Morning came red over the mountains.
Lin Qing climbed toward the upper ridge with Li Chun close behind. Bells rang softly in the mist, and prayer chains rattled against the wind. At the top stood the Hall of Prophecy, a quiet temple built from black jade and silver metal.
Inside, the air was cold. Twelve stone tablets circled a dark mirror that floated above the floor. Carvings covered the walls—old words, sharp as knife marks.
Saintess Yao stood by the mirror, veil lowered. "Heir Lin Qing."
"Saintess Yao." Lin Qing bowed slightly. "You said we needed to talk about the prophecy."
"The prophecy guides the Sect's actions," she said. "But it is not set in stone. It changes when someone like you appears."
She touched one of the stone tablets. "Listen."
Her voice echoed as she spoke the ancient lines:
"When a false moon crowns the sky, a name will return wearing silence.
The Blood Heir's first breath will shake the mountains.
Rivers will burn; righteous stars will fall.
In the mirror of Heaven, the world will see itself and break."
Lin Qing crossed his arms. "Sounds like a doomsday ad. I'm guessing that last line isn't about inner peace."
"What do you think it means?" Saintess Yao asked.
Lin Qing's Heavenly Insight flared automatically. The carvings lit up faintly in his vision. He saw links between symbols, like logic lines.
"'Rivers will burn' doesn't have to mean destruction," Lin Qing said slowly. "It can also mean cleansing or refining. And 'righteous stars'—that could mean powerful sects or holy orders, not literal stars."
Saintess Yao's eyes brightened. "Continue."
"The 'mirror of Heaven'... that's not a person. It's a power. A force that reflects everything. It doesn't destroy things directly—it shows people the truth. And when they can't handle it, their world collapses on its own."
Silence followed. Even Li Chun stood frozen behind him.
At last, Saintess Yao said, "That interpretation fits what I saw at the Blood Altar. You didn't burn anything. You purified it."
"Good to know I'm not the apocalypse—yet," Lin Qing said.
Her voice stayed calm. "Still, we can't ignore what's happening outside. The Abyssal Flame Sect has sent envoys across the border. The Nine Holy Lands are spreading rumors. They think the Blood Heir has returned to start a war."
Lin Qing frowned. "They want to provoke us into attacking first. Give them an excuse."
"Exactly." Saintess Yao waved her hand, and the mirror above them shifted, turning into a glowing map. The mountains and valleys of the Crimson Hollow Range appeared, dotted with moving lights. "These lights are our scouts. The three dark ones near the west are the envoys. They plan to attack the border villages and blame us."
"So if we strike back openly, we look guilty," Lin Qing said.
"Yes."
"Then we won't strike openly." Lin Qing's tone turned firm. "We'll remove them quietly. No banners, no survivors, no witnesses. The world will never know they were here."
Saintess Yao's expression softened. "That is the way of the Shadow Hall. Elder Hei will resist. He prefers fear over silence."
"I prefer survival."
She smiled slightly and handed him a black talisman, marked with the Blood Moon's symbol. "This is your seal. Show it, and your orders will carry the weight of an Elder."
Lin Qing turned it over in his hand. "Feels heavy for something that fits in my pocket."
"Responsibility usually is," she said simply.
A glowing glyph appeared in the air—a message sigil from Elder Hei.
His voice echoed from the light: "Heir Lin Qing, Saintess Yao. The Abyssal Flame envoys have reached the Western Reed Marsh. Two hours from Sable Ford Village. Orders?"
"Seal the village," Lin Qing said immediately. "Send the Shadow Hall. No one leaves that marsh alive."
The glyph pulsed once and faded.
Saintess Yao gave him a long look. "A cold order for someone who speaks of mercy."
Lin Qing shrugged. "Mercy doesn't work on people who use villagers as bait. Killing them saves thousands later."
For a moment, Saintess Yao just studied him. "Maybe Heaven sent you for balance, not chaos."
"I'll take balance. Easier to live with."
She touched another part of the tablet. "There is one final verse the Elders never recite. They call it inconvenient."
"The Heir who wears silence will not be found by fate.
Heaven will search and see only its own reflection."
"What does that mean?" Lin Qing asked.
"It means Heaven can't see you for what you are," she said. "When it looks at you, it only sees itself. If that's true, no one can expose you—not prophets, not saints, not Heaven."
"That's supposed to be comforting?" Lin Qing asked. "Because it sounds like I'm lying to the sky."
Saintess Yao's lips curved faintly. "Then lie well. Give Heaven a story it prefers."
They stepped outside. Disciples rushed below with scrolls and messenger talismans, preparing for the Shadow Hall's mission.
"Li Chun," Lin Qing said. "Send word to Elder Hei. Have him dispatch a relief caravan to Sable Ford after the Shadow Hall moves. Food, talismans, healers—the works. If anyone asks, we were already there helping civilians."
Li Chun bowed. "At once, Heir Lin Qing!"
As he ran off, Lin Qing looked out over the mountains. The sect spread beneath him like a crimson sea. His Heavenly Insight could see faint qi flows between towers, forming one enormous defensive formation. A few lines pulsed irregularly.
He pointed. "The main array's off rhythm at the western ridge. I'll fix it tonight."
"Elder Hei will call that blasphemy," Saintess Yao said.
"He can file a complaint after it works."
She laughed quietly. "Very well. But remember—miracles inspire followers. Patterns build faith. Do the impossible the same way twice, and the world will think it's destiny."
Lin Qing nodded slowly. "Then I'll make it a habit."
She left down the stairs, her robes trailing like smoke.
Lin Qing stayed a moment longer, watching the faint red haze rise from the far marshes. For a second, it flared—and vanished.
"The Shadow Hall moved fast," he said under his breath.
He looked up at the Blood Moon, pale in daylight but still watching. The seal in his hand grew warm, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat.
"If Heaven wants a story," he said quietly, "I'll write one it can't argue with."
The wind carried his words down the mountain. Somewhere beyond the horizon, three envoys died without ever seeing who killed them.
And the heavens, for now, stayed silent.