The smoke had barely cleared from Madam Liu's estate when the first scroll arrived at the Scarlet Ghosts' teahouse.
It was bound in crimson thread, sealed with the insignia of the Cloudshadow Sect—a silver cloud coiled around a mountain. It was not addressed to anyone, but none of them mistook it for anything casual.
Li Fan opened it in silence. His eyes scanned the calligraphy, each stroke elegant and exact.
To the one who calls himself "Master of Ghosts,"Your actions have drawn the eye of the mountain.Once, you were a number. Now, you are a name.Heaven's Hollow is a fragile place, and your flames threaten to awaken the old balance.Come to Whispering Stone Courtyard in three days' time. Alone.If you do not, your ghosts will be exorcised by steel and storm.— Elder Bai Qingsong, Third Seat of Cloudshadow Sect
No demand. No accusation. Just a meeting.
And a warning.
In the quiet that followed, Jiao sat cross-legged on the floor, rolling a blade between her fingers. "They don't want to kill us. Not yet."
Zhao grunted. "They want to see if they can use us first."
Yue stood by the window, arms folded. "If we go, we show our face. If we don't, they come with swords."
Li Fan didn't speak for a while. The paper in his hands trembled slightly, not from fear—but from memory.
He had once walked under Cloudshadow banners. A number among thousands. The sect was a nest of politics masked by robes and incense.
He remembered standing in line during winter, hands blue, waiting for congee.
He remembered watching his friend, Qian Ming, take the blame for a senior disciple's mistake. Beaten until his bones cracked, then thrown off a cliff and declared "missing."
He remembered silence.
Always silence.
"I'll go," he said at last.
The others turned toward him.
"Alone?" Yue asked.
He nodded. "They want a ghost, not a warband. I'll give them one."
"But what if—" Zhao began.
Jiao interrupted, "We'll follow from a distance. Not close enough to breach the promise. But close enough to bring him back if they try anything."
Yue added, "And if he doesn't come back?"
Li Fan offered a dry smile. "Then burn the teahouse. Scatter the name. Become shadows again."
Three days later, clouds hung low over the southern cliffs. Mist wreathed the forest like the breath of a sleeping beast.
Whispering Stone Courtyard sat halfway up the mountain, nestled between crooked pine trees and jagged rocks. A quiet place, too elegant to be holy, too sharp to be peaceful.
Li Fan walked the path alone.
He wore no weapons. Only his worn gray robes and a thin black sash around his waist.
Waiting inside the courtyard was Elder Bai Qingsong, Third Seat of the Cloudshadow Sect. A man with hair as pale as frost and eyes the color of ash.
He sat before a small stone table, brewing tea.
"Sit," he said.
Li Fan sat.
The elder poured two cups, pushed one forward.
No guards. No swords. Just tea and tension.
"You were always clever," Bai Qingsong said after a long sip. "Too clever for the outer halls. That's why you failed."
Li Fan didn't drink. "I failed because I didn't lie well enough."
"Same thing," the elder chuckled. "How long did you expect to stay unseen?"
"As long as it took."
"And now?"
Li Fan met his gaze. "Now the ghosts have names."
Bai Qingsong's eyes narrowed slightly. "You've killed important people. Guild masters. Noble patrons. A sect informant. Even the widow of a court official."
"They were all rot."
"Perhaps. But rot has roots. And roots cling deep to power."
The elder set his cup down. "The sect does not care for petty thieves. Or murderers. But it does care for those who shape fear."
Li Fan said nothing.
"You have followers," Bai Qingsong continued. "Loyal. Dangerous. That makes you more than a problem. It makes you a force."
"And that threatens the balance," Li Fan said softly.
The elder nodded. "Heaven's Hollow is ours. Not by blade, but by order. You—your Ghosts—you bring chaos."
Li Fan leaned forward. "Then let me offer order."
There was a flicker of surprise in the elder's eyes.
"I'm not asking for your banner," Li Fan said. "Nor will I kneel. But corruption is your enemy too. The guilds rot the city from the inside. You clean the surface. I cut the root."
"You want permission to kill?" the elder asked, voice flat.
"No," Li Fan said. "I want space."
A long pause followed.
Wind stirred the trees.
Bai Qingsong finally stood, folding his sleeves. "Very well. Continue your… purging. But quietly. If the balance tips too far—if the Mirror Court asks questions—we won't protect you."
"I don't need protection," Li Fan replied.
"I hope that's true."
The elder turned and walked away, robes flowing like water.
When Li Fan returned to the teahouse, the others waited in tense silence.
"Well?" Jiao asked.
"We live," he said.
Zhao exhaled. "So they'll leave us alone?"
"For now," Yue said. "But that wasn't mercy. That was calculation."
Li Fan looked out the window. "They're not afraid of us yet. But if we grow louder… they will be."
A new tension settled among them.
The Ghosts had earned a sliver of space—but they were no longer whispers.
They were known.