Chapter 15
The Shuilan disciples carefully lifted Hu Ming, supporting his trembling frame as they guided him toward his home. Lin Ye, Lin Shen, and Mu Fan watched in silence as the small group disappeared into the village streets, lanterns flickering along the path. Lin Ye's hand brushed lightly over his sternum—a faint echo of the dark energy from before still whispering beneath his ribs.
At the same time, Xuan Luo moved toward the Baizhu ancestral pavilion, his disciples flanking him in silence.
The villagers murmured among themselves, awe threading through every word:
"Did you see the way he healed him…?"
"That was spiritual energy… pure."
"He didn't even play the music of healing."
"He's stronger than I could ever imagine."
"The Shuilan are known for healing—but that?"
"We're lucky he's here…"
Lin Ye's stare stayed fixed on the Third Master, a swirl of admiration and unease tightening in his chest. Lin Shen folded his arms, brow furrowed in quiet reflection, while Mu Fan leaned slightly forward, concern lingering at the corners of his eyes. Whispers rippled through the remaining villagers, their attention drawn to Xuan Luo's calm, deliberate pace toward the pavilion.
The villagers began to depart, stepping carefully along the lantern-lit paths of Baizhu. The air still carried the echo of Hu Ming's rescue, but it was too late for most to linger. Their worries faded with the soft shuffle of departing feet, punctuated only by the occasional cough or low remark.
Shuilan disciples moved with practiced efficiency. Some returned to the Baizhu ancestral pavilion with Xuan Luo, while others spread across the trial grounds. A few remained at the perimeter, seated cross-legged on the cool earth, their eyes fixed on the dark horizon where the forest met the night. Their voices were hushed, tinged with unease and speculation.
"The Third Master intends to check the source of the dark mist," one whispered.
"He must have sensed it again," another replied.
"It's not trivial… but he'll handle it," a third added.
Lin Shen and Mu Fan straightened, brushing off the night's tension. "Time to go home," Lin Shen said gently, voice calm but firm. Lin Ye's hand rested over his sternum—the pain mostly gone, yet the shadow of that dark presence still whispered beneath his ribs.
His eyes strayed toward the disciples speaking of the forest. Curiosity sparked hesitation. "Do you think they'll go tonight?" he asked under his breath.
"They've already entered the pavilion," Lin Shen replied evenly, glancing toward the ancestral building where Xuan Luo and his inner circle had settled. "Everything seems quiet. The disciples outside are meditating. I don't think anyone's leaving tonight."
Mu Fan added kindly, "Ye, you should go home and rest too. You don't seem fully recovered from that blow."
Lin Ye's stare lingered on the dark forest in the distance.
"If the Shuilan clan do go, they must have a reason," Mu Fan said thoughtfully. "They're cultivators—they've faced dark spirits before. They'll know what they're doing."
Lin Shen gave a firm nod. "The Shuilan Master knows what he's doing—and he's strong enough to face it. And if the disciples said others must not follow, that includes you, Ye. I hope you won't do as you usually do and wander into the forest."
Lin Ye let out a short grin, half amused, half stubborn. "If I want to go, I'll go. I've been in that forest since I was a child—nothing ever happened to me. And don't forget, I was the one who dragged your mighty Shuilan Master out of danger last time. So no, it won't be him or his disciples who stop me."
He shifted slightly, arms crossing. "And you saw it—the healing wasn't easy, and Xuan Luo wasn't some untouchable immortal," he murmured, recalling the faint tremor in the Third Master's fingers, the way his hand had braced against the floor.
He muttered, low and incredulous: "He nearly passed out healing Hu Ming… and still, he wants to go into the forest as if it's a morning stroll. Commanding others not to follow."
Mu Fan exhaled quietly, his tone calm but firm. "Still… he healed the boy. No one here could have done what he did—we should at least admit that much."
Lin Shen's eyes narrowed in reflection before softening. "Yes. He was graceful, even if the healing clearly took its toll. His spirit is steady—far stronger than anyone here. He doesn't need our help, least of all from us who haven't even begun cultivation.
Lin Ye stayed silent, arms folding tighter, a crease settling between his brows. He couldn't deny what Mu Fan and Lin Shen had said—the Shuilan Master's strength was overwhelming, undeniable. And yet, something about it unsettled him. Maybe it was envy, he thought bitterly, because everyone seemed to admire Xuan Luo as if he stood above them all.
Then, his thoughts slipped back to the truth he had glimpsed once before: the possibility that even someone so spiritually refined could be touched, weakened, or even infected by what lurked in the shadows. That knowledge made admiration difficult. To Lin Ye, every graceful gesture the Third Master displayed was not only strength, but also a mask—one that hid fragility he had glimpsed once before.
Around them, the trial grounds had fallen into a rare calm. Lanterns swayed gently in the night breeze, fireflies drifted lazily near the water troughs, and the horizon of the forest lay silent and dark, as if the whole night was holding its breath.
From the pavilion, faint strains of cleansing music drifted into the night—a serene, almost otherworldly melody carried from within the inner sanctum. From outside, no one could see which disciple played it, yet every note hovered like liquid light, silencing the world around it. Even the wind stilled. The distant glow of lanterns, the shuffle of the last villagers leaving, and the subtle rustle of leaves faded into the background, leaving only the music. It wrapped around the trio like a gentle current, lifting and carrying their spirits, almost as if magic itself flowed through each note.
Lin Ye closed his eyes briefly, letting the music fill the space where tension and unease had lodged in his chest. A small measure of relief eased the lingering ache, but a shadow passed across his face. Memories of his clan—his mother, the home he had lost—rose with the haunting sweetness of the melody. His spirit drifted with the sound, drawn toward places both comforting and sorrowful.
Then, muted voices reached him from the trial ground, where a few Shuilan disciples remained outside.
"The Third Master's music… it's always amazing. It touches the spirit from within, brings memories," one elder whispered.
"He must have suffered greatly from the healing and the events lately beyond Baizhu. That's why he is cleansing his own spirit now," another agreed.
Lin Ye's eyes opened. Realization settled in—Xuan Luo was the one playing. He understood then: the Third Master's power wasn't only raw strength; it was tempered by suffering, by grace under pressure. And yet… Lin Ye shook his head slightly, frustration flickering across his expression. Xuan Luo always carried himself with composure, acting graceful even in moments when most would falter.
Lin Shen and Mu Fan moved steadily, treading softly as the notes lingered. The cleansing melody lifted the weight from their hearts as well, leaving their spirits unusually clear and light. Lin Shen's pace slowed for a moment, and he stopped, turning his head toward Lin Ye. No words passed between them, but his glance asked the question clearly: Will you come?
Lin Ye looked toward the glowing pavilion, sorrow and resolve blending in his eyes. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and followed them, their footsteps fading gently into the night as the music continued to weave its quiet, invisible magic over the trial grounds.