Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Gathering Tempest

The night air was heavy with tension.

Xiao Lian sat on the temple's outer terrace, staring at the sky where the last wisps of Wu Jian's presence had faded. His fingers gripped the Windblade tightly, feeling its weight, its pulse, its quiet power.

The battle had ended, but the war had just begun.

Footsteps approached from behind. Yun Mei sat beside him, her expression unusually serious. "You're thinking too much again."

Xiao Lian sighed. "How could I not? Wu Jian is unlike any opponent I've ever faced. He didn't even try his hardest, and still…" He exhaled, shaking his head. "I barely held my own."

Yun Mei leaned back, staring at the stars. "That's not true. You did more than hold your own—you felt the wind, didn't you?"

Xiao Lian hesitated. He had. In those moments of combat, it was as if the Windblade had moved with him, guiding his instincts, sharpening his senses. But it hadn't been enough.

Tian Shu's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Doubt is natural. But do not let it root itself in your heart."

They turned to see the master approaching, his robes shifting lightly in the breeze.

"You are not yet at Wu Jian's level," Tian Shu admitted. "But he was watching you closely. Testing you. That means he sees potential. So should you."

Xiao Lian frowned. "Potential doesn't win battles."

"No," Tian Shu agreed. "But preparation does."

The Council of the Hidden Winds

By morning, the temple's halls were no longer empty.

Messengers had arrived in the night, each bearing the same warning—the storm was coming.

Representatives from the distant sects had begun to gather. From the Emerald Cloud Pavilion, Master Zhao, a broad-shouldered man with piercing green eyes, stood with his arms crossed. Beside him, the veiled priestess of the Moonlit Veil Sect, Lady Shen, sat in silence.

From the southern deserts came the warrior-monk Ren Bai of the Scarlet Dust Order, his crimson robes contrasting against the cool mountain air. And in the farthest corner, cloaked in shadows, was an emissary of the Hidden Fang Clan—a group whose allegiance remained uncertain.

Tian Shu stood at the center. "You all know why we are here. Wu Jian has made his move. Others will follow."

Master Zhao scoffed. "So we gather and talk while the enemy prepares for war?"

Lady Shen's voice was smooth as silk. "Rushing into battle without understanding the storm ahead is the path of fools, Master Zhao."

Ren Bai chuckled. "And yet, waiting too long only ensures we are swept away."

The argument rippled through the chamber, but Xiao Lian barely listened. His eyes were on the Hidden Fang emissary. Unlike the others, they had said nothing.

But Xiao Lian could feel it—a silent presence, watching. Calculating.

Then, for just a moment, the emissary met his gaze. And in their eyes, Xiao Lian saw something that sent a chill down his spine.

Recognition.

The Hidden Blade

That night, Xiao Lian could not sleep.

Something about the Hidden Fang emissary lingered in his mind. Had they met before?

Driven by instinct, he stepped out into the temple courtyard, the Windblade resting at his side.

The moon was high. The wind was still.

Then—a flicker of motion.

Xiao Lian spun, drawing his sword just as a dagger sliced through the air toward his throat.

CLANG!

The Windblade met steel, sparks flying between them. Xiao Lian's attacker leapt backward, disappearing into the shadows—only to reappear behind him, striking again.

Xiao Lian twisted, barely dodging in time. His pulse quickened. This assassin was fast. Too fast.

But then—the wind shifted.

Xiao Lian closed his eyes for just a second. Feel the current. Move with it.

His body reacted before his mind could. The Windblade sang through the night air, intercepting the assassin's next strike.

A pause.

Then, the assassin stepped into the moonlight—and Xiao Lian finally saw their face.

His breath caught.

It was a woman, clad in dark robes, her expression sharp but familiar. Too familiar.

"…You."

She tilted her head. "You recognize me, don't you?"

Xiao Lian swallowed hard. He did. But not from the war. Not from battle.

From his past.

From a time before the Aetherwind Sect.

Before he had ever held a sword.

Before he had ever lost everything.

"…Xiao Yan?"

The woman's lips curved into a smirk. "It's been a long time, brother."

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