Chapter: The Cold Throne
The arena was silent.
Jun Bai lay unconscious on the fractured ice ring, blood blooming beneath him like crimson petals on snow.
Lin Feng stood in the center, arms hanging at his sides, chest heaving. His robes were torn. One eye swollen. But his spine was straight.
He had won.
And no one clapped.
The crowd in the outer galleries watched with uncertain expressions—shock, awe, but above all, discomfort. The kind of discomfort that came when a stranger rewrote a story they thought was already finished.
The High Elder stood, his expression unreadable.
> "Victory is claimed," he said finally. "Lin Feng… is the last Champion standing."
His voice echoed like thunder.
But still—no cheers. No celebration.
Only cold.
---
The Weight of Winning
Lin Feng stepped off the ruined platform onto a narrow path of qi-frost that extended toward the palace steps. Each step echoed in the frozen silence.
He looked up.
The Cold Throne awaited him.
A single high seat carved into the Palace's upper cliff face, surrounded by thirty lesser seats—one for each Inner Elder of the Eternal Frost. Above them, banners of white silk fluttered in the wind, each embroidered with a sigil of legacy.
Snow fell in thin, perfect flakes.
As he climbed, he could feel every gaze. Scrutiny. Contempt. Some masked behind calm faces; others open in their disdain.
Lan Xue waited on the outer steps, her white cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her gaze met his—and softened.
> "You shouldn't have won," she said quietly, once he was close enough to hear.
> "I know," Lin Feng said. "But I did."
A faint smile touched her lips. "You're bleeding."
He glanced down at his side.
> "That's what winning looks like, apparently."
---
The Council Convenes
The gates behind the throne opened with a low groan, and the inner sanctum of the Frost Council revealed itself—a grand hall of frozen jade pillars, lit by floating will-flames that gave off no heat.
Lin Feng stepped inside.
Lan Xue followed, keeping her face neutral now. To show familiarity here would draw attention—dangerous attention.
The Inner Elders sat in a crescent around the Cold Throne. The High Elder had already taken his seat, flanked by other powerhouses whose names carried weight across the Northern Sky Empire.
Lin Feng stood before them like a weapon placed on a merchant's table—valuable, dangerous, but ultimately owned.
Or so they thought.
The High Elder's voice rang out.
> "Lin Feng. You have emerged victorious in the Trials. As per tradition, you are now entitled to the Blessing of Frost and the Outer Seat of the Cold Throne."
Murmurs spread among the elders.
> "He's not from any known sect…"
> "He has no lineage…"
> "What if the Trial was manipulated?"
> "The puppet caster—he could've been working with Lin Feng."
Lin Feng stepped forward, meeting every eye.
> "You sent assassins into the trial. You broke your own laws."
> "You speak without evidence," an elder snapped.
> "Then let the mirror show it," Lin Feng said, glancing at the great Mirror of Trials behind the throne. "You made us fight under its gaze. Let it reveal the truth."
A pause.
Then—unexpectedly—Lan Xue spoke.
> "I saw it," she said, her voice calm. "A puppet driven by a hidden cultivator. That is against the Trial Law. Lin Feng exposed it. He saved the lives of those still present."
The hall fell still.
To have a Frost Princess speak in favor of an outsider… it was scandalous.
The High Elder's eyes narrowed. "Princess Lan Xue. You were not summoned to speak."
> "And yet I was watching," she replied smoothly. "You cannot ignore the truth simply because you don't like who holds it."
An old woman to the right of the throne chuckled. Elder Yue—the oldest of the Inner Council.
> "Spirited, like her mother."
A name that hadn't been spoken in years.
The High Elder leaned forward.
> "Lin Feng. You've stirred the lake and broken its surface. But do you understand what waits beneath?"
Lin Feng held his gaze.
> "I didn't come to be safe."
> "Then why did you come?" asked Elder Yue, her eyes sharp.
A long silence passed.
Then Lin Feng said,
> "To stand where they said I never would."
---
The Frost Brand
The decision came hours later.
At sunset, the palace bell tolled.
Lin Feng knelt at the steps before the Cold Throne once more, shirt stripped to the waist, his back bare to the wind.
A ceremonial elder approached—face hidden, robes silver-white.
In their hands: a long needle of froststeel, dipped in ancient ink mixed with glacial spirit water.
The Frost Brand.
Every Champion who passed the Trials received one—a sigil etched into the back or chest, fusing with qi, marking them as a disciple of the Eternal Frost.
It was both honor… and shackle.
The elder stopped behind Lin Feng.
The wind howled.
The needle pierced skin.
Pain like liquid ice lanced through his spine.
And through it all—Lin Feng didn't flinch.
He thought of his parents.
Of Ironwood burning.
Of the Iron Sect elder's voice saying, "The crippled do not earn legacy."
And he let the pain sink in.
The brand took shape—an ice dragon coiled around a shattered sword. Unorthodox. Not the usual crest.
The Elders frowned.
> "That's not the Frost Wolf."
> "He shaped it himself," Lan Xue murmured.
> "Without permission?"
> "Without fear."
---
After the Ceremony
Later, in the training courtyards beneath the Palace's east tower, Lin Feng stood at the edge of a cliff. The wind tore at his half-healed robes.
Lan Xue approached, stepping beside him.
For a long time, they just stood in silence.
Then she asked:
> "They won't accept you. Not truly."
> "I know."
> "So what now?"
He looked down at his branded arm. Flexed it.
> "Now… I take what they'd never give me."
Lan Xue hesitated.
Then reached into her sleeve.
She pulled out a scroll—thick, old, sealed in sapphire wax.
> "This was my mother's. She was cast out for refusing to kneel. It's a cultivation method the Palace has forbidden since the Age of Snowfall."
Lin Feng took it, brow furrowed.
> "Why me?"
> "Because you remind me of her," Lan Xue said. "And because if they come for you… I'd rather you had teeth."
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, between the snow and silence, the Palace of a Thousand Winters felt a little warmer.