The crack above the dome opened wider, like the sky was peeling back a lid.
At first, it was only light. Then it became a corridor—bright, sharp, and full of movement. It was not normal lightning. It did not fall. It looked around, like a predator searching for a throat.
The air inside the Court barrier turned cold and hot at the same time. The ground shook once, then twice, like the realm itself was trying to cough something out.
The Silent Bell envoy's face went pale.
"That is not a warning," he said. "That is a door."
One Court elder, still kneeling, forced his voice out. "A door to where?"
The envoy did not look away from the crack. "To selection," he answered. "To the Heaven-Rending Thunder Descent."
The words made the crowd outside the dome tense like a single animal. Even sect elders who had seen wars stepped back, because the fear in the envoy's voice was not fake.
The blank-masked false elder lifted its chin slowly, almost proud.
"The test is working," it whispered.
Qi Shan Wei stood under the crack like a calm mountain under a storm. His robe did not flutter. His eyes did not widen. His hand stayed steady on Heavenpiercer.
He spoke one simple line. "So this was never only about debt."
The envoy's throat tightened. "No," he said. "It was never only about payment."
The bell-ink words still floated in the air from before, but now they began to change. The letters trembled as if something huge was pressing down on them from above.
The envoy's voice dropped lower. "A Bell-Law relic can collect. But it can also redirect."
A Court elder's eyes sharpened. "Redirect what?"
The envoy finally looked at him. "The disaster," he said. "Onto him."
The elder's mouth opened slightly. "Onto Qi Shan Wei?"
The envoy's gaze went back to the crack. "Onto his fate," he corrected. "Onto his future. Onto the threads that stabilize him."
Above them, lightning moved inside the crack like living snakes. It did not strike yet. It waited. It listened. It hunted.
Then it did something worse.
It leaned forward.
One thin bolt reached out of the crack and touched the dome like a finger tapping glass.
The dome screamed silently.
The Court barrier did not break, but it shuddered like it was ashamed to be touched by heaven.
A few weaker cultivators outside the dome fell to their knees again. They did not know why. Their bodies simply obeyed the pressure.
Inside the dome, Ling Xueyao lifted her head sharply. The frost scars around her eyes flickered like cracked moonlight.
"It's coming through," she whispered.
Qi Shan Wei's voice stayed calm. "Hold your breath," he told her, quiet but firm.
Ling Xueyao swallowed once and nodded. "Three breaths," she said.
Then she raised two fingers again.
A pale moon-line appeared in the air, thin and perfect.
She pressed it to the edge of the crack.
The crack's rim frosted over.
For one breath, the lightning slowed, like it had stepped into winter.
Ling Xueyao's face tightened. Pain flashed in her eyes. The frozen law scars on her skin brightened, carving deeper.
But she did not step back.
Second breath.
Her moon-line thickened.
The frost spread wider along the crack's edge, turning the leak into a narrow slit.
Lightning hissed inside the crack, angry.
Third breath.
Ling Xueyao's shoulders trembled.
A faint, huge moon-shadow tried to rise behind her again—her Lunar Frost Domain pushing at the world like a quiet giant waking up.
The air around her turned so cold that dust fell like tiny crystals.
Qi Shan Wei moved one step closer to her. He did not hold her. He did not do anything soft.
He placed his palm lightly over her wrist again—steady, controlled, and warm with prismatic energy.
Not a chain.
Not control.
A guard.
His voice was low. "Stay here."
Ling Xueyao's throat tightened. She nodded once. "I am here," she whispered, like she was making a vow.
The third breath ended.
The crack did not close.
But it stopped widening.
For one heartbeat, it obeyed her.
The blank mask watched her with quiet interest. "Frost can delay thunder," it said. "But delay is still time."
Zhen stepped forward, shield layers still turning like a moving fortress around the cocoon and allies. His core hummed with cold logic.
"I calculate two outcomes," Zhen said flatly. "Outcome one: lightning enters. Outcome two: lightning enters."
Drakonix hissed from inside the cocoon, voice rough and proud. "Then… stop it…"
Zhen replied without emotion. "That is the goal."
Drakonix growled. "Less… talk…"
Zhen answered, perfectly calm. "Talking does not reduce efficiency. Panic does."
The tiny humor died as fast as it came, swallowed by the pressure above.
Because the bell rang again.
This ring was not aimed at bodies.
It was aimed at rules.
The bell-ink in the air reshaped itself in a blink, writing new lines like a judge changing the law mid-trial.
CONVERGENCE LEAK CONFIRMED.COLLECT PAYMENT THROUGH HEAVEN.TARGET: THREAD-STABILITY.
The Court elders froze.
Some looked excited. Some looked terrified.
One elder whispered, greedy and shaking, "If heaven takes the thread… then his bonds weaken…"
The Silent Bell envoy snapped his gaze toward them. "You think you are safe?" he barked.
The elder flinched. "We are the Court—"
The envoy cut him off. "The River of Time does not care about your title," he said, voice hard. "If the convergence enters this dome, your Court dies first. You are standing under a door."
That shut them up.
For a moment, the only sound was the crack hissing like a storm trying to breathe.
Then Yin Yuerin moved.
Not to fight the lightning.
To cut the hand behind it.
Her shadow slid along the ground like ink in water. No one saw her face. They only felt the temperature drop as if the light itself became careful.
She appeared behind Zhen for one heartbeat and placed a small wax bead into Qi Shan Wei's palm without anyone noticing.
It was warm. Sticky. Sealed with a hidden route mark.
Qi Shan Wei did not look down.
But he understood.
Yin Yuerin's whisper touched his ear like a blade wrapped in silk.
"Auction routes," she said. "Someone paid through the Conclave lanes."
Qi Shan Wei's eyes narrowed slightly. That was the only sign of change.
"A buyer line," he murmured.
Yin Yuerin's voice stayed calm. "Yes," she said. "And it smells like someone who thinks names are currency."
The Silent Bell envoy heard the last words, and his head turned sharply.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
Yin Yuerin did not answer him like a normal person. She lifted her hand, and a shadow-mask formed for one blink—just enough to show she was not guessing.
"A route seal," she said. "Hidden wax. It touched Conclave lanes."
The envoy's face hardened. "The Heavenly Auction Conclave…" he whispered, like the words tasted bad.
The blank mask's voice slid in smoothly. "Economy is also law," it said. "A bell can be rented, if the right hands hold the rope."
The Court elders snapped their eyes toward the false elder.
"You," one elder hissed. "Who are you?"
The blank mask tilted its head. "A recorder," it said softly. "A quiet scribe."
Then it smiled without a mouth.
"And the world is finally writing honestly."
The crack above the dome surged again.
Ling Xueyao's frost line shook.
The lightning inside the corridor finally stopped "looking."
It chose.
A bolt formed at the crack's mouth—thin, perfect, and sharp as a needle.
It did not aim at Qi Shan Wei.
It turned slightly, like a hunting dog catching a scent.
And it aimed downward—toward the Court platform where the Six Consort Threads trembled.
The Silent Bell envoy's voice went raw. "No—!"
He reached out like he could grab lightning with his hand.
He could not.
The bolt dropped.
Not falling.
HUNTING.
It struck the air above the platform and split into many smaller lines, like a net of white snakes searching for one thread to bite.
The Six Threads flared.
One after another, they flashed their colors—frost, flame, lotus-light, shadow, beast-roar, and phoenix-heat.
The hunting lightning ignored most of them.
It hesitated at the frost thread—still angry from before.
Then it moved past it.
It drifted, like it was smelling something deeper.
And then it snapped toward the Shadow Thread.
Yin Yuerin's breath caught.
Her eyes went cold.
Because she felt it.
Not as pain.
As a hand touching the back of her soul.
The lightning net tightened around the Shadow Thread like a noose.
The blank mask whispered, pleased. "There," it said. "That one carries too many secrets."
The Court elders stared.
One of them gasped. "The Shadow Thread—!"
The lightning bit.
The Shadow Thread jerked hard, like something had hooked it.
Yin Yuerin's body went still, then shook once. A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of her lip.
Qi Shan Wei moved instantly.
Not in panic.
In command.
He lifted two fingers and drew a formation circle in the air—simple, bronze, public grade.
But his intent made it feel like an imperial law.
"Stillwater," he said.
The Nine-Fold Stillwater Barrier spread out—not as a wall, but as a softening field around the platform.
The hunting lightning hit it and slowed for a blink, like a beast stepping into deep water.
Zhen's eyes flashed.
"Mirror Feed—Second Loop," he said.
His shield matrix pulled the bell-ink threads that were controlling the test and forced them to bend—forced them to taste their own shape.
The blank mask's false skin cracked wider.
A clean line split across its face like paper tearing.
For one heartbeat, something else showed underneath.
Not flesh.
Not bone.
A smooth white surface.
A true blank mask.
The Silent Bell envoy's voice went sharp with fear. "Quiet Scribe Hall," he whispered. "You are here…"
The blank mask did not deny it.
It simply spoke like a quiet judge.
"The test proceeds," it said.
The hunting lightning tightened again.
Yin Yuerin's shadow authority flared.
Darkness rose around her feet like a tide.
She did not scream.
She did not beg.
She lifted her chin, eyes locked on Qi Shan Wei.
"Do not let it take my thread," she said, voice steady.
Her tone was not romantic.
It was not soft.
It was trust, spoken like a weapon.
Qi Shan Wei's calm gaze met hers.
"I won't," he said.
Two words.
No drama.
No promise-paint.
Just a ruler's decision.
Drakonix roared from inside the cocoon, thunderflame bursting.
His flame did not aim at the lightning like normal fire.
It aimed at the logic inside it—the tribulation rules, the hunting rule, the "selection" rule.
His thunderflame bit the lightning net.
For a second, the lightning hesitated.
It flickered like it forgot which law to follow.
The envoy stared, shocked. "He's burning tribulation logic…" he breathed.
Drakonix's voice cracked with pain and pride. "My… sky… obeys…"
The lightning screamed without sound and pulled harder.
Ling Xueyao's frost line shattered at the crack's edge.
The crack widened one more time.
A deeper thunder rolled through it—like something huge stepping closer.
The hunting lightning net around the Shadow Thread glowed brighter.
And then the bell-ink wrote one final line above the platform, sharp as a death sentence:
TARGET CONFIRMED: SHADOW THREAD.EXECUTIONER: HEAVEN'S HUNT.
Qi Shan Wei lifted Heavenpiercer.
Not toward the Court.
Not toward the elders.
Toward the hunting lightning itself—toward the place where law pretended it was untouchable.
His golden eyes narrowed to a calm, cold point.
Then the lightning net lunged.
Straight at the Shadow Thread.
Straight at Yin Yuerin's fate.
And the sky above the dome opened wider, like heaven was about to enter the room.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
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