Lìngxi did not understand what had just happened to him. The violence of the coughing fit was a phantom he couldn't name, but he refused to let his confusion feed the panic of those around him.
He held up a pale, trembling hand. The gesture was absolute; everyone froze mid-step, caught in the gravity of his unspoken command. "I am... fine."
Kage Ou looked at him, his wide eyes harboring a thousand unspoken questions. The horror hadn't quite left his gaze. "Of course you aren't."
He didn't move with his usual impulsive speed. Instead, he knelt silently beside Lìngxi, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain marring the pristine ice. "This... this cannot be 'fine'."
Lìngxi swallowed, his throat tight and coated with the lingering, metallic bitterness of blood. The incident was a jarring enigma, but he was not a man who allowed physical frailty to dictate his duty.
He didn't feel the familiar pull of unconsciousness or the traditional symptoms of a failing constitution. It felt less like a collapse and more like a wave—a singular, devastating surge of pain that had crested and broken within him.
Yet, there was a shiver in his soul, a premonition that this was merely the herald of a new kind of suffering.
'Is there such a shortage of agony in my life that I must now find new ways to bleed? It must be the seal... a tremor in the curse of my half-bound power. Nothing more.'
"Lìngxi, you are ill," Kage Ou said, his voice dropping to a steady, grounding register. He placed a hand on Lìngxi's shoulder to stabilize him. "You cannot perform the Candle Dance ritual in this state."
Lìngxi looked up. His expression was a portrait of peaceful stubbornness, but his eyes dropped to the hand on his shoulder, delivering a silent, icy command: Do not touch me.
Kage Ou huffed, a mix of frustration and genuine amazement at the man's unrelenting pride. "Fine."
He retracted his hand, though his resolve remained unshaken. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you throw your life away for a ritual."
Lìngxi cleared his throat and forced himself to stand. As he put weight on his right leg, the sound of the ice beneath his boot was like teeth grinding together in a desperate struggle. The solid frost spread outward, its cold embrace turning his warm, spilled blood into frozen rubies.
Even the statues seemed to react, a fresh layer of rime blooming over their forms—all except for the Earth God. Its detailed, carved eyes remained piercingly clear.
The cultivators noted the phenomenon with hushed breaths. In this temple, Lìngxi's ice was a fickle thing; sometimes it surged without reason, and other times it was stifled by the weight of his seal.
"You are not of this faith," Lìngxi said, his voice final and sharp as a shard of glass. "You do not understand the weight of this duty. Do not stop me."
Kage Ou opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. He rolled his eyes, a flicker of his usual defiance returning, and offered his sleeve to help Lìngxi balance. He knew better than to offer a hand directly; Lìngxi would sooner fall than be held.
"Hand me the candles," Lìngxi ordered softly. "Careful with the flames."
The clan members bowed, their movements frantic yet respectful. They brought forward the small, rounded blue candles, tipped with a flickering white fire that seemed to burn with a cold light.
Kage Ou took a bitter step back. Despite his lack of faith, he moved toward his traditional post—the grand black-and-gold drum. He took the mallets in hand, his heart tightening. He had seen this play out before: Lìngxi, fragile as spun glass, pushing himself into the frantic, punishing steps of the dance until he shattered.
Two cultivators began a rhythmic tapping with wooden sticks—a precursor, three beats to set the soul's tempo.
Kage Ou raised his mallets and met Lìngxi's gaze. The Dào stood at the center of the formation, flanked by two attendants. With the final echo of the sticks, Lìngxi raised one candle high and tucked the other behind him. His head lowered in a silent salutation.
A beat of absolute silence followed.
Then, Kage Ou moved. His hands were like streaks of flame as he struck the drum. The grand, purposeful beats echoed through the temple, vibrating in the marrow of their bones.
The dance ignited. Lìngxi moved with a sudden, jarring speed, his robes and long hair fluttering about him like the feathers of a startled swan.
The white flames of the candles danced but never died, trailing ribbons of light through the freezing air.
It was the Dance of the Believers, a rite reserved solely for the head of the clan.
Lìngxi was operating on pure, agonizing determination. He never moved this quickly unless he was utilizing his spiritual form; his physical flesh felt as though it were being squeezed from his bones. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, and every joint screamed in protest.
'I will not collapse this year... I am not weak. Please... let the temple accept me this time...'
With a final, thunderous beat of the drum, Lìngxi slammed his boot onto the frozen earth. The candles in his hands burned out instantly, and the ice beneath him spiderwebbed with cracks. A sharp, searing pain shot directly into the gem embedded in his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut against his will.
"Lìngxi..." Kage Ou whispered, the mallets trembling in his grip.
They waited for the familiar fall—the collapse that had marked the last ten years. But the air shifted.
The ice under Lìngxi's feet surged outward, forming a perfect, glowing blue circle. His forehead gem responded, pulsing with a soft, ethereal azure hue. He remained standing at the center of the mandala, his body trembling, but upright.
His final posture was a perfect echo of the Earth God's—one hand raised, one at mid-air, empty and expectant.
"He... he did it?" Kage Ou breathed, his voice thick with disbelief.
'I did it...' Lìngxi panted, the exertion breaking him down bone by bone, yet a surge of fierce pride bloomed amidst the pain. 'After ten years of rejection... the temple has answered.'
He exhaled sharply and let his weight sink, kneeling fully as if a statue had finally settled into its base.
"You did it, Lìngxi! Are you alright? Are you feeling sick?" Kage Ou abandoned his post, dropping the drumsticks carelessly. One missed the table entirely, clattering onto the floor.
Despite his exhaustion, Lìngxi's eyes snapped open. The needle-prick of his perfectionism was stronger than his pain.
"K-Kage! You—you dropped the holy sticks of the Grand Drum!" He tried to mask his agony with a look of sharp annoyance.
"Shut up, it's just an object," Kage Ou snapped, already checking Lìngxi's pulse as the other cultivators rushed over with herbs and warming silk. "It was an accident."
"Still, it is—"
Lìngxi's voice died in his throat. Out of the shadows, a lock of jet-black hair lashed out like a whip. It struck Kage Ou's hand with a sharp, stinging force, drawing a line of bright blood across his skin.
Lìngxi's breath caught. Who could have breached the sanctum during such a holy moment?
"What the—?!" Kage Ou hissed, gripping his wounded arm, his confusion rapidly curdling into anger.
The cultivators instantly drew into a protective circle around their masters, weapons drawn, eyes searching the gloom. They found nothing. No intruder, no shadow.
Yet, unseen by the panicked men below, the lips of the Earth God statue—so like the Hàngwō statue of legend—cracked.
A smile spread across the frozen stone, a look that was both deeply sympathetic and profoundly sad. It was the smile of a deity who knew a story. Which definitely wasn't soemthing memorable.