming the cold edges of his exhaustion.
The corridor outside was quiet. Frosted lanterns lined the walls, their light soft and wavering, casting long shadows across the polished wood. Yin Shuyue closed the door behind her, her back pressing lightly against it as her hand clutched at her sleeve.
Her breath came uneven.
Inside her chest, her heart beat far too quickly. Each pulse was a sharp ache, as though trying to shatter the ice that had caged it for so long.
She pressed her palm against her breast, closing her eyes. Why… why did I ask him that?
The scene returned to her with painful clarity—the battlefield, his arms under her knees and behind her back, his steady stride through wind and snow. The warmth of his chest, the strength in his grip, the way her body had leaned against his neck without resistance.
She shook her head, as though to scatter the memory, but it clung tighter.
The Heart-Sealing Art… I have cultivated it for years. My emotions should be still as ice. My heart should not stir at anyone's touch. Why… why now?
Her hand trembled at her sleeve. She drew in a long breath, steadying herself, yet the turmoil would not fade.
It was not only the carrying. It was his words just now—spoken without hesitation, without shame.Because leaving you behind was unthinkable.
Her lips parted faintly. A warmth bloomed, fragile but undeniable. It frightened her.
She turned sharply and began to walk, her steps quick against the corridor floor. But each pace only deepened the storm inside.
I should not feel this. I cannot feel this.
The Heart-Sealing Cultivation was her shield, her sect's legacy, her path of discipline. It forbade entanglements, chained desire, sealed away the weakness of longing.
And yet…
When his gaze had met hers, steady and unwavering—her seal had trembled. When his arms had held her, her body had not resisted.
She reached her chamber, sliding the door closed behind her. Alone in the silence, her composure broke at last. She sank onto the bedding, her hands clutching her knees, her breath shallow.
Her veil slipped from her face, forgotten on the floor.
Her eyes, usually clear as frozen lakes, glimmered with faint moisture.
"…Why?" she whispered into the empty room. "Why do I feel this way…?"
The Heart-Sealing Art pulsed faintly in her dantian, trying to smother the tremor within her heart. But the crack was there now, however small. And no matter how she tried to still herself, the memory of Haotian's voice, his touch, and his words lingered—like warmth refusing to vanish from frozen snow.
For the first time in years, Yin Shuyue could not quiet her heart.
Shuyue sat cross-legged upon her bed, her veil discarded, her slender hands resting against her knees. The lanternlight flickered faintly, brushing warmth across her pale face.
Her heart still beat too quickly. No matter how she tried to calm her breathing, the memory refused to fade.
Enough, she told herself, pressing her consciousness inward. I must cultivate. I cannot allow this turbulence to remain.
She guided her qi into the familiar channels of the Heart-Sealing Art, the cultivation that had shielded her heart for years. Coldness seeped through her, a glacial stillness meant to drown every spark of warmth, every ripple of desire.
But tonight… the cold faltered.
Instead of freezing clean, warmth lingered within her chest, faint as an ember beneath ice. Her meridians, once rigid with the Art's suppression, had become too clear, too free. Because of him.
Haotian…
The name flashed unbidden in her mind, and her focus wavered.
Her heart trembled. Instead of vanishing, her emotions echoed louder in the emptiness her cultivation created. No matter how deeply she sank into the method, the warmth remained, refusing to be sealed.
Her breath hitched. She opened her eyes, the lanternlight swimming as though mocking her weakness.
This… this is because of his meddling.
He had guided her once, corrected her flow, purged the hidden flaws that had long stifled her foundation. At the time, she had felt lighter, freer. She had even… thanked him.
But now—because her meridians flowed too purely, the Heart-Sealing Art could no longer bind her feelings as it once had. What should have been silence was now an echoing chamber where warmth lingered, impossible to extinguish.
Her hands trembled.
For the first time in years, Yin Shuyue felt fear. Not of death, not of enemies, but of herself.
"No…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I must not allow this."
She shut her eyes hard, forcing her qi to flow again. Not in the corrected path Haotian had shown her—but the old way, the flawed circulation she had abandoned.
It hurt. Each breath of cultivation snagged faintly in her channels, the hidden flaws grinding like sand. Yet it dulled the warmth, clouded the trembling of her heart.
Yes… this, she could endure. This was safe.
Her breath steadied. The warmth dimmed, buried once more beneath imperfect stillness.
But deep within, the ember still burned, faint and stubborn. And she knew, no matter how hard she tried to drown it, it would never again be wholly sealed.
The morning light spilled gently through the paper windows of the Moon Lotus Sect's inner halls, bathing the corridors in pale gold. Disciples moved quietly, their robes whispering like the flow of a river.
Yin Shuyue emerged from her chamber. Veil in place, white robes immaculate, her posture straight as a blade of jade. To the eye, she was unchanged: serene, untouchable, the embodiment of the Heart-Sealing Art.
The disciples bowed as she passed, their voices hushed with awe. "Senior Sister Shuyue."
She inclined her head with practiced grace. Yet behind the veil, her lips pressed faintly tighter than usual, and her steps carried a shadow of hesitation before each fall. None noticed. Or rather, none dared to notice.
When she reached the courtyard, she found Haotian already there. He sat at a stone table, a cup of tea untouched at his side, the pale morning wind tugging at his hair. He still looked weary, but the clarity in his gaze was unshaken.
Their eyes met briefly across the quiet courtyard.
For the barest instant, her breath caught beneath the veil. She tightened her sleeve in her fingers, forcing her voice steady. "You are awake early."
Haotian's gaze lingered, sharp yet calm. He did not answer at once, as if measuring the change in her. Finally, he gave a faint smile. "Old habits. My body no longer permits cultivation for now… but waking early remains."
The disciples in the courtyard busied themselves quickly, pretending not to listen. Yet the air felt heavier, as if even the soft exchange between them carried weight.
Shuyue lowered her gaze, her tone cool, as if to smooth over what trembled beneath. "Then rest more often. Even a spear cannot remain drawn forever."
She turned slightly, her robes whispering as she moved past. The conversation ended as quickly as it began.
But Haotian's eyes followed her as she walked away, and his fingers tapped once against the stone table. He had seen it—the faint tremor hidden behind her veil, the brief hesitation in her voice.
The frost was still there. Yet something warm flickered beneath.
The great council hall of Frostwind Valley stood beneath a canopy of ancient pines, its roof heavy with snow. Nine banners hung from the rafters, each bearing the crest of a sect, swaying faintly in the cold draft.
One by one, the sect masters and their elders filed in, their disciples lining the walls. The air was thick with suppressed hostility.
The Cold River Sect arrived first, faces pale with shame, their sect master limping heavily, arms bandaged, each step a reminder of his humiliation. His eyes flicked once toward the Moon Lotus delegation, then quickly away, fear hidden beneath fury.
The other sects—Frost Gale Hall, White Ice Pavilion, Glacial Peak, and the rest—took their places, their expressions carefully composed. Yet beneath the calm, envy burned.
At last, Moon Lotus Sect entered. Sect Master Yin Xue walked at the front, her bearing regal and unyielding. Beside her came Ziyue and Shuyue, their veils and robes immaculate, their gazes cool as winter frost. Behind them, walking slowly but straight, was Haotian.
The room hushed as he stepped inside.
Even weakened, his presence carried weight. This was the youth who had slain the Snow Beast Ape, who had shaken the valley, who had shattered the Cold River Sect's face. Every gaze turned to him—disciples in awe, elders in fear, rivals in barely concealed hatred.
He walked to his place behind Yin Xue, his steps steady despite the strain in his body. His golden eyes swept once across the hall, then lowered.
The council began.
The master of Glacial Peak rose, his voice smooth but edged. "The beast tide is broken. For that, we owe gratitude. Yet… one matter remains. The division of spoils."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. The corpse of the Snow Beast Ape—its essence, bones, and core—was a treasure beyond measure. And Haotian had claimed it with his own hands.
The Frost Gale elder narrowed his eyes. "The beast tide was a calamity faced by all nine sects. Should not such spoils be shared?"
Yin Xue's lips curved in a faint smile. "Shared, you say? Then perhaps your sects should have shared the burden of killing the beast as well. Yet when its roar shook the valley, who among you stood? Was it not my Moon Lotus disciple who faced it alone?"
Cold silence.
The Cold River sect master slammed his hand against the armrest, his voice hoarse. "Arrogance! One youth, no matter how talented, cannot claim what belongs to all! If this continues, the balance among the nine sects will shatter!"
Gasps filled the hall. Many agreed in silence, but none spoke aloud.
Haotian's gaze lifted. His voice cut across the hall, calm but resonant."If balance means that the cowardice of many outweighs the blood of one, then let that balance shatter."
The words struck like thunder. Disciples along the walls stiffened, some bowing their heads in shame, others clenching their fists in awe.
The Cold River sect master paled, fury burning in his eyes—but he dared not meet Haotian's gaze.
At last, the master of White Ice Pavilion raised his hand. "Enough. This council was called not only for division, but for alliance. The beast tide was no ordinary swarm. Its ferocity, its king… they were driven by something deeper. If another tide rises, even Haotian's spear may not be enough."
The tension shifted. Eyes that had burned with envy turned now to calculation and unease.
Yin Xue's expression sharpened. "Speak clearly. What do you know?"
The elder's voice dropped low. "Whispers of a greater beast stirring in the northern ice. If the tide was but its shadow, then what we faced was only the beginning."
A chill swept the hall deeper than any winter wind.
Haotian's hands tightened faintly on his knees. He said nothing, but in his chest, his heart core pulsed once more—quiet, ominous.
The council had begun, and with it, the storm beyond the Beast Tide.
The great council hall of Frostwind Valley loomed vast, its rafters hung with nine banners swaying gently in the winter draft. Elders and sect masters filed into their seats, their disciples lined along the walls in rigid silence.
The Cold River Sect entered last. Their sect master hobbled on crutches, his body wrapped in heavy bandages. His face was pale, his eyes hollow. When his gaze flicked toward Moon Lotus, he froze—then quickly lowered his head. The sight of Haotian had stolen the air from his lungs.
A ripple spread through the hall as the Moon Lotus Sect arrived. Sect Master Yin Xue walked at the front, serene yet unyielding, with Ziyue and Shuyue at her side. Behind them came Haotian.
Even weakened from his collapse, his presence filled the chamber. His golden eyes swept across the hall with quiet calm, but every elder who met that gaze flinched. They remembered the sounds—the unseen stabs that felled Cold River's elders in an instant, the scream of their sect master as his limbs were broken one by one.
Fear lingered.
The Cold River disciples lowered their heads, shoulders trembling. Their sect master's face twitched with suppressed rage, but when Haotian's gaze brushed him, he bowed his head without a word.
No one dared speak of the Snow Beast Ape's corpse. Not even Cold River, whose claim by seniority might once have been loudest. The memory of Haotian's spear weighed upon every tongue like iron.
At last, the master of Glacial Peak broke the silence, his voice cautious. "The beast tide has been broken. For that… we must recognize Moon Lotus's role. Without Haotian, none of us would be sitting here."
Murmurs of reluctant agreement followed, elders bowing their heads slightly. Words of gratitude tasted bitter to them, but none dared contest.
The master of White Ice Pavilion finally cleared his throat. "There is… another matter. The ferocity of this tide, the presence of a beast king… such things do not arise without cause. If this was but a shadow, then something greater stirs in the far north."
At those words, tension shifted. The fear that had silenced envy now deepened into unease.
Eyes turned once more to Haotian, though no one dared speak his name aloud.
He sat quietly, hands resting on his knees, his face unreadable. Yet his stillness weighed heavier than any threat.
Yin Xue's gaze swept the chamber. Her voice was calm, edged with frost."Let it be clear, then. The corpse of the Snow Beast Ape belongs to Moon Lotus. None contest this, do they?"
Not a word rose in reply.
Even the Cold River sect master, face burning with humiliation, kept his head lowered, lips pressed tight.
Yin Xue's lips curved faintly. "Then we may proceed."
The council had ended in silence. No sect dared dispute the Snow Beast Ape's corpse, nor question Moon Lotus openly. Yet when the nine banners were lowered and the elders dispersed, the hall's air carried unease thicker than smoke.
Later, in the quiet of Moon Lotus's temporary residence, Sect Master Yin Xue gathered her closest in a secluded chamber.
Haotian sat upright despite his fatigue, Fenglong Spear resting at his side. Ziyue stood at attention near the wall, calm as ever, while Shuyue lingered in shadow, her veil drawn, her eyes downcast.
Yin Xue's gaze passed over them all, but fixed on Haotian.
"You saw their faces," she said. "They did not contest us—not because they yielded, but because they feared."
Haotian inclined his head slightly. "Fear is enough. So long as they do not move against us."
Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes remained sharp. "You are young, Haotian. Fear restrains, but it also festers. The Cold River Sect's humiliation burns hotter with every breath. The others, though silent, will not forget how one youth bent their heads. Envy, shame, and fear—these are poisons that do not fade. They brew in the dark until they strike."
Haotian was quiet, then answered steadily: "Then when they strike, I will break them again."
The room stilled at his words. Even Ziyue's brows twitched faintly at the blunt certainty.
Yin Xue studied him, her expression unreadable. At last, she exhaled softly. "Such strength of will is rare. But strength alone does not guard a sect. Remember—while you bear their fear, it is the Moon Lotus that bears their envy. They will not strike at you first, but at what you protect."
Her gaze slid briefly toward Shuyue before returning to Haotian.
Haotian's golden eyes narrowed slightly. He gave no reply, but his fingers tightened faintly on the table's edge.
Ziyue spoke next, her voice calm. "Master, what of the words from White Ice Pavilion? About the north."
Yin Xue's expression darkened. "That is the greater storm. If another tide rises—stronger, larger—our sect alone cannot withstand it, not even with Haotian. The ape was formidable, yes, but it was not the source. Something greater stirs, and if it walks south, all nine sects will be devoured."
The room grew heavy with silence.
Finally, Haotian spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "Then we prepare. For beast or for man, storm or betrayal, Moon Lotus will not bow."
Yin Xue's eyes softened, only faintly. "Spoken like one who carries the sect already." She leaned back, her sleeves folding neatly in her lap. "Very well. Rest, Haotian. Your body is not yet mended. The storm is coming, but for now… let them fear you."
Shuyue's eyes lingered on him for a brief moment, a flicker of something unspoken behind her veil.
The lanternlight dimmed, shadows stretching across the chamber. Outside, the wind howled faintly through the snow-laden pines, carrying whispers of storms yet unseen.