The Cold Hall lived up to its name.
No brazier, no warmth — just walls of white jade that reflected every sound until it felt like even your heartbeat was on trial.
Ruo Han stood in the center, his ceremonial robes now seeming too thin, the frost seeping into his bones.
On the dais above, three elders sat in judgment. Elder Hui's sharp eyes bored into him, while Elder Mei's fan hid most of her face. The Sect Master himself, Lan Qingshan, leaned forward with the stillness of a predator.
Qingshan: "Ruo Han. During the ceremony, your qi fluctuated. You saw something."
Ruo Han kept his gaze lowered.
Ruo Han: "It was nothing—"
Elder Hui: "Nothing does not leave a glow on your palm."
The words froze him. They saw it.
Elder Mei's voice was soft, but carried a strange weight.
"Tell us, Ruo Han… whose presence do you carry?"
The warmth in his chest pulsed sharply — almost in defiance. His breath stuttered as a voice brushed the edge of his mind:
"Don't tell them."
It wasn't Xiyue's voice.
Lan Xiyue, standing just beyond the hall's entrance, tensed. He wasn't supposed to be here — disciples weren't allowed during private inquiry — but he had come anyway. His qi was coiled tight, ready.
Qingshan's gaze shifted briefly toward the door.
"If you will not answer… we will draw it out."
Two elders stepped down from the dais, their hands already weaving the first strands of a sealing formation. The jade floor beneath Ruo Han began to hum.
And far away, in the Scarlet Sun Sect, Feng Lian dropped the cracked jade fragment. It flared, and his eyes went wide.