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Chapter 18: The Calm Before The Storm
Six months before the vow. Around the same time Yan Xue went to Silk Lotus Sect— Tianyu Realm
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The skies over the Tianyu Realm were golden, draped in banners of cloud-paint and spiritual mist. In the distance, floating palaces gleamed in the morning light, suspended above jade mountains and sweeping meadows. It was a day the sect had prepared for months in advance—a day of renewal, alliance, and prestige.
And for one forgotten name, it was a day of silent echoes.
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The Tianyu Sect's grand courtyard had been transformed into a place of splendor. Glorious lanterns floated midair, harmonized to spiritual frequencies. Array formations lit the ground in concentric patterns. Music, gentle and refined, drifted from spirit instruments played by inner disciples.
The engagement of Li Mei, beloved genius of the Life Sect, and Zhao Wen, the fastest-rising cultivator of the Tianyu Sect, had become a celebrated affair.
He had reached the Golden Core stage just a few weeks prior.
She had long since stood in the peak of the Nascent Soul level, tempered through years of elite cultivation and pride.
Together, they represented the future strength of the righteous path—at least in the eyes of the court.
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But not all words fade easily.
"Do you remember that boy? The one who promised to defeat her in three years?"
The chuckle came from an inner disciple, leaning on a jade column, sipping from a lotus wine gourd.
"Yan Xue?" someone responded, laughing. "Didn't he vanish a few days back? Maybe he realised that he has no chance at fulfilling that grand vow. I heard he ran away after he couldn't break through Foundation Establishment."
"I heard he joined a heretic sect. Others say he died in Qi deviation."
"Pity. All that dramatic flair, yet it all amounted to just that, fanfare."
A third voice joined in—quieter, older.
"You mock the dead too easily."
The younger ones looked over at a silver-robed elder. He said no more, but his expression held a strange tension—as if something inside him disagreed with the existance of Yan Xue's grave.
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At the center of the platform stood Li Mei, adorned in robes of white and pale gold. Her black hair, arranged in a phoenix crown, shimmered with talismans of divine rank. Her gaze was serene, unmoving, but not radiant.
She stood beside Zhao Wen, who smiled proudly under the ceremonial arch.
"It's an honor to be chosen," he said, voice clear, bowing to the guests and sect elders. "To stand beside someone as brilliant as Li Mei."
"Today," the Tianyu Sect Master declared, "marks not only the uniting of two powerful cultivators, but the cementing of alliance between two righteous sects."
There was applause.
There was cheer.
There was no mention of the one who once declared this would never come to pass.
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High above the clouds, in the deeper layers of spiritual space, something rippled.
It wasn't a divine intrusion. It wasn't a divine tribulation. It was simply... a whisper. A low fluttering in the strands of karma.
Unseen.
Unspoken.
But felt—by those attuned.
Li Mei's smile faltered for half a breath.
Her father, one of the Life Sect elders, shifted slightly in his seat. His brow furrowed, as if the ambient Qi had shifted—though all formation tests showed nothing wrong.
Even the Grand Elder of the Tianyu Sect paused in his silent meditation for a moment, his pupils dilating ever so subtly.
But the moment passed.
And so they ignored it.
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"Did you know she once cried over him?" a young girl whispered in the shadows of the courtyard. "Back when he left, six months ago."
"Liar," her friend snorted. "She dumped him. His obsession was embarrassing."
"Still," someone else muttered, "he said he'd defeat her in three years. It's already been two and a half, hasn't it?"
"It doesn't matter," the first replied. "He's forgotten. This is the future now."
But deep inside the sect, a lone disciple in closed-door meditation stirred as his soul flickered in unease. He had once trained alongside Yan Xue and remembered the unbreakable look in his eyes that day on the dueling platform.
And now, today, there was a silence that did not feel peaceful.
It felt loaded.
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At the climax of the ceremony, Zhao Wen stepped forward, golden robes fluttering in artificial wind.
"I, Zhao Wen of Tianyu Sect, take this day to vow—before the celestial court, the righteous heavens, and the cultivator world—that I will uphold the name of this alliance and protect Li Mei with all the power of my Dao."
He looked to her, expecting a nod.
She gave it.
But her mind… drifted.
"Did I make the right choice?" a stray thought whispered through her consciousness, drowned quickly by pride.
> "He never wrote. Never returned. Never improved. I gave him a chance."
The ceremony resumed.
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As twilight approached, the skies remained bright in spiritual glow. Guests floated on divine boats, spirit beasts performed ceremonial dances, and the sect's younger disciples sang cultivation verses in celebration.
But behind the gilded façade, unease hovered.
The Tianyu Sect's Diviner, an old man with clouded eyes and three spirit foxes resting at his feet, frowned in his corner chamber.
He had been forbidden to speak of dark omens today.
And so he didn't.
But on the scrolls before him, the character for "Return" had appeared thirteen times.
Without his will.
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At Sunset
As the sun lowered into the lotus horizon, casting its glow over the entire realm, Li Mei stood on the terrace overlooking the sea of clouds.
Zhao Wen was inside, entertaining guests.
She felt... a strange tightness in her chest.
Not guilt.
Not fear.
Just a pause.
"Do you believe he's dead?" she asked her master, who had come to stand beside her.
"Perhaps," the Life Sect Elder replied. "Or worse, shamed. Either way, you must not dwell."
She nodded.
But when the wind blew, she felt a sudden chill—a ghostly, teasing cold that carried no origin.
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That night, as the celebratory fires dimmed, a junior disciple sweeping the front courtyard found an old fragment of paper lodged beneath a lotus bush.
He picked it up, curious.
It was just a small piece—scorched at the edges. But the characters were still legible.
Sutra of the Blooming Void
Only for men.
Only for the brave
Only for the forsaken.
The boy frowned, then laughed.
"Must be someone's prank pamphlet. Again."
He burned it with a flick of his fingers.
The smoke twisted upward—black, floral, silent.
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[End of Chapter 18]