Dawn had not yet fully broken.
Before the Discipline Hall, the stone guardian beasts emerged from the morning fog like crouching predators—jaws bared, eyes hollow. The black hall loomed behind them, its upturned eaves stabbing into the gray-blue sky. The main doors stood half open, leaking dim light.
The air smelled old.
Sandalwood. Aged timber. And beneath it all—something faint, metallic. Blood.
Jiang Muchen stood at the base of the stone steps and looked up.
Behind him, Wang Duobao swallowed hard.
"Brother Jiang… are we really going in?"
"The summons was clear." Jiang Muchen tugged at his faded gray robe. The character 'Servant' on his chest caught the early light, glaringly bright.
"Chen Hour. Discipline Hall. If we don't enter, it's an admission of guilt."
"But it's obviously a setup—"
"All the more reason to go." Jiang Muchen stepped onto the stairs.
"Let them see how a disciple from the servant quarters stands when he speaks."
The doors creaked open.
The hall was larger—and darker—than expected.
Black wooden benches lined both sides, already filled. Murmurs rippled through the cavernous space. Jiang Muchen scanned the crowd at a glance:
Noble clan disciples sat front-left, robes pristine.
Inner disciples scattered through the middle, expressions mixed.
Hall stewards and elders occupied the right, faces carved from stone.
Three figures sat atop the raised judgment dais.
At the center, a white-haired elder with drooping lids looked half asleep.
To his left, a woman from Pill Cauldron Peak rolled jade prayer beads between her fingers, one click at a time.
To the right, a burly man from the Body Refinement Hall sat with arms crossed, veins bulging along thick forearms.
In the front row below—
Lin Tianying.
Bandages wrapped his chest. His face was paper-white, but the hatred in his eyes was sharp enough to cut. Two lackeys flanked him. And on his other side—
A young man in blue robes, sword at his waist.
Qingming Sword Sect.
Jiang Muchen's gaze lingered for a heartbeat. Early twenties. Sharp brows. Cold presence—like a blade already half drawn. His eyes were closed, arms folded, as if none of this concerned him.
"Disciple Jiang Muchen greets the three elders."
His voice echoed.
The murmuring died instantly.
The white-haired elder lifted his head. Cloudy eyes flashed with sudden clarity.
"So you are Jiang Muchen."
"Yes."
"A servant disciple. Qi Condensation, third layer." The elder flipped through a dossier, the rasp of paper loud in the silence.
"You are accused of privately seizing Medicine Valley spoils and causing the death of fellow disciples. Do you plead guilty?"
"I do not."
Two words. Clean. Unhesitating.
Whispers spread.
"Bold for a servant."
"Does he think courage saves him?"
"Let's see how long that spine lasts…"
The elder rapped the table.
Silence fell.
"Lin Tianying," he said. "Speak."
Lin Tianying struggled to his feet, face twisted into righteous grief, voice ringing clear.
"Elders! I accuse Jiang Muchen of three crimes!"
He raised a shaking finger.
"First—during Medicine Valley, he colluded with demonic beasts to harm fellow disciples! I personally witnessed him commanding Ice-Scale Serpents in Cold Mist Ravine to attack disciples of the Qingming Sword Sect!"
The hall erupted.
Colluding with beasts. Attacking fellow cultivators.
Such crimes meant crippled cultivation—or expulsion.
A second finger rose.
"Second—he privately seized others' gains! Senior Brother Liu Zhen harvested Moonlight Grass. The Qingming Sword Sect brothers intended a fair trade—but Jiang Muchen interfered, threatening them with beasts and forcibly taking it!"
A third finger snapped upright.
"Third—he possesses powerful treasures of unknown origin! A servant disciple—how could he possibly own a jade flute and black blade of such grade? They must be spoils taken from murdered cultivators!"
Three accusations. Each sharper than the last.
All eyes locked onto Jiang Muchen.
The elder leaned forward.
"What do you say?"
Jiang Muchen did not rush to defend himself.
He looked at Lin Tianying instead, his voice calm—almost conversational.
"Senior Brother Lin, you said you personally witnessed me command Ice-Scale Serpents. May I ask—what time was it? Which part of Cold Mist Ravine? How large were the serpents? And exactly how did I 'command' them?"
Lin Tianying froze.
"It—it was the third day! Outer ravine! The snakes were seven or eight feet long! You played a flute, and they attacked!"
"What tune did I play?"
"I—how would I know!"
"Then whom did I order them to attack?" Jiang Muchen pressed.
"Which Qingming Sword Sect disciple? Name them."
Lin Tianying's eyes flicked sideways.
The blue-robed swordsman opened his eyes and stood.
"Zhao Wuji," he said coolly. "Outer disciple of the Qingming Sword Sect. On the third day of Medicine Valley, in the outer ravine, my junior brothers were indeed confronted by Ice-Scale Serpents. Jiang Muchen was present."
He looked directly at Jiang Muchen.
"Is that correct?"
"It is."
The hall buzzed.
He admitted it?
"But I did not command the serpents to attack," Jiang Muchen continued.
"On the contrary—I prevented the conflict."
"Prevented it?" Zhao Wuji sneered.
"With that flute of mysterious origin?"
"With the flute—and with reason." Jiang Muchen turned to the dais.
"Elders, I request witnesses."
"Granted."
Wang Duobao stepped forward, legs trembling. He inhaled sharply and forced his voice loud.
"We found Senior Brother Liu Zhen injured in the ravine! Qingming Sword Sect disciples were surrounding him, trying to take his Moonlight Grass! Brother Jiang tried to mediate—they refused and moved to fight! The Ice-Scale Serpent appeared on its own! Brother Jiang played the flute to calm it, not command it!"
Zhao Wuji snorted.
"One-sided testimony."
"Then summon Senior Brother Liu Zhen," Jiang Muchen said.
An attendant departed.
While they waited, Jiang Muchen faced Zhao Wuji.
"You said your juniors were attacked. Tell me—were they injured?"
Silence.
"A seventh-layer Ice-Scale Serpent attacking fifth- or sixth-layer cultivators would leave wounds," Jiang Muchen said clearly.
"They left unharmed. Why? Because the serpent never attacked. It merely appeared as a deterrent—and I soothed it away with my flute."
"Silver tongue," Zhao Wuji spat.
At that moment, Liu Zhen was helped inside.
Bandages stained red. Face pale. Eyes steady.
He bowed and spoke—clearly, carefully. From discovering the Moonlight Grass. To being surrounded. To being injured. To Jiang Muchen's arrival. To the serpent's appearance. To the flute's calming melody. To the Qingming disciples fleeing and abandoning the herbs.
"So," Liu Zhen concluded,
"Junior Brother Jiang saved my life. The Moonlight Grass was given willingly as thanks—not taken by force."
Silence swallowed the hall.
Lin Tianying's face drained of color.
Zhao Wuji's grip on his sword turned white-knuckled.
The elder tapped the table.
"Zhao Wuji. Any response?"
Zhao Wuji paused. Then smiled.
"Impressive," he said, clapping. The sound rang harsh in the quiet hall.
"Well-staged. Fellow disciples as witnesses, a neat story—black turned white."
He lifted his gaze.
"But I have another witness."
"Who?"
"Chen Song."
Jiang Muchen's heart tightened.
Chen Song?
Moments later, the purple-robed youth entered, sack over his shoulder, expression unreadable.
"Chen Song," the elder asked,
"Did you witness Jiang Muchen commanding beasts to attack fellow disciples?"
"No."
"Did you see him privately seizing others' gains?"
"No."
"Did you see him possessing artifacts of unknown origin?"
This time, Chen Song paused.
His eyes flicked to the flute and sword.
"Yes."
A chill sank.
But Chen Song continued.
"The flute—he used it in Medicine Valley. The sword—he found it in a cave. I don't know its origins. But it was not taken by murder."
He met Zhao Wuji's gaze.
"Because I was present when he obtained it."
Zhao Wuji's face shifted.
"Chen Song, you—"
"I'm stating facts," Chen Song cut in coldly.
"Your juniors tried to take Liu Zhen's Moonlight Grass. I saw it. They fled when the Ice-Scale Serpent appeared. I saw that too. What—does the Qingming Sword Sect now specialize in reversing blame?"
Laughter murmured through the benches.
The elders exchanged glances.
"Enough," the white-haired elder said.
He looked at Lin Tianying. "Your accusations are unsupported. Any further evidence?"
Lin Tianying clenched his teeth.
"Elder! That flute is suspicious! Calming Ice-Scale Serpents is abnormal! A servant disciple mastering such music—this must be heretical!"
"Heretical?" Jiang Muchen smiled faintly.
"Then are sword arts heretical too? Blade techniques? Or only those not from the Lin family?"
"You—"
"Enough," the elder cut in.
"Bring me the flute."
Jiang Muchen handed over the Qingming Dragon-Calling Flute.
The elder examined it, eyes tightening briefly at the dark-gold dragon markings—then passed it on.
"Elder Liu."
She closed her eyes, sensing.
"High-grade jade. Internal formations. No malevolent aura—rather, righteous resonance."
The Body Refinement elder hefted it, pressed it to his ear, and grinned.
"Good piece. Care to play?"
Jiang Muchen bowed.
"I'll do my best."
He played the first movement of the Soul-Calming Tune.
The hall fell silent.
The sound flowed like mountain streams, night wind through pines. Tension eased. Even the sharp hostility dulled.
When the final note faded—
"Orthodox Soul-Calming Melody," Elder Liu said.
"A standard pacification art. Not heretical."
Truth settled.
The white-haired elder looked down.
"Lin Tianying. Zhao Wuji. You have falsely accused a fellow disciple and disrupted the Discipline Hall. Punishment is due."
Lin Tianying turned ashen.
"As for you," the elder said to Zhao Wuji, voice icy,
"You are not of our sect—but you fabricated testimony on my ground. I will personally write to your master."
Zhao Wuji said nothing. His eyes were ice.
"Lin Tianying," the elder continued,
"Three months of confinement. Half-year stipend forfeited."
"I… accept," Lin Tianying whispered.
"Jiang Muchen. You are cleared. But act with greater caution henceforth."
"I understand."
"Dismissed."
Stepping outside, sunlight stabbed their eyes.
Wang Duobao nearly collapsed.
"I—I thought my heart would stop…"
"It's not over," Jiang Muchen said.
Chen Song emerged behind them.
"Senior Brother Chen," Jiang Muchen said. "Thank you."
"I stated facts," Chen Song replied. "Nothing more."
Jiang Muchen handed him a pouch.
"Three stalks of Moonlight Grass."
Chen Song raised a brow.
"A bribe?"
"A thank-you," Jiang Muchen said.
"And a seal on silence."
Chen Song studied him, then accepted.
"You're interesting, Jiang Muchen. Guard that flute well."
He left.
Jiang Muchen watched him go, then turned back toward the hall.
The storm had passed—but the sky was not clear.
Lin Tianying would not stop.
The Qingming Sword Sect would not forget.
And most importantly—
Who handed Lin Tianying the knife?
Morning light burned.
Jiang Muchen narrowed his eyes.
From today on, he could no longer remain merely a servant disciple.
Either climb beyond reach—
Or be crushed into the dirt.
There was no third path.