lence didn't fade. It deepened.
It stretched on until even the sound of breathing seemed too loud, too intrusive.
Everyone was thinking. But not aloud. Not together.
They didn't look to the Rank 3s anymore. Not even the lowest-ranked dared speak, but it wasn't fear of punishment that kept them quiet—it was something else. Something that sank into their bones. They were thinking for themselves, for once. About death. About betrayal. About the faces of the people standing beside them, and whether those people would hesitate to cut their throats if it meant living one more second.
The Rank 3 elders stood unmoved.
Unbothered.
They had long since abandoned the notion of coddling the weak. Their eyes didn't scan the crowd—they didn't need to. The chatter of the lesser cultivators, their doubts and little schemes, meant nothing.
This was no longer about discipline.
It was about future. About legacy.
Each Rank 3 present knew that what had just been said could change everything—territories, alliances, reputations.
And those things were worth far more than the complaints of those below them.
Here, in this quiet, was the sound of power shifting.
Unseen.
Unspoken.
But inevitable.
The silence cracked.
"You should ask Linglong too!" the Cloudveil elder suddenly barked, his eyes wild with disbelief. His arm shot out to point at Yun. "I don't believe in this bitch!"
Gasps echoed through the ranks.
The moment the words dropped, spiritual pressure surged like a tidal wave.
A figure from the Gentle Breeze Sect stepped forward, fury blazing in his eyes. "What the fuck did you just say?" His voice cut sharper than a blade, spiritual force rising with it. "Watch your fucking mouth, Cloudveil dog, or I might rip it off myself!"
The air warped.
The two elders locked gazes, both radiating pressure so fierce that nearby disciples staggered backward. Some fell to their knees, coughing violently—others vomited blood, unable to bear the force of two Rank 3s clashing.
Then—
A soft gust swept through.
A blur moved.
And the elder from the Marquis Family stepped between them, her expression sharp enough to silence stone.
"I don't care if both of you fight," she said coldly, voice like frost. "Tear each other apart if you want. Just don't hurt any disciples around…"
Her voice dropped a pitch.
"…Because trust me—if a single one of them gets caught in your tantrum, I am the one both of you are going to fight."
The pressure from both clashing elders wavered—then dissipated.
The injured disciples looked up, eyes wide. Gratitude mingled with awe.
Yanwei, who stood at a distance, witnessed the scene unfold and gave a slow smirk. Really good, he thought.
The Marquis elder's gaze swept them all again before she continued, this time with perfect composure:
"As for asking Linglong—I agree."
That drew surprise.
"But let me make this clear: I won't let either of you threaten her. If she lies, that's her sin to carry. But if she tells the truth—" she tilted her head slightly, eyes unreadable—"don't you dare forget: her position in the clan may be higher than mine."
A pause. Then a knowing smile.
"I'm stronger, yes—but you all know how power and politics work. I'm pretty sure all of you are aware… right?"
The Divine Sword and Cloudveil elders exchanged a glance. A silent nod passed between them. They knew she was right. They wouldn't touch Linglong lightly.
As for the Gentle Breeze Sect's elder… he didn't say anything. He just crossed his arms and looked away with a faint, grim satisfaction in his eyes.
He trusted Yun.
And that said enough.
As the tension simmered beneath the surface, all eyes began to shift.
Footsteps approached—slow, steady, yet unmistakably clear.
Linglong had arrived.
Her robes, though clean, bore faint creases from a recent rest. Her hair, usually pristine, was loosely tied—still elegant, but not immaculate. It was enough for everyone to know: she had only just recovered.
She stood next to Yun, her gaze sweeping over the gathered elders and factions with surprising calm.
"I heard everything," she said. Her voice was soft, but it carried.
Everyone went still again.
She clasped her hands before her and gave a respectful bow to the elders.
"I will speak the truth. I owe that much to my sect and to myself."
The Cloudveil elder narrowed his eyes.
"But," Linglong continued, "I cannot offer a complete account."
That gave them pause.
"I lost consciousness during the battle. I only woke up recently. I remember pieces—chaos, fear, blood—but not the entire sequence. Yun's account aligns with what I recall… and goes beyond what I can provide."
She looked at Yun briefly—not with distrust, but with a silent, careful neutrality.
"I will still cooperate," she added. "But please do not expect perfection from me."
Then, slightly quieter: "I am still trying to remember everything myself."
That honesty—measured, humble—seemed to weigh more than any excuse could have. It was clear she wasn't trying to evade anything.
She just… didn't know.
And for now, that was all she could offer.
Everyone was ready to listen.
The tension had wound itself so tightly, it felt like even the wind was holding its breath. Disciples stood still, elders silent—Linglong's voice was about to break the stillness.
But instead, she screamed.
Too loud. Too sudden. A piercing, guttural shriek that made the air itself tremble.
Several disciples instantly clutched their ears, some stumbling back as a painful ringing overtook their senses—some even activated low-grade defensive techniques, spiritual energy rushing to shield their eardrums from rupturing.
Even the Marquis family's elder was startled.
Her eyes widened in alarm as she stepped forward. "Linglong? What the hell is going on!?" she shouted, her voice sharp and cutting through the chaos. "Hey! Look at me!"
But Linglong couldn't hear her.
She writhed slightly where she stood, gripping her own temples like something was clawing inside her skull. Her face contorted—not from physical pain, but from something far worse. Deeper. Invisible.
"Linglong!" the elder snapped again, now moving to close the distance, her robes fluttering violently from the leftover pressure in the air. "Snap out of it!"
And yet, the scream didn't stop. It only broke and cracked in intervals—like something inside her had shattered and didn't know how to piece itself back together.