The Rong residence returned to its usual rhythm after sunrise, but to Rong Tian, the calm arrived too quickly. The medicine hall had been cleaned only halfway, and small traces of Qi Yu remained in places more distracting than blood on a battlefield. The cup she had used left a faint circle on the wooden table. A bitter herbal scent lingered where the basin had stood. An unused bandage remained rolled in one corner. Every object made the room feel more empty. The household should have returned to normal. Instead, the effort everyone made to behave normally only made Qi Yu’s absence more obvious. Aunt Lan was checking the medicine drawers when Rong Tian entered again near midday. She did not turn immediately, as though she had already known he would return before he managed to think about anything else. “She left with a pale face, but her steps were still stubborn,&rdq

Comments like those continued to collide throughout Biratama City, each retelling louder and less faithful than the last. A city never waited for truth. It only waited for the version of a story that was easiest to repeat.Rong Tian entered a teahouse near the eastern street. It was not luxurious enough to attract only officials and minor nobles, yet it was busy enough to gather rumors from every direction. Wealthy merchants occupied the front tables, wandering cultivators preferred the shaded corners, and the upper floor was often used by people who wished to speak softly while pretending to drink without concern.The scents of aged tea, dried chrysanthemum, and damp timber welcomed him. Water boiled in the kitchen, while a young waiter refilled a guest’s pot and pretended not to hear a conversation he was following.Rong Tian chose a half-hidden table facing the main hall. A wooden pillar shaded one side, giving him a clear view without placing him at the center of anyone’s attentio

A guest near the entrance spoke first. “If the stage is this large, the audience cannot be ordinary.” The fat merchant scoffed. “If the sword is real, a stage or a graveyard will still be crowded.” The waiter laughed. “The more expensive the stage, the larger the thing hidden beneath it.” Rong Tian lowered his cup. That word fit perfectly. Stage. Qingyun Mountain belonged to the Pure Heaven Sect, one of Bei Fang’s great powers. Its white robes and orthodox reputation had been polished for generations. If the imperial court had chosen that place to display a legendary weapon, then the invitation was not meant only for treasure seekers. It was meant for every eye that wished to measure which sect stood beside which faction. “If Lin Zhao intends to split the sects, gatherin