**Chapter 5 – Shadows in the Jade Hall**
The main hall of Bright Peak was vast enough to swallow the clamor of a thousand voices and still feel empty.
Carved jade pillars rose to a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of ancient immortals subduing dragons. Lanterns of spirit-glow crystal floated without strings, casting soft green light that made every face look half in shadow. Long tables had been hastily arranged in a wide circle; the five supreme elders sat at the northern end on raised seats of black sandalwood. Everyone else—orthodox disciples, Ming Flame envoys, even the Azure Dragon princess and her guards—stood or knelt according to rank.
Lin Wuji knelt on a simple rush mat in the center of the circle, hands resting lightly on his thighs. The Dragon Slaying Saber lay before him on a three-layered array seal: Shaolin's golden mantra talisman, Wudang's taiji suppression formation, and Emei's Cold Moon ice runes. The blade was silent now, but its crimson veins still pulsed faintly beneath the seals, like a heart under glass.
No one had yet dared touch it.
Grandmaster Zhang Sanfeng spoke first, voice carrying the calm of deep mountain pools.
"Lin Wuji. You bear the surname Lin, yet your eyes carry the look of Wudang's lineage. Speak plainly: who was your father?"
Lin Wuji lifted his head. The hall grew so quiet he could hear the distant wind whistling through the peak's eaves.
"My father was Zhang Cuishan," he said. "Fifth disciple of Wudang's third generation. He was branded a traitor after the Ice-Fire incident and chose exile over surrender."
A ripple of shock passed through the Wudang contingent. Several older daoists exchanged stunned glances; one young disciple whispered, "Fifth Uncle Zhang… still alive then?"
Zhang Sanfeng closed his eyes for a long moment.
"And your mother?"
"Yin Susu," Lin Wuji answered. "Daughter of the White-browed Eagle King of the Ming Flame Sect's Sky Eagle Branch. She died the day I was born, shielding me from the Xuanming Elders."
Abbess Miejue's staff struck the floor with a crack like breaking ice.
"Lies!" she hissed. "Zhang Cuishan and Yin Susu perished together on Ice-Fire Island. We burned their corpses ourselves!"
Lin Wuji met her gaze without flinching.
"You burned two bodies. My parents arranged decoys—charred remains treated with corpse powder to fool spirit sense. They lived long enough to hide me with my godfather Xie Yuan. Long enough for my mother to give birth. Long enough for the Xuanming palm to curse me before she died in my father's arms."
He paused.
"My father followed her three days later. He chose to join her rather than live with the guilt of what the orthodox sects had become."
Silence stretched taut.
Then Zhao Min laughed—low at first, then bright and delighted, as though she had just heard the punchline to the world's cruelest joke.
"Oh, this is exquisite," she said, clapping slowly. "The saintly Zhang Cuishan, secret father of a Ming Flame heir. The orthodox paragon who ran away with a demonic witch. And now their son kneels here carrying the blade every sect fears. The heavens truly have a sense of humor."
She stepped forward, fox-fur cloak trailing, until she stood only a few paces from Lin Wuji.
"Tell me, Lin-gongzi," she purred, "do you hate them? The sects that murdered your parents? The dynasty that hunts your mother's people? Or do you hate yourself most—for being born between two worlds that want each other dead?"
Lin Wuji looked up at her. Her eyes were bright, predatory, yet beneath the mockery lay something sharper—genuine curiosity.
"I don't hate," he said quietly. "Hate is just another chain. I want answers. I want the poison in my veins gone. I want to know why two weapons—one of heaven, one of dragon—were forged to tear the world apart instead of heal it."
Zhao Min tilted her head.
"Clever boy. But answers have prices."
She turned to the elders.
"The Heavenly Sword is already here, is it not? Sealed in Emei's vault since the last dynasty fell. Why pretend otherwise? Bring it forth. Let the two weapons meet. See what happens."
Abbess Miejue surged to her feet.
"Never! The Heavenly Sword is Emei's sacred trust. It contains the phoenix essence—pure yang of the nine heavens. To bring it near that cursed saber would be madness!"
Grandmaster Zhang Sanfeng raised one hand.
"Madness or destiny," he said softly. "The boy has surrendered his blade. He asks only truth. Will we answer with more secrets?"
The other elders shifted uneasily. Abbot Xuanci stroked his silver brows. The Kunlun and Huashan masters exchanged glances.
Finally Xuanci spoke.
"Let the sword be brought. Under heaviest guard. Let the weapons be placed side by side—still sealed. We will observe. Nothing more."
Miejue's face twisted, but she could not openly defy the consensus. She gave a curt nod.
Two Emei elders departed at once, vanishing down a hidden stair behind the dais.
The hall waited in tense silence.
Zhou Qingruo, standing near the Emei ranks, felt her heart beat too fast. She watched Lin Wuji's profile—the quiet line of his jaw, the faint blue veins still visible at his temples from the lingering poison. She wanted to speak, to offer some word of comfort, but disciples did not address prisoners—guests—in open council.
Instead she watched Zhao Min.
The princess moved with the grace of someone who had never feared losing. She circled Lin Wuji slowly, studying him like a rare jade piece.
"You intrigue me," she said at last, voice low enough for only him to hear. "Most men would rage. Or beg. Or bargain. You simply… wait. Why?"
Lin Wuji answered without looking at her.
"Because waiting is the only thing no one can take from me."
Zhao Min stopped. For the first time her smile faltered—just a flicker.
Then she laughed again, softer this time.
"I think I shall enjoy breaking that patience, Lin Wuji."
Before he could reply, the hidden stair reopened.
Four Emei elders returned, bearing a long black-lacquered case bound in silver chains and inscribed with nine-layered frost runes. They placed it carefully on the opposite side of the circle from the Dragon Slaying Saber.
The moment the case touched the floor, both weapons reacted.
The saber's crimson veins flared bright.
From within the case came a high, pure chime—like a phoenix crying at dawn.
The seals on both began to tremble.
Frost cracked on the sword case. Golden mantra ink smoked on the saber's talisman. Taiji patterns spun wildly.
Every cultivator in the hall felt it: an immense pressure building, as though heaven and earth themselves were leaning closer to watch.
Grandmaster Zhang Sanfeng stood.
"Enough," he commanded. "Reseal them. Now."
But it was too late.
A thin crack appeared along the sword case.
And in that same instant, the Dragon Slaying Saber's edge gave a single, deliberate pulse of red light.
Two ancient essences—phoenix and dragon—had sensed each other after centuries apart.
And they were no longer content to remain apart.
(End of Chapter 5)