The jade platform still bore the scars of the duel. Cracked stone. Scattered blood. A broken sword that had once mirrored every motion, now silent dust.
Jiang Chen stood on the edge of the arena, his gaze distant as the Sect Elders discussed the duel's implications behind veiled voices. His shoulder throbbed, but he paid it no mind.
A victory.
But not a triumph.
Behind him, disciples murmured with awe and unease. Some looked at him as if he were a storm given form. Others... with fear.
Yan Wuji had been a prodigy, a phantom prodigy from the Hallowed Mirror Sect. And Jiang Chen—an outsider until months ago—had shattered that image with his flawed, relentless sword.
He walked off the platform in silence.
As he passed, Lin Shaoyu leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed. His expression unreadable, but his voice carried.
"Don't lose your balance now, Jiang Chen. The real duels are fought behind closed doors."
Jiang Chen didn't stop. "Then they should be prepared to lose quietly."
Shaoyu smirked—but said no more.
---
Whispering Sword Sect – South Pavilion
Master Liu Qingfeng sat alone, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Across from him, Sect Leader Bai Yunchen and Grand Elder Su Meiren regarded him with quiet solemnity.
"The boy's path is no longer hidden," Su Meiren said at last, her voice soft. "We've cast a stone into the still pond. The ripples will reach beyond the Central Territories."
Liu Qingfeng nodded slowly. "The Hallowed Mirror Sect will not take this lightly. Nor will those who seek to shape the next generation of the martial world."
Yunchen exhaled. "Have we done right by him, Master Liu?"
Liu Qingfeng's answer came slow. "That depends on what he chooses next. We offered him the sword. He sharpened it on pain. Now we must trust he won't turn it on himself."
A silence lingered.
Then a quiet chime. A disciple entered with a folded letter, stamped with an ink-black lotus seal.
Su Meiren's brow furrowed.
"They've begun to move."
---
Black Lotus Faction – Hidden Chamber Beneath Chiyang Marsh
The chamber was a drowned relic of an ancient sect, long buried and overrun with roots and moisture. But within its walls, power lingered—dark, subtle, and ancient.
A dozen masked figures knelt on one knee. Before them stood the Lotus Envoy, face concealed by silken black.
"The Heavenfall trap failed," she said simply. "But the result was not waste."
A ripple passed through the chamber.
"The boy lives. And with that, the mirror cracks."
One of the kneeling men, taller than the rest, spoke. "Should we kill him before he ascends further?"
The Envoy's voice did not change.
"Kill him?"
"No. That is what the sects expect. They'll prepare. We do not hunt sprouts. We poison the soil."
She raised a pale hand. A spiritual projection bloomed in the air—an image of the Whispering Sword Sect's elder council. Then another—of their disciples. Then—of Jiang Chen himself, training in isolation, his blade slicing rainwater in the dead of night.
"We fracture him from within. One choice at a time."
"Let him rise."
"Let them place hope in him."
"And then, we show them the cost of faith."
The masked figures bowed lower.
"Yes, Lotus Envoy."
---
Within the Sect – Wounded, Yet Still Standing
Jiang Chen sat on a flat stone in the rain, robe soaked, sword resting across his lap.
He did not train.
He did not meditate.
He sat—listening.
Rain tapped leaves. Wind stirred bamboo. Far off, a hawk cried once. Then silence.
He closed his eyes.
Within his mind, the fragments of battle still lingered. Yan Wuji's voice. That strange moment when he saw himself, not through technique, but doubt.
"A sword without self."
Jiang Chen remembered how close he came to breaking—not from pain, but from recognition. That the mirror had not lied. It had shown him truths he had refused to name.
His hand curled around his sword hilt.
Then—footsteps.
He opened his eyes.
Xu Rushan stood beneath a crooked pine, carrying a bamboo basket.
"You always sit in the worst weather, senior brother."
Jiang Chen gave a faint smirk. "The heavens train harder than the elders. I figured I'd keep up."
She stepped forward, setting the basket down.
"Brought you dried peach slices. And medicine."
He raised a brow.
"Are those yours or stolen from Elder Su's private stash again?"
She smiled faintly. "Borrowed without intent to return."
He chuckled quietly.
Then silence returned between them.
Rushan glanced at him.
"You… won."
Jiang Chen didn't respond immediately.
"Did I?"
She didn't push him. Only sat beside him in the rain, under the crooked pine.
For a while, there was no need for words.
---
Meanwhile – Lin Shaoyu's Quarters
Lin Shaoyu sat before a narrow blade altar, his qi circulating in strange, rhythmic pulses. A scroll lay open before him—ancient, written in faded crimson ink.
The text read:
"When the mountains shift, the dragon wakes. The Black Phoenix shall fall by the hand of no sect-born child."
He exhaled slowly.
"So. The prophecy stirs again."
A knock.
A girl entered, bowing low.
"Elder Chu requests your presence. They've asked for you to represent the sect in the outer domain trials next month."
Shaoyu didn't rise. He only closed the scroll, fingers tapping once against the blade.
"Tell him I accept. But I want one condition."
"I choose who walks beside me."
---
Back at the Whispering Sword Sect – Late Night
In the Grand Archives, an old man moved through candlelit rows, running his fingers across worn tomes.
Elder Ruoshan stopped before a dusty codex—The Three Reincarnations of Heaven's Edge.
He pulled it down, flipping to a bookmarked section.
There, etched in ink that shimmered faintly with spiritual essence, was a forgotten record.
"In the Age of Splintered Stars, a sword fell from the sky. It did not choose a master. It awaited one who could not be chosen."
He whispered to himself.
"The Black Lotus knows. The sects have forgotten. But history does not forget its debts."
His eyes gleamed.
"And Jiang Chen… he may be the payment long overdue."
---
End of Chapter 16