The Blades of Intention - Part 2

Chapter 4

Scene 1: Cousin's Clash – Lin Shen's Duel

Lin Ye stepped aside as his cousin's name was called. 

"Lin Shen, Baizhu Village."

The moment his boots struck the dueling platform, the atmosphere shifted—like the air before a summer storm. 

Lin Shen walked forward with squared shoulders and a clenched jaw, his hand already firm around the hilt of his sword. Spiritual pressure rolled off him—crackling, charged, like the buildup before a thunderclap.

Across from him stood a younger Shuilan disciple, composed but clearly aware of the pressure he faced. They bowed respectfully, eyes down.

The signal came. Clang!

The duel ignited in a clash of steel—ringing, slicing, crashing. 

Lin Shen came down like a hammer, strikes heavy and deliberate, each blow echoing through the arena with brutal clarity.

From the bench, Lin Ye squinted. "He's pushing too hard," he muttered. 

"Not watching the footwork again…" 

He wobbled his hand with a smirk, mimicking a stumble. "Classic Shen. Power first, questions later."

Mu Fan, seated beside him, folded his arms quietly and gave a faint hum of agreement. 

"When he's under pressure, he stops thinking and just swings. His sword takes over before his mind can catch up."

On the platform, Lin Shen pressed forward like an avalanche. 

The younger disciple parried, but barely. The force behind each strike was enough to drive him back, step by step.

Steel screeched. The audience flinched at a close pass. 

Lin Shen's aura flared hotter—his sword glowing faintly as his spiritual energy surged past regulation lines. One of the talisman rings shimmered in warning.

The Shuilan disciple dropped to a knee, blade raised just in time to block a finishing arc. Then— CRACK.

With a roar, Lin Shen's final strike knocked the sword from his opponent's grip. The blade spun across the platform, clattering to a halt. 

Lin Shen's sword halted just short of skin—still, perfectly poised.

"Victory: Lin Shen."

The crowd clapped—some loud, others hesitant, as if unsure whether to cheer or brace for impact. The platform still buzzed with the echo of clashing qi.

As Lin Shen sheathed his blade, a senior Shuilan observer stepped forward, arms folded. 

"You let your aura border aggression," he said, voice quiet but firm. 

"Cultivation begins with restraint, not dominance."

Lin Shen's jaw worked, but he said nothing. After a brief pause, he offered a respectful bow—still rigid, but sincere—before turning to return to his seat beside his cousin Lin Ye and Mu Fan.

Back at the bench, Lin Ye began a slow, theatrical clap. 

"Almost elegant," he declared in mock awe, "until you exploded like a startled peacock."

Mu Fan gave a quiet snort of laughter but didn't say a word. 

Lin Shen's glare could've cut steel—but it wasn't as sharp as usual. There was something softer beneath it—relief, maybe even the flicker of pride he tried to hide.

Lin Ye grinned wider and held out a plum. 

"You burned bright, Cousin. Maybe next time try aiming the fire?"

Lin Shen didn't take the fruit either. He sat beside them, arms crossed, breathing slow and steady. The air around him had quieted.

Mu Fan leaned back slightly, gaze shifting to the ring. 

"Well," he said softly, "he won. And no one had to be scraped off the platform."

Lin Shen didn't respond. But there was the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

They sat like that, waiting for the next duel to begin.

Scene 2: The mysterious dark fog sighting

High above, on a stone dais, Shuilan's Third Master, Xuan Luo, watched in silence. His posture was perfect, his gaze unreadable—chin slightly tilted, back straight, as if carved from the stillness itself. When he moved, it was slow and deliberate, like a crane gliding over water.

Just then, something flickered behind the duel arena—far beyond the village's edge, up in the surrounding forested mountains. 

A massive black fog swirled across the distant trees—unnatural, silent—and vanished just as quickly, leaving the forest horizon untouched.

Xuan Luo's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. He couldn't say what yet—but the qi had trembled.

Down below, Lin Ye's gaze lifted too, his sharp instincts catching something the others missed. He nudged Mu Fan and Lin Shen, eyes narrowing as he tracked a flicker in the forest's edge.

"Did you see that?" Lin Ye asked, voice low but urgent.

Lin Shen followed his line of sight, brows knitting. 

Mu Fan frowned, shaking his head slowly. "No," he said.

"But you felt it too, didn't you?" Lin Ye pressed, glancing between them.

Before they could probe further, a Shuilan judge stepped forward, voice clear and authoritative across the arena.

"Duels are concluded for the day. You may rest or continue your training. Any updates to the rules will be announced tomorrow."

A wave of relief rippled through the crowd. Laughter and chatter returned, some participants stretching stiff limbs, others exchanging quiet cheers.

Lin Ye leapt to his feet, already eager. "Come on. I'm starving."

Lin Shen rose silently, folding his arms briefly before following. Mu Fan stretched and gave a tired but amused smile.

The three friends jogged toward a familiar village eatery—a cozy haven where warm lantern light spilled over pinewood beams, and bamboo steamers sent fragrant steam curling through the air.

Inside, they settled into a wooden table, eagerly digging into steaming plates of fried buns and bowls of savory soup.

Later,

Suddenly, the door slid open with a quiet grace. Several Shuilan disciples entered, their composure effortless but unmistakably regal. At their center was Xuan Luo.

He moved with the measured fluidity of a mountain stream—each step deliberate, yet flowing, as if in harmony with the very heartbeat of the land. His robes barely stirred, his expression calm, distant, unreadable. It was the kind of presence that drew eyes quietly, demanding respect without a word.

Lin Ye sat up straighter, a low whistle escaping him.

"Guess the royalty eats here too," he muttered with a grin.

Mu Fan nudged him gently, suppressing a smile. 

"Don't stare too much, or he'll disqualify us all."

Lin Ye only smirked, eyes flicking back to Xuan Luo as the young master took a seat in the far corner, surrounded by his disciples.

The room hushed instinctively, respect folding over the diners like a soft shadow.

As Lin Ye chewed, he couldn't help stealing glances at Xuan Luo's serene posture and graceful movements. 

Mu Fan elbowed him sharply. "Stop staring or you'll get us disqualified," he whispered.

Lin Ye just grinned wider, mock-whispering back, "He eats like he's performing a ritual. Maybe the food's scared."

Laughter bubbled between Lin Ye and Mu Fan, light and easy.

But then Lin Ye caught the steady gaze of a Shuilan disciple sitting near Xuan Luo. The disciple's eyes lifted deliberately, meeting Lin Ye's with a calm, piercing respect that sent a sudden flush to Lin Ye's cheeks.

Caught off guard, Lin Ye quickly waved his hand with an embarrassed, sheepish smile—like a child caught sneaking a forbidden snack.

The disciple nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then turned his gaze back to Xuan Luo and the others, speaking softly but with urgency.

Lin Ye exchanged a glance with Lin Shen and Mu Fan, their curiosity visibly piqued. The Shuilan disciples were deep in discussion, voices low but tinged with tension. 

Though their words were lost in the ambient hum, the expressions around the table were serious—whispered warnings, careful consideration.

Lin Ye leaned in slightly, whispering, "What do you think they're talking about?"

Mu Fan frowned. "Something important, I'm sure."

Lin Shen sighed, folding his arms. "Doesn't matter. Whatever it is, it's not for us."

But Lin Ye's eyes kept drifting back, fingers twitching to lean closer.

Lin Shen gave him a sharp look and tugged lightly on his sleeve. "Stop staring at them," he muttered quietly. 

"It's none of our business."

Lin Ye pouted but finally eased back, still shooting subtle glances as Lin Shen led him away.

As they passed the Shuilan disciples, Lin Ye turned his head for a last look and called cheerfully, "Bye! See you tomorrow!"

Xuan Luo remained unmoving, his face unreadable—still calm as ever, eyes steady on the trio.

Some of the Shuilan disciples nodded their greetings, others glanced curiously at Lin Ye being dragged away by his cousin's firm grip.

One of them muttered something low to Xuan Luo, who inclined his head slightly, acknowledging without shifting his serene composure.

Lin Ye exchanged a bemused look with Lin Shen and Mu Fan as they left, feeling both embarrassed and oddly intrigued by the silent power at the table.