No one realized that the tears Huo Feng shed beneath the Tree of Life
did not vanish into the soil — they kept falling… deeper,
beyond the roots, beyond the light,
into a place where the forgotten breathed in silence.
In the depths of the Shadow Realm, between ruins of the ancient pact,
an eye of darkness opened once more.
The Shadow King whispered from his throne of echoes:
"It begins again… the Sacred Spring shall awaken."
From that whisper, unseen threads spread across the realms,
slipping into the waters of Shui Guan,
the purest fountain that once linked Heaven, Earth, and Shadow.
No one knew that the first seed of betrayal had already been sown —
by a hand that hid among the academy's own elite.
A name that would remain in the dark… until the destined hour.
While the disciples still celebrated the blooming of Huo Feng's flowers,
beneath their feet, the seeds of corruption had already begun to sprout.
And by dawn, the Holy Spring began to tremble.
After the Huī Lín trial ended, the academy slowly returned to its daily rhythm.
But whispers spread like wildfire through its marble halls —
the waters of Shui Guan, the sacred spring that nourished the heavens,
were losing their light.
In the grand assembly hall, tension hung thick as mist.
Masters and disciples gathered, their faces pale with unease.
Then Mei stepped forward, her eyes glimmering with accusation.
Her voice, sharp as glass, cut through the murmurs:
"This is no coincidence. Someone tampered with the spring…
Perhaps from the Shadow Realm — or perhaps… from here."
She turned her gaze toward Huo Feng.
The girl said nothing, only watching the scene unfold in silence.
But Mei pressed on, her tone turning theatrical:
"I saw her that night — near the spring. She touched it with her own hands."
Huo Feng tilted her head slightly, feigning surprise.
"Touched it? How unfortunate."
Then, in a colder voice:
"Do you have proof, or are you lying again?"
A silence followed — thick, brittle, dangerous.
When Mei faltered, Huo Feng smiled faintly, almost kindly:
"Yes, I touched it.
But can you prove that I corrupted it?"
Mei hesitated, words slipping away.
"Touching it alone is crime enough!"
From the back of the hall, Yue slammed her palm against the floor.
"So that's all you care about? Punishing her — not saving the spring?"
Mei ignored her, turning instead to the Masters.
"The spring is sacred. To touch it is forbidden.
Anyone who dares must face judgment."
Huo Feng lowered her eyes.
She knew the truth was far more complicated than they could ever imagine.
Master Li's calm voice rose, resonant and deep:
"The spring is the artery of all realms.
Only a pure heart may approach it.
Huo Feng… tell us. What truly happened that night?"
Her voice trembled softly, yet every word carried sincerity:
"I did touch it. I drew a few drops…
not to harm it, but to heal someone dear to me.
I have wronged him twice before — I only wished to make amends."
The hall fell into stunned silence.
Then came the murmurs… then outrage… then calls for punishment.
A stern elder rose, his robes whispering authority:
"No one may tamper with the Sacred Spring.
What she has done cannot be forgiven."
But before judgment could be cast, Huo Feng's companions stepped forward,
forming a protective circle around her.
"She didn't corrupt the spring," they said.
"She tried to fix what unseen hands have already broken."
Master Li remained silent — yet the air around him pulsed with quiet defiance,
his stance alone declaring his choice.
Then came a voice that cut through the uproar like thunder:
"Enough."
All turned toward Master Wuxin.
His gaze was cold, sharp, commanding.
"This is not a trial of guilt — it's a test of survival.
Blame will not cleanse the spring. Unity might."
He paused, his eyes scanning the hall before settling on Huo Feng.
"The next trial shall be this:
Purify the spring, return it to its light.
Only the strongest among you will succeed."
Inside, Wuxin's thoughts twisted like shadows:
If she fails… no one else can save it.
But if she succeeds… then she may truly be the cause.
The crowd followed him to the sacred glade where Shui Guan rested.
One by one, they cast their spells,
threads of light swirling over the rippling surface —
but the water remained dull, restless, defiant.
Then came silence.
And in that silence, Huo Feng moved.
She closed her eyes.
Her heartbeat merged with the spring's pulse,
until a single breath connected them both.
Then, with a spark of resolve,
she removed her crystal earring,
and drew a small cut upon her palm.
Drops of crimson fell into the pale water —
and light bloomed.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Wuxin stepped forward, voice controlled yet trembling beneath the surface:
"She once took a purification elixir.
Her blood carries no impurity.
That must be why the spring reacts."
But as he spoke, the waters began to shimmer,
their murk fading, their glow returning —
as if accepting her offering.
Awe filled the hall. Relief followed.
And then, suspicion.
Mei's smirk sliced through the reverence like a blade.
"Strange, isn't it? How would you know about her blood, Master Wuxin?
Are you hiding something too?"
"Silence!"
Wuxin's roar shook the chamber.
"She healed me once — in Mount Kunlun.
And again at the River of Forgetting.
Her intent was never to corrupt, only to mend."
Whispers turned to gasps.
And in the center of it all, Huo Feng smiled faintly,
unbothered, almost teasing.
"That's not quite right," she murmured.
Before she could finish, Wuxin covered her mouth,
eyes blazing with both anger and desperation.
He lifted her easily, taking her away from the stares and noise.
Inside his chamber, he turned to her, voice tight:
"Are you foolish, or fearless? Why can't you just stay silent once in your life?"
She grinned, raising a brow.
"Because the truth is far too loud to be hidden."
For a heartbeat, silence hovered between them —
a silence so fragile, it almost trembled.
Then Wuxin whispered,
his eyes soft yet aching:
"Tell me, am I truly that person you wanted to heal?"
She looked up — calm, almost playful.
"No."
His heart sank.
Jealousy, pain, confusion — all collided in his chest.
"Then who?" he demanded.
Just as the tension peaked,
the door slid open.
Master Li stepped inside.
Huo Feng lifted a finger toward him, smiling with innocent certainty:
"Him."
Li froze — then smiled, warmth radiating from his usually composed face.
Wuxin turned away,
his back stiff, his voice heavy with something he couldn't name.
Then, from behind him, came her whisper — soft as wind:
"Don't be jealous, little storm.
You're the one who matters most."
He turned to her, eyes wide —
uncertain whether to believe or to fear the truth her smile carried.
And deep beneath the ground, unseen by all,
the corrupted root of the spring pulsed once —
as if laughing.
Far below the surface, in the sleeping void between realms,
the Shadow King's voice echoed once more —
a whisper that brushed the very edge of her soul.
"So… the child of the Sacred Furnace now carries the breath of the Tree.
Two forces that should never coexist — destruction and creation.
How long, I wonder… before one consumes the other?"
His hand reached into the darkness,
and from it, black petals began to fall.
"The spring has chosen its new heir.
And so have I."
And above, under a moon that gleamed like silver glass,
Huo Feng's reflection shimmered in the sacred water —
half bathed in light, half in shadow.
She did not yet know it,
but the world had already begun to divide around her.