The air in the Sanctuary tasted of iron when Xu Wuzhou called the council again. He already knew something had changed; the Seed pulsed restlessly in his chest, as though sensing movement beyond the Ashlands.
The Elders filed in silently, their shadows stretching long in the dim light. Mo knelt first, rigid as stone. "The Citadel prepares. Patrols doubled. Camps reinforced. Scouts say wagons of supplies arrived two nights past. They plan something larger than routine cleansing."
Xu's fingers tapped the altar once, measured, deliberate. "Scale?"
Mo's voice remained even. "Small force by orthodox standards. Perhaps fifty cultivators, led by deputies of the Watcher. Qi Refinement and Foundation mostly. Enough to scour the outer settlements. Enough to make noise."
Yan rattled his chains, his grin wide. "A purge. They smell heresy. They want blood. But they look at the Sabers, not us. My sparrows heard them—Sabers named again and again. They think the Sabers infest the Plains."
Xue leaned forward slightly, her smile faint and sharp. "Then Heaven sharpens a blade against our rivals. If we guide the stroke, the Sabers will bleed while we grow."
Xu's thoughts raced, but outwardly he gave nothing. A purge means chaos. Opportunity. But also risk. If we overreach, their Watcher will notice.
He asked, "Targets?"
Mo answered without hesitation. "Sabers keep hidden caches on the Plains. Camps of deserters, smugglers, half-trained brutes. Easy to find if one knows the trails. If we deliver hints, the Citadel will cut them quickly."
Xue's voice followed, soft as silk. "And if Magistrate Shen whispers at the right moment, the orthodox will believe every word."
Xu let silence hang. The council leaned toward action, but it was his word that decided the shape of it.
He finally said, "Mo, prepare a map. Enough detail to guide them, not enough to trace to us. Yan, scatter sparrows near the Saber caches. Let them see what the Citadel expects them to see. Xue, feed Shen carefully. One whisper, no more. If he suspects he is handled, he becomes a liability."
The Envoy's masked face tilted slightly. "And you, Lord? What will you do when Heaven's hounds come sniffing?"
Xu's gaze was cold. "I will give them a trail worth following. And I will not be on it."
When the council dispersed, Xu lingered in the Sanctuary, studying the Ash Numerals again. He counted slowly, tracing the grooves. The marks seemed deeper in one section, clustered tightly. Perhaps each tally was not days, but purges endured. Perhaps each mark was a choice.
The Seed whispered: They all thought they could hide. None hid forever.
He whispered back, steady, "I will not hide forever. I will choose when to be seen."
Two nights later, Mo returned with his map. Rough lines carved in charcoal across thin parchment, showing Saber trails and hidden camps. Xu studied it carefully, mind racing. Every piece of information was a double-edged blade. He could not appear ignorant, yet he dared not ask questions that would betray his lack of history.
Yan reported his sparrows placed. "They chatter, they circle. If the Citadel steps near, the sparrows will make sure their eyes see what we wish."
Xue's smile was sharp. "Shen has been told. He will pass a whisper in the right ear. He believes it his own cleverness."
The Envoy stood silent until Xu gestured. Then he said, "The Citadel suspects already. When their fire spreads, it will not stop neatly. Sabers will burn, yes—but ash blows far. We must be ready when some of it falls here."
Xu nodded once. "Then we prepare. Silence in all other directions. Not a single trace of us near the Plains. If the Citadel turns their eyes beyond, they see only Sabers."
The purge began three nights later.
From the Sanctuary, Xu felt it through the Seed—a tremor in the air, a weight pressing down as orthodox cultivators unleashed their power. Azure flames lit the horizon faintly, even visible from the Ashlands. The ground seemed to hum with it.
Mo described it with precision. "They struck three camps at once. Dozens dead already. The sky glows from the fire. The Citadel calls it cleansing. The survivors scatter."
Yan's sparrows returned, eyes reflecting ghostly images of what they had seen: tents burning, Saber fighters cut down by azure blades, children and wives fleeing into the night only to be dragged back in chains. Xu forced himself to watch without flinching. This was not horror to the Pavilion. It was opportunity.
Xue's voice slid into the silence. "One rival bled. But blood calls blood. The Sabers will not stay silent. They will strike back at the Citadel. The war will grow. And in that war, shadows can move unseen."
Xu's reply was calm, measured. "Exactly. Let them clash. Every strike between them is space for us."
The Envoy tilted his head. "And if the Watcher suspects the framing?"
Xu's voice sharpened. "Then we prepare more evidence. If one fire is not enough, we give them two. We will drown them in their own certainty."
The Envoy said nothing more.
For days, the Citadel's purge raged. Patrols stormed across the Plains, burning Saber camps, executing anyone tied to them. Refugees fled toward Ashveil, swelling its streets with fear and whispers. Xu heard the reports from Mo and Yan each night, his expression cold, his words clipped.
The Pavilion remained untouched. The orthodox believed only in Saber shadows.
But Xu knew it would not last forever. The Watcher was not a fool. And when his eyes turned, Xu would need more than whispers to survive.
He studied the Seed's pulse within him, the whisper that came sharper each night: Take. Bloom. Unfurl.
He resisted, for now. Too soon, and he would reveal ignorance. Too late, and he might not survive the Watcher's gaze.
For now, patience was the blade.
But soon, he would need to cut.