.
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The cold dawn mist rolled down from the mountain cliffs and pooled around Ashfall Sect like a veil of ghosts. Somewhere beneath the ash trees, dew clung to the pale blades of spirit grass, and the stone courtyard echoed faintly with the thud of wooden poles and the harsh exhalations of training disciples.
Lin Chen stood alone atop the western terrace, arms folded, eyes narrowed. The pavilion trials were behind them, but the shadow of what they had entered into still loomed large. The Qinghe Pavilion had given recognition, yes—but they had not given acceptance.
And that note—he had not told the disciples of it. Not yet.
He turned his head as footsteps approached. Hua Yiran.
Today she wore robes of icy silk, blue like a moonlit river, and her hair was bound in a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. Her beauty was severe, untouched by ornament.
"You haven't slept, have you?" she asked, her voice smooth, but edged.
"I'm used to working through the night," Lin Chen replied, eyes on the horizon.
"You know what that note meant."
"I do."
She stepped beside him, and for a moment, they both stared out over the early morning training ground, where Wei Yan and Tie Hui were sparring. Qiu Bo cheered them on while trying to keep balance atop a rolling barrel, a punishment Lin Chen had invented to build footwork.
"They will come for us again," she said.
Lin Chen's gaze didn't waver. "Let them come."
I. Shadows in the Sect
The Rooted Dust Sect had grown. Word of their trials spread like wildfire across the cultivation territories. Merchants began to send caravans with tribute offerings. A few rogue cultivators even requested asylum, fleeing persecution from minor clans. And with them came danger.
Within two weeks, four spies had been discovered.
Lan Shu caught the first—a man pretending to be a disciple seeking refuge, whose spiritual core was tainted by fire-blood qi.
"This aura… it's refined," she had whispered, holding the blade at the man's throat. "He's from the Crimson Radiant Sect."
Lin Chen had not hesitated. He turned to Wei Yan.
"No second chances."
One strike. No scream. The body burned by qi flame.
II. Dust Hall Council
By midmonth, Lin Chen called his first formal council in the Dust Hall—a stone building built into the belly of Ashfall Mountain. Torches lined the walls, but the hall itself was humble: seven mats in a circle, an offering brazier at the center.
Seated with him were: Elder Xu, Hua Yiran, Lan Shu, Wei Yan, Qiu Bo, Tie Hui, and Lian Mei.
"We grow too fast," Lin Chen began. "And others would use our momentum to break us. We must root ourselves deeper."
"More guards?" Qiu Bo offered.
"No," Lin Chen replied. "More foundations. We need systems—structure. Lessons for incoming disciples. Housing. Food cultivation. Techniques to share."
Hua Yiran nodded. "A library."
Lan Shu added, "A registry of known sects and their bloodline traits. We can't keep reacting blindly."
Elder Xu grunted. "We need a healer. Someone trained in core path qi."
Lin Chen raised an eyebrow. "And do you know someone?"
The old man grinned. "I trained one once. She lives as a reclusive herbalist now. She won't come easy."
Lin Chen stood. "Then we'll go to her."
III. The Herbalist of Mourning Pines
Two days later, Lin Chen and Lan Shu stood before a cottage carved into a tree on the edge of Mourning Pines—a haunted grove whispered to be cursed.
The woman who emerged was no haggard crone.
She was radiant, but in a quiet, worn way—black-haired, perhaps mid-thirties, with eyes like silver rain. Her robes were threadbare but clean. She carried a staff of plumwood, and though she walked with a limp, her posture was proud.
"Xu sent you," she said before either could speak.
Lin Chen bowed. "We need your help."
"I swore never to treat sect disciples again."
Lan Shu stepped forward. "We're not like the others."
The woman stared at her. "That's what the last one said before he poisoned the river trying to cultivate dragon root."
Lin Chen remained silent.
At last, the woman sighed. "You have three days. If I see rot in your spirit—I leave."
She came back with them, riding a slow ox cart with two baskets of tinctures and a single wooden sword. Her name was Mei Xun, and her presence alone brought calm.
IV. Night Intruders
But not all was calm.
The same night Mei Xun arrived, Lin Chen was awoken by a ripple in the protective barrier. A pale flame flickered on the northern perimeter.
He leapt out, sword in hand.
A masked figure dressed in flowing violet was halfway through the barrier, chanting a curse formation.
Lin Chen didn't hesitate.
A slash of dust-infused qi tore through the night.
The figure screamed, left arm severed, and vanished in a flash of smoke.
"He was aiming for the disciple quarters," Lin Chen muttered.
Wei Yan arrived seconds later, breath ragged. "They're probing us."
Lin Chen nodded. "We're not being tested. We're being hunted."
V. The Decision
The next morning, he gathered the core disciples again.
"From this point forward," he said, "we operate as a fortress sect. No one enters without oath and offering. We build watchtowers. Shift patterns. And we form the Dust Guard."
Lan Shu raised an eyebrow. "A martial guard?"
"Elite. Rotating. Trained in hidden arts."
Hua Yiran grinned faintly. "So you finally accept we're at war."
"No," Lin Chen said, "we're preparing for the world beyond war."
The sect sprang into motion.
Mei Xun trained junior disciples in wound-binding and essence cleansing.
Wei Yan and Qiu Bo began forming the Dust Guard, taking promising outer disciples and honing them through night drills and stealth missions.
Lan Shu began cataloguing bloodline data from visiting cultivators, while Lian Mei transcribed Lin Chen's foundational breathing techniques into formal manuals.
In one month, Rooted Dust Sect was no longer a growing sapling. It was becoming a tree with thorns.
VI. Beneath the Altar
One late night, Lin Chen walked alone into the old shrine where his jade mask had been embedded. He placed a new offering: the ash of the severed spy's robe.
As the incense caught, a voice echoed faintly behind him.
"You think you can rise from nothing."
He turned.
No one.
But the voice was not imagined. And it had not come from without—but from within.
A strange tremor passed through his spirit root. A whisper, like crumbling paper:
"Your roots are not your own. You are seed cast from higher soil."
Lin Chen fell to one knee, vision swimming.
He gritted his teeth.
"Then let me grow anyway."
And the whisper fell silent.
VII. Days to Come
The next morning, Lan Shu found him at the cliff edge.
"You're changing," she said quietly.
Lin Chen looked over the valley, sunlight rising through the mist.
"No," he said. "I'm becoming."
And far beyond the eastern peaks, where stars fell on lonely hills, another sect watched. A scroll unfurled.
A name circled in black:
Lin Chen.
Below it, a single phrase:
"Marked for elimination by decree of the Heavensburn Coalition."
End of Chapter 9