The trial itself was over, but the storm was yet but born.
Within the Outer Court, stone paths went out in all directions. Wooden shacks were arranged helter-skelter beneath ancient pines. Pine sap and spirit dew hung over the air, but within the dormitory area, little peace could be found. In every corner, groups of these children whispered to one another, their heads momentarily turning toward yet another group of fugitives from the gorge.
And every time their eyes turned to the same person.
"That... That's him?"
"That what stood by the 'Seal'?"
"They said that he was a cripple, not even 100% man. How could he have lived when even Brother Chen died?"
"Maybe he followed Yun Ruo's auspices all the way."
"No, I heard that he walked straight into the fissure. That's insane!"
Each time the story was told, Lin Xuan seemed to be transformed into a coward who got lucky or else a monster hiding itself from the world. The real story which lay buried beneath all this speculation—a long, simple perseverance occasionally fertilized by destiny—was of course never mentioned.
Lin Xuan paid no attention to the remarks: his walk was unhurried, slow. Only days had passed since he walked through a slaughterhouse, yet his manner was completely at ease. His robes were plain, still he had a spear across his back. He treated with neither courtesy nor disdain any apprentices who spurned him or shrugged away as he passed by.
He had long been accustomed to listening in silence. From Stone Creek Village, these whispers had followed him, and they would accompany him right up until his foe ceased to possess the power of speech.
On an upper floor overlooking the Outer Court, Meng Zhao stood against the handrail. His garments bore lines of silver flames, and his mouth held a smile that concealed knives behind it. Menials whispered at his back.
"Senior Brother Meng, the other disciples are already beginning to doubt him. Just give them a little bit more poison in their ears and he'll never set foot in this place again."
Zhao felt as if his eyes were a mere slit scowling towards Meng with venom. Stand? No, no... I will make doubly sure that he doesn't even have the chance to exhale a breath before I strangle him.
"Sow a seed in her head," he murmured. "That Lin Xuan cut a deal with demons down in the gorge; that he's still alive today not because of his skill, but through some kind of skulduggery. Let the elders doubt; let the junior disciples turn up their noses to him. Let him drown in suspicion as a failure of a man, before he even gets on to his feet."
"Yes, Senior Brother!"
They immediately departed, their tongues sharpened for slander.
Zhao lingered, gazing at Lin Xuan's figure in the distance.
The ravine had to have eaten you up. The Seal should have shredded you. But you crawled out of there. Well, so be it. It Sect needs mine has been entrusted with difficult task: I'll just crush you beneath it and not look back.
Lin Xuan finally arrived at his living place—a tiny little room smaller than any farmer's shed. The wooden walls carried with them a hint of mold, and there was a straw mat on the floor for sleeping. It was a step up from the village huts that most people came from. But for Lin Xuan, it was just another place to endure.
He closed the door and sat cross-legged. The whispering voices going on outside went away, replaced by silence, system noise in his mind.
[System Notice: Status Update]
Cultivation: Late Qi Gathering (hidden progression masked).
Omni-Talent Functions: Talent Replication, Material Insight, Skill Perfection.
New Unlock: Talent Fusion (dormant).
Hidden Mark: Primordial Inheritance (concealed).
[Quest Update: Survive sect integration. Optional: Identify allies within Outer Sect.]
Lin Xuan slowly breathed out. He was still carrying the faint ache of the gorge in his body, but his spirit beat stronger than ever.
They can't know about what I hold. They mustn't. If I don't let fear take control of me, these murmurs are nothing.... But whispers lack teeth unless I give them mine.
He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the vital energy pour into his meridians. Warmth began to spread throughout his body, gentle and firm.
Outer Court Politics
The monks were already out in full force when morning bells sounded at Yun Ruo sect. They crowded into the square that had substituted for a practice ground, rows of inanimate training dummies standing in the corners and teachers shouting orders like madmen.
With his spear in hand, Lin Xuan joined the group without speaking. His manner was calm and reserved, even though he didn't think to show off a talent for fashion.
One disciple sneered at him. "Look at that hide. He's keeping so calm after staggering down the broken-terrain of Yun hai Hills half-dead."
Another laughed coldly. "A cripple with luck thinks he's a genius—that I'd like to see him work moves."
Gradually their voices swelled in volume, feeding off each other's envy. This was no longer about justice; it was about the threat that his quiet existence posed to them.
The teacher's eyes slid sideward to look at him but nothing more. Sect regulations allow disciples to freely wage battle psychokinetically on each other, and men will fight again soon.
Lin Xuan tightened the grip of his hands over the spear handle a little. So it starts.
At the edge of the training field, Yun Ruo was in plainclothes, and she blended in with the outer sect supervisors. The searing flame of her insight focused incessantly on every step Lin Xuan made.
Quite adaptable. Too adaptable! Inside, people called him a cripple; but from where I stood I saw no sign of his fear, no flaw in his stance. The gorge did not ruin him, instead he improved and strengthened.
The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. Ruthless old Feiyan must be informed... this one is really not too ordinary.
As night fell, Lin Xuan returned to his room. He lit a small oil lamp, and its dim flame flickered against the wooden walls. Yet before he had finished settling down for meditation, a voice came through the paper sliding screen.
"Cripple! If you want to live, stay silent in the caste!" A pebble clicked against his door. When he opened it, there was only darkness before him. No figure, no face, only words and the hint of blades lying in hiding places.
Lin Xuan sighed long and slow: "the storm begins," he thought. "So be it." If you want me gone, then come and conquer me!
He closed the door behind him, the light of the lamp flicking from his calm expression. His eyes had the hard of stone and were everywhere gleaming.
And beyond shot down the pines, Meng Zhao's men looking on with mouths half-open as they watched. In the sect that had greeted Lin Xuan here as no diver with no shouts were envoys of jealousy should they have been. It would be through darkness rather than open arms that he would find his way to welcome.
But Lin Xuan was not so concerned with exactly how he found a welcome only for himself to arrive there. Time that's long enough to expand. Time for suffering; time to transform whispers into utter silence.
It was a cripple who walked into the sect gates of the Azure Spirit Sect. And already, he has chosen his battleground.