Su Qingyue’s tone was simple, unassuming, but something in the faint curve of her lips hinted at a deeper meaning.

  Guo Liang frowned, trying to interpret it, but found nothing beyond the surface

  The patriarch, however, regarded her with quiet amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

  At that moment, a soft sound broke their conversation — the rustle of footsteps, the gentle clink of porcelain.

  Li Wei had returned.

  His expression was composed, deferential, though a faint sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. He bowed low before speaking.

  “My apologies, honored guests. The kitchens could not locate the Moonlight Dew Nectar you requested. It is a rare delicacy, after all. However, I’ve brought a substitute—Frost Orchid Wine. It shares a similar clarity, if not the same fragrance.”

  He placed the tray down carefully, his tone humble, his movements unhurried.

  Guo Liang’s eyes chilled almost instantly. “So you couldn’t find it, then,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You took so long, I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost. Or perhaps fallen asleep among the wine barrels?”

  Li Wei lowered his gaze politely. “My apologies, Young Master. The storage vaults are vast, and I did not wish to return empty-handed.”

  Guo Liang laughed sharply. “How noble. And yet, you missed the greatest fight of the tournament! A masked fighter appeared out of nowhere and humiliated one of Zhao Feng’s men before the entire sect! You servants truly have no sense of timing.” He leaned back in his chair, waving a hand dismissively. “But perhaps it’s for the best—a servant like you might’ve fainted from excitement.”

  Li Wei smiled faintly, the expression calm and unreadable. “I’m sure it was quite the spectacle, Young Master.”

  Su Qingyue glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The faintest glimmer of amusement touched her expression, subtle and fleeting. As she reached for her cup, Li Wei’s gaze brushed hers briefly, and he gave the smallest, most imperceptible wink.

  She turned her face away quickly, pretending to study the wine in her glass. A faint blush colored her cheeks, betraying her composure even as she forced her tone to remain level.

  “Frost Orchid Wine,” she murmured, swirling the pale liquid in her cup. “A fair substitute indeed.”

  Guo Liang, oblivious to the exchange, muttered, “Honestly, it’s a wonder the servants in this sect haven’t all been replaced by now. At least the masked man knew how to perform with dignity. Still… mark my words, that fighter’s identity will shake the sect when it’s revealed. No one with that kind of skill stays hidden for long.”

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  Su Qingyue’s fingers brushed the stem of her cup, her gaze lowered to hide the faint, lingering blush on her face. “Perhaps,” she murmured softly, “some performers are best left unrecognized.”

  Beyond the pavilion, the cheers of the crowd still echoed faintly, their excitement carrying through the mountain air like distant thunder.

  After a while, Elder Hyu of the Ceremony Hall, the man officiating the Inner Sect Trial, rose slowly to his feet. His long gray robes brushed against the wind as he lifted his hand, calling for silence.

  “Disciples of the Azure Cloud Sect,” his voice rang out, calm but firm, “today’s trial has come to an end.”

  The murmuring crowd quieted, a thousand eyes turning toward him. His expression was solemn, neither joyous nor condemning, only weary with the weight of duty.

  “The results of the duels have been recorded,” Elder Hyu continued. “Save for the final match, which shall remain unresolved pending the council’s judgment and investigation into the… allegations raised within the duel, the victors of the other matches shall henceforth be recognized as Inner Sect Disciples of the Azure Cloud Sect.”

  The words struck the crowd like a thunderclap. Gasps spread across the stands.

  “An investigation?” someone whispered.

  “Then the Buddha Mask Disciple’s accusation was true?”

  “Impossible—Zhao Feng wouldn’t stoop so low, would he?”

  “Who can say? In this sect, power speaks loudest…”

  Speculation rippled through the crowd like ripples through water. A few of Zhao Feng’s followers turned pale. Others glared, their faces twisted with fury.

  Zhao Feng sat with his jaw clenched tight.

  Xiao Lan, who still stood shakily at the edge of the platform, lifted his head in disbelief.

  Elder Hyu’s gaze passed over him indifferently. “All disciples are reminded,” he said, his voice carrying both warning and mercy, “that strength without virtue breeds ruin. The council will deliberate and deliver its judgment in due time. For now, the trial is adjourned.”

  He lowered his hand. The shimmering barrier surrounding the dueling stage faded entirely, and a collective murmur rose as disciples began to disperse.

  Above, on the pavilion, the nobles and visiting elders stood in small clusters, whispering to one another. Some praised the masked figure’s courage. Others questioned the sect’s discipline.

  The crowd had barely begun to thin when a stillness rolled across the arena like the calm before a storm. The flags fluttering above the pavilion stilled. The faint rustle of robes ceased. Even the mountain breeze seemed to hesitate.

  Then, without warning, a presence appeared in the sky.

  One moment the heavens were empty, the next, a solitary figure stood suspended high above the arena, bathed in the pale light of the setting sun.

  In the pavilion, Patriarch Shigo Tianyu’s eyes lifted. A faint, knowing smile curved his lips.

  The figure vanished from the sky and appeared inside the pavilion.

  No sound announced his arrival. No ripple of qi disturbed the air. It was as if he had been there all along, standing quietly beside the great table, the sunlight tracing faint halos along the hem of his robes.

  He was tall, his posture straight but unassuming. His hair, black streaked faintly with silver, was bound with a jade clasp that shimmered like moonlight. His robes were simple yet elegant, shifting subtly between pale blue and white, as if he wore the sky itself. His eyes, deep as tranquil lakes, seemed to hold both wisdom and warmth, and when he smiled, the world seemed to exhale.

  The newcomer was Han Jingshu, the Assistant Sect Lord of the Azure Cloud Sect.

  “Patriarch Shigo,” he said, inclining his head gently. “It has been far too long.”