The Puppet Dao

Chapter 5 – The Banner of Execution

Zhao Chen froze where he stood, halfway through tying his belt. His fingers didn’t move. He stared out the window at the three men below, then turned slowly toward Lin Cang, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Did they just say execution?” Zhao asked, his voice flat, as if the word had knocked all the breath out of him.

Lin Cang stepped forward without speaking and looked through the narrow window slit. His gaze landed on the white banner, fluttering gently in the night wind. The calligraphy was harsh, angular, painted with strong brushstrokes in deep black ink. That one word seemed heavier than any threat.

Execution.

It wasn’t a warning.

It was an order.

One of the three men below stepped forward. He looked older than the others—mid-thirties maybe—but with a lean, hard face and a posture that said he had never once been outranked in a courtyard. His black and gold outer robe was pressed to perfection, and a sheathed sword hung at his side, its tassel still even in the wind.

“Lin Cang,” the man said again, raising his voice just enough to carry. “You are suspected of deceiving the Green Pine Sect, concealing a forbidden cultivation method, and interfering with the death of Elder Xu. You are hereby summoned to appear before Sect Master Yun before first light. If you refuse to comply—”

He turned his head slightly, and the white banner behind him shifted again.

“—you will be taken by force.”

Zhao hissed under his breath and moved back from the window. “We’ve got to go. Now. There’s no time.”

Lin Cang didn’t move yet. His eyes stayed fixed on the speaker. He studied the man’s posture, the stillness of his feet, the way his hand hovered casually near the hilt of his sword—not tense, not eager, just patient. Professional.

“They’re not outer sect,” Lin Cang said. “They’re enforcers.”

Zhao was already grabbing the scrolls and stuffing them into a bag. “That’s what I’m saying! Enforcers don’t wait. That banner is a formality—they’ve already decided you’re guilty.”

Lin Cang turned away from the window. “Then we’re already being hunted.”

Zhao slung the bag over his back and tied it tight. “We can make it down the cliff path behind the storage shed. It leads to the back slope of the eastern forest. If we move fast, we’ll reach the waterfall before sunrise.”

Lin Cang nodded once.

Then, from outside, another voice rose.

This one was younger. Harsher.

“Why’s it quiet up there?” the second man asked. “Didn’t you say he was in the records hall?”

“I did,” the first answered.

The third man said nothing—but Lin Cang caught the faint hum of spirit energy forming. A presence—pressing outward.

“Zhao,” Lin Cang said calmly, “the moment they break the door, take the right exit and circle behind the upper dorms. There’s a broken fence along the storage compound. You can jump it.”

“And what about you?” Zhao asked, pulling a short sword from under his robe. “Don’t tell me you’re staying.”

“I’ll draw them to the other side of the hall. Then follow as soon as they shift positions.”

Zhao opened his mouth to argue—but then, he stopped. He stared at Lin Cang for a second, and a strange expression passed across his face. “You’re serious. You think you can outrun sect enforcers?”

“No,” Lin Cang said. “I think I can make them hesitate.”

Then came the sound.

Boom.

A shockwave hit the records hall’s main door. The wood didn’t break, but it groaned under the pressure. Dust fell from the beam. The lanterns swayed.

“They’re using spiritual force,” Zhao said. “If they find out you’ve got no Qi, they’ll strike without mercy.”

Another boom.

The hinges cracked.

Zhao turned to the far end of the room. “There’s a ventilation shaft near the back shelf. I’ve seen rats come through it. If I squeeze—”

“No need,” Lin Cang interrupted. “Go.”

Zhao grabbed the bag tighter and ran for the side corridor without looking back.

The third strike came—boom—and this time, the door blew inward.

Three men stepped into the hall, robes flaring from the force.

The leader stepped forward, eyes scanning the room. He spotted Lin Cang immediately.

“You didn’t run,” the man said.

Lin Cang stood beside the central scroll altar, his back straight, his right hand hanging at his side.

“I was already found once tonight,” Lin Cang replied. “Running again would be pointless.”

The second enforcer snorted and stepped to the left, hand on the handle of a coiling chain blade. “He speaks like a cultivator.”

“He’s not one,” the third said quietly, his voice rougher. “No Qi. No presence. But the mark on his chest… it’s active.”

Lin Cang’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen the mark before?”

The lead enforcer’s face stayed still. “Enough to know it doesn’t belong to this sect. Or any living one.”

Then he raised his hand.

A small jade slip floated forward, glowing with pale green light.

“This is a formal command from Sect Master Yun,” he said. “Touch the seal. Confirm your identity. You will be escorted to the questioning chamber. That is the peaceful option.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then we begin with pain,” the second said, cracking his neck.

Lin Cang looked down at the jade slip.

He didn’t move to touch it.

Instead, he asked a question.

“Do you know who carved the mark?”

The lead enforcer blinked once. “What?”

Lin Cang pointed to the book in his robe. “The mark was made by someone they called the Carver of the Hollow Vein.”

The room shifted. The air grew tense.

The third enforcer’s hand tightened.

“You say that name again,” he whispered, “and you’ll be exorcised where you stand.”

Lin Cang understood.

Even in a place as structured and law-bound as the Green Pine Sect, there were things people feared too much to speak of. The Carver was one of them. That meant the connection was real.

He took one step back.

“I’m not ready to die yet,” Lin Cang said. “But if I have to leave a wound, I will.”

“You don’t have the strength,” the first enforcer said.

“No,” Lin Cang agreed. “But I have the shape.”

His right hand flared.

The pattern activated.

The Mirror Reversal Arm unfolded—its runes glowing faintly beneath the skin—and a line of force surged through the floor.

The jade slip shattered in midair.

The lead enforcer’s face changed.

“Strike!” he ordered.

Too late.

Lin Cang had already moved.

The scroll altar exploded as he threw the table into the path of the first attacker and rolled left toward the scroll racks. He vaulted over a low shelf, wood cracking beneath his weight, and burst through the back hallway just as a chain blade flew past his ear and dug deep into the wall beside him.

“Get him!” the second enforcer shouted.

Lin Cang didn’t stop running.

Not because he was faster.

But because the hallway ahead was already opening—

And on the other side, Zhao Chen was waiting.

“Now!” Zhao shouted, slamming the back panel open.

They dove through together.

And just as the enforcers reached the hallway—

The room exploded in blinding white light.

A paper talisman had been placed on the rear beam.

Zhao grinned as they landed hard on the outer walkway.

“Storage compound’s this way!”

Lin Cang nodded once, still running. “That was your talisman?”

“I’ve been saving it for emergencies,” Zhao said.

“This doesn’t count as an emergency?”

“No—this counts as suicide,” Zhao muttered.

They reached the edge of the dorm fence. Lin Cang leapt first, landing in the pine needles below. Zhao followed, barely clearing the edge.

And then—

A low horn sounded from the central compound.

Bright green lights flared in the sky.

Zhao turned to him, horrified.

“That’s the internal alarm. They’re sealing the outer sect gates!”

Lin Cang didn’t look back.

He was staring at something far away—up on the distant cliff, where the waterfall shimmered in the moonlight.

And carved into the stone beside it, now lit by green flame—

Was a symbol.

A circle, broken by seven lines.

The same as the mark on his chest.

Zhao Chen landed beside him with a grunt, brushing pine needles from his sleeve and half-crouching in the shadow of a tree.

“Did I hit my head,” he said, panting, “or is that mark glowing on the cliff face?”

“It’s not your head,” Lin Cang replied quietly. “It’s really there.”

The green light from the sky pulsed again—bright, then dim, like a slow heartbeat. Above them, in the night air, glowing talismans floated outward from the main sect tower. They spread in every direction, casting search arrays across the outer grounds. Thin threads of spiritual energy stretched between them like invisible nets.

Zhao peeked up through the branches. “They activated the Sect Master’s tracking seal. That means they’re looking for your name, your Qi signature—anything they can tag you with.”

“They won’t find either,” Lin Cang said.

“You think that’s going to stop them?” Zhao hissed. “This is Green Pine Sect. We have Formation Elders who can track the heat left in a footprint.”

“They can track footprints,” Lin Cang agreed. “But not mine.”

Zhao blinked. “And why not?”

Lin Cang flexed his right hand slowly, feeling the quiet hum of the runes under the skin. “Because I don’t leave Qi.”

Zhao stared at him for a moment longer, then finally looked away.

They moved through the underbrush, staying low. The forest floor was soft, covered in pine needles and old moss. The moonlight barely touched the ground here. Every few steps, a light would pass overhead—sect talismans floating like paper lanterns, silently scanning.

Zhao muttered under his breath. “I knew I should’ve stayed in the pill house. Alchemy students don’t get chased into the forest at night. You think herbs ever try to kill you? No. They just sit there.”

Lin Cang didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the cliff ahead, where the waterfall tumbled over jagged rocks, its sound low but steady. The carved symbol near its base was still faintly visible—now only a shadow as the alarm glow faded.

When they reached the edge of the lower trail, Zhao stopped.

“There used to be a bridge here,” he said. “It collapsed last year. Storm damage. No one fixed it.”

Lin Cang looked down at the gap. A narrow ledge curved along the cliff wall. Dangerous, but possible.

“I can cross it,” he said. “You wait here.”

“Like hell I will.”

“It’s too risky. If you fall—”

“I’m not going back alone,” Zhao snapped. “You die, I get blamed. They’ll think I poisoned your tea or something.”

Lin Cang sighed softly. “Fine. But stay close.”

He led the way, pressing his body to the cliff as they edged along the path. One step at a time. Wind tugged at their robes, carrying mist from the waterfall. The stone was slick in places, but his feet moved with eerie precision—like he’d done this before, even though he never had.

Halfway across, Zhao muttered, “I’d rather fight the enforcers than fall into this ravine.”

“Then don’t slip,” Lin Cang said calmly.

When they reached the other side, the path widened again, leading behind the waterfall. The roar grew louder now, nearly drowning out speech.

A stone platform lay behind the falling water. Flat, weathered, marked with faint symbols worn smooth by time.

Lin Cang stepped onto it.

The moment his foot touched the center—

The mark on his chest burned.

He staggered. Zhao grabbed his arm.

“Lin?”

Lin Cang clenched his teeth.

The pain wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t heat. It was like something was pulling on him from the inside. Not from his skin—but from his form.

The carved symbol on the cliff flashed once.

Then it vanished.

In its place, a narrow crack opened in the stone wall. Silent. Seamless. As if it had always been part of the cliff.

Zhao stared. “What… what is that?”

“A gate,” Lin Cang said, straightening.

“You say that like it’s normal.”

“It’s not.”

The crack widened. A soft blue light spilled from within. Cold. Pale. Unnatural.

Lin Cang stepped forward.

Zhao grabbed his sleeve. “Are we really doing this?”

“We have no choice.”

Zhao let go and followed.

Inside, the passage was smooth and round, carved with a level of detail no normal hand could achieve. The walls were covered in faint ridges, like overlapping spirals, forming a pattern too complex to understand at a glance.

After twenty paces, the tunnel opened into a wide chamber.

The floor was flat stone. The ceiling vanished into shadow.

In the center stood a pedestal.

And on that pedestal, sealed in a cube of clear jade—

Was a heart.

Not beating.

Not bleeding.

But wrapped in gold thread, like a puppet’s core.

Zhao took one look at it and stepped back. “That’s not a treasure. That’s a trap.”

Lin Cang approached slowly.

The jade cube didn’t react. But the closer he got, the louder the hum inside him grew. His arm ached. The mark on his chest pulsed.

Zhao whispered again. “Lin. Please. Let’s go. We don’t know what that is.”

“I do,” Lin Cang said softly.

He reached out.

And touched the jade.

It dissolved.

Not shattered. Not cracked.

It simply ceased to exist—falling away like mist.

The heart hovered in the air, gold threads unwinding.

Lin Cang reached forward—

And placed his hand on it.

The world went white.

Then—

A voice.

Not spoken.

Carved.

> “Second shaping recognized. Core organ detected. Initiate vessel binding?”

Zhao’s voice sounded far away. “Lin? Lin! What’s happening?”

> “Warning. Vessel is unstable. Core imprint will overwrite personality if not sealed.”

Zhao grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. “You’re bleeding! Stop touching it!”

> “Confirm binding?”

And Lin Cang—

Said yes.

The heart melted into his chest.

The mark flared.

His eyes burned with light.

And as he fell to his knees, gasping—

Another voice echoed through the chamber.

Not from him.

Not from Zhao.

But from above.

> “You stole that heart, little thing.”

Zhao turned, eyes wide.

A figure stood in the shadows of the ceiling, slowly lowering to the floor.

Robe like black silk.

Hair like silver thread.

And a mouth that smiled without warmth.

> “But it was made for me.”