The Hall of Eight Pillars hummed with sandalwood smoke, its bronze braziers glowing faintly. Disciples lined the outer steps, straining to catch even a whisper of the verdict. For many, the Broken Fang Gorge mission had already become legend.
Inside, the elders sat in crescent formation, their robes a spectrum of white, gray, and ink-dark blue. Elder Ji presided at the center, brows like snowfall. To his right, the hawk-eyed elder leaned forward, gaze sharp as steel. To his left, the silver-haired elder tapped her staff softly, rhythm steady as a heart.
At the base of the hall, Lin Xuan stood with Wu Ming at his side. Behind them, Zhao Kun and the other surviving disciples knelt, battered and bandaged, eyes darting nervously.
The scarred instructor stepped forward first, bowing low. "The disciples returned alive, though battered. The Alpha of Broken Fang appeared in truth. Without Lin Xuan's intervention, none would have survived."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
The hawk-eyed elder sneered. "Alpha or not, his 'intervention' reeks of heresy. He redirects Core talismans, he learns sword forms by sight, he leads formations with no training. These are not talents—they are aberrations."
The silver-haired elder tapped her staff once. "Aberration? Or brilliance? Perhaps the sect has grown so used to mediocrity that genius now frightens it."
The hall stirred uneasily.
Elder Ji raised his hand. The murmurs died. His voice was calm, every syllable like a stone dropped into still water.
"Lin Xuan. For saving disciples, slaying the Alpha, and exposing the misuse of Core talismans, you will receive a merit stipend and Outer Repository access, second tier."
Whispers broke out immediately. That privilege was rarely given to an Outer Sect name.
Ji's eyes narrowed, heavy with balance. "But whispers of sorcery must be addressed. You will submit to monthly evaluations. Your growth will be observed by the council. Should your methods prove harmful to the sect's balance, this favor will be stripped."
Wu Ming gasped, indignant. "Observed?! Senior Brother's only guilty of saving lives more efficiently than paperwork!"
"Wu Ming," Lin Xuan said softly.
Wu Ming subsided, though his cheeks burned crimson.
Lin Xuan bowed, voice calm. "I accept the council's judgment."
Meng Zhao, kneeling among the Core disciples, pressed his forehead lower, voice honey-smooth. "The elders' wisdom is flawless. Lin Xuan is fortunate to be guided so closely."
A few elders nodded at his humility. Others glanced at him with the faint suspicion reserved for men who agreed too quickly.
Lin Xuan's gaze slid across him once, no more. Your hand is visible, Meng Zhao. And yet you still believe yourself unseen.
As the council dispersed, disciples filed out. On the steps beyond, whispers already bloomed:"Second-tier Repository access!""Observed every month? So he is a danger.""No—so he is worth watching."
Lin Xuan moved silently down the steps, Wu Ming muttering beside him.
A soft voice stopped him.
"Lin Xuan."
He turned. The silver-haired elder stood in the shade of a cedar pillar, her staff angled lightly, her eyes not cold but bright—like moonlight reflected on water.
Her lips curved faintly. "When others call you aberration, remember: the sect was built on those who walked where others dared not. You are not alone in this hall, even if you feel so."
Lin Xuan bowed, gaze steady. "Elder's words will be remembered."
She tapped her staff once, nodding. "Do not waste what you have been given. Shadows gather faster than most realize."
With that, she turned and vanished into the hall's depths, her presence like a ripple fading from water.
Wu Ming leaned close, whispering as if the walls still listened. "Senior Brother… I think you just got adopted by a moon goddess with a stick."
Lin Xuan exhaled softly. One elder shields, one elder sharpens, one elder waits. The sect is no longer stone—it is storm. And I stand in its center.
The bronze bell tolled across the mountain, echoing like a warning.