Xiǎo Chén
hung in midair.
Eyes crimson.
Breath surging like ghostly flame.
On the verge of losing control.
—
Xuānyuán Dié paused.
Sighed softly.
Her voice cold—
"Since you won't wake…
I'll help you."
—
She flashed forward.
Lightning swift.
In an instant, she was before him.
Her right finger pointed.
Pure sword intent gathered at the tip.
A stream of azure light pierced his brow.
—
Sword intent crackled.
A seal of blue sigils spun in the air.
It pressed down inch by inch.
The raging qi shrieked.
Collapsed into nothing.
—
Xiǎo Chén's body jolted.
His breath halted.
Bloodlight in his eyes churned—
Then slowly dimmed.
He fell.
Xuānyuán Dié stepped lightly,
Caught him,
And descended.
—
She looked at the boy in her arms.
The seal still flickered at his brow.
Her brows furrowed.
She whispered—
"This fool…
How much is he carrying?
What is he hiding?"
—
At that moment,
Shī Tóngbǎi arrived with healers.
Seeing Xiǎo Chén limp in her arms, he asked—
"Teacher Xuānyuán… Xiǎo Chén, is he…?"
—
"No harm.
For now, suppressed."
She handed him over.
"Take him back to the healing chamber.
One step later—
He would have fallen into true madness."
—
They dared not delay.
Carefully carried him away.
—
Xuānyuán Dié lifted her gaze to the night.
A shadow flickered in her eyes—
"It's not just his qi…
This night raid…
It isn't over."
—
Dust settled.
Night wind chilled.
She stood in the half-ruined hall.
Stared at lingering shadows.
Silent.
Disciples withdrew.
Outer court stewards arrived.
None dared approach.
Sword Hall's qi was unstable.
Stone and rubble still bore scars of battle.
—
From the inner court, elders rushed in.
Seeing the damage—
Faces darkened.
—
Gǔ Líng swept his sleeve.
His voice thundered.
Orders rang—
"Disperse the crowd.
Seal the grounds.
Repair the wards."
—
Within the healing chamber,
Xiǎo Chén still slept.
His breath steady,
Yet his brow furrowed,
As if battling unseen pain.
—
The curtain stirred with the wind.
A faint glow flickered.
Beneath the bed,
Shattered jade fragments glimmered.
A lingering trace of divine sense flowed—
Like a spark sinking into his heart-sea,
Waiting to awaken again.
—
—
On the stone steps outside,
Several inner court stewards whispered.
One voice low—
"That boy's aura is twisted.
He nearly fell into madness.
If it happens again,
It could doom the academy—"
—
Another sneered—
"Hmph. His background unclear.
Barely entered, already causing trouble.
Better to deal with him now,
Before he wakes."
—
Their words hung heavy.
Eyes flicked toward the healing chamber.
—
Standing aside,
Shī Tóngbǎi's gaze chilled.
He memorized their faces.
But spoke nothing.
He knew better than anyone—
What must be said,
And what must never be spoken.
—
That night's aberration…
Why did senior brother become like this?
He looked at the chamber's light.
Whispered softly.
—
Not far away,
A silver-haired elder approached.
His voice calm—
"If what you say is true,
And the boy shows such signs…
Should we not reconsider
Whether he is fit to remain a disciple?"
—
This was one of the outer court's discipline elders.
Outwardly neutral.
But often swayed by Sītú Jìng's words.
Their ties had grown close in recent years.
This voice too—
Seemed urged by him.
A pressure disguised as concern.
—
Gǔ Líng said nothing.
His gaze swept coldly.
Then he called an old servant—
"Assign men to guard the chamber.
If he does not wake,
No outsiders may enter."
—
Morning light spilled through the window.
It fell across the boy's pale face.
Sweat still damp at his brow.
Eyes shut tight.
Yet his breath steadier than yesterday.
—
Xuán Chén sat at his side.
Held a spirit needle.
Slowly placed it at his chest.
Sealing the surging meridians.
Each needle drew out a wisp of black qi.
Which dissolved beneath his glowing fingertips.
—
A soft sound at the door.
A figure slipped in—
Shī Tóngbǎi.
He carried a bowl of warm porridge.
Spoke gently—
"Senior brother hasn't woken…
But his color looks better."
—
Xuán Chén
spoke no word.
With one finger, he sealed the last restless breath at Xiǎo Chén's brow.
Then rose, nodded—
"He is safe for now.
But he needs three days' rest."
—
Shī Tóngbǎi exhaled.
Yet hesitated—
"Outside… things aren't calm."
—
Xuán Chén's brow lifted.
—
"One discipline elder suggested—
That Xiǎo Chén's aura is abnormal.
Possibly possessed by evil force.
For the academy's safety,
He should be expelled from the outer court."
Shī Tóngbǎi spoke low—
"That elder—you know him.
Surname Zhāng.
From Silver Mirror's side…"
—
Xuán Chén's gaze darkened.
His words cold—
"So fast."
—
At that moment,
A knock at the door.
An inner court disciple stood outside—
"Senior Brother Xuán Chén.
Headmaster Gǔ summons you and Shī Tóngbǎi.
Tomorrow, at noon, East Hall.
Important judgment."
—
Shī Tóngbǎi stiffened.
Xuán Chén only nodded—
"Let's go.
What must come, will come."
—
—
The Sword Hall's night terror spread through the outer court.
By dawn,
Before sunlight pierced the clouds,
The academy lay under a heavy, eerie air.
—
Within the healing chamber,
Breath rippled like water.
Gǔ Líng and Xuānyuán Dié stood side by side.
They gazed at the unconscious boy.
His chest still bound in spirit cloth.
Breath steady.
Meridians slowly recovering.
Yet Gǔ Líng's brow never eased.
—
"He is not only wounded in body."
Gǔ Líng spoke low.
His finger traced the air.
Spiritual sense entered Xiǎo Chén's brow.
—
Moments passed.
He sighed—
"Within his soul…
There lies a scar of resentment.
Like a needle, like a hook.
Not born of this life.
Yet bound tightly to his memory."
—
Xuānyuán Dié froze—
"Not of this life?"
—
Gǔ Líng
nodded—
"If I'm not mistaken,
This resentment comes from the Fate Mark Tower.
That place stirs the hidden thoughts of the soul.
Though he passed the trial,
He never truly resolved it.
He only pressed it down."
—
Xuānyuán Dié asked gravely—
"This resentment… toward whom?"
—
Gǔ Líng shook his head—
"Resentment is not always toward another.
Sometimes it is toward the self—
The self that can never be forgiven."
"If he does not release it…
One day, it will consume him."
—
—
In dream,
Xiǎo Chén returned to the misted maze.
He ran through endless fog.
Could not tell if he knelt upon the ground,
Or drifted in the abyss.
Cold filled the air.
Silent accusations pressed.
Voices rose, unending.
—
The first—
Deep, stern, familiar—
"You have disappointed me."
The voice cut like a blade.
His father, Nì Línhǎi.
Once steady, now heavy with loss.
As if stripping him from trust.
—
Then came a softer tone,
Choked with sorrow—
"Why do you live?"
His mother, Liǔ Xīnhuì.
Her tenderness laced with heartbreak.
As though she had seen, beyond time,
An irretrievable fate.
—
Next, an aged voice, firm—
"You are unworthy of the name of Xīnghén Sect!"
His grandfather, Nì Xíngsì.
The one who had taught him faith.
Now, in dream,
Denied him utterly.
—
And last—
The most familiar.
The most unbearable.
Broken.
Shaking.
Yet piercingly clear—
"You… let them die.
You chose selfishness."
—
It was her.
The one who shook his soul.
The one he sought day and night.
—
The words pierced him like a blade.
Straight into the deepest part of his spirit.
—
He wanted to deny.
To refute.
But found himself voiceless.
Just like the fifth layer of the Fate Mark Tower.
His voice sealed.
As if the world itself refused to hear his defense.
—
From the mist,
A shadow emerged.
—
It was… himself.
—
Eyes blood-red.
Smile cold.
"You buried your resentment deep.
But it never left.
You thought passing that trial meant it was gone?
No—
I remembered for you."
—
The shadow stepped closer.
Black mist wrapped him.
He struggled.
But the chains on his soul weighed heavier than flesh.
—
"Stop resisting.
Only I know your true pain.
Only I can keep you from weakness."
—
At that moment,
Her face appeared before him.
Tears streaming.
She turned back in dream.
Her eyes—
Sadness and disappointment entwined.
Yet still… a plea.
—
His heart jolted.
"No… I don't want to lose her…
I won't fail again…"
—
The shadow laughed—
"Then let me!
Let us become one!"
—
The black mist surged like a tide.
Swallowed all.
His last sight—
Her hand, reaching.
Still beyond the fog.
—
The air still carried faint traces of medicine and dust.
Within Sword Hall, though repaired,
Cracks in stone and scars of blades remained.
Light slanted through wooden windows,
Weaving quiet shadows.
—
On the bed,
Xiǎo Chén slowly opened his eyes.
Consciousness rose from the abyss.
Fragments of dream churned in his mind.
He remembered the black mist.
Those eyes.
The figure identical to himself…
And her.
—
His brow tightened.
A sudden stab in his chest.
He pressed his hand down.
The spirit jade was shattered.
His meridians surged like a storm.
—
He sat up.
Qi within him heavy,
As if he had fought a war not his own.
—
Footsteps at the door.
Xuānyuán Dié leaned against the frame.
Arms crossed.
Her tone half jest, half concern—
"Awake?
Still pointing your spear at me?"
—
Xiǎo Chén looked up.
His gaze calm, no longer clouded.
His voice hoarse, yet clear—
"Thank you for that strike, Teacher.
Otherwise… I fear I would never have returned."
—
She blinked.
A flicker crossed her eyes.
Her lips curved—
"Seems you've grown… quite a bit."
—
He nodded silently.
No words.
—
A moment of stillness.
The air tense, yet steady.
—
She stepped closer.
Her tone deepened—
"Do you know what happened that night?"
—
Xiǎo Chén shook his head.
Then nodded.
His voice rough—
"I remember fragments…
Shadows in dream.
Like something that followed me out…
From a trial I once faced."
—
Her gaze sharpened—
"The Fate Mark Tower, isn't it?
The resentment from that trial…
It's already rooted in your heart."
—
Xiǎo Chén stayed silent.
His hands clenched tight on the blanket.
—
Xuānyuán Dié
softened her tone.
Her words carried warning—
"This isn't the first time.
And it won't be the last.
You can suppress it now…
But in the future, you may not."
—
Xiǎo Chén spoke low—
"Then I'll make it fear me."
—
She smiled—
"That sounds far better than before."
Her gaze lingered on him.
For once, a flicker of pride.
And battle spirit.
—
Before her words faded,
Footsteps rushed from afar.
Shī Tóngbǎi called from outside—
"Headmaster Gǔ summons.
Now that Xiǎo Chén has awoken,
He must be examined and recorded.
And… the elders outside are already debating his fate."
—
Xuānyuán Dié glanced at him.
Her voice calm, reminding—
"Don't forget.
Even if you can stand alone…
It doesn't mean you are alone."
—
Xiǎo Chén froze.
In his mind—
The image of Xuán Chén shielding him from Jiāoshé's tail.
And Shī Tóngbǎi, frantic, carrying him into Sword Hall.
—
He lowered his eyes.
A cold corner of his heart stirred.
He thought—
So… I truly haven't been alone all along.
—
He drew a deep breath.
Rose from the bed.
Light in his eyes—
Different from yesterday.
—
In that moment,
He was no longer merely a new disciple of Àotiān Academy.
He had drawn a line with his past.
And stepped into his own first path.