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Chapter 11 - Chapter 10: Whispers Beneath the Sect

The halls of the Scarlet Immortal Sect pulsed with quiet tension.

Though no gong was struck, no announcement made, every disciple could sense it — something had changed. Word of Shen Yi's return had spread like wildfire, but unlike gossip, this wasn't loud or foolish. It was heavy, like smoke that refused to clear.

In the upper courtyard, cultivators avoided meeting each other's eyes. Some whispered behind sleeves. Others bowed too quickly when passing elders. Even the birds circling above the mountain's peak seemed to glide more carefully today.

Shen Yi stood at the edge of one such courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, staring out toward the stone lotus garden below. The wind stirred faintly, brushing his robes against the ground, but he barely noticed.

He couldn't forget the Sect Lord's words.

"You will begin again."

But what did that even mean? Begin where? As what? With no memories and no allies, was he to carve a new path inside the bones of his old self?

Or worse — was he simply being watched until he cracked?

Behind him, footsteps approached. Measured. Confident. Sharp against the marble tiles.

He turned.

Yan Xue stepped into view, a pale ribbon fluttering from her sword hilt. Her expression was unreadable, but her presence cut through the morning mist like a blade through silk.

"I thought you might have run," she said.

He held her gaze. "I said I wouldn't."

"A lot of people say things. Only a few mean them."

"I meant it."

She didn't answer immediately. Then she walked past him, standing at the edge of the courtyard as he had moments before.

"I used to come here," she murmured. "When I was a guest disciple. Before everything burned."

He looked at her profile. It was the same face from his dreams — the one that blurred between cold indifference and a girl's hidden smile.

"I don't remember those days," he said.

"I do," she replied. "Every detail."

The wind blew between them.

Shen Yi hesitated. "Why did you come to the Sect with me?"

"To keep you in line."

"I don't believe that."

Her eyes narrowed faintly. "Then don't believe it. I don't care."

"You could've killed me before. You didn't."

"I told you. I want to be the one who breaks you."

He studied her, then said quietly, "But something held you back."

She turned her head slowly toward him. "Would it comfort you to think I still care?"

He didn't answer.

She stepped closer. Not threateningly — just close enough that he could see the faint shimmer of energy beneath her skin, like a winter storm kept barely in check.

"Don't mistake restraint for affection," she said. "You haven't earned forgiveness. You never will."

He didn't flinch. "I'm not asking for it."

"Good," she said, and walked away without another word.

---

Inside the sect's Jade Pavilion, Su Yao sat cross-legged with an old scroll before her, its pages detailing bloodline resonance techniques long thought extinct.

She wasn't reading.

Not truly.

Her eyes scanned the page, but her thoughts swam elsewhere — trapped between two faces: Shen Yi's, hollow and searching, and Yan Xue's, hardened like tempered steel.

Something between them was unraveling. Or maybe winding tighter.

And she was standing in the center of it.

A knock sounded at the screen door.

"Come in," she said.

It was Elder Jinhai — the one who oversaw outer disciple affairs. His face was wrinkled, but his posture was straight and sharp.

"You're close to the boy," he said without preamble.

"I've known him since before his disappearance," she answered.

"You believe he's changed?"

"I believe he doesn't remember what he was."

"That's not what I asked."

She closed the scroll. "Then yes. I believe he's not the same person who left."

The elder walked to the window, looking out across the valley.

"Do you know what we called him back then?" he asked.

Su Yao shook her head.

"The Hollow Blade."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because he never hesitated. In duels, in missions… even in punishments. He executed with precision and no emotion. He didn't speak unless spoken to. He didn't smile."

"That doesn't sound like the boy I know."

"No," the elder said. "It doesn't. But that was him."

Su Yao lowered her voice. "Do you think the demon skill twisted him?"

Elder Jinhai didn't answer.

Instead, he said, "If the Sect Lord has brought him back under our roof, then the wind is shifting. Be careful where you stand, Su Yao. One day soon, you may have to choose."

She met his eyes. "Between what?"

He walked to the door.

"Between what he is… and what he becomes."

---

At the edge of the inner sect forest, Shen Yi sparred with a training puppet carved from soul-iron wood — an automaton designed to respond to pressure points and fluctuating qi.

He moved faster than he expected.

Muscle memory responded where thought hesitated. His strikes were clean, ruthless. Every time the puppet adjusted, he found a new angle to break its defense.

A dozen disciples watched from afar. Some whispered. Others simply stared.

When the puppet finally collapsed under his final palm strike — its core gem cracking with a high-pitched whine — silence fell.

Not even panting, Shen Yi turned away.

But someone blocked his path.

Yan Xue.

She had been watching, too.

"Impressive," she said, eyes cold. "Didn't think you remembered how to fight."

"I don't," he said. "But my body does."

She stepped closer. "You looked… comfortable."

He didn't reply.

"Was it satisfying?" she asked. "To break something helpless again?"

The blow struck deeper than any blade.

"No," he said. "It wasn't."

She stared at him a beat longer — then left

----

Later that evening, a quiet storm settled over the inner sect.

It wasn't thunder or rain — it was silence. The kind that came before decisions, before actions that couldn't be reversed.

Shen Yi sat alone in the meditation chamber he'd been assigned — a sparse room with jade tiles, incense burners, and a small scroll rack on the far wall.

He wasn't meditating.

He was trying to remember.

Not the past.

But the feeling of being whole.

Every time he closed his eyes, something flickered. Not images — sensations. A chill running across his spine. A scream he couldn't place. A girl's laughter beneath a plum tree, just before it all went wrong.

He wanted to believe those memories weren't real.

But his heart told him otherwise.

You broke her.

He clenched his fists until the skin strained over his knuckles.

He didn't know who he hated more — the version of himself that had done it… or the one now forced to carry the weight.

---

Outside, Yan Xue stood in the shadows of the eastern watchtower, overlooking the moonlit courtyard.

She had been avoiding the others. Even Su Yao. Especially Shen Yi.

And yet her feet always led her back to wherever he was.

It made her furious.

Why couldn't she cut the thread between them?

Why did her blood still burn when she sensed him near?

"It's the Echo Blood," she told herself again. "Not emotion. Not longing."

But it felt like both.

Worse — it remembered for her, even when her mind tried to forget. It remembered how his hand once caught hers beneath the peach blossoms. How his voice had trembled when he first said her name aloud during sword practice. How he'd asked, in a voice barely audible, "Would you stay, if I asked?"

She had smiled, back then.

Now, she couldn't even answer.

A soft footstep behind her made her turn — only slightly.

Su Yao stood there, arms folded.

"You're avoiding him," Su Yao said gently.

"I'm managing distance."

"Is that what you call this now?"

Yan Xue didn't respond.

Su Yao stepped beside her. "You know what I saw when you looked at him after the Sect Lord summoned him?"

Yan Xue stiffened.

"I saw grief."

Yan Xue's voice was low. "You saw wrong."

"No," Su Yao said. "I saw someone who wanted to walk away… but couldn't."

The wind pulled at their robes. Below, Shen Yi emerged from the training yard, walking toward the edge of the plum grove again — the same place he always returned to.

Su Yao whispered, "You're afraid he'll become the demon again."

Yan Xue's grip on the railing tightened.

"I'm afraid he never stopped being one."

---

At midnight, Shen Yi sat beneath the same tree — the one half-bloomed despite the wrong season.

His back was against the trunk. His eyes watched the sky, but his thoughts were buried beneath it.

Steps crunched nearby.

He looked up.

Yan Xue stood at the edge of the grove, sword on her back, arms folded.

"I thought you'd stopped following me," he said.

"I thought you'd stopped sulking."

He smirked — just barely. "Then we're both wrong."

She walked over, but didn't sit.

"Did the Sect Lord say what they want with you?" she asked.

"He said I have to cultivate. Start again."

"And?"

"And that if I lose control again, I won't get a second chance."

She looked down at him for a moment, then said, "That's generous."

Shen Yi tilted his head. "You don't think I deserve a chance."

"No," she said. "But that's not what matters."

"What matters, then?"

"That you don't know if you deserve one either."

His smile faded.

She stepped closer. "Tell me. If your memory came back fully—if you remembered everything—what would you do?"

He didn't speak.

She crouched, just enough to bring them eye-level.

"Would you beg for forgiveness?"

"No," he said.

"Would you end yourself?"

"No."

"Then what?"

He looked at her — really looked.

And said, "I'd try to make sure it never happened again."

She watched him. Her face didn't change.

But her breath hitched — the tiniest shift.

A heartbeat passed between them, suspended like a string drawn too tight.

Then she stood. "Words mean little, Shen Yi."

"I know."

"Prove them."

"I'll try."

She turned to leave, but paused.

"Don't try," she said over her shoulder.

"Succeed. Or next time, I won't hold back."

---

Deep beneath the Scarlet Immortal Sect, in a hidden chamber sealed by demon script and sacred formations, a figure stirred.

The walls glowed faintly with the residual essence of ancient rituals — circles of binding, marks of suppression.

A second figure entered, cloaked in ash-gray.

"They brought him back," he said.

The first figure didn't reply, only continued drawing sigils in the air with a crooked bone quill.

The newcomer said, "The Immortal Demon Body has begun resonating. The bloodlines around him have started to awaken."

Still, no response.

"But the girl," he added, "may be the key."

The quill stopped.

Slowly, the first figure turned — half-skeletal, half-flesh, eyes sunken with power too old to name.

"If she breaks him," the figure rasped, "we inherit a hollow god."

"And if she fails?"

The ancient voice cracked like dead stone.

"Then we inherit the storm."

---

End of Chapter 10

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