Elder Yao Chen crossed the final threshold near the main plaza, his gait loose and peaceful, hands tucked comfortably into his wide grey sleeves. But as his cloth sandals hit the edge of the courtyard, his step froze mid-air.
The quiet, deserted stone plaza he remembered was completely gone.
Instead, hundreds of unfamiliar young men and women in crisp, standardized uniforms moved across the courtyard in synchronized, disciplined teams. Groups of disciples carried massive ironwood pillars on their shoulders, while others worked efficiently with array drivers to dismantle heavy timber frames. Every single wrist bore a thick, metallic ring that clinked softly as they moved.
Yao Chen's peaceful monk smile twitched. He blinked once. Then twice. He raised a hand, rubbing his smooth, shaved head in utter, silent bewilderment. His eyes drifted across the sheer volume of new faces filling the plaza, far exceeding the small, familiar headcount of the sect he had left behind.
