CHAPTER 27 — The Sect's Shadow
The sect did not wait.
Power never waits.
By dawn, mist covered the mountain like a burial cloth.
And within that mist…
Something approached.
Zheng Wen Te felt it first.
The lotus seal over his heart pulsed once.
A warning.
Lian stood near the pavilion doors, still as winter.
Her voice was quiet.
"They sent someone."
Zheng swallowed.
"The elder?"
Lian's gaze was cold.
"Not important enough."
Zheng's stomach tightened.
"Then who?"
The pavilion doors creaked open.
A young man stepped inside.
Black robes.
Calm expression.
Eyes too sharp for a disciple.
He bowed politely.
"Heart Pavilion Immortal."
"This junior greets you."
Lian did not move.
"Speak."
The disciple smiled faintly.
"The Ancestor has heard of the Golden Thread."
"He requests the mortal."
Lian's aura rose slightly.
"The Ancestor does not request."
"He commands."
The disciple's smile thinned.
"Then consider this…"
"…a necessary measure."
His sleeve shifted.
A thin, dark blade appeared in his palm, covered in faint talisman marks.
Zheng stumbled back.
"You're here to kill me?"
The disciple's voice was gentle.
"To remove complications."
"Heaven-marked roots belong to the sect."
The seal on Zheng's chest flared.
The disciple's eyes gleamed with greed.
"What a treasure…"
Then—
He vanished.
Not speed.
Not technique.
Instant disappearance.
Zheng's breath caught.
"Where—?!"
A whisper came from behind.
"Too slow."
Zheng twisted—
The blade brushed past, leaving a sharp sting across his shoulder.
He fell back, heart pounding.
The disciple raised his weapon again—
And stopped.
A hand had caught his wrist.
Lian.
Her grip was effortless.
The disciple froze.
"Immortal…"
"Do you truly intend to shelter him?"
Lian's gaze was empty.
"I intend to finish my karma."
The disciple struggled.
Spiritual energy surged.
Talismans flickered.
But the pavilion itself seemed to suppress him.
Lian tilted her head slightly.
"Did the sect forget…"
"…what this place is?"
Fear finally cracked through the disciple's calm mask.
"I—"
Lian's aura expanded.
The air turned heavy.
The disciple's knees bent involuntarily.
His breath became ragged.
It was not pain.
It was absolute pressure.
Lian leaned closer, voice like frost:
"Tell your Ancestor…"
"…the Heart Pavilion does not kneel."
The disciple trembled.
Then he withdrew, stumbling back into the mist.
Gone.
Silence returned.
Zheng lay shaking, clutching his shoulder.
He stared at Lian.
"…You saved me."
Lian's voice was cold.
"I protected my debt."
But her hand hovered near his wound…
Just for a moment.