The sect was a storm of whispers.
When Xu Tian returned from the Inquiry, disciples shrank back as though he carried a plague. Some looked on in awe, others in fear, still more with thinly veiled hatred. The Heaven-Steel ring had cracked beneath his silence, and none could explain how.
"Unnatural…""Heaven tolerated him—for now.""He said he needs no shield. Arrogant beyond compare."
Xu Tian ignored them. His steps were measured, his expression calm. To answer whispers was to give them weight. Better to let them coil into nets and reveal their knots.
Only Zhou Wei stayed close, pale-faced but resolute. "Tian-ge, they'll never forgive what happened. You didn't just survive the Inquiry—you shamed the elders before the entire sect. They'll—"
Xu Tian raised a hand, silencing him. His gaze lingered on the fractured sky above, the seam gleaming faintly through clouds. "The higher the storm, the clearer the air above it."
Wei swallowed and said no more.
That night, Tian returned to his quarters. His courtyard was silent; even the cicadas seemed wary of him now. He sat within, lit a single lantern, and placed his sword across his knees. The scroll of his father's Severed Echo teachings lay beside it.
He traced the words with his fingers, steady as flowing ink. Echo, not strike. Silence that scars.
The silence thickened. Then — a faint sound of silk brushing stone.
Xu Tian's hand rested lightly on his hilt. "Enter."
The gate creaked open. A figure stepped into the lantern glow — veiled, robed in pale white, carrying that unmistakable fragrance: drifting petals under moonlight.
The emissary of the Moon-Petal Pavilion.
She inclined her head. "Disciple Xu Tian. Your silence resounded even to us. The Pavilion rarely stirs, but the night wind carried word swiftly."
"You risk much by coming," Tian said.
Her laugh was soft, distant. "The Pavilion has always risked much by watching what others ignore. We traffic not in swords or decrees, but in whispers. And your path, Xu Tian, is a whisper that Heaven itself strains to hear."
From her sleeve she withdrew a folded slip of silver silk, sealed with the crescent of her Pavilion. She set it upon the table before him.
"Tomorrow night, beyond the sect's walls, at the Fragrant Bridge of Fallen Petals. Come in plain robes, without your crest. There are those who would see your path not ended, but sharpened. The Pavilion does not take disciples, but neither does it waste storms."
Xu Tian studied her for a long breath. "And if I do not come?"
"Then the wind passes. A chance drifts away, like petals in water. But petals, when gathered, may yet conceal a sword."
Her words lingered like perfume as she withdrew into the night.
Xu Tian unfolded the slip of silk after she left. Upon it, three brushstrokes in flowing calligraphy:
"Storms need witnesses."
He folded it again, placed it into his sleeve, and extinguished the lantern.
The courtyard sank into darkness, but his eyes gleamed faintly within it.
Witnesses… or pawns?
Either way, tomorrow night, he would walk to the bridge.
And if petals concealed a sword, he intended to see whose hand held it.