The passage through the Whispering Woods, though fraught with an underlying tension, had been mercifully devoid of further monstrous encounters. The lingering aura of the Shadow Weavers' demise, or perhaps Mei Lin's own burgeoning, instinctual connection to the forest, seemed to keep other predatory spirits at bay. Their small band emerged from the ancient woods into rolling foothills that marked the slow transition towards the more populated, albeit still rugged, Southern Provinces. The air grew warmer, the landscape less wild, yet the sense of being fugitives, of carrying a precious, fragile secret, never truly left them.
Mei Lin's adjustment continued in small, hesitant steps. The world was a constant source of wonder and fear for her. A brightly colored butterfly would elicit a gasp of delight, followed by a quick glance towards Leng Chen for reassurance, as if seeking permission to be joyful. The distant rumble of thunder sent her scurrying to his side, her small hands clutching his sleeve, her luminous eyes wide with terror until he spoke in low, calming tones.
Leng Chen found himself in the unfamiliar role of a patient teacher. He would point out different trees, name the birds that sang in the branches, and explain the changing patterns of the clouds. His explanations were often terse, factual, a stark contrast to Master Ruan's more poetic descriptions of nature's wonders, yet Mei Lin seemed to absorb his words with an earnest intensity.
"Sky… big," she might whisper, looking up at the vast expanse of blue, the Soul-Bloom held close to her chest.
"Yes, Mei Lin," Leng Chen would reply, a faint, almost imperceptible softness in his voice. "It is called the sky. And those white forms are clouds. They bring the rain."
"Rain… like tears?" she once asked, her brow furrowed in childlike confusion after a brief shower.
Leng Chen had paused, taken aback by the innocent poetry of her question. "Sometimes," he found himself saying. "And sometimes, they are like a cleansing bath for the earth."
These simple exchanges were a world away from the complex sword forms and strategic discussions that had once dominated his life. Yet, he found a strange, quiet satisfaction in them, a sense of purpose that was entirely new.
Xiao Cui remained Mei Lin's most constant, if sometimes confusing, companion. The little woodpecker spirit would chatter at her incessantly, recounting tales of their life in the Whispering Serpent Valley, of the "old Mei Lin." This new Mei Lin would listen, her head tilted, a look of deep puzzlement on her face. She clearly felt a connection to the bird, often stroking its feathers or offering it tiny crumbs of food, but the stories Xiao Cui told were like tales from a dream she couldn't quite grasp.
"Remember the Sunpetal Grove, Lady Mei Lin?" Xiao Cui would chirp. "Remember how you made the moonvines sing?"
Mei Lin would just blink her large, innocent eyes. "Sing?"
"Yes, sing! With your spirit! You were so powerful, so kind!"
A shadow of distress would cross Mei Lin's face at these moments, a frustration at not understanding, at not being the person this little bird so clearly adored. Leng Chen would often intervene gently, "Xiao Cui, perhaps new songs are waiting to be learned." The bird would fall silent then, its bright eyes looking from Leng Chen to Mei Lin with a sorrowful understanding.
The rest of the group largely kept a respectful distance, allowing Leng Chen to navigate this delicate process. Li Ming continued to be a pillar of quiet support, always ready with a spare cloak if Mei Lin felt cold, or a calming word if she grew agitated. Zhang Hao, though still awkward, made genuine efforts to be less boisterous, his earlier prejudices slowly eroding in the face of Mei Lin's undeniable innocence and Leng Chen's unwavering dedication.
Lady Zhelan and Master Ruan, with their Seven Star Pavilion disciples, maintained their role as escorts, their interactions with Leng Chen's small party becoming more cordial, less strained. The shared ordeal in the valley and the ongoing, peculiar nature of their journey had forged an unspoken bond.
"He is remarkably patient with her," Zhelan commented to Master Ruan one evening, as they observed Leng Chen patiently showing Mei Lin how to identify edible berries.
Master Ruan smiled faintly. "The hardest ice often conceals the deepest waters, Lady Zhelan. Perhaps this trial is revealing a facet of Young Master Leng that even he did not know existed."
"Or perhaps," Zhelan mused, a familiar glint of rivalry in her eyes, "he is merely blinded by a misplaced sense of duty towards a creature that could still prove to be a great danger."
"Only time will tell," Master Ruan said sagely. "But I have seen many forms of strength in my long years. And sometimes, the greatest strength lies not in the sword, but in the heart's capacity for compassion, even in the face of the unknown."
Zhelan fell silent, her gaze lingering on Leng Chen and the childlike spirit beside him.
Far to the north, within the imposing, ice-bound fortress of the Heavenly Summit Sect, the atmosphere was anything but compassionate. Leng Tianjue, Sect Leader and father to Leng Chen, sat upon his high throne of carved black ice, his face a mask of cold fury. Before him knelt a trembling disciple, one of the few who had managed to escape the Whispering Serpent Valley after Korgath's initial rampage, before the arrival of the Seven Star Pavilion.
"He what?" Leng Tianjue's voice was deceptively soft, yet it carried a chilling menace that made the very air in the throne room crackle with frost.
The disciple, his face pale with terror, stammered, "He… he took the demon spirit with him, Sect Leader. The flower spirit, Mei Lin. After she… after she helped reseal Korgath. Senior Brother Leng Chen… he carried her away. He defied the disciples who questioned him."
A vein throbbed in Leng Tianjue's temple. His knuckles were white as he gripped the icy armrests of his throne. "A flower spirit," he repeated, the words like shards of glass. "My son, the pride of the Heavenly Summit Sect, the heir to my legacy, has forsaken his duty, his honor, his very blood, for a demon."
Standing a little to the side, cloaked in shadows, was Commander Jin. His face, stern and weathered, betrayed no emotion, but his eyes, like chips of obsidian, were fixed on his Sect Leader. He was Leng Tianjue's most trusted enforcer, a man whose loyalty was as unyielding as the mountain peaks themselves, his skill in battle legendary.
"Sect Leader," Commander Jin said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, "your son has always been… headstrong. Perhaps he was deceived by the demon's trickery. The stress of battle can cloud even the sharpest judgment."
Leng Tianjue's cold gaze snapped to him. "Deceived? Or willfully disobedient? He was trained to recognize demonic deceit in all its forms. He knows the law. He knows the price of consorting with such filth." He rose from his throne, his tall figure casting a long, intimidating shadow. "This is not mere youthful folly, Commander. This is rebellion. An affront to everything our sect stands for."
From another shadowed alcove, a soft, silken voice emerged. "Indeed, Sect Leader. Such a public display of… misplaced sentiment… could severely undermine the authority of the Heavenly Summit. Other disciples might begin to question the established doctrines." Consort Rou glided into the dim light, her movements fluid and graceful, her beautiful face arranged in an expression of concerned sympathy that did not quite reach her calculating eyes. She was a relatively new addition to Leng Tianjue's inner circle, but her influence had grown swiftly, much to the chagrin of some of the older elders.
Leng Tianjue's gaze softened fractionally as it fell upon her. "Consort Rou speaks wisely. This cannot be tolerated." He turned back to Commander Jin. "You will take the Shadow Fang unit. Find my son. Find that demon spirit. If he resists, you have my authority to use whatever force is necessary to bring him to heel. As for the demon…" His lips curled into a cruel sneer. "Ensure its existence is… permanently extinguished. No trace must remain."
Commander Jin bowed his head. "It will be done, Sect Leader." There was no hesitation in his voice, only the cold finality of an order accepted.
As Commander Jin departed to gather his elite unit, Consort Rou moved closer to Leng Tianjue, placing a delicate hand on his arm. "My Lord, you are troubled. Your son's betrayal cuts deep, I know." Her voice was like honeyed poison. "But perhaps this is an opportunity. With Leng Chen… temporarily indisposed… other, more loyal talents within the sect might have a chance to shine, to prove their unwavering devotion to you." Her eyes gleamed with an ambition she barely concealed.
Leng Tianjue looked down at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, a grim understanding passed between them. The game of power within the Heavenly Summit Sect was as cold and unforgiving as the mountain winds, and Leng Chen's rebellion had just created a vacuum, one that many, including the cunning Consort Rou, were eager to fill.
Meanwhile, far to the south, Elder Bai, in his quiet courtyard, received a coded message delivered by a carrier pigeon. As he read its contents – a discreet report from a loyal informant within the Sect Leader's inner circle detailing Commander Jin's new assignment – a deep frown creased his kindly face. He looked out at the snow-capped peaks, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Ah, Chen'er," he murmured to himself. "What have you entangled yourself in now, my boy? And what storms will your father unleash upon this already fractured world?" He knew he could not openly defy Leng Tianjue, but perhaps… perhaps there were subtle ways to offer a warning, a sliver of aid, to the son of the woman he had once, long ago, held in high esteem.
The shadows of the Heavenly Summit were long, and they were beginning to stretch towards an unsuspecting group traveling south, carrying with them the chilling promise of a reckoning.
Back in the frigid heart of the Heavenly Summit Sect, Commander Jin moved with swift, brutal efficiency. The Shadow Fang unit was his personal instrument of the Sect Leader's will – a group of elite cultivators, handpicked for their unwavering loyalty, formidable skills, and utter ruthlessness. They were not warriors in the traditional sense; they were hunters, trackers, and, when necessary, executioners. Their training focused on stealth, silent takedowns, and the absolute suppression of any personal sentiment that might interfere with their grim duties.
Commander Jin stood before them in the sect's desolate training grounds, a windswept plateau where the only sounds were the howl of the icy wind and the crack of practice dummies being shattered. His face, etched with old battle scars and the harsh lines of unquestioning obedience, was impassive.
"Your orders are clear," his voice, like stones grinding together, cut through the wind. "Leng Chen, First Disciple of the Heavenly Summit, has betrayed the sect. He consorts with a demon spirit. He has defied the direct orders of the Sect Leader." A murmur, quickly suppressed, rippled through the assembled Shadow Fangs. Leng Chen was a legend among them, a figure of awe. To hunt him was a task none had ever envisioned.
"Your mission is to locate him and bring him back," Commander Jin continued, his obsidian eyes sweeping over their masked faces. "The demon spirit is to be… eliminated. No trace. If Leng Chen resists, you are authorized to subdue him by any means necessary. Failure is not an option. The honor of the Heavenly Summit, the very word of our Leader, depends on your success."
A tall, wiry warrior, his mask adorned with a single, jagged fang insignia, stepped forward. "Commander, Leng Chen's cultivation is profound. Even weakened, as reports suggest, he will be a formidable opponent. And he is not alone. He travels with remnants of the Seven Star Pavilion."
Commander Jin's lip curled slightly. "The Seven Star Pavilion are gnats, easily swatted. Leng Chen's weakness is not his cultivation, but his… sentiment." He almost spat the word. "He has allowed a demon to cloud his judgment. That is where you will strike. Exploit his misplaced compassion. As for his strength, you are the Shadow Fangs. You do not meet strength with strength. You meet it with cunning, with shadows, with the unexpected strike." He paused, his gaze hardening. "And remember, he is still the Sect Leader's son. While you are to subdue him if he resists, his life is to be preserved, if possible. The demon, however, has no such protection."
The Shadow Fangs bowed in unison. "As the Sect Leader commands!"
Meanwhile, within the opulent, yet chillingly sterile, inner chambers of the Heavenly Summit, Consort Rou was playing a more subtle game. She sat across a low, polished table from a group of influential, though perhaps less scrupulous, sect elders. Delicate cups of steaming, fragrant tea sat untouched before them.
"Esteemed Elders," Consort Rou began, her voice a silken caress, "the Sect Leader is… deeply aggrieved by his son's unfortunate lapse in judgment. It weighs heavily upon him."
One portly elder, Elder Quan, known more for his appetite for power than his cultivation prowess, grumbled, "Lapse in judgment? The boy has brought shame upon us all! Consorting with a demon! It is unthinkable!"
"Indeed," Consort Rou agreed, her eyes a picture of demure concern. "And with Young Master Leng… unavailable… to fulfill his duties, it does create a certain… vacuum. Important responsibilities, crucial alliances, the very future of our sect's influence in the Southern Provinces… these matters cannot be left unattended."
Another elder, Elder Feng, a man with a reputation for ambition and a sharp mind, leaned forward. "What are you suggesting, Consort Rou?"
Consort Rou smiled, a slow, enigmatic smile. "I merely observe, Elder Feng. But it seems to me that in times of uncertainty, true loyalty and capability often reveal themselves. Perhaps this is an opportunity for others, those whose devotion to the Sect Leader and the Heavenly Summit is unquestionable, to step forward and demonstrate their worth." She let her gaze linger on each elder in turn. "The Sect Leader will surely need strong, reliable pillars of support in the trying times ahead. Especially if… if his own blood has proven unreliable."
The unspoken implications hung heavy in the air. Alliances were shifting, ambitions stirring. Consort Rou, with her beauty and her cunning, was expertly playing the game of courtly intrigue, using Leng Chen's perceived fall from grace to elevate her own standing and that of her allies.
Far from these cold machinations, Elder Bai sat in his snow-dusted courtyard, a single Go board before him. The black and white stones lay scattered, an unfinished game. He had received another coded message, this one more alarming. Commander Jin and the Shadow Fangs had already departed, their trail leading south.
"So swift, Tianjue," Elder Bai murmured, placing a white stone on the board with a sigh. "You always were one for decisive, brutal action. But sometimes, a hammer is not the right tool to mend a delicate tapestry."
He thought of Leng Chen, the boy he had watched grow, the son of a woman he had deeply respected – Leng Chen's mother, a gentle soul who had been a tempering influence on Leng Tianjue before her untimely death. She would have been heartbroken to see this chasm between father and son.
"The boy has his mother's heart, even if he tries to hide it under your ice, Tianjue," Elder Bai whispered to the uncaring wind. He knew he could not directly intervene. His own position within the sect was precarious enough; he was tolerated for his wisdom and his past service, but his more compassionate views often put him at odds with Leng Tianjue's iron rule.
However, a warning could be sent. Not directly, for that would be traced. But there were… other paths. He thought of an old acquaintance, a wandering scholar known only as "Old Man Willow Whisper," who owed him a significant favor and had an uncanny knack for being in the right place at the right time, his network of information surprisingly vast. It was a long shot, a faint hope. But for the sake of the boy, and for the memory of his mother, Elder Bai had to try. He penned a short, cryptic message, its true meaning hidden beneath layers of poetic verse, and dispatched it with his most trusted carrier hawk, hoping it would find its mark before the Shadow Fangs found theirs.
Unaware of the storm gathering in the north, Leng Chen's group continued their slow progress south. They had left the Whispering Woods behind and were now traversing a region of rolling hills and fertile valleys, dotted with small farming communities and trading outposts.
Mei Lin's fear of the unfamiliar was slowly being replaced by a childlike wonder. She would point at a farmer tilling his field, her eyes wide. "Man… with earth?"
"Yes, Mei Lin," Leng Chen would explain patiently. "He is a farmer. He grows food from the earth."
"Food… like berries?" she would ask, remembering the berries he had shown her.
"Yes, and rice, and vegetables."
One day, they passed a small roadside shrine, adorned with faded ribbons and offerings of fruit. Mei Lin stopped, her gaze drawn to a crudely carved wooden statue of a local nature deity. She reached out and gently touched the worn wood, a look of serene understanding on her face. Xiao Cui, on her shoulder, chirped softly, a sound almost like a prayer.
"Do you… remember something?" Leng Chen asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Mei Lin looked at him, her eyes clear and innocent, but with a faint, distant quality. "Pretty," she said simply, gesturing to the shrine. "Kind. Like… warm sun."
It wasn't a memory, not in the way he understood it. But it was a connection, an innate resonance with the spiritual world that even her amnesia could not erase.
Lady Zhelan, observing this, found herself increasingly conflicted. Her sect's teachings were clear about the dangers of untamed spirits. Yet, this… child-spirit… radiated an innocence, a harmlessness that was difficult to reconcile with those teachings. And Leng Chen's unwavering, almost tender, devotion to her was both baffling and, in a way she was reluctant to admit, strangely compelling.
"She seems to possess an affinity for places of spiritual power," Master Ruan remarked to Zhelan, as they watched Mei Lin. "Even without her memories, her core essence remains. It is a testament to the resilience of the spirit."
"Or a sign of her inherent, untamable nature," Zhelan countered, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. "Such beings are unpredictable, Master. Innocence can be a mask."
Master Ruan smiled faintly. "Indeed, Lady Zhelan. And so can harshness." He looked at her pointedly, and Zhelan had the grace to look away, a faint flush on her cheeks.
The journey was changing them all, in ways subtle and profound. The lines between duty and compassion, between ally and potential enemy, were becoming increasingly blurred. And as they moved further south, deeper into lands where the influence of the great sects was less absolute, they were also moving closer to the inevitable confrontation that Leng Tianjue had set in motion. The whispers of a new dawn were fragile, and the shadows of the summit were drawing ever nearer.
The Shadow Fang unit, under Commander Jin's unyielding command, moved like wraiths through the snow-laden passes of the Heavenly Summit. Their black attire blended seamlessly with the stark landscape, their movements economical and silent. They were the Sect Leader's personal hounds, and their prey was one of their own – a thought that settled uneasily even in their disciplined minds.
"The Southern Provinces are vast, Commander," one of the masked warriors, known only as "Talon," ventured during a brief halt in a wind-scoured ravine. "Young Master Leng is skilled in evasion. And the Seven Star Pavilion… they will not give him up easily if they perceive it as an affront to their own sect."
Commander Jin's gaze, cold as the glacial ice surrounding them, did not waver. "Lady Zhelan is proud, but she is not foolish. She will not risk open conflict with the Heavenly Summit for a renegade and a demon. Her escort is a temporary courtesy, nothing more. As for Leng Chen," a flicker of something unreadable passed through Jin's eyes, "his skills are indeed formidable. But his heart, once his greatest strength in its unwavering loyalty, is now his greatest vulnerability. He cares for this… spirit. That care will be his undoing."
"And if he refuses to be 'subdued'?" Talon pressed, his voice low.
"Then we follow the Sect Leader's orders to their fullest extent regarding the demon," Jin stated flatly. "Leng Chen's fate, in that scenario, will be determined by his own choices. Our primary objective is the eradication of the spiritual anomaly he protects. The rest is secondary." He surveyed his unit. "Doubt is a poison. Banish it. We serve the Sect Leader. We uphold the sanctity of the Heavenly Summit. That is our only truth."
The Shadow Fangs, their unease buried deep beneath layers of indoctrination, nodded in grim assent. Their hunt had begun.
In his secluded courtyard, Elder Bai watched the carrier hawk disappear into the vast, indifferent sky. The cryptic message it carried was a fragile thread of hope cast into a gathering storm. He knew the risks. If Leng Tianjue discovered his interference, even one as subtle as this, the consequences would be severe.
His old servant, Lin, who had been with him for decades and was privy to many of his master's quiet rebellions of conscience, poured him a cup of warm wine. "You worry for the Young Master, Old Bai," Lin said, his voice raspy with age.
Elder Bai sighed, accepting the cup. "Leng Chen is more like his mother than Tianjue would ever admit. That same fire, that same… unwillingness to accept injustice, even when it is cloaked in the guise of duty." He took a slow sip. "His mother tried to temper Tianjue's harshness, to show him the value of compassion. Her death… it extinguished that light in him, I fear, and left only the ice."
"And now the ice threatens to consume the son as well," Lin observed quietly.
"Perhaps," Elder Bai conceded. "Or perhaps the son has found a new flame to guide him. This… flower spirit… Korgath's resealing… these are not ordinary events, Lin. The spiritual balance of the world is in flux. Tianjue sees only threats to his authority, to his rigid order. He does not see the deeper currents."
"And this Old Man Willow Whisper you contacted?" Lin asked. "Can he truly reach Leng Chen in time? Can one wandering scholar outwit the Shadow Fangs?"
Elder Bai smiled faintly. "Old Man Willow Whisper has a way of… being where he is needed. He values knowledge, and he values old debts. And the message I sent… it speaks not just of danger, but of a potential ally, a place of sanctuary if Leng Chen can reach it. A small chance is better than none at all." He looked at the Go board, the unfinished game a metaphor for the larger game being played. "We can only place our stones and hope the pattern resolves in favor of life, not destruction."
Leng Chen's group, now several weeks into their journey south from the Cloud-Hidden Peaks, had reached the outskirts of a bustling trading town called Lin'an, a vital crossroads on the way to the Southern Provinces. It was their first encounter with a significant settlement since the ordeal in the Whispering Serpent Valley, and the noise, the crowds, the sheer vibrancy of the place, was a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the wilderness.
For Mei Lin, it was an overwhelming sensory assault. She clung to Leng Chen's arm, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and a dawning, almost painful, curiosity. The cacophony of voices, the clatter of cartwheels on cobblestones, the myriad smells of street food, incense, and unwashed bodies – it was all too much for her heightened senses.
"So many… people," she whispered, her voice trembling, her face pale. She instinctively tried to hide behind Leng Chen, making herself as small as possible. Xiao Cui, equally agitated, burrowed into the collar of Leng Chen's robe.
"It's alright, Mei Lin," Leng Chen said, his voice low and reassuring, his hand resting lightly on hers where it gripped his sleeve. "We are just passing through. No one will harm you." He projected an aura of calm, trying to shield her from the overwhelming energies of the crowd.
Master Ruan suggested they find a quiet inn on the outskirts of town to rest and resupply. "Lin'an is a known hub for cultivators from various sects, as well as less… scrupulous individuals. It would be wise to maintain a low profile."
Lady Zhelan, however, seemed almost invigorated by the return to a semblance of civilization. Her usual aloofness was still present, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes as she observed the bustling marketplace. "Perhaps a brief stop in the market is warranted, Master Ruan? Our supplies are dwindling, and some fresh provisions would be welcome. And," she added, a subtle glance towards Leng Chen, "it might be an opportunity to gather information. News travels quickly in a place like Lin'an."
Leng Chen was hesitant. Exposing Mei Lin to such a crowded environment was risky. But Zhelan had a point. They needed supplies, and information about any unusual movements – particularly those of Heavenly Summit disciples – would be invaluable.
"Very well," he conceded. "Li Ming, Zhang Hao, you will accompany Lady Zhelan and a few of her disciples to the market. Be discreet. Gather what we need, and listen for any news of… interest. Master Ruan and I will find a suitable inn with Mei Lin and the others."
Zhang Hao, whose injuries were now mostly healed, though he still walked with a slight limp, looked almost eager. "Yes, Senior Brother! Leave it to us!" The prospect of a bustling market was a welcome change from the monotony of the road.
As Zhelan's group headed towards the market square, Master Ruan led Leng Chen, Mei Lin, and the remaining injured Seven Star disciples towards a quieter part of town. Mei Lin walked with her head down, still clutching the Soul-Bloom, her senses overwhelmed. Leng Chen kept a protective arm around her shoulders.
They found a modest, clean-looking inn called the "Sleeping Dragon," tucked away on a side street. The innkeeper, a portly, amiable man, greeted them with a smile. Leng Chen secured a few quiet rooms at the back, overlooking a small, overgrown courtyard.
Once settled in their room, Mei Lin seemed to relax slightly, the oppressive noise of the town receding. She sat by the window, looking out at the small courtyard where a few hardy wildflowers bloomed in a patch of sunlight.
"Flowers," she whispered, a faint smile touching her lips. "Like… home?" The question was directed more to herself than to Leng Chen.
Leng Chen sat beside her. "Do you remember your home, Mei Lin?" he asked gently.
She looked at him, her eyes clouded with a familiar confusion. "Home… is warm. Safe. With… green things. And… singing birds." She touched the Soul-Bloom. "This… feels like home."
It was a fragmented, instinctual memory, an echo of the Whispering Serpent Valley, or perhaps of a deeper, more fundamental connection to nature.
"One day," Leng Chen found himself saying, the words surprising even himself, "perhaps we can find you a new home, a place that feels just as warm and safe."
Mei Lin looked at him, her luminous eyes searching his. Then, she leaned her head, just for a moment, against his shoulder, a gesture of childlike trust that sent an unexpected jolt through him. He sat very still, unsure how to react to this simple, profound display of affection. The ice around his heart, which had begun to thaw in the Cloud-Hidden Peaks, seemed to crack a little further.
The fragile peace of their room was soon to be disturbed. The shadows of the Heavenly Summit were long, and even in a bustling town like Lin'an, whispers could carry, and unseen eyes could be watching.
The marketplace of Lin'an was a vibrant, chaotic tapestry of sights, sounds, and smells. Stalls overflowed with exotic fruits, shimmering silks, intricately crafted weapons, and mysterious alchemical ingredients. Merchants hawked their wares in loud, sing-song voices, street performers juggled flaming torches, and cultivators of all ranks and affiliations bartered and gossiped.
Lady Zhelan, flanked by Li Ming, Zhang Hao, and two of her most trusted Seven Star disciples, moved through the throng with an air of cool composure, though her amber eyes missed nothing. While her disciples focused on procuring essential supplies – fresh water, dried rations, medicinal herbs – Zhelan's attention was on the undercurrents of the crowd, the whispers and rumors that flowed as freely as the wine in the nearby taverns.
"Anything of note, Li Ming?" Zhelan asked, her voice low as they paused near a stall selling antique scrolls.
Li Ming, who had been subtly listening to the conversations around them, shook his head. "Mostly local gossip, Lady Zhelan. Disputes between minor sects, tales of a rare spirit beast sighted in the Western Hills… nothing concerning the Heavenly Summit Sect directly, or any unusual movements that might indicate pursuit."
"That is either reassuring, or deeply unsettling," Zhelan murmured, more to herself than to him. "Leng Tianjue is not a man to let such a transgression go unanswered for long."
Zhang Hao, meanwhile, was having a more difficult time maintaining his composure. The sheer variety of goods, the exotic trinkets, and the aroma of roasted meats were a constant distraction. He still limped slightly, but his youthful energy was returning, and with it, a touch of his old impulsiveness. He found himself drawn to a stall where a grizzled old man was displaying a collection of rather dubious-looking talismans and amulets.
"Behold, young master!" the old man cackled, his one good eye glinting. "The Fang of a Mountain Demon! Guaranteed to ward off evil spirits and bring you victory in battle! Only ten silver pieces!" He held up a discolored, pointed piece of bone.
Zhang Hao looked intrigued. "Ten silver? Does it really work?"
Before he could reach for his coin pouch, Li Ming placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Junior Brother Zhang, I believe that 'fang' bears a remarkable resemblance to a wild boar's tusk we saw discarded on the road yesterday."
The old man scowled at Li Ming, then quickly turned his attention to another potential customer. Zhang Hao flushed, embarrassed. "I… I was just looking."
"Look with your eyes, Zhang Hao, not your coin pouch," Zhelan said coolly, without turning around. "We are here for necessities, not trinkets of questionable origin."
Zhang Hao grumbled under his breath but fell silent. His gaze, however, soon landed on a stall selling sweet, sticky rice cakes, a childhood favorite.
As Li Ming and Zhelan continued their discreet inquiries, they overheard a snippet of conversation between two rough-looking cultivators at a nearby tea stall.
"...heard the Shadow Fangs were mobilized. Heading south, they say."
"The Shadow Fangs? Leng Tianjue's personal hounds? Who could have earned their attention?"
"Whispers say it's a high-ranking disciple. Some say… even his own son."
"His son? Leng Chen? Impossible! He is the pride of the Heavenly Summit!"
"Pride can fall, brother. Especially when a woman… or something like a woman… is involved." The cultivators chuckled darkly.
Zhelan and Li Ming exchanged a sharp, worried glance. The Shadow Fangs. Even the name sent a chill down the spine of most cultivators. They were legendary for their ruthlessness and efficiency. If they were indeed hunting Leng Chen, their situation had just become infinitely more perilous.
"We need to warn Senior Brother Leng," Li Ming said urgently, his usual calm replaced by a grim concern.
"And quickly," Zhelan agreed, her face pale. "Our 'escort' to the Southern Provinces may have just become a race against death." She signaled to her disciples, and they quickly concluded their purchases, their earlier interest in the market's novelties forgotten.
Back at the Sleeping Dragon Inn, the fragile peace Leng Chen had found with Mei Lin was indeed short-lived. As he sat with her in their quiet room, patiently trying to teach her simple words by pointing to objects – "table," "cup," "window" – he felt a sudden, prickling sensation at the back of his neck, the instinct of a warrior sensing unseen danger.
Mei Lin, too, seemed to feel it. She stopped tracing the patterns on the Soul-Bloom, her head lifting, her luminous eyes wide and fixed on the closed door of their room. A low whimper escaped her lips. "Cold… coming," she whispered, her small body trembling. Xiao Cui, on the windowsill, let out a sharp, agitated chirp and flew to Leng Chen's shoulder, its feathers puffed up.
Leng Chen was instantly on alert. He gently pushed Mei Lin behind him, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "Stay here, Mei Lin. Do not make a sound."
He moved silently to the door, listening intently. He could hear nothing out of the ordinary from the inn's corridor – the distant clatter of dishes, a burst of laughter from the common room downstairs. Yet, the sense of unease persisted, a subtle shift in the spiritual energy of their surroundings.
Then, he heard it – a faint, almost imperceptible scrape, like a boot on the rooftop above their window. Followed by another, closer this time, from the direction of the courtyard. They were being surrounded.
His mind raced. The Shadow Fangs? Already? How had they been found so quickly? Or was this another threat, drawn by Mei Lin's unique aura?
He glanced back at Mei Lin. She was huddled against the wall, her eyes filled with terror, clutching the Soul-Bloom as if it were her only lifeline. He had to get her out.
Just as he was about to make a move, a soft knock came at their door.
"Young Master Leng?" It was Master Ruan's voice, low and urgent. "There are… visitors. In the common room. They ask for you by name. They claim to be… old acquaintances of the Heavenly Summit Sect."
Leng Chen's eyes narrowed. Old acquaintances? Or a trap?
"Who are they, Master Ruan?" Leng Chen asked, his voice equally low, his hand still on his sword.
There was a brief pause. "They did not give their names, Young Master. But their leader… he carries the insignia of a Heavenly Summit Commander. And his eyes… they are like chips of winter ice."
Commander Jin.
The shadows of the Heavenly Summit had not just stretched; they had arrived. The fragile peace of Lin'an was about to be shattered, and Leng Chen knew, with a chilling certainty, that his past had finally caught up with him, and with the innocent spirit he had sworn to protect. The time for quiet adjustments was over. The fight for their survival, and for Mei Lin's future, was about to begin anew.
(END OF CHAPTER SIX)