Elder Ming's office was a sanctuary of quiet wisdom. The air smelled of old scrolls, dried herbs, and the faint, calming scent of plum blossom tea. It was a place for contemplation and learning. Today, however, it was a courtroom.
Chen and the three senior alchemists, Tian, Yue, and Wei, all knelt on the floor. They weren't just kneeling; they were prostrated, their foreheads pressed against the polished redwood, not daring to look up. Standing by the door, a silent, unmoving mountain of a man, was Elder Jin, the head of the Disciplinary Hall. A long, thin scar ran from his temple to his jaw, a permanent testament to a lifetime of enforcing the sect's iron laws. He said nothing, but his presence filled the room with a pressure heavier than any spiritual sense.
Elder Ming sat behind his desk, his expression calm, but his eyes were cold with a deep, chilling disappointment. On the desk, between a steaming cup of tea and a stack of paperwork, sat a single object: an exquisitely carved spirit jade box, radiating a faint, almost imperceptible warmth—the spirit treasure Chen had used as a bribe.
"Disciple Chen," Ming began, his voice soft, yet it cut through the silence like glass. "Senior Alchemist Tian, Senior Alchemist Yue, Senior Alchemist Wei. I have reviewed the events of the practical exam. I have also... received a full confession from Disciple Finne, who, it seems, has a clearer conscience than some."
The three alchemists flinched as if struck. Chen remained motionless.
"Chen," Ming continued, his gaze fixed on the young man. "You will explain to me why this spirit treasure, a gift from your esteemed family, found its way into the possession of these three senior alchemists the night before Disciple Alex's examination."
Chen finally looked up, his face a mask of practiced indignation. "Elder, it was merely a gift! A gesture of respect from a junior to his seniors. I was impressed by their dedication to the guild. It had nothing to do with the exam!"
Ming took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea. "A gesture of respect," he repeated, his voice dangerously level. "One that was followed by a request to change the exam's protocol, to deny the examinee a recipe, a clear violation of centuries of guild precedent. A coincidence, I presume?"
"Senior Brother Finne was the one who was concerned!" Chen scrambled, his voice rising in panic. "He felt the sect's standards were at risk! I was merely supporting a fellow disciple's desire to uphold the integrity of the guild!"
"The integrity of the guild," Ming mused, setting his cup down with a soft click. "The same integrity that led you three," he said, his gaze shifting to the sweating alchemists, "to accept this 'gift' and conspire to ruin a disciple you had never even met. Was your integrity so easily purchased?"
The alchemists trembled, unable to form a coherent reply. The web of lies was unraveling too quickly.
Chen saw his excuses failing, his escape routes closing one by one. The calm, composed elder before him was not a gentle grandfather to be placated; he was a judge, and the verdict was already written. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He had one card left to play. His final, ultimate trump card.
"Elder Ming, you... you don't understand!" he stammered, his voice cracking. "Do you know who my grandfather is? He is Elder Chen Jian of the Golden Summit Sect! He would not stand for his grandson to be treated this way!"
The room went silent. The three alchemists held their breath, hoping this display of powerful lineage would save them all. Elder Jin remained impassive by the door.
Elder Ming leaned back in his chair, a faint, almost sad smile touching his lips. "Chen Jian," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a fond familiarity. "Ah, Jian. Yes, I know of him. I met him once, many years ago when we were both much younger, forging our own paths. A finer, more righteous independent Daoist you will never meet. The man built his family's name and fortune from nothing but his own skill and an unshakeable sense of principle."
Ming leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto Chen's, and the warmth was gone, replaced by a gaze as sharp and cold as a surgeon's scalpel. "And I know, with absolute certainty, that if your grandfather learned his own grandson had used the very name he worked so hard to make honorable to bribe judges, to conspire against a fellow disciple, and to pervert the laws of a major sect... he would not punish me for disciplining you."
Ming paused, letting the silence hang heavy. "He would come here himself, offer his sincerest apologies for the shame you have brought upon his house, and then drag you home for a punishment far, far harsher than any I could devise."
The blood drained from Chen's face. His trump card had not just failed; it had been turned against him with devastating precision. The pillar he had built his entire life upon had just crumbled into dust.
Elder Ming then turned his full, undivided attention to the three alchemists. His quiet disappointment erupted into a flash of righteous fury. "And you three," he roared, his voice booming with a power that made the teacup on his desk rattle. "You are Senior Alchemists of this guild! You have sworn oaths to nurture talent, to uphold our standards! Are you so desperate for resources that you would sell your integrity and send a young disciple to a decade in prison for a single treasure box?"
Senior Alchemist Tian finally broke, his voice a pathetic whimper. "Elder, we... we didn't know! We thought he was just some nobody outer disciple! We didn't think anyone would care!"
Ming flared in a blaze of anger, "A nobody?" he thundered, rising from his seat. "Did you not see his control? The impossible balance he achieved? The potential burning in him like a forge-fire? You saw a 'nobody' because you chose to be blind! You saw weakness because you yourselves are weak! There are no nobodies in my sect! Only disciples who strive, and those, like you, who have forgotten why we cultivate in the first place!"
With a sweep of his hand, a gust of pure Qi ripped the embroidered cauldron pins from the chests of the three alchemists. The symbols of their station clattered onto the desk, stripped of their honor.
"Elder Jin," Ming said, his voice now a low, cold command. The Head of the Disciplinary Hall took a single, heavy step forward. "Escort them out."
As Elder Jin escorted the three fallen alchemists out, Chen remained on the floor, no longer panicking, no longer defiant. He was just... empty.
Elder Jin returned, his scar seeming to deepen in the dim light of the office. Without a word, he bound Chen's hands behind his back with a Qi-suppressing rope and hauled him to his feet to load him onto a transport cart.
The journey from Elder Ming's office to the sect's dungeons was a grim, silent procession down the less-traveled service paths. The cart was a simple, windowless box of reinforced ironwood, pulled by a single, lumbering Ox-spirit beast. One grim-faced enforcer drove.
The shock of his situation had worn off, and Chen's terror had curdled back to his only known defense, which was his arrogant blustering.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" he spat at the driver. "When my grandfather, Elder Chen Jian of the Golden Summit Sect, hears about this, he'll have your head! Yours and that old fool Ming's! You'll be scrubbing latrines for the rest of your miserable lives, I swear it!"
The enforcer didn't even turn to acknowledge Chen.
The enforcer who had seen dozens of fallen young masters just sighed. Another one, he thought, thinks his name is a talisman that can ward off justice. They never learn.
"You hear me?!" Chen's voice grew more shrill, a desperate edge creeping in. "My family will rain down treasures and favors on anyone who helps me! You could gain the power and wealth of a king!"
The driver just urged the ox onward, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the stone path the only reply. For another ten minutes, Chen continued his tirade, a non-stop stream of threats, bribes, and pathetic boasts from the back of the cart.
And then, suddenly, he stopped.
The silence was abrupt and absolute. The driver's shoulders, which had been tensed with irritation, visibly relaxed. He let out a long, slow breath. Finally, he thought, a sense of profound relief washed over him. He's run out of air. A few moments of peace before we lock him away.
The rest of the journey passed in this blessed quiet. The cart rumbled through the growing dusk, the only sound the soft thud of the ox's hooves and the creak of the wheels. They arrived at the dungeon, a grim, stone structure built into the base of the mountain. An iron-bound gate and the damp, chilly air that wafted from within promised a place of profound misery.
The driver pulled the ox to a halt and hopped down. "We're here," he grunted, walking to the back of the cart. "Time to unload the prisoner."
He unlatched the heavy back door and swung it open.
The cart was empty.
The enforcer, mouth agape, stood at the spot where Chen had been. On the floor of the cart lay the Qi-suppressing rope, not untied, but cut clean through, its two ends lying perfectly parallel. The cart was sealed from the outside. There was no hole, no broken plank. He hadn't heard a single sound.
The driver stared, his blood running cold. One second, the annoying brat had been screaming his head off. The next, silence. And now... this.
He had... vanished.