**Chapter 4 – First Blood on the Lion Platform**
Steel sang before words could finish falling.
The dozen Emei swordswomen moved as one, white robes fluttering like startled cranes. Their blades formed a crescent of cold light, aimed to surround and disarm rather than kill—at least at first. Abbess Miejue's command had been clear: *seize him*. The saber must not be allowed to leave the peak in rebel hands.
Lin Wuji did not draw.
He simply shifted his stance—feet apart, weight centered, left hand resting lightly on the wrapped hilt at his back. The motion was small, almost casual, yet every swordswoman felt the shift in pressure, as though the air itself had thickened around him.
The lead swordswoman, a stern-faced senior sister named Jingxuan, lunged first. Her blade traced a perfect Emei Plum Blossom arc, aiming to strike the cloth bundle and sever the strap without touching flesh.
Lin Wuji tilted his body a fraction. The sword passed within a hair's breadth of his shoulder. He stepped inside her guard, right palm flashing upward in a gentle, open-handed push.
Softness met hardness.
Jingxuan felt as though she had struck an invisible wall of warm wind. Her sword recoiled violently; she staggered back three steps, numb from wrist to elbow. The other swordswomen hesitated—only for a heartbeat, but that was enough.
"Again!" Miejue barked.
This time they came in pairs, blades weaving a net of intersecting lines. Lin Wuji moved among them like mist through bamboo. He did not counterattack; he simply flowed, redirecting force with the slightest turn of wrist or shoulder. One swordswoman's blade glanced off another's; a third overextended and stumbled into her sister. Within moments the formation collapsed into awkward, embarrassed scrambling.
From the jade dais, Grandmaster Zhang Sanfeng watched with half-lidded eyes. A faint smile touched his lips.
"Taiji-like," he murmured. "Yet not quite. The boy has never studied our manuals… and still his body remembers softness overcoming hardness."
Abbess Miejue's knuckles whitened on her staff.
"He toys with us. Enough!"
She raised her hand. A signal.
From the rear ranks stepped four Emei elders—each wielding the sect's signature Cold Moon Sword Technique. Their qi flared cold and sharp; frost actually rimed their blades despite the bright midday sun. They advanced in lockstep, forming a killing array known as the Four Symbols Moon Prison.
Lin Wuji finally exhaled. His voice was low, almost regretful.
"I asked for no fight."
His right hand closed around the hilt.
The red cloth seemed to ignite from within. A low, guttural hum rose—not from the blade itself, but from somewhere deep in Lin Wuji's chest. The chains rattled once, then fell away of their own accord, clattering to the stone.
The Dragon Slaying Saber emerged.
It was broader than any normal saber, its edge so black it seemed to drink light. Crimson veins pulsed along the fuller like arteries. The moment it cleared the wrapping, the air grew heavy, oppressive. Several weaker disciples staggered, clutching their chests as though an invisible hand squeezed their hearts.
Zhao Min's eyes widened with genuine delight.
"There it is," she whispered. "The blade that slays dragons."
Xie Yuan, standing at her side, let out a broken laugh that was half sob.
"Boy… you finally drew it."
Lin Wuji held the saber in both hands, point down. He did not raise it in threat. Instead he spoke to the elders on the dais.
"I carry this curse because my godfather carried it first. He carried it because my mother died shielding me from your righteous blades seven years ago. If you want the saber, take it. But know this: the moment it leaves my hand, its curse will seek a new master. And I fear it will not choose kindly."
Silence fell over the Lion Platform—deeper than before.
Then Zhou Qingruo stepped forward from the Emei ranks. Her sword was still sheathed. She walked straight through the broken formation until she stood between Lin Wuji and the four elders.
"Master," she said clearly, addressing Abbess Miejue without turning. "He speaks truth. I have felt the saber's aura before—on the northern path. It is not mere killing intent. It hungers for something greater. For *balance*."
Miejue's face darkened to the color of old iron.
"Qingruo. Stand aside. This is not your place."
Zhou Qingruo did not move.
Instead she turned to Lin Wuji. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper that somehow still carried.
"If you fight them now, you will kill. And once you kill in this place, there is no path back to asking questions. The jianghu will remember only the massacre at Bright Peak—the second one."
Lin Wuji met her gaze. For the first time since drawing the saber, his shoulders eased a fraction.
"You are right," he said softly.
He reversed his grip. Slowly, deliberately, he knelt and laid the Dragon Slaying Saber flat on the stone before him.
"I surrender the blade," he announced. "Not to any sect. Not to any dynasty. To this gathering. Let the five supreme elders decide its fate. If you deem it must be destroyed, I will stand aside. If you deem it must be sealed, I will guard the seal until my last breath. But let it be decided openly, not by ambush or righteous fury."
A ripple of shock passed through the crowd.
Zhao Min laughed outright—bright, delighted, dangerous.
"Oh, I like this one."
Grandmaster Zhang Sanfeng rose slowly to his feet. Age seemed to fall away from him with each step as he descended the jade dais. Disciples parted like water.
He stopped before Lin Wuji and looked down—not at the saber, but at the young man holding it.
"You speak of balance," Zhang Sanfeng said gently. "Yet you carry a blade forged in dragon blood and tempered in slaughter. Tell me, child: do you believe balance can be restored… or only endured?"
Lin Wuji lifted his head.
"I do not know, Grandmaster. But I know endless war achieves nothing but more graves."
Zhang Sanfeng regarded him for a long moment.
Then he turned to the other elders.
"Let the conference continue. But not with steel. With truth. The boy will be our guest—not our prisoner. The saber remains here, under triple seal: Shaolin, Wudang, Emei. No one touches it until we have heard all sides."
Abbess Miejue looked ready to protest, but Grandmaster Zhang's quiet gaze silenced her.
Zhao Min clapped once, mockingly.
"Well then. Shall we adjourn to the main hall? I believe Princess Zhao has stories to tell… and perhaps a certain young man has questions about his own bloodline."
She glanced at Lin Wuji with predatory interest.
"After all, we haven't even mentioned the Heavenly Sword yet."
Lin Wuji felt a sudden chill unrelated to the saber. Somewhere far below, in Emei's deepest vault, the companion blade gave another soft, crystalline chime—as though it had just been named.
And the true storm, he realized, had only begun to gather.
(End of Chapter 4)