CHAPTER 10: THE CELESTIAL SWORD PAVILION

The sun bled across the horizon like a dying swordsman's final strike, its light catching on the floating peaks of the Celestial Sword Pavilion in a way that made the entire mountain range seem suspended between worlds. From this distance, the sect didn't merely occupy space—it carved its own reality into the heavens, each jagged mountain peak a blade driven through the fabric of the mundane world. The lowest of these floating islands hung just above the cloud line, its underside scarred by centuries of sword tests and failed ascensions, while the highest vanished into the darkening firmament like the tip of an unsheathed god-killing weapon.

Lin Feng stood at the base of the winding mountain path, his black robes stirring in the evening wind. The air here tasted different than in the mortal world below—thick with the residue of ten thousand perfected sword strikes, each breath carrying the metallic tang of honed steel and the faint electric charge of spiritual pressure pushed to its limits. It settled against exposed skin like the lightest touch of a blade's edge, promising violence in every molecule. The very ground beneath his boots hummed with restrained power, as if the mountain itself remembered the weight of countless disciples who had climbed this path before him.

To his left, the setting sun transformed the distant waterfalls into cascading ribbons of liquid gold. These weren't mere water features—they were the visible manifestations of the sect's accumulated sword intent, each droplet containing fragments of perfected techniques from generations past. The largest of them, the Heaven's Edge Cataract, fell upward from a floating island before curving back down in defiance of gravity, its mist catching fire in the dying light. Disciples could sometimes be seen meditating beneath its flow, their bodies sliced bloody by the water's edge as they sought to comprehend the techniques contained within.

A breeze swept down from above, carrying a scent like crushed lightning and plum blossoms.

Meixiu materialized at his side in a swirl of twilight-colored robes, her sudden presence scattering a flock of messenger birds that had been nesting in the nearby rocks. The birds took flight in a panic, their wings beating against air still vibrating from some distant training session. In her arms, Mr. Bunbun hung limp, his beaded eyes reflecting the floating peaks with an uncanny clarity that ordinary stuffed toys shouldn't possess.

"Look at that one!" she exclaimed, pointing to a particularly sharp mountain peak where a massive obsidian monument stood plunged into the rock. The monument's edge gleamed with its own inner light, untouched by the fading sunset. "It looks like someone tried to stab the sky and got stuck."

Lin Feng's gaze followed hers, and for a moment, his expression softened. The monument—known as the First Blade—stood taller than the surrounding pavilions, its surface covered in faintly glowing characters that pulsed in time with the mountain's heartbeat. "That's where the founding sect master left his weapon," he said. "They say it's still sharp enough to split thoughts from dreams."

Meixiu's grin widened as she shifted Mr. Bunbun to one arm, the rabbit's head lolling at an unnatural angle. "Can I lick it?"

A subtle upward twitch at the corner of Lin Feng's lips. "You'd probably survive. Barely."

Behind them, unnoticed by either, Mr. Bunbun's right ear twitched—just once—before going still again. The movement was too precise, too deliberate for an inanimate object, yet neither Lin Feng nor Meixiu reacted as the rabbit's beaded eyes tracked a distant figure moving across one of the higher floating islands.

The path ahead wound upward through a series of carved stone arches, each one marking a boundary layer of the sect's defensive formations. The first arch—the Gate of Earthly Severance—stood cracked down the middle from some ancient battle, its surface covered in pockmarks from long-ago sword strikes. As the wind shifted, it carried the scent of iron and something darker from beyond the gate, mixing with the ever-present ozone of charged spiritual energy.

From this vantage point, the full scope of the Celestial Sword Pavilion's outer defenses became visible. Seven concentric rings of white jade walls wound around the lower mountains, their surfaces carved with endless repetitions of the sect's foundational sword forms. Between them, training yards and meditation platforms clung to the mountainside like barnacles, each one occupied by disciples moving through their evening exercises. The sound of clashing steel echoed down in rhythmic waves, sometimes punctuated by a pained shout or the ringing tone of a particularly perfect strike.

Meixiu bounced on her toes, her excitement palpable in the way the air around her seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy. "Do you think they'll let me poison the water supply?" she asked, nodding toward the glittering network of aqueducts that fed the various training grounds. "Just a little? As a treat?"

Lin Feng gave her a sidelong glance, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "If you do, remember to leave the antidote. Eventually."

She brightened. "You're no fun unless you're threatening someone."

"I'm not threatening," he replied mildly. "Just… selective about who lives."

The wind shifted again, bringing with it the faintest hint of cherry blossoms from the alchemists' gardens higher up the mountain. This scent layered over the base notes of steel and stone, creating a momentary illusion of peace before another training explosion shook the northern cliffs. A column of fire erupted briefly into the twilight sky, its light reflecting off the underside of the floating islands in a way that made the entire mountain range seem to glow from within.

Mr. Bunbun's head tilted slightly at the explosion, his button eyes tracking the falling embers with what might have been interest. One paw twitched against Meixiu's arm, the stitches along its edge straining momentarily before going slack again.

They passed through the Gate of Earthly Severance, and the quality of the light changed subtly. The air grew thicker here, saturated with the spiritual residue of countless sword tests. The stone beneath their feet bore scars from blades that had cut deep enough to leave permanent marks in the mountain's flesh. Some of these grooves still hummed with residual energy, vibrating faintly when stepped upon.

Meixiu paused to drag her fingers through one particularly deep fissure, her nails scraping against stone that had been melted and reformed by some long-ago technique. "Ooooh," she cooed, "this one's still warm. Do you think if I lick it—"

"Don't," Lin Feng said, his voice gentler this time.

The path began to climb more steeply now, winding back and forth across the mountainside in a series of switchbacks that offered increasingly dramatic views of the sect's layout. From this height, the true scale of the Celestial Sword Pavilion became apparent—what had seemed like floating islands from below revealed themselves as entire mountain peaks severed from the earth and suspended in the heavens by unimaginable power. The largest of these, the Heavenpiercer Summit, stood at the center of it all, its jagged top vanishing into the gathering darkness of the upper atmosphere.

As twilight deepened, lanterns began to flicker to life across the various peaks and platforms. These weren't ordinary lights—each one burned with captured sword intent, their flames taking on the characteristics of their creators' techniques. Some burned steady and calm, their light pure white. Others flickered violently, casting shifting shadows that moved with a life of their own. A few burned in impossible colors—deep violets and blues that hurt the eyes to look at directly.

Meixiu pointed excitedly to one such lantern as they passed, its flame twisting into the shape of a dancing sword. "That one's pretty! Can we steal it?"

Lin Feng's lips curved the barest bit. "We can admire it. Without theft. For now."

She sighed with theatrical disappointment. "You spoil all my fun."

"You're still alive, aren't you?"

Meixiu grinned. "Touché."

The sound of rushing water grew louder as they approached the first of the sword qi waterfalls. This one, the Cascade of Severed Dreams, fell from a floating island some hundred meters above, its waters glowing faintly blue with trapped spiritual energy. Disciples lined the pool at its base, some meditating beneath the spray, others practicing cuts against the falling water. Each perfect strike sent up a shower of glowing droplets that hung in the air for just a moment too long before falling back to earth.

Meixiu's eyes sparkled with mischief as she watched one particularly determined disciple get knocked flat by the waterfall's force. "I could make that more interesting," she murmured, fingers twitching toward the pouch at her belt.

Lin Feng caught her wrist without looking, his grip firm but unhurried. "Later."

The path leveled out briefly as they reached the first true terrace of the Outer Sect proper. Here, the stone had been worked smooth by generations of foot traffic, its surface polished to a mirror shine in places. Rows of practice dummies stood to one side, their straw-stuffed bodies covered in markings indicating killing blows. Some were so old they'd petrified, becoming more stone than straw.

A group of junior disciples scrambled to clear the path as they approached, their eyes wide as they took in Lin Feng's black robes and the phoenix emblem at his collar. One particularly brave—or foolish—youth stared openly at Meixiu, his gaze lingering on the ragged rabbit plush in her arms. Mr. Bunbun's head lolled to face him, one button eye catching the lantern light in a way that made it seem to glow for just an instant. The disciple paled and looked away quickly.

The moment they passed through the final archway, the world opened into a panorama of controlled chaos. The Outer Sect spread before them like a living organism—a sprawling, breathing testament to the sect's relentless cultivation of the sword path. The transition from the sacred silence of the mountain path to this cacophony of steel and shouting was so abrupt it made the air itself vibrate with dissonance.

Lin Feng's steps slowed as he took in the Broken Stone Yard, his broad shoulders unconsciously angling to shield Meixiu from the worst of the jostling disciples. His dark eyes, usually so impassive, flickered with minute concern as a wayward practice sword came too close to her twilight robes. The blade's wielder—a sweating novice with wild eyes—found himself suddenly staring at Lin Feng's chest, then up into a face so flawlessly cold it stopped his breath. The novice scrambled backward without a word.

Meixiu danced ahead anyway, her laughter ringing like silver bells over the clangor. Mr. Bunbun swayed in her grip, his button eyes reflecting the scene with eerie clarity. "Oh! Look at that one!" she called, pointing to a particularly large boulder cleaved cleanly down the middle. The cut surface gleamed like a dark mirror, showing Lin Feng's reflection for just an instant before he stepped closer—not to examine the stone, but to place himself between her and a group of rough-looking disciples eyeing her with too much interest.

The nearest, a thick-necked youth with scarred knuckles, opened his mouth to speak. Lin Feng didn't raise his voice. Didn't even blink. But something in the way his fingers rested on his sword hilt, in the way his shadow seemed to deepen around him, made the youth swallow his words and retreat.

Meixiu patted Lin Feng's arm, her touch light as butterfly wings. "A-Li, you're scowling again. It's cute, but save it for someone worth the effort." She plucked at his black sleeve where the phoenix embroidery caught the dying light. "Besides, I wanted to see if they'd try something fun."

Lin Feng exhaled through his nose—the barest hint of exasperation that only she could draw from him. His hand left his sword to adjust Mr. Bunbun's lopsided ear with unconscious care before returning to his side. "No," he said simply.

Nearby, a group of outer disciples sparred with live steel, their blades ringing in discordant symphony. One, a broad-shouldered youth with his hair tied back brutally tight, swung with enough force to send his opponent stumbling. The defeated disciple caught himself at the last moment, his free hand slapping stone.

Meixiu was already moving, her steps light as she skipped over. "You're putting too much weight on your back foot," she announced, tilting her head. "It's making you slow."

The disciple blinked up at her, irritation warring with confusion. Before he could speak, she'd plucked his sword away and tossed it skyward. The blade spun once, twice—

Lin Feng's hand shot out and caught it by the hilt before it could descend near Meixiu's face. He didn't frown. Didn't reprimand. Just held the weapon out to her, his palm upturned in silent offering.

Meixiu beamed and took it, her fingers brushing his for a heartbeat too long. "Like this," she told the gaping disciple, and moved.

Her strike was poetry given steel form—a single fluid motion that began at her toes and traveled through her body like a wave. The broad-shouldered disciple barely raised his own blade in time. The impact sent him back a step, his eyes widening.

Mr. Bunbun's head lolled approvingly.

Lin Feng watched from half a pace behind Meixiu's shoulder, close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to let her shine. His expression remained impassive, but his eyes—those dark, depthless eyes—tracked every potential threat in the crowd now gathering around them.

"You're the one they've been talking about," sneered a new voice. A tall disciple in blue-edged robes pushed through the onlookers, his sword's hilt gleaming with rare metals. "The girl who doesn't belong here."

Meixiu's smile didn't waver. She twirled the borrowed sword, its tip coming to rest an inch from the newcomer's throat. "Oh? And who's 'they,' exactly? Point them out. I'd love to chat."

The disciple's face darkened. His hand flexed toward his own weapon—

Lin Feng moved.

Not a step. Not a draw. Just—

The world screamed.

Killing intent erupted from Lin Feng like a tidal wave, crashing through the courtyard with such force the very air turned dense and metallic. Lantern flames guttered and died. The stone beneath their feet cracked with a sharp report, splintering in spiderweb lines. The disciple's sword hand spasmed—not from fear, but from the primal certainty that he was already dead… that his body simply hadn't caught up yet.

And Lin Feng didn't even glare. Didn't snarl. His eyes were worse—utterly still, utterly empty. A gaze not born of rage, but of the quiet, surgical clarity of death itself. No hatred. No fury. Just the unshakable calm of a man who had already measured the distance between them in graves.

The blue-robed disciple froze. Sweat carved rivers down his ashen face.

Elder Lan's voice cut through the tension like winter's first frost:

"Enough."

It did not come from nearby—but from somewhere higher, deeper.

A voice carried not by volume, but by sheer weight.

As if the mountain itself had spoken.

The effect was immediate. The crowd scattered like leaves before a gale. The arrogant disciple backed away, his face pale, the last of his pride crumbling beneath the invisible pressure.

Only Meixiu remained unaffected—bouncing lightly on her toes, she returned the practice sword to its owner with a cheerful hum, as if this were merely another morning walk.

Above them, high beyond the courtyard's edge, the faint shimmer of sword light flickered once and vanished. No figure was visible, yet both Lin Feng and Meixiu knew.

She was watching.

She had been waiting.

Waiting for them to be done wandering—through side paths and stone bridges, through broken sword yards and fleeting distractions—for them to begin the real climb.

The kind of climb that began not with steps, but with silence.

Lin Feng glanced once toward the higher peaks, where the air grew thinner and colder. The path ahead coiled upward like a serpent's spine, its stones worn smooth by centuries of disciples who had passed this way before. He exhaled, slow and deliberate, the weight of Elder Lan's gaze still prickling at the back of his neck.

Meixiu nudged him with her elbow, grinning as if she'd been caught sneaking sweets. "Guess we took too long," she whispered, though her eyes sparkled with unrepentant mischief.

Lin Feng didn't answer. But when she reached for his sleeve—a silent question—he didn't pull away.

Together, they stepped beyond the courtyard's edge, leaving behind the murmurs of the disciples and the lingering scent of crushed grass. The moment they crossed the threshold, the pressure of Elder Lan's attention lifted, replaced by the quiet moment of shared space.

Meixiu stretched luxuriously. "That was fun! What next? Oh—stairs?" She groaned exaggeratedly as Lin Feng guided her toward the Ascension Path, his hand hovering just behind her back without quite touching.

"A-Li, if you carried me—"

She hadn't even finished the sentence before the world tilted.

With a single motion, Lin Feng swept her up into his arms—effortless, natural, as if it had always been meant to happen.

Meixiu blinked, surprised… then smiled, wide and glowing.

"I was joking," she murmured.

"I wasn't," Lin Feng said, voice calm as ever, though there was a quietness in it that brushed her heart like a fingertip.

She leaned into him, head resting near his shoulder. "See? I told you I'd fit."

His grip adjusted slightly, the faintest tightening—possessive, protective, warm.

He didn't reply.

But Meixiu didn't need him to.

Because in the silence between them, in the soft rhythm of his steps and the steadiness of his hold, he'd already answered:

You already do.

Behind them, the Broken Stone Yard settled into evening quiet. Somewhere in the gathering dark, a lone disciple continued to practice, his sword strokes steady against the coming night.

The Celestial Sword Pavilion did not sleep.

And neither did Lin Feng—how could he, when the one he had always protected was now the reason he kept moving forward?

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