The road to Sacred Mount Yunhe was quiet, wrapped in mist and pine-scented air.
General Xie rode at the front of the small escort, his expression stern, his thoughts heavy. He had been to battlefields soaked in blood, had stood before armies ten times his size without fear—but this journey felt different. The Emperor's words echoed in his mind.
Something unnatural.
As the carriage climbed higher, the world seemed to grow still. Birds fell silent. Even the wind softened, as if unwilling to disturb the mountain.
At last, the gates of the Temple of Silent Dawn appeared—ancient stone carved with symbols so old their meanings had been lost to time. Young monks in plain robes swept the courtyard, their movements calm, their faces serene.
General Xie dismounted and stepped forward.
"I seek an audience," he said, bowing with proper respect. "By imperial order."
The students paused. One of them, barely more than twenty, folded his hands and nodded.
"Please wait."
