A thin mist hung above the peaks of silver stone, flowing slowly between the grand halls and pavilions. On mornings like this, the Eternal Silver Sky Sect always felt like a living painting—pale blue rooftops, silver lanterns still glowing faintly, and rows of disciples in uniform moving in unison on the sword training grounds.
The roar of spirit swords summoned from the disciples' bodies split the air, leaving thin streaks of light. Shouts of techniques mixed with footsteps against stone, forming a rhythm that had become the daily breath of the sect. Since the "Blood Reaper Immortal" awakened from his coma one month ago, everyone trained harder, as if his presence alone was a whip that required no words.
Liang Xuanle stood at the edge of one of the highest cliffs, his black-and-red robe blown by the cold wind. From there, he could see almost the entire sect complex: the outer gate with its silver dragon statues, the sword field, the elders' pavilion, and the towering Main Hall at its center. The flow of qi around him felt dense, yet to Xuanle, it was all nothing more than an empty backdrop.
His pale blue eyes scanned the training grounds, catching the brief glances of disciples sneaking looks in his direction. As soon as their gazes nearly met his, their heads dropped quickly again, as if afraid their necks might be cut off merely for daring to look.
The silver seal on both sides of his forehead pulsed faintly, as if reminding him of something he wished he could forget.
A hundred years ago, he had stood on the front lines wearing the sect's pale-blue robes, still believing the world could be clearly divided between white and black. Now, the only color left was the red of blood that stained every step he took.
"Xuanle, all the elders have gathered."
The heavy voice of Liang Zhenhai broke the silence. The sect master did not use a voice-projection technique; he simply stood a few dozen steps behind his son, yet every word fell clearly. Xuanle did not turn around. The wind carried the ends of his black hair, a few strands now fading to gray.
"Father can begin without me," he replied flatly.
"This is about you." Zhenhai stepped closer, his pale-blue sect master robe swaying slightly. "And about the future of the sect."
The same words the elders always used when they wanted to force something. Xuanle had heard them countless times since waking from his coma. Once, those words would have made him obey and attend the meeting. Now they only made him want to slice the air and leave everything behind.
But he turned anyway. Not because of the words, but because he knew that if he didn't go, the elders would make trouble for others—his siblings, the core disciples, even the outer disciples who knew nothing.
"Fine," he said. "Let's hear how they plan to sell their sect's heir today."
Liang Zhenhai stiffened slightly, but did not scold him. The two walked down from the peak, descending the stone steps leading straight to the Main Hall. Disciples they passed lowered their heads deeply, saluting with hands clasped before their chests.
"Respect to the Sect Master. Respect to the First Senior."
The greeting resonated neatly, but Xuanle sensed the trembling beneath it—admiration mixed with fear and… pity. Pity for the man betrayed and nearly killed by a woman. Pity for the legend who returned with a death seal on his forehead.
He hated that tone more than anything.
The Main Hall of the Eternal Silver Sky Sect shone with the soft light of protective formations. Silver-stone pillars rose to the ceiling, carved with clouds and dragons. To the left and right, the elders sat in neat rows in pale-blue robes, most with whitened hair, faces lined with experience and… calculation.
In the front row stood four disciples in blue robes with slightly different cuts: core disciples. Liang Xuanle, Han Jinhai, Liang Wenya, and Liang Rouyin.
As soon as Xuanle stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted—barely audible, but unmistakable. Qi thickened like fog, and several elders reflexively inspected his seal, their eyes flicking toward his forehead. The seal appeared calm, gleaming silver like a cold engraving.
The sect master sat at the main seat and raised his hand. "Sit."
The elders complied. The core disciples remained standing.
"Xuanle," one elder with a long beard began, his voice deep and formal. "It has been one month since you awoke from your coma. Everyone in the sect is grateful. But we cannot ignore the condition of your body."
"My body is strong enough to cut down enemies," Xuanle replied evenly. "That is all that matters."
"That is not all that matters," another elder cut in. "You are the only rightful heir of this sect. The dual Yin and Yang cores in your body are a blessing from the heavens. But your vengeance seal and internal injuries make that power unstable. If you continue to force your rain-sword technique, your organs may collapse."
Han Jinhai stood at Xuanle's right, hands clasped behind his back, jaw tightened. Wenya on the left looked calm, but her gaze was sharp, reading every expression.
"That is why," the bearded elder continued, "we have discussed and found the most reasonable path. We must immediately locate a girl with Purple-Yin blood and—"
"No." Xuanle's voice was flat, but cut through the hall like a newly sharpened blade.
Several elders shifted uncomfortably. Liang Zhenhai frowned, but did not interrupt.
"Xuanle, this is not about whether you want to or not," another elder, a woman with sharp eyes, spoke. "This is a matter of life and death. Not only your life, but the stability of the Eternal Silver Sky Sect. A Purple-Yin body can heal internal damage and stabilize your dual core. After that—"
"After that, the girl loses all her cultivation and becomes a mortal." Xuanle's pale blue eyes swept across the faces before him. "You want me to save my body by destroying someone else's life?"
"She will be honored, protected, and live comfortably as the heir's wife," the female elder countered, as if it were trivial. "Many girls in this world would gladly—"
Xuanle raised his hand, stopping her.
"In that case, why not offer one of your own granddaughters?" his voice remained calm, but the air temperature dropped several degrees. "Or your daughters? If this is such a great honor, surely your families wouldn't mind, right?"
Qi trembled. Liang Rouyin at the far right bit her lip, struggling not to laugh. Han Jinhai lowered his head slightly, hiding his expression.
"Liang Xuanle!" The bearded elder slammed the table. "Watch your tongue! You may be the heir, but—"
"But I am not the sect's puppet," Xuanle cut again, now icily cold. "How many times must I say it? If you feared losing your heir, then a hundred years ago you should have protected my back, instead of letting a traitor touch the core of my cultivation."
The unspoken name—Jiang Yuehong—hung in the air like poison everyone pretended not to breathe.
The seal on his forehead throbbed harder, the silver lines trembling as if blood wanted to seep through. Yin and Yang energy inside him clashed violently, making the air around him heavy. Several disciples almost staggered just from the pressure.
Liang Zhenhai opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Liang Wenya's calm voice followed.
"Gege." Wenya stepped forward slightly, her voice gentle yet clear. "No one wants to force you into giving up your life carelessly. But the elders aren't wrong to consider the sect's future. Can we discuss this without hurting each other?"
Xuanle's gaze shifted to his sister. Wenya's eyes held clarity rare in this place. He inhaled through his nose, trying to subdue the growing heat of the seal.
"Wenya," an elder interjected, "we understand your position as a sister, but—"
"Precisely because I'm his sister, I know my brother's state of mind better than most in this hall," Wenya replied politely. "A hundred years of coma is not a short time. He has only been awake for a month, not even fully reacquainted with his own body. If today we force a life-or-death decision like this, can that truly be called wise?"
Several elders exchanged glances. Han Jinhai took the opening and stepped half a pace forward.
"Honored elders," Jinhai said respectfully, "allow this disciple to speak. Senior First's body has limitations, but from this month's training, I saw his sword technique grow even cleaner and sharper. If given time, he can still serve as the sect's main blade without sacrificing a Purple-Yin girl we haven't even found yet."
He paused, then added lightly, "Besides, if the rumor spreads that 'The Eternal Silver Sky Sect kidnaps a Purple-Yin girl to fuel the heir's cultivation,' our reputation will fall faster than Mo Tianxie's meteor."
Some younger elders suppressed smiles. Even Liang Rouyin let out a short breath of amusement. But tension remained; the name of their greatest enemy was never said lightly.
The bearded elder sighed deeply. "Han Jinhai, your tongue is always sharp. But you are right about one thing: we have not found the Purple-Yin girl. Yet our enemies search as well. Should they find her first, the danger will be far worse."
Liang Zhenhai finally spoke, his voice cutting through the room.
"Enough." His gaze swept the disciples, then the elders. "Today's decision: we will continue searching for the Purple-Yin girl as a precaution. But…" He turned to Xuanle. "No one has the authority to force dual cultivation upon the heir. The choice is Xuanle's alone. Until he decides, no one will cross the line."
Some elders looked ready to object, but the freezing stare of the sect master forced them silent. The aura of early-stage realm 10 was not something they could challenge within closed walls.
"Meeting adjourned," Zhenhai declared. "Core disciples, stay a moment."
Once the elders had left one by one, the air felt easier to breathe. Liang Rouyin immediately hopped closer to her brother.
"Gege, when you said that thing about the elders' granddaughters—amazing," she whispered while checking the door. "Their faces turned white instantly."
"Rouyin." Wenya sighed, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Don't encourage him to be even harder to negotiate with."
"I'm not encouraging, I'm appreciating," Rouyin crossed her arms. "If they dare sacrifice some random girl, why are they never prepared to risk their own families? Hypocrites."
Han Jinhai chuckled softly. "Say things like that, and you'll end up dragged into the discipline hall someday."
"If I get dragged to the discipline hall, I'll say I'm the First Senior's disciple," Rouyin replied carefree. "Let gege go first."
Xuanle did not answer. His gaze stayed unfocused ahead, as if still seeing the elders seated in their chairs. The seal on his forehead had gone calm again, but a warm sting burned deep inside his skull like an ember embedded in his bones.
"Gege?" Wenya called softly. "Are you alright?"
"My body won't collapse just because of a short debate," Xuanle replied. "You can all leave. You've spoken enough to hold them back for today."
"If we leave now, they'll come one by one to your pavilion to continue the conversation," Jinhai said. "Better we distract them with joint training with the outer core disciples. Give you some breathing time."
Rouyin nodded quickly. "Yes. And I know some outer disciples who love gossiping about the legendary battle a hundred years ago. I'll keep them too busy sweating to gossip."
Wenya stepped closer, looking directly into his eyes. "Gege, if there is anything you cannot say to Father or the elders, you can speak to us. At the very least… don't carry it alone."
She knew the words would be rejected, but she spoke them anyway. It was her duty as sister and adviser.
Xuanle lowered his face, the shadow of his hair falling across his eyes. For a moment, the Main Hall felt emptier than ever.
"I've carried it alone since that night," he said quietly. "You all came too late."
No name was spoken, but the three of them knew exactly who he meant.
Wenya clenched her hands, but did not push further. "Then let us be late, but still here."
Han Jinhai lightly patted Xuanle's shoulder. "Senior, we are not here to block your revenge. We just don't want that day to repeat—the day you stood alone in the center of thousands of enemies, and we only arrived in time to watch you fall."
Rouyin bit her lip, eyes reddening, but she quickly turned away. "I'm leaving. If I stay, I'll cry, and I don't want the disciples to see me acting weak."
The three finally left the hall, leaving Xuanle and his father's empty seat behind. The light from the formation reflected on the stone floor, stretching like shadows of chains.
Xuanle stepped outside a few minutes later. Outside the hall, the wind carried the scent of pine and sword metal. In the distance, he could hear once more the shouts of training disciples, the rhythm of marching steps, the life of the sect moving on as if nothing had changed.
But to Liang Xuanle, this was only a new chapter in an old vow still unfulfilled.
The seal on his forehead quivered gently, as if whispering: as long as Jiang Yuehong still lives, as long as the blood of betrayal still flows in this world, the seal will not fade.
And until that day comes, the Eternal Silver Sky Sect—with all its respect, expectations, and pressure—must learn to accept that their heir is no longer the gentle blue-sky deity, but a death god walking the razor's edge of his remaining time.