The Cloud-Drifting Sword Sect did not collapse.
That would have been merciful.
Instead, it began to bleed quietly.
They summoned Lu Yao at dawn.
Not to punish her.
To test her.
Three elders stood in the White Hall, faces unreadable.
"Demonstrate your sword," the eldest said.
Lu Yao drew.
No flourish.
No declaration.
Just movement.
Her blade traced a simple arc.
Clean.
Efficient.
Too efficient.
The air parted without resistance.
A stone pillar behind her split silently in two.
Silence followed.
Not awe.
Fear.
"This technique," an elder said slowly, "what is its origin?"
Lu Yao sheathed her sword.
"It has no name," she replied. "I removed what was unnecessary."
The word hung in the hall.
Unnecessary.
They attacked her.
Not with swords.
With doctrine.
"This path leads to instability," one elder said sharply.
"You abandon inherited wisdom," another accused.
"You threaten sect continuity," the third concluded.
Lu Yao met their gaze.
"Then perhaps continuity is the problem."
She was exiled before sunset.
No trial.
No announcement.
Just… absence.
But doctrine had already bled.
That night, inner disciples whispered.
Not about rebellion.
About relief.
How their joints hurt less.
How their breathing felt easier.
How practice no longer felt like punishment.
The elders noticed.
Of course they did.
They always noticed.
Too late.
A sealed message was sent to Iron Lake City.
Not to me.
To the city council.
Contain him.
Erase the source.
Before understanding spreads further.
In Iron Lake City, I read the message upside down.
Then handed it to Xueyi.
"They think I'm the wound," I said.
She read it.
Then smiled coldly.
"They don't realize they're already bleeding."
That night, a sect enforcer entered the city.
Disguised.
Careful.
Competent.
He found me in a teahouse.
Sat down without asking.
"You are destabilizing the martial world," he said calmly.
I poured him tea.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"You cannot be allowed to continue," he said.
I looked at him.
Really looked.
At his posture.
His breathing.
The tension in his shoulders.
"You're injured," I said.
He stiffened.
"My Qi scar," he said bitterly. "A price of loyalty."
I nodded.
"Hold still."
I reached out.
Tapped his wrist.
Once.
He gasped.
Pain vanished.
His eyes widened.
Hands trembled.
"I didn't ask permission," I said softly. "Neither should you."
He left without another word.
Without a report.
Without loyalty.
Above the city, the ledger trembled.
Not violently.
Uneasily.
[Doctrine Stability — DEGRADING]
Propagation Speed: Accelerating
Recommended Response: Direct Correction
I leaned back.
"They're done debating," I said.
Xueyi nodded. "They'll move."
I smiled.
"Good."
Somewhere in the world—
Heaven prepared to stop laughing back.