The silence returned, but this time it felt denser—thicker, like fog laced with tension.
The crowd was restless. Unease buzzed in the air, subtle but growing. Every breath felt like it echoed.
And then, finally, a voice—calm, yet firm—broke through.
It was the elder from Yun's faction.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes heavy with quiet authority, his tone steady but carrying enough weight to command attention.
"Yun."
The girl flinched ever so slightly.
His gaze remained fixed on her—not harsh, not cruel, but resolute. The kind of look that left no room for excuses.
"You must speak."
The words were simple. But the intent behind them? Inescapable.
He glanced around briefly, gesturing subtly toward the crowd of watching sects and tense elders.
"You've seen the situation. You understand how delicate things are right now. You have no choice but to explain what happened in the secret realm. Whether it was traumatic or not—whether you're ready or not—you must speak."
Yun's lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat.
Her eyes darted toward Linglong, toward the disguised Yanwei in the crowd—though she didn't know who he was—and then finally back toward her elder.
He nodded once, solemnly.
"This isn't just about you anymore."
The moment teetered.
And all eyes turned to Yun.
The elder's voice faded, but its echo remained in the hearts of everyone present.
The words he'd spoken—you must speak—seemed to hang in the air, pressing down like a mountain.
The crowd was still now. Even the whispering disciples fell silent. No one moved.
All eyes were on Yun.
Even those who hated her. Even those who hoped she would choke on her words. Even those who had once admired Jiang Yu or Zhang.
They all waited.
Waited to hear what truly happened inside that realm.
Was it betrayal?
Was it blood?
Was it death?
And Yun… she stood still, silent, like a sculpture carved in frost.
Her robe fluttered gently in the wind, strands of her hair brushing across her cheek. Her face betrayed nothing. Not pain. Not fear. Not defiance.
But in her silence was a storm.
Linglong took a half-step toward her but said nothing. Her gaze was steady, unwavering.
The elder from Yun's faction didn't speak again. He simply waited—knowing the pressure he had placed was more than enough.
Even the woman from the Marquis family, so fond of mockery, now said nothing. Her eyes glimmered with interest, like a spectator at the start of a grand play.
Somewhere in the back, a disciple swallowed audibly.
Yun stood still for a moment, as though collecting fragments of herself from the void.
Her shoulders rose with a deep breath—but even that breath trembled. Her lips were pale, her gaze unfocused as if the memories clawed at the back of her skull.
Finally, her voice came again. Quiet. Unsteady. But clear.
"There was a demon."
She glanced down at her hands as she said it, almost like she was ashamed they were still attached.
"It was stronger than any of us expected. Far stronger. The moment it appeared, the three of us—me, Zhang, and Linglong—had no choice but to work together."
She shifted on her feet. Her arms moved across her stomach in a self-hug, her body curling inward slightly, protective—guarded.
The way she spoke had the cadence of someone on the edge: stop-start, sometimes losing her breath halfway through a sentence. A pained little laugh even slipped through when she mentioned working with Zhang.
"Funny, isn't it? People always talk about pride and rivalry, but when death looks you in the eye, it doesn't matter who you hate. You fight together. Or you die."
Her hands moved as she spoke now—small, involuntary gestures, like she was trying to pull the story from the air in front of her. She didn't look at the elders or the crowd. Only at a vague point just past them. Like they weren't really there.
"A lot of disciples saw us fighting. And they started watching us. Not to help. Just… waiting. Like vultures."
Her eyes narrowed briefly. Not in defiance—but like the memory pained her.
"We knew they'd strike once we got tired. We planned ahead."
She glanced toward Linglong's faction but didn't pause long.
"Zhang, Linglong, and I made a plan. But then…"
She paused.
The elder from the Cloudveil Sect couldn't hold it in anymore. His voice cut across the quiet like a blade.
"Only three of you!? Where is Jiang Yu!?"
His face was flushed with rage, nostrils flared, spiritual pressure beginning to buzz faintly around him.
But Zhang's uncle reached out, grabbing his arm firmly. "Calm down," he said, low and rough. "Let her finish."
The elder from the Marquis family didn't say a word. She only shifted her gaze between Yun and the Cloudveil elder, then returned it to Yun. Her expression unreadable—not cold, but reserved, like she was measuring every word Yun spoke.
Yun didn't acknowledge any of them.
She went on, softer this time.
"…When we were almost at our limit… Zhang did something."
Her brows furrowed, mouth tightening as if she still didn't fully understand it herself.
"He didn't move fast. He disappeared. It wasn't a dash or a burst of speed… he just—teleported."
She made a small flicking motion with her fingers, imitating how sudden it was.
"And the next second, the demon's head was flying. Dead."
She lifted a hand and let it drop heavily to her side, illustrating the finality.
"We would've died if he didn't do that."
Her voice cracked a little at the end, but she didn't force emotion—she let the silence fill it in for her.
"As for Jiang Yu… we never saw him. He never came to help. We thought maybe… maybe he'd wait until we were too weak. Then strike."
Her expression didn't change much here—she didn't frown or sneer. Just a flat, tired honesty that was more damning than any insult.
"When the other disciples realized the demon was dead… they rushed us."
Her voice tightened again, shoulders rising slightly, as if recalling a betrayal.
"They thought we were too tired to fight back."
Her hands came up—open palms, then closed into fists.
"They were wrong. We were ready. We captured them."
She looked up now, for the first time. Meeting the eyes of the gathered elders and disciples.
No triumph in her gaze. Just quiet, hollow resolve.
"There was no treasure in the end," she said, voice subdued. "Or at least… none that anyone walked away with."
She didn't elaborate. Her tone made it clear: it wasn't worth pressing further.
Her arms folded again, not dramatically—just instinctively. The way someone shields themselves from cold that never really leaves the bones.
She didn't stumble. Didn't hesitate. And through every word she spoke, there wasn't a single tremor of guilt, no falter of loyalty in her eyes. Even when she mentioned the chaos that followed, her gaze never once flinched toward Yanwei.
To her, he wasn't someone to hide from. He was the one person she hadn't needed to lie to.
Her voice stayed flat, steady—not rehearsed, but lived. The kind of tone that comes from someone who has told themselves this version again and again. Not to convince others, but just to survive it.
And though she didn't say his name… it was clear. There was never a betrayal. Not in her words. Not in her heart.
Just survival. And whatever truth she could carry with her out of that place.
Yun finally stopped speaking.
The silence that followed was dense. Heavy.
No one moved.
Some in the crowd exchanged looks—murmurs of doubt barely whispered, skepticism flashing in narrowed eyes. Others, particularly the younger disciples, had softened gazes. Pity. Maybe even shame.
What they saw was a girl who had walked through something she shouldn't have survived—and hadn't come back whole.
But the Rank 3s of each faction… they remained still as stone. No flicker of emotion. No reaction. Just the quiet scrutiny of statues too proud to show belief, too sharp to reveal doubt.
What they were thinking, if anything at all… was unknowable.
Perhaps no one would ever know.
Yun stood amidst it all—small, tired, and no longer speaking. Yet somehow, she was louder than the silence that surrounded her.