**Chapter 9 – Ashes of the Truce**
Dawn came to Bright Peak reluctant and gray.
Smoke still curled from the breached eastern gate. The stone corridors were slick with blood and frost-melt. Bodies—Ming Flame black and orthodox white—had been carried to the lower courtyards for identification and rites. The air smelled of charred pine, iron, and the faint ozone tang of spent qi.
The elders had reconvened in the Jade Hall before the sun cleared the eastern ridge. No ceremony this time; no raised dais, no floating lanterns. They sat at a single long table scarred by last night's stray sword strikes. Grandmaster Zhang Sanfeng occupied the head, looking more ancient than ever in the cold morning light. Abbot Xuanci, Abbess Miejue, and the others flanked him in grim silence.
Lin Wuji stood before them, still holding both weapons—one in each hand. The Heavenly Sword rested point-down on his right, its blade so bright it cast soft starlight patterns on the floor. The Dragon Slaying Saber hung heavy on his left, tip grazing the stone, crimson veins subdued but watchful.
The glow beneath his skin had faded to faint traceries—golden-red lines that pulsed gently with each breath. He looked exhausted, yet strangely calm, as though some long internal war had finally reached armistice.
Zhang Sanfeng spoke first.
"You did not draw them against us," he observed quietly. "Nor did you flee with them. Instead you bound Xie Yuan without killing him, and forced the Ming vanguard to retreat. Explain."
Lin Wuji inclined his head.
"I became… a bridge," he said. "When I touched both weapons at once, their essences entered my meridians. The Nine Yin Poison was burned away—not destroyed, but transformed. The phoenix light and dragon blood now circulate together inside me. I didn't unite the blades. I united their legacies in my body."
Murmurs rippled along the table.
Abbess Miejue leaned forward, eyes narrowed to slits.
"And what does that make you now? A new Immortal Emperor in waiting? Or a walking catastrophe?"
Lin Wuji met her gaze steadily.
"Neither, Abbess. I feel no urge to rule. No hunger for revenge. Only… clarity. The weapons don't want domination. They want the cycle broken. Heaven and Dragon were never meant to be eternal enemies. They were once one being—split by decree, forged into weapons as punishment. Their longing is for reunion, not conquest."
Abbot Xuanci stroked his silver brows.
"Then why not simply merge them now? End the division."
"Because the price is absolute," Lin Wuji answered. "If I force union here, the backlash will shatter this peak—and everyone on it. The essences warned me: to break the cycle requires a heart willing to become nothing. Not death. Oblivion. The wielder ceases to exist as a separate self. The world is left to choose its own path afterward—without heavenly mandates or draconic curses."
Silence fell heavier than any battle cry.
Zhang Sanfeng closed his eyes for a long moment.
"Then you intend the third path."
"I intend to try," Lin Wuji said softly. "But not alone. Not by force. If there is any chance the sects and the Ming Flame—and even the dynasty—can lay down arms long enough to see what happens when no one claims supremacy… I will wait for that moment."
Miejue snorted.
"Naïve child. The Ming Flame will never surrender their rebellion. The Azure Dragon Court will never relinquish the throne. And we—" She gestured to the elders. "—have spent centuries defining righteousness against their chaos. You ask the impossible."
"Maybe," Lin Wuji conceded. "But last night, when I held both blades, no one died who didn't have to. That was impossible too—until it happened."
Before anyone could respond, the hall doors swung open.
Zhou Qingruo entered first—sword sheathed, robes torn at one sleeve, a thin cut across her cheek still weeping blood. Behind her came two Wudang guards escorting a chained Xie Yuan. The golden-maned warrior walked with head bowed, madness dulled to weary clarity. The phoenix-dragon bindings still shimmered faintly around his wrists and ankles.
Zhao Min followed last—alone, no guards, fox-fur cloak gone, dressed now in simple black riding silks. Her usual mocking smile was absent; she looked almost… thoughtful.
All eyes turned to the newcomers.
Xie Yuan dropped to one knee before Lin Wuji.
"Forgive me, boy," he rasped. "They poisoned my mind—some Ming Flame alchemist's gu. Made the madness worse. I led the attack… but I remember everything. You could have killed me. You didn't."
Lin Wuji knelt to his level.
"You raised me when no one else would. That debt isn't canceled by one night."
Zhao Min stepped forward, gaze flicking between the weapons, Lin Wuji's glowing meridians, and the elders.
"My father's vanguard has withdrawn to the foot of the mountain," she announced. "They will not attack again—unless I give the order. I have not given it."
She looked directly at Lin Wuji.
"You intrigue me more than ever, fulcrum. You could have ended us all last night. Instead you chose restraint. Why should I believe this 'third path' isn't just another way to seize power quietly?"
"Because I don't want it," he said simply. "And because if I did, I wouldn't be standing here asking for time."
Zhao Min studied him a long moment.
Then she turned to the elders.
"Three more days," she said. "No attacks from my side. Give him his chance to prove this… experiment. If he fails—if the weapons turn on us all—then we resume where we left off. But if he succeeds…" She shrugged elegantly. "Perhaps the jianghu discovers it can exist without needing to slay dragons or kneel to heaven."
Zhang Sanfeng opened his eyes.
"Three days," he agreed. "Under joint watch. The boy remains free to move on the peak. The weapons stay with him. Anyone who attempts to seize them answers to me personally."
Miejue looked ready to protest, but Zhou Qingruo stepped forward.
"Master," she said quietly but firmly, "if we do not try this now, we condemn generations to the same war. Let it end—one way or another."
Miejue stared at her favorite disciple for a long, measuring moment.
Then she exhaled sharply and nodded once.
The elders rose as one.
The fragile new truce was sealed—not with oaths, but with exhausted silence.
As the hall emptied, Zhou Qingruo moved to Lin Wuji's side. She touched the shallow cut on her cheek absently.
"You're still standing," she said softly.
"Barely," he admitted. He glanced at the weapons in his hands. "They're quiet now. Almost… content."
She looked up at him, phoenix eyes searching.
"And you?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know what I am anymore," he confessed. "But for the first time… I don't feel poisoned."
She reached out and gently took his right hand—the one holding the Heavenly Sword. Her fingers laced through his.
"Then we have three days to figure out the rest," she said.
Behind them, Zhao Min lingered near the doors, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.
Xie Yuan, chains softly clinking, muttered under his breath:
"Poor bastards. Love in the middle of apocalypse. Never ends well."
But even he did not look away.
Outside, the sun finally broke through the clouds, painting Bright Peak in reluctant gold.
Three days.
The world held its breath.
(End of Chapter 9)