The valley was deathly still.
No birds. No breeze. Only petals—withered orchids—drifted through the air like ashes from a forgotten fire. Each one seemed to carry the weight of broken promises.
Lin Xiyan and Shen Liufeng stepped into the valley side by side.
"He's waiting," Lin said quietly.
"I've waited longer," Shen replied. "Seventeen years."
At the center of the valley stood a stone platform. And upon it, a man—clad in ink-dark robes, hair silver like frost.
Shen Xuanli.
His father.
He didn't look like a tyrant. He looked like a monk who had seen too much of the world. But his eyes—they were colder than the blades of winter.
"Liufeng," the old man said.
"…Father."
Just one word. And yet it trembled like a thousand knives.
Shen Xuanli cast a glance at Lin. "Is it him? The one who made you turn your back on your blood?"
"You're wrong," Shen answered, voice calm. "You made me turn my back on myself."
From the shadows stepped another figure, dressed in white.
Fang Ziyue.
No smile on his face. Only a quiet madness in his eyes.
"Do you know," he said, voice light, "I envied you from the moment I was seventeen. You didn't even try—and yet he looked only at you."
"You never wanted him," Lin said softly. "You only wanted proof that you were worth loving."
Fang Ziyue laughed—like someone tearing themselves open from the inside.
"Then prove it. Kill me."
His sword flew.
Shen intercepted him. Blades clashed like lightning.
Meanwhile, Shen Xuanli raised a hand—and the valley awoke. Hidden formations burst forth. Flames erupted from the earth. Dozens of Lotus Sect assassins descended like phantoms.
"Don't waste time," Shen Xuanli said. "Let them die together."
Lin stepped beside Shen, his voice steady: "Third Form."
Shen met his eyes. "Falling Blossoms."
—
Twin Lotus Art: Final Form – Falling Blossom Strike
They moved like one.
Lin's sword traced petals in the air—soft, deceiving, deadly. Shen's blade followed like thunder behind silk, striking only where Lin had misled the enemy.
One drew the breath.
The other cut the heart.
They spun, crossed, vanished, and reappeared like shadows in a storm.
With a single slash, Fang Ziyue fell to his knees, sword shattered, eyes wide.
"I… truly loved you," he whispered.
Lin looked at him for a moment.
"I once pitied you," he replied.
Then turned away.
Shen Xuanli stepped forward, drawing his blade—Burning Night.
"I once meant to give you this sword," he said. "Make you my heir."
"But I chose my heart," Shen said simply.
They clashed.
Father and son.
Fire and steel.
Lin held the assassins at bay, his voice cutting through the chaos: "Don't lose."
Shen met his father's blade head-on.
And in one final strike—
He shattered the sword.
The tip of his blade touched Shen Xuanli's throat.
The old man stared at him—and smiled.
"You were always more worthy than I."
And then, he closed his eyes.
The wind returned.
Petals danced in the air.
Lin and Shen stood in the middle of a valley of broken shadows and silent truth.
"Is it over?" Lin asked softly.
Shen nodded. "It is."
Lin turned to him, that same quiet smile as the day they first met.
"Then what comes next?"
Shen took his hand.
"Whatever we want."