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Chapter 12: The Apostle awaits to bloom
For the first time, Yan Xue didn't recoil from the black lotus pamphlet.
He laid it gently on the stone table, smoothing its silk surface like one might caress sacred scripture. He didn't read it aloud—not yet—but his eyes traced each line with reverence.
He had stopped denying it.
He wanted to be touched.
He wanted to belong.
He wanted to bloom beneath Yeon Hwa's hand.
But now… a new voice had begun to whisper.
"You're not worthy."
---
He stood shirtless before the cracked bronze mirror in his quarters. It was old, distorted—but so was his reflection.
Hard jawline. Broad shoulders. Roughened skin from years of harsh training.
He looked at his chest—nipples still sensitive, skin still unnaturally smooth—and touched himself there again. He closed his eyes, imagining Yeon Hwa's fingers, soft but commanding, brushing across his skin.
But when he opened his eyes…
He didn't see a bloom.
He saw a mistake.
> "No," he whispered.
"No, no… I'm too plain. Too crude. Too—masculine."
His fingers froze midway to his lower back. He couldn't bring himself to touch it again.
---
The Elders' Provocation
The next morning, Yan Xue was summoned to a meeting of the sect elders.
He wasn't surprised—they had begun treating him as a ghost, and now, perhaps, they wanted him gone officially.
Elder Mo's voice was as cold as ever.
"Your cultivation has stagnated."
"Your presence stirs unease in the juniors."
"You cling to a future that is already behind you."
Yan Xue said nothing.
He looked at their sneering faces. Their false pity. Their barely-concealed contempt.
They didn't fear him.
They pitied him.
And worst of all—he agreed with them.
"You are dismissed from your duties as First Disciple," the Grand Elder announced.
"We suggest you take time alone, far from the sect, and reflect."
"Your presence... unsettles the harmony of our cultivation."
Yan Xue bowed deeply, low enough that they couldn't see his eyes.
His shoulders trembled, his fists clenched.
To the elders, he appeared crushed—yet dignified. A man enduring shame without protest.
But inside?
He was singing. He was dancing with Joy.
---
They've done it for me, he thought.
They've given me a clean excuse. No suspicions. No questions. No pursuit.
He returned to his quarters in silence. Disciples watched from afar. Some looked smug. Others pitied him.
None would remember him in three days.
Perfect.
He locked the door behind him. Sat before the small altar.
And laughed.
Quiet. Bitter. Blissful.
So this is what it feels like, he thought, to finally stop resisting destiny.
He reached beneath his pillow and retrieved the silk-bound pamphlet. It pulsed gently against his fingers.
For the first time, he whispered its name:
"Sutra of the Blooming Void."
His heart skipped.
Something shifted in the air.
And deep in the mountains, a lotus opened.
---
It was a farewell with no grief.
He left before dawn.
One robe, one sword, and a sealed scroll bearing the sect's symbol—just in case he needed a front.
He walked the narrow path beyond the outer mountain range, showing signs of confusion, of spiritual collapse, for any who might be watching.
But none followed.
No one cared.
And even if they did… they would only think he was fading away, finally breaking under pressure.
They'll write me off as another failed genius, he thought with a smile.
---
He utters the words, " Ryu Yeon-Hwa...take me."
The Gate Opens.
He reached the edge of the outermost ridge, where fog clung to the cliffs like a veil.
There it was.
A single black lotus blooming from the stone.
Above it, a ring of shifting light—soft, subtle, like moonlight rippling on dark water.
A gateway. A secret. A promise fulfilled.
He stepped forward, kneeling before the flower like a pilgrim before a god.
"I come not as one deserving," he whispered.
"But as one willing."
The petals shivered.
Qi shifted.
He stepped into the fog.
And the world forgot him.
---
Far beyond mortal ears, in the still heart of the Silk Lotus Realm, Yeon Hwa sat in meditation, eyes closed.
When Yan Xue stepped through the veil, the Demon opened his eyes slowly.
A ripple passed through the sacred pools of the realm.
The Sutra stirred.
The First Disciple had arrived.
Not a recruit.
Not a convert.
But the Apostle.
The one who would spread the bloom, the invitation, the curse, and the ecstasy of the Silk Lotus Sect.
The others would follow. Slowly. In time.
But he… would be the first flower.
---
Far away, in the inner hall of the Tianyu Sect, Li Mei sat sipping tea with her sect elders and parents.
The engagement had been dissolved. Publicly, she had accepted it with grace.
Privately, she had already moved on.
Or so she thought.
But that morning, as she raised her cup, a sharp stillness caught her.
She turned her head slightly.
The air shimmered—not visibly, but karmically.
A thread had snapped.
Something once tied to her… was now gone.
"Strange," she murmured.
"I felt… something."
Her mother looked at her. "Are you unwell?"
She smiled. "No. Just… a chill."
She dismissed it.
Just like everyone else would.
They wouldn't remember the name Yan Xue.
Only a vague feeling.
A missing presence.
A silence where there used to be sound.
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[End of Chapter 12]