Chapter 69 – The Quiet Savior
The royal palace of Dawnriver stirred with solemn grace.
Golden sunlight streamed through tall windows, tracing long fingers of light across polished marble floors. Attendants moved with hushed voices, their soft footsteps echoing like whispers in a sacred hall. The faint burn of incense lingered in the air, curling upward in delicate streams as if carrying prayers to unseen heavens.
This was not a morning for celebration. It was a morning of remembrance.
Beyond the palace gates, the Black Tomb memorial site awaited completion. Masons and artisans worked with steady patience, chiseling names into stone, arranging smooth markers in neat rows. Clusters of wildflowers had been planted along the edges, their fragile stems bending gently in the breeze as if bowing to the dead. The sound of tools and murmured instructions drifted through the clearing, but beneath it all lay a reverent stillness.
Within the palace, Lin Xuan stood alone in a quiet corner. His crimson eyes reflected the light of dawn, though his expression carried shadows of a thousand nights. The Celestial Unity Crest etched faintly against his back pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of the tower's integration and the burdens carved into his soul.
For a long while he said nothing, only letting the silence draw him deeper into thought. Then, almost to himself, he whispered:
> "We've survived so much… Passing this strength on—it feels like closing a chapter I never thought would end."
His fingers curled, the faint glow of his Crimson Blood Crystallization Art tracing lines across his palm. Once a volatile, dangerous art, it now pulsed with stable rhythm, refined through countless trials and his own stubborn will. He had stripped away the chaos and left behind something enduring—something he could give to others.
A boy's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Senior Brother!"
Liu Yang bounded into the room, his blood-forged glaive bouncing against his shoulder. The boy's face, still carrying the softness of youth, was flushed with excitement. Though his cultivation had just reached the 1st Layer of Qi Transformation, his eagerness burned brighter than his qi.
"You're really going to teach me? That art you used in the tower?" His eyes sparkled, hands tightening on the glaive shaft. "I've been waiting for this—show me everything!"
Lin Xuan's stern façade softened. He reached out and placed a steadying hand on Liu Yang's shoulder.
"Not everything. You're not ready for that. But the foundation—yes. It's yours now. Just remember this: don't chase the rush of power. Feel the flow. Let it build slowly, like water gathering in a reservoir."
He gestured for Liu Yang to step back. Then, with measured breaths, Lin Xuan drew upon the art. The air shimmered faintly red as qi threads coiled around his arm, condensing into his palm. He moved slowly, deliberately, so Liu Yang could follow each shift of stance, each transition of breath.
"Start here." He guided the boy's hands with calm precision. "Anchor your stance. Control the inhale… release with intent. If you let it run wild, it will consume you before it strengthens you."
Liu Yang's brow furrowed, sweat beading as he mimicked the motion. His arms trembled, qi sputtering like a flame in the wind. Still, his eyes burned with determination.
"Like this?" he asked, gritting his teeth.
"Better," Lin Xuan said. "But again. A hundred times. Until your body remembers even when your mind falters."
Outside, beyond the palace walls, Liu Yue and Bai Ningxue had already gone ahead to the memorial. The gravel path crunched softly beneath their feet as they walked toward the rows of fresh stone.
Liu Yue's snowflake mark glowed faintly on her forehead. She knelt with care, placing a wreath of white flowers at one of the markers. Her moonlight eyes softened with a reverence far beyond her years.
"These souls gave everything for us," she said quietly. "This peace—it's their gift." Her hands trembled slightly as she arranged the blossoms, though her voice remained steady.
Beside her, Bai Ningxue lifted her hands. With graceful movements, she wove the Thousand Lotus Seal Art, pale lotus-shaped seals blooming into the air before dissolving in bursts of soft light. Each seal carried away lingering resentment, purifying the area with gentle, popping sounds like soap bubbles bursting.
"Let this place be more than memory," Bai Ningxue murmured. "Let it be healing." She set a lotus bloom at another marker, her calm aura enfolding the space.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Liu Yue whispered:
"Do you think they'd be proud of us?"
Bai Ningxue's lips curved faintly, her eyes distant.
"I hope so. But hope isn't enough. We'll have to live in a way that makes it true."
By midday, the memorial stood ready.
At its center, Ji Yunjing—his silk robes fluttering in the wind—addressed the gathering. His presence, dignified and unyielding, commanded the silence of hundreds. His cultivation at the 5th Layer Profound Heavenly Realm radiated like a beacon, but it was his words, not his aura, that stilled the crowd.
"We dedicate this Memorial of Serenity to those who fell," Ji Yunjing declared. "To the warriors who gave their lives in despair, and to those among us—Lin Xuan, Liu Yue, Liu Yang, Bai Ningxue—who turned that despair into hope."
His voice carried across the clearing. Even the leaves seemed to hold still.
"Bow to their spirits," he continued, his eyes sweeping the crowd. "Let this place stand as a pledge—that Dawnriver will not forget."
The people bowed in unison. A hush fell, broken only by the rustle of wildflowers and the distant birdsong.
At the edge of the crowd, Lin Xuan arrived, Liu Yang at his side. The boy's training had ended in sweat and trembling muscles, but his eyes still glowed with fierce determination.
Lin Xuan's voice was quiet, meant only for him.
"This art is your legacy now. Use it to protect, not to destroy."
Liu Yang straightened, sheathing his glaive. "I will, Senior Brother. I promise."
Later, when the ceremony eased into murmurs of remembrance, Liu Yue approached Lin Xuan. She brushed his sleeve lightly, her voice gentle.
"You've given him more than strength. You've given him a purpose. I'm proud of you, Senior Brother."
Lin Xuan glanced at her, crimson eyes softening. For once, a faint smile curved his lips.
"And you've kept us grounded," he replied. "Thank you, Yue'er."
Bai Ningxue joined them then, her seals fading into nothing. "Closure doesn't erase pain. But it gives us a place to stand again. Let's use it."
Ji Yunjing, stepping forward, bowed deeply toward Lin Xuan and the others. His usually stern voice softened.
"Your courage carved this serenity. Dawnriver owes you more than words, but let this memorial be our vow. Rest when you can—but stay vigilant."
Lin Xuan returned the bow, his breath steady even as his chest ached.
"We'll guard it. Always."
The afternoon waned. Children wandered among the markers, leaving tokens—wooden carvings, simple flowers, even clumsy drawings on scraps of paper. The sun dipped low, casting long golden shadows across the memorial.
Liu Yang lingered beside one stone, his fingers tracing the carved name. His voice, small but steady, reached his sister.
"Elder Sister… do you think they're watching us?"
Liu Yue placed a hand on his shoulder, her smile soft and sad.
"I think they are. And I think they're smiling."
Bai Ningxue, standing nearby, added softly: "Then let's give them reasons to keep smiling."
That evening, the palace quieted. But Lin Xuan's duties did not end.
In a secluded chamber, he arranged herbs across a low table—some fresh and vibrant, others brittle with age. His silver-blue flames flickered as he worked, carefully balancing ingredients in a pill cauldron. The sharp scents of crushed roots and steaming essences filled the air, bitter and sweet all at once.
He was not doing this for himself. This was for Luo Shuang.
Every crushed stem, every measured drop of liquid carried with it the memory of her sacrifice—the price she had paid when he could not protect her. Guilt weighed on him heavier than the cauldron itself.
Hours passed. Sweat dripped down his temples. At last, a faint golden glow rose from the crucible. A pill, humming with life force, rolled into his palm.
That night, beneath the silver glow of the moon, Lin Xuan carried the pill to Luo Shuang's quarters. His hand trembled as he knocked.
The door opened to reveal her gentle smile. "Xuan'er? At this hour?"
He held out the pill with both hands, his voice unsteady.
"Martial Mother… this will restore your meridians."
Her eyes widened, then softened. She accepted the pill with careful hands, brushing his fingers as she whispered:
"You've grown so much. Cold, mysterious… yet still the boy who cared too deeply."
She laughed softly. "Do you know you used to trip over your own feet, Xuan'er? Look at you now."
His throat tightened. "Are you… talking about Master?"
Her smile dimmed, turning wistful. "Yes. Ren. You never called him 'Master' before, you know. He was just Ren to you. Like a brother."
Lin Xuan swallowed hard. "Martial Mother… tell me more about him. Please."
She sighed, settling onto a cushion, eyes faraway with memory. "Ren was contradictions wrapped in flesh. Stern but kind. A wanderer, but one who always returned to those he loved. He saved me once, long ago, in the Crimson Forest…"
Her voice carried him back to a time before his own. And as he listened, guilt and longing warred within him.
The memorial day stretched into the night, and still Lin Xuan worked, listened, and remembered. His family's bonds deepened in small, quiet ways. The clan's legacy grew stronger, not through war, but through remembrance and healing.
And though shadows lingered at the edges of his heart, the vow of the day remained clear:
> "We'll guard this peace—with everything we have."