The moon hung low over the sacred mountain, casting pale light upon the ancestral hall. Inside, braziers of immortal fire flickered weakly, illuminating the solemn faces of the clan's elders.
At the center stood the Grand Elder, his back straight despite the weight of centuries upon his shoulders. His gaze swept across the gathered council—men and women of unfathomable cultivation, each with eyes sharp enough to pierce mountains, yet tonight, all of them wore unease.
The subject of their gathering was a single child.
"Feixue," the Grand Elder began, his voice calm yet heavy, "has awakened seven Daos before even stepping into the path of cultivation. She defied heaven's decree with a mere wooden sword. Tell me, my kin—what does this mean for us?"
The hall erupted in murmurs.
"It means disaster!" shouted one elder, his robe trembling with his qi. "The Immortal Courts have long forbidden the rise of anomalies. If they discover her existence, our entire clan will be purged!"
Another countered sharply, "And yet, can you not see? She is not disaster, but fortune! A child who carries Origin itself—if nurtured, she may lead us to supremacy beyond even the great clans!"
"Supremacy?" scoffed the first elder. "Or annihilation? Do you truly believe heaven will allow such a being to grow?"
The arguments grew fierce. Some saw Feixue as a divine miracle, the key to lifting their clan from secrecy into glory. Others saw her as a curse, a beacon that would draw heavenly wrath upon them all.
The Grand Elder raised his hand, silencing the hall. His voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Enough."
He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the sight of the girl sitting beneath snowfall, her eyes clear, her aura boundless. Even he, who had walked the Dao for over a million years, felt unease before her presence.
"The heavens trembled at her birth," he said quietly. "That alone proves she is beyond ordinary destiny. But whether she is our calamity or salvation depends not on heaven… but on how we guide her."
Silence fell again.
At the far end of the hall, a younger elder, his hair black as ink, leaned forward. His tone was calm, yet his words carried venom.
"And if guidance fails? If she becomes something we cannot control?"
The question hung in the air, cold as steel. Several elders lowered their heads, unwilling to voice the thought aloud.
The Grand Elder's eyes flashed. "Then we will face that fate when it comes. Until then, her existence must remain hidden. Not even whispers must leave this mountain. If a single word reaches the Immortal Courts, not only Feixue, but all of us will perish."
Reluctantly, the council agreed. Oaths were sworn upon the ancestral altar, binding their souls to secrecy.
Yet in the shadows of the hall, doubt remained. Greed flickered in some hearts, fear in others. And far above, the heavens were not blind. The faint ripple of a divine gaze lingered, as though the stars themselves watched the child called Feixue.
…
That same night, Feixue sat alone in her courtyard. The snow swirled gently around her, drawn by her silent will. Her wooden sword rested across her knees, glowing faintly beneath the moonlight.
Though she could not hear the elders' debate, she felt something—an invisible thread of hostility, faint but real. For the first time, her cold eyes narrowed slightly.
The world around her whispered of danger.
But Feixue did not flinch. She only gazed upward at the moon, her small voice breaking the silence.
"If heaven fears me… then heaven will fall."
The snow stirred, sharper than blades.