Chapter 51: The Inkstone Pavilion Invitation
Morning light dripped slowly across the edge of the cracked window. The air in Han Li's quarters was still, except for the rising steam of a freshly steeped cup of bitter tea.
He didn't sip it.
Instead, he stared at the courtyard outside, where the peach blossoms refused to bloom this season.
A knock, hesitant and quick.
"Enter," Han Li said quietly.
The door creaked open. A young girl, no older than thirteen, stepped in. Ink stained her sleeves, and her hair was tied too tight.
"Sir Han… this came for you." She held out a letter with both hands, her fingers trembling just slightly. "The Headmaster's seal. They said it's urgent."
Han Li glanced down. The envelope was black, the wax seal crimson.
She waited, unsure if she should leave.
"Thank you," he said, taking it with a nod.
She didn't move.
"They say it's from the Inkstone Pavilion," she added, more softly now. "That… all class leaders are being summoned."
At that, Han Li's brow lifted—barely.
He turned the letter over, running his thumb along the seal.
The girl shifted awkwardly. "If… if it's serious, should I tell the others?"
"No," Han Li replied, voice flat. "Go eat. It's past breakfast."
She blinked, bowed, and left without another word.
Once alone, Han Li opened the envelope. Inside was a single piece of spiritual parchment.
Ten words: "Class D's presence is required at the Ascension Selection."
No date. No time. No explanation.
Han Li tapped the letter gently against his palm.
"They're testing me," he murmured, standing. "No—testing them."
Outside, Jian Mo's blade clattered again. From behind the tool shed came the whoosh of Ling Yue's flames practicing forms. He heard Xun Fei whispering incantations to a sparrow on the branch above.
Children no one wanted.
Misfits given to a man with a broom.
Han Li stepped outside.
The sun had just risen, but already clouds were forming in the east—dark, heavy clouds that didn't belong in summer.
Far away, in a sealed chamber within the Inkstone Pavilion, an old cultivator stirred from meditation.
"Someone's coming," he whispered, his voice tight.
The air grew colder.
Meanwhile, Han Li leaned on his broom and said to no one in particular:
"Time to sweep out the Pavilion."
And the wind carried his words across the academy like a warning no one understood—yet.
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