Chapter 15: Echoes of Thunder
Even as the cheers from the last match rumbled through the Iron Banner's eastern dueling platform, Jiang Wei felt an odd quiet gathering within him. His spirit qi still burned in his limbs, mingling exhaustion with a fierce new sense of possibility. Dust swirled at his feet, scattered by the last, lingering echoes of Lei Kun's thunderous aura.
Returning to the waiting area, Jiang Wei found himself the sudden subject of many eyes. Some disciples watched with wary respect; others looked on with envy—and more than a few with calculation. Among the seated elders, even a few stoic expressions had shifted, lips twitching in reluctant approval. It was, he realized, the first time that the invisible walls around him had begun to show cracks.
Yao Ping, having lost his own match but never his gregarious spirit, slipped over and nudged his shoulder. "I hope you saved some tricks for the next rounds," he whispered, voice pitched low from awe and pride. "That bit with the fire—you could have burned down the mountain."
Jiang Wei forced a tired smile, shaking his head. "I barely knew what I was doing." In truth, he was as startled as anyone—had the flame within been pulled by will, or by danger? Even now, the pebble at his wrist hummed, sending curious ripples along his meridians—a silent promise that his path was spiraling toward something vast and unknown.
Before further thought could settle, the next match called: Ming Xue against a famed sword prodigy, Lian Zhen. The match was a whirlwind—steel flashing, feet pounding, aggression meeting cold control. Ming Xue fought with the focus of a storm contained, her strikes ruthless yet never wasteful. Although battered, she forced Lian Zhen to the arena's edge and claimed victory with a swift lock that left the audience stunned into silence, then wild applause.
As she returned, her face unreadable, Jiang Wei caught her gaze and nodded his respect. She offered a brief, tight smile—battle-hardened understanding passing between them.
The semifinals were set for the afternoon. Only four remained: Jiang Wei, Ming Xue, a tall youth called Shen Ru—whose ice qi could silence a crowd—and a brooding favorite named Cai Fen, who had swept through all challengers with the arrogant precision of an inner disciple already.
With the arena cleared for rest and repairs, Jiang Wei wandered toward an old courtyard lined with willow trees, his legs moving on instinct. He needed refuge—not from rivals, but from the torrent churning inside. Alone among falling leaves, he sat and pressed the pebble to his brow.
*Why do you help me?* he wondered. *What am I carrying—yours, or mine?*
Images flickered behind closed eyes: ash floating on wind, banners torn and reformed, the echo of ancient voices. Not answers, but reassurance—a sense that his path, though lonely, was not untrodden. He remembered the Monarch of his dreams, gold crown cracked, face hidden, yet shoulders straight beneath the shadow of fate.
A gentle footstep brought him back to the present. Senior Sister Wen's voice murmured from nearby, "That was not 'barely knowing what you were doing.' That was an inheritance waking up." She sounded both proud and cautious.
He met her gaze, uncertain. "Is power always just… something you inherit?"
"No," Wen replied, crouching nearby. "It's earned in scars and choices, too. But sometimes, a hand from the past reminds you that you aren't only who you've chosen to be." She regarded him carefully. "You're being watched. Not just by your rivals."
He frowned, heart pounding quietly. "The elders?"
"And others. The strongest flames draw all kinds of attention—good and ill. Hold to yourself, Jiang Wei. Don't rush to please or to rebel. Your path is yours, but it will soon shape the fates around you."
As she departed, Jiang Wei remained, letting her advice braid with his doubts and resolve. He rose, drawing a long breath of willow-scented air, the pebble warm at his wrist.
Afternoon fell. The courtyard filled. Banners snapped overhead. As Jiang Wei stepped toward the platform—semifinalist now, with rivals, supporters, and hidden enemies in the stands—he felt the press of eyes and destiny alike. Yet, for all the tension, there was a strange peace pulsing at his core.
He had endured thunder, flame, and the silence in between. Whatever storm waited in the next clash, it would not find him as unsteady as before.
All his yesterdays had been survival.
Today, as drums sounded and banners unfurled, Jiang Wei stepped forward to shape his own tomorrow.