The sect breathed differently when they returned.
It wasn't louder. It was tighter. Conversations bent. Eyes slid sideways and didn't bother hiding it. A hand paused halfway through pouring tea when Lu Yan passed. Someone laughed too quickly. Someone else didn't laugh at all.
Rumor had weight here. It pressed against skin.
Lu Yan felt it the moment they crossed the inner bridge—the stone warm underfoot, the water below too clear, reflecting more than faces. Reflections lingered. Twisted. Repeated.
Zhao Qingyue walked half a step ahead of him, back straight, sword at her hip like punctuation. She didn't look around. Didn't need to. She knew what she was.
Lin Yue walked to his other side, quiet as a thought you don't say aloud. Her presence was cooler, composed, but not withdrawn. She didn't avoid proximity. She calibrated it.
Between them, Lu Yan felt… aligned. Uncomfortably so.
Foundation Establishment — Late Stage. Saturation pressure rising.
The Manual stirred, pleased in a way that made him want to grind his teeth.
Public scrutiny amplifies emotional yield.
"Don't," he muttered under his breath.
Lin Yue heard him anyway. "Did it speak?"
"Yes."
Zhao Qingyue didn't slow. "And?"
"It's enjoying the attention."
Zhao Qingyue snorted softly. "Figures."
They reached the main courtyard just as the morning bell finished ringing. Disciples gathered in clusters—some training, some pretending to, some not pretending at all.
The moment they noticed the formation—Lu Yan centered, Zhao Qingyue flanking, Lin Yue mirroring—the hum shifted.
Whispers didn't start.
They sharpened.
Lin Yue felt it first. He could tell by the way her shoulders adjusted, subtle as breath. Zhao Qingyue felt it second—her fingers brushed her sword hilt, not in threat, but reminder.
Lu Yan stopped.
Both women stopped with him.
That alone drew stares.
"Separate," Zhao Qingyue said quietly, not looking at him. "Here."
Lin Yue didn't argue. "Agreed."
Neither moved.
Lu Yan smiled faintly. "You're both assuming something."
Zhao Qingyue turned. "Are we wrong?"
He held her gaze. Then Lin Yue's.
"No," he said. "But not yet."
Lin Yue inclined her head, accepting the deferral for what it was—not a rejection, not a promise. Zhao Qingyue's eyes narrowed, but she stepped away, creating distance with visible reluctance.
Lin Yue followed a heartbeat later, her path angling toward the Frost Cloud wing.
The space left behind them felt… wrong.
Lu Yan exhaled and continued alone.
That lasted maybe ten steps.
"Senior Brother Lu."
He didn't stop. "Say it."
The junior disciple hurried to keep pace, face flushed. "Elder Han requests your presence. Now."
Of course she does.
Lu Yan nodded. "I'm on my way."
The walk to the elders' hall felt longer than usual. Not because of distance—but because of what waited.
Elder Han stood at the open lattice window when he entered, back straight, hair pinned neatly, robes immaculate. She didn't turn immediately.
"Close the door," she said.
He did.
Silence settled. Not hostile. Appraising.
"You're visible," Elder Han said finally.
"Yes."
"You're careless."
"No."
She turned then, eyes sharp, assessing him from head to toe. "Then explain."
Lu Yan met her gaze calmly. "They're choosing to stand where they stand."
"And you?" she asked. "What are you choosing?"
He didn't answer right away.
That, too, was an answer.
Elder Han exhaled slowly. "You're nearing the threshold."
"I know."
"Foundation Establishment doesn't forgive hesitation."
"It doesn't forgive emptiness either."
Her lips pressed together. "You're cultivating improperly."
"I'm cultivating honestly."
That earned him a long look.
"You will destabilize others," she said.
"I already have."
"Yes." Her gaze sharpened. "That's the problem."
She moved closer, lowering her voice. "Lin Yue is not a girl to be idled. Zhao Qingyue even less so."
"I'm not idling them."
"You're not choosing," she countered.
He smiled faintly. "Yet."
Elder Han studied him for a long moment, then shook her head. "Leave. But understand this—when the balance tips, I won't shield you from consequences."
"I wouldn't want you to."
Outside, the sect had only grown louder in his absence.
Lin Yue waited for him near the Frost Cloud steps, hands folded, expression unreadable. She didn't ask where he'd been.
"You were summoned," she said.
"Yes."
Her eyes searched his face. "And?"
"And the sect is nervous."
She almost smiled. Almost.
"They should be."
Footsteps approached from the opposite direction.
Zhao Qingyue.
She stopped when she saw Lin Yue. Didn't retreat. Didn't advance.
Lu Yan felt the space tighten again.
"They're saying things," Zhao Qingyue said, eyes on him.
"Let them," he replied.
"They're not just saying," she continued. "They're choosing sides."
Lin Yue's gaze flicked toward a cluster of disciples watching openly now. "Already?"
"Yes."
Lu Yan followed her line of sight. He recognized some of them. Training partners. Rivals. People who had watched him quietly for months.
"They'll make it ugly," Zhao Qingyue said.
Lin Yue nodded. "They always do."
Lu Yan stepped forward, placing himself between them again. Not to block. To anchor.
"Don't," he said quietly. "Not yet."
"Don't what?" Zhao Qingyue asked.
"Draw lines," he said. "Let them reveal themselves first."
Lin Yue's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You want to see who pushes."
"Yes."
"And when they do?" Zhao Qingyue asked.
Lu Yan's smile sharpened. "Then we respond."
The word we landed differently for each of them.
Lin Yue felt it as inclusion. Zhao Qingyue felt it as challenge.
Before either could speak, a voice cut through the courtyard.
"Senior Brother Lu!"
A female disciple stepped forward—bold, flushed, eyes bright with something like excitement. She bowed quickly. "Elder Zhao requests you for afternoon sparring. Immediately."
Zhao Qingyue stiffened. "My uncle?"
"Yes!"
Lin Yue glanced at Lu Yan, then at Zhao Qingyue. Something unreadable passed through her eyes.
"Go," Lin Yue said softly. "We'll talk later."
Zhao Qingyue didn't look away from him. "You'll come."
It wasn't a request.
Lu Yan inclined his head. "I will."
As he turned to follow the messenger, Lin Yue spoke again—quiet, but precise.
"Lu Yan."
He paused.
She stepped closer, close enough that only he could hear her. "If you leave things unspoken too long… others will speak for you."
Her fingers brushed his sleeve once. Barely.
Then she stepped back.
Zhao Qingyue watched the contact. Didn't comment. Her jaw set.
Lu Yan walked away with the messenger, the weight in his core tightening, compressing.
Foundation Establishment — Late Stage. Critical density approaching.
Behind him, the courtyard buzzed.
Rumors had names now.
And none of them were his.