Qiren's choice...

Silence lingered, thick as smoke, as Tian Qiren stared at the closed door Elder Nianshu had left through.

Two choices. Stay here—in a place that didn't want him, among people who didn't know what he carried—or walk away with nothing but questions and a pendant too cold to comfort him.

He didn't move.

He could almost hear Mo Xuan's voice again: "Survival isn't enough. You must learn to live through what you survive."

His hand tightened around the pendant.

By the time dawn spilled its gray light across the courtyard stones outside, Tian Qiren had made his decision.

He wouldn't run.

When the attendant girl returned with breakfast, her eyes widened seeing him already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hair tied back in a rough knot.

"You... you're up?" she said. "You're not supposed to walk yet. Master said—"

"Tell Elder Nianshu," Qiren said, voice low but firm. "I'll stay."

The girl blinked, then dipped into an awkward bow before scurrying off again, nearly tripping on the threshold.

Word spread fast.

By mid-morning, every corridor he passed carried whispers. Disciples leaned a little too close during training breaks, muttering behind sleeves.

_"He should be dead."

"A whole month. Not even rotting."

"Did you see the stone on his chest? Burned clean through his robe... like it drank the fire."

"He said he doesn't know how it happened. Liar. Nobody just survives Wraithpine( Luhuo Yousongxia) like that."_

Qiren kept his eyes forward. Every glance felt like a thorn. But he didn't shrink.

He was given a grey-banded robe — not the flame-marked ones the disciples wore, but simpler, thinner. A robe for servants. For those without a Mandate.

His new quarters were smaller, tucked near the outer rim of the warded stone valley. The room smelled faintly of oil and wet ash. A cot, a basin, a cracked mirror. That was it.

But he didn't complain.

He knew exactly what he was here to be: watched.

The duties came quickly. Hauling buckets from the mountain spring. Sweeping the scripture halls. Shoveling ash from the practice pits where disciples tested flame techniques under rigid guidance.

No one offered help.

Yan Yue passed him once near the outer flame fields. She didn't speak, only met his gaze with a look that might have been caution. Or warning.

He thought he saw something else too — sympathy. But it vanished too quickly to hold.

Elder Nianshu didn't summon him again.

But others watched. Always watched.

One night, he caught a boy near his door, pretending to refill a torch. The boy looked away too fast when Qiren stepped into the hall. Another time, a group of junior disciples passed him, laughing too loudly, one of them whispering "ghost child" before they were gone.

The pendant stayed cold.

Nights were hardest.

He would lie on his cot, staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks like constellations. He'd replay everything. The screams. The fire. The moment the Mandate had flared to life in his veins, uncalled, unknown.

He didn't even know what it was.

They blamed the pendant. Fine. Let them.

Because even Qiren wasn't sure he hadn't died that day. The boy who'd begged to live in Mo Xuan's hut had vanished.

This one burned.

A week passed before Elder Nianshu came again.

He appeared in the ash pits during midday when Qiren was sweeping, hands blistered and black with soot. The elder said nothing for a long moment, then simply held out a sealed scroll.

"You read, don't you?"

Qiren nodded.

"Good. Copy this five times. Word for word. Ink must not smudge."

Qiren took it without comment. The elder gave him a last glance.

"Still not leaving?"

"No."

"Hm. We'll see."

And then he was gone.

It was near the end of the second week when something changed.

While scrubbing the stone steps outside the western archive, Qiren paused. The pendant had grown warm.

Only for a second.

A flicker. Like a heartbeat.

He stared down at it. No light. No sound. Just... warmth. Then nothing.

That night, he dreamt of fire again. Not the beast. Not his mother. Just endless flame, curling and whispering in tongues he didn't understand.

And behind the fire, always, something watching.

A final meeting was called the next morning.

Qiren was brought to one of the inner halls, where Elder Nianshu waited with another elder he didn't recognize. A woman, sharp-eyed, her expression unreadable.

Nianshu folded his hands.

"You've worked. You've obeyed. And you haven't burned anything."

Qiren didn't answer.

"So now I offer you again what I offered once before," Nianshu continued. "Two paths. One: remain here as a worker. No cultivation. No training. You'll live under our watch, earn your meals, and keep the walls clean."

The woman beside him raised an eyebrow.

"Two," Nianshu went on, "You leave. We won't stop you. We won't help you. Whatever fate catches you is your own."

Qiren looked between them.

"And the third?"

Nianshu smiled faintly. "There is no third."

Qiren didn't hesitate. "Then I stay."

The elder gave a small nod, but something flickered behind his eyes. Interest. Calculation.

As Qiren turned to leave, the woman spoke for the first time.

"That stone..." she said. "It glows sometimes, doesn't it?"

Qiren froze. His hand brushed the pendant beneath his robe.

He didn't reply.

Her gaze narrowed. But she said no more.

He stepped out into the cold hallway, alone.

But this time, he wasn't running. Not anymore.

If fire had spared him, it was for a reason. And he intended to find it.