Chapter 2:The Quiet blade:
"In silence, the sword listens; in stillness, it strikes."
---
Feng Tingshen swept open the carved vermilion doors with a dramatic flourish, stepping aside with a smirk. "Longling Pavilion disciples, welcome to the famed Lotus Fragrance Courtyard. Try not to get lost—it's prettier than it is functional."
Ling Zheming gave him a sidelong glance. "A shame it doesn't extend to the hospitality."
The other Longling Pavilion disciples stifled their amusement as they entered.
Wei Yehan, eyes wide, followed closely behind Ling Zheming, his steps soft as they passed under an arching moon gate into the courtyard proper.
Inside, the Lotus Fragrance Courtyard lived up to its name. Steam curled like silk from the warm springs that dotted the grounds, and lotus blossoms drifted across the surface of the water in hues of pearl, blush, and gold. Carved stone lanterns stood beside lacquered pavilions, and elegant bridges arched over winding streams. The scent of magnolia and lotus mingled on the breeze.
Disciples from various sects were already gathered: purple-robed Ziyue Pavilion cultivators seated in loose clusters under willow trees, the sword-bearing youths of Yunjian Sect quietly conversing near a low wall, and a smattering of visiting clans lingering in shaded alcoves.
Conversation dimmed slightly as the Longling Pavilion party arrived. Eyes flicked over Ling Zheming's composed figure and came to rest—curious, assessing—on Wei Yehan. His slender figure and understated presence might have blended into the background anywhere else. But beside Ling Zheming, he was like mist clinging to the foot of a flame. Hard to ignore.
Feng Tingshen turned lazily, his voice lilting. "Well, don't just stand there like lost ducks. Try not to trip into the pond—we've already lost two outer disciples that way."
Before Ling Zheming could retort, a voice called out from across the courtyard.
"Feng Tingshen! I thought I saw a cloud of arrogance drifting this way."
A slim figure in violet robes strolled over, fanning himself idly. Yue Chenxiao's grin was all teeth, his fan painted with purple moon behind green willow branches. He gave Ling Zheming a respectful nod. "Ling-gongzi, it's been a while. Did you also bring your juniors for the Spirit Assessment Ceremony?"
"No. He brought them to play mahjong and win money to run the Longling pavilion." Feng Tingshen said with all seriousness.
The whole courtyard burst into laughter. Even Ziyue pavilion's disciples turned their heads, refusing to recognise Yue ChenXiao as their leader.
From another direction came the quiet rustle of footsteps. A tall, refined youth in glacier-blue robes approached, sword sheathed at his back. His bearing was solemn, but not unfriendly.
"Yue Chenxiao, do you always have to remind others about your low intelligence by talking nonsense?" Li Qingzhou sneered at Yue ChenXiao, before nodding to the newcomers. "Hey, Ling-Xiong. Long time no see. How have you been?"
Just as pleasantries were being exchanged, a ripple of tension stirred the courtyard air.
A group of disciples in storm-grey and black strode in from the opposite gate. Leishen Sect.
Their arrival was quiet, but not subtle. Their uniforms gleamed with lightning-threaded embroidery, and their presence carried the faint pressure of summer thunder—dry heat and a warning rumble.
Their leader, tall and cold-eyed, scanned the courtyard with casual disdain. His gaze brushed past the Yunjian and Ziyue Pavilion disciples, paused on Ling Zheming—briefly respectful—and then landed on Wei Yehan with a puzzled frown.
One of the younger Leishen disciples leaned toward another, voice pitched low. But not low enough.
"Who is he? The one who doesn't carry a sword?"
"He looks like someone's attendant. Look at him, all messy and without a spiritual core."
A snicker followed.
Young Master of Leishen Sect, Shen Jinyan stepped forward and looked at Wei Yehan with amusement.
"Tsk. Even when visiting another sect, Ling-gongzi doesn't forget to bring a few attendant with him. It seems, Longling pavilion really pampers its only young master." Shen Jinyan deliberately raised his voice and emphasized the word 'only young master' as he sneered at Wei Yehan.
Wei Yehan blinked and glanced toward him, looking mildly curious. "Ah," he said softly, "you must be from the Leishen Sect."
Shen Jinyan raised his brows. "What is it? Are you regretting being Ling Zheming's little attendant and want to switch to Leishen sect now?"
Wei Yehan tilted his head. "Of course not. I was just saying—the way you started crackling the moment you walked in... it explains everything. You must be from Leishen Sect."
Feng Tingshen made a choking sound. Yue Chenxiao's fan fluttered suspiciously fast. Even Jian Qingzhou's expression twitched.
The Leishen disciple straightened, clearly offended. "You're mocking us?"
"No, no," Wei Yehan said seriously. "It's just—you're very good at… um… atmospheric tension. I feel like thunder could strike any moment now."
The lead disciple of Leishen Sect stepped forward. "You're awfully brave for someone who is mere attendant of the Longling Pavilion."
Wei Yehan smiled gently. "So what if I'm just a mere attendant? Look at the person I'm serving. Haven't you ever been taught—not to strike the dog before glancing at its master?"
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the nearby disciples. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Ling Zheming finally turned. His voice was quiet—measured—but it cut cleanly through the stillness. "Enough."
It wasn't clear whether he was addressing Wei Yehan or the Leishen disciples—but the shift in the air was unmistakable. Golden sparks flickered, barely visible, at the hem of his sleeve. A silence settled like a held breath.
Wei Yehan blinked, lips pursed. "I was only trying to remind him not to insult my ma—"
His words faltered as Ling Zheming's gaze met his—calm, but turned cool as a blade.
Wei Yehan's voice dropped to a murmur. "—not in front of you, at least…"
Under Ling Zheming's gaze, he looked away, and said nothing more.
After reining his younger brother in, Ling Zheming turned his head and glance towards Shen Jinyan.
Shen Jinyan crossed his arms in front of his chest, proud and arrogant, and met Ling Zheming's gaze head-on. He raised his brows as if saying, 'what now?'
---
However, before anything could escalate, a Lianfeng Sect elder appeared at the edge of the courtyard, his voice light and clear.
"All honored guests, rooms have been prepared. A welcoming banquet will be held at sunset. Until then, feel free to enjoy the gardens—or save your sharp tongues for the sparring grounds."
His gaze lingered meaningfully on the Shen Jinyan before sweeping across the courtyard.
Shen Jinyan exhaled once through his nose and turned away, his disciples following suit—though not without a few backward glances at Wei Yehan.
As calm returned, Feng Tingshen drawled, "You know, for someone so soft-spoken, he's awfully good at making enemies."
Wei Yehan looked baffled. "But I didn't even raise my voice."
Jian Qingzhou glanced towards him and gave a forced smile. "That's exactly the issue."
---
After the farce in the courtyard finally ended, the Longling Pavilion disciples made their way toward their assigned hall.
Each major sect was given a spacious lodging hall, while smaller sects had to share. Every hall held twenty beds—more than enough, since Longling Pavilion had brought only fifteen disciples this year.
The moment they entered, chaos erupted.
"I want the bed near the eastern window!" someone called.
"Too late, that's Senior Brother Ling's spot!"
Ling Zheming, of course, didn't need to fight. The bed beneath the eastern window, bathed in morning light and facing the mountain breeze, had already been respectfully left vacant. No one dared claim it.
Wei Yehan, on the other hand…
"I'll take this one!" he declared, throwing himself dramatically onto the bed by the western window.
One of the older disciples blinked. "Wei-shidi, that's Senior Brother Gong's bed."
Wei Yehan didn't even flinch. "Not anymore."
He stretched languidly, arms flopping out like a starfish. "We fought in a past life. I won."
Another disciple suggested. "Why not sleep beside your elder brother instead? It's quieter in the corner."
Wei Yehan propped his chin on his hand, all innocence. "But this one has a window. I'm delicate. I need fresh air to survive. I might wilt."
"You're not a lotus," someone muttered.
"I could be."
More groans followed. "We brought fifteen people this year and there are twenty beds! Why must you fight for this one?"
Wei Yehan rolled over dramatically, clutching the pillow. "It's fate. This bed and I were meant to be. Don't try to separate us."
Several disciples tried coaxing, bargaining, even offering snacks, but Wei Yehan held on like a barnacle.
In the end, they gave up—grumbling and sighing as they returned to claim other beds.
"Tch. Shameless."
"He's got no sense of propriety at all."
"And no guilt either."
Wei Yehan snuggled into his pillow, victorious. "Hmph. The heavens reward the persistent."
Off to the side, Ling Zheming sat by his bed, silently polishing his sword. He hadn't spoken a word during the entire skirmish, but now, he exhaled through his nose—light, almost imperceptible.
Someone nearby whispered, "Senior Brother Ling, aren't you going to say something?"
Ling Zheming didn't look up. "He won't listen anyway."
There was a faint flicker at the corner of his mouth—annoyance, maybe amusement. Hard to tell.
---
That night, the Lianfeng Sect hosted the welcome banquet in the Moon-Reflecting Pavilion.
Lanterns hung like suspended stars, casting warm amber light across the wide stone terrace. Jade tables were arranged in semi-circles, adorned with delicacies from mountain and river—honeyed lotus root, fire-roasted venison, and pear wine aged in snow caves. Music floated from a guqin in the corner, soft and elegant.
Disciples from the five great sects were scattered throughout the pavilion, robes swaying as they mingled and exchanged pleasantries.
Wei Yehan sat beside Ling Zheming, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup and looking dangerously pleased with himself.
"Ah, I love banquets," he said. "Pretty people, good wine, and absolutely no one trying to steal my food."
Ling Zheming didn't respond. He poured himself a cup of tea instead.
Across the pavilion, Young Master Shen of Leishen Sect stood with a few of his disciples, watching the gathering with his usual detachment. At one point, his gaze flicked again toward Wei Yehan—this time with something unreadable in his eyes.
The Yunjian and Ziyue Pavilion disciples gathered by a nearby table, laughing over something shared in a low voice.
One of the Yunjian disciples raised a cup toward Ling Zheming. "Longling Pavilion's young master—cheers. You made quite the entrance today."
Ling Zheming acknowledged it with a slight nod, but didn't rise.
"Your junior brother," another added, glancing toward Wei Yehan with faint amusement, "seems... spirited."
Wei Yehan leaned in with a faux-whisper. "It's alright. You can say handsome. I'm used to it."
Someone choked on their wine.
Even Ling Zheming's fingers paused on the rim of his teacup, as though reconsidering his life choices.
The banquet continued...
Just as Wei Yehan reached for another crystal dumpling with the air of someone entirely too comfortable, a voice floated over like the sound of silver bells dipped in vinegar.
"Well, well. I see Longling Pavilion's young master has picked up the habit of keeping pets."
Feng Tingshen strolled over with a cup in hand, robes the color of crushed plum and moonlight, his smile all silk and poison. His gaze landed on Wei Yehan, but the blade behind it was clearly aimed elsewhere.
"How obedient. Doesn't bark without permission, but bites when told."
Wei Yehan blinked, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. "Oh, but Young Master Feng," he said innocently, "aren't you mistaking me for someone from your own sect? I don't recall being trained to heel."
A few nearby disciples barely suppressed their laughter.
Ling Zheming's expression didn't change, but his chopsticks clicked lightly against the edge of his bowl.
Feng Tingshen's smile thinned. "Ah, no wonder you're so bold. I suppose-- even a stray gains confidence when kept close to the dragon's side."
That did it.
Ling Zheming set his cup down with a soft clink, not loud, but final.
"That's enough," he said quietly, raised his head and his cold, peach blossom eyes met Feng Tingshen amused ones.
For a breath, the air tensed.
Then Feng Tingshen raised his cup as though in toast, ever unbothered. "Of course. Just making conversation. I'm sure, young master Ling won't take offense on a mere joke, right?"
He walked off without waiting for a reply, trailing the scent of plum wine and mockery.
Wei Yehan huffed under his breath and stabbed at his dumpling. "I hope he chokes on a lotus seed."
Wei Yehan was still muttering murderous things about lotus seeds when a pair of chopsticks calmly reached over and dropped a portion of stir-fried vegetables into his bowl.
"Eat," Ling Zheming said, voice quiet, cool as ever. He didn't look at him, just pointed his chin in that direction—an order disguised as indifference.
Wei Yehan stared at the vegetables. Then at Ling Zheming.
"…You saw that, didn't you? I was dignified. Witty. Didn't disgrace the sect at all."
"You talked back to him."
"I defended myself," Wei Yehan sniffed. "I was charming."
Ling Zheming didn't answer. But his chopsticks tapped the side of Wei Yehan's bowl again—once. Just once.
The meaning was clear.
Eat.
Wei Yehan stuffed a piece of carrot in his mouth and grumbled through it. "You could at least praise me a little."
Ling Zheming took a sip of tea. "You didn't cry. That's new."
Wei Yehan gasped. "You—!"
But he ate the vegetables anyway.
From a nearby table, Xingjiang Sect's young master, Jiang Su, lazily swirled the wine in his cup and raised a brow.
"Is that the infamous Second Young Master of Longling Pavilion?" he murmured, watching the interaction between Ling Zheming and Wei Yehan unfold like a quiet domestic drama. "Didn't they say he was fragile and easily bullied?"
Beside him, Wanxiang's Xiang Yue chuckled behind his fan. "Fragile? That one? He just talked back to Feng Tingshen and lived. I'm beginning to suspect half the rumors about Longling Pavilion are ghost stories told to scare naughty disciples."
Jiang Su tilted his head. "Mm. And the other half?"
"They're about Ling Zheming."
The two exchanged a look. Then sipped their wine in perfect sync.
Across the hall, Wei Yehan sneezed violently into his sleeve.
Xiang Yue laughed.
Sniffling once, Wei Yehan resumed eating—only to pause, hand halfway to a lotus bun, when a hush swept through the hall."
It wasn't complete silence—just that collective shift when something, or someone, subtly changes the atmosphere. A few of the Lianfeng Sect disciples near the entrance straightened their backs, hands brushing the hems of their robes in unconscious formality.
A figure had stepped through the doorway, flanked by two inner disciples of the host sect.
He moved with unhurried grace, dressed in the ceremonial robes of Lianfeng Sect—soft jade green, trimmed with silver embroidery that shimmered faintly beneath the lantern light. The inner lining revealed fleeting hints of lotus pink, and cloud motifs shimmered across his sleeves, like morning mist curling over a quiet pond. His hair was loosely tied with a simple silver clasp, carved into the shape of a single lotus petal.
Though he did not carry himself like someone seeking attention, his presence commanded it.
Feng Yusheng. The second young master of Lianfeng Sect. Younger brother to the heir, and a figure whispered about across cultivation circles—not for his status, but for having formed his Golden Core long before most cultivators his age had touched Foundation Establishment.
At the host's table, Feng Tingshen rose with a dramatic sigh and a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And here I thought seclusion had claimed you forever," he called out. "I nearly submitted your name to the ancestors myself."
Feng Yusheng paused, raising a brow. "You'd have done it just to take my room."
"And my peace," Feng Tingshen added with a chuckle.
To the quiet surprise of those watching, Feng Tingshen stepped forward and—without warning—drew his younger brother into a brief, one-armed embrace. Feng Yusheng stiffened slightly at first, then, with what looked like instinct, returned the gesture for a heartbeat before stepping back.
The murmurs in the hall began again, soft and curious.
By the Longling Pavilion table, Wei Yehan tilted his head. "That's the second young master?" he asked, mouth half-full of lotus bun. "He looks too... indifferent."
"Mn," said Ling Zheming, his gaze calm, neither impressed nor dismissive. "Don't underestimate him."
As if on cue, Feng Yusheng's gaze swept across the hall, eyes pausing briefly on the sect masters and favored disciples. Then, naturally, they passed over Ling Zheming—and paused a fraction longer on the young man beside him.
Wei Yehan, midway through chewing, blinked as their eyes met. The look wasn't long. Barely a moment, really. But something unreadable lingered in the space between them.
Then it passed. Feng Yusheng turned away and headed to the host table where a Lianfeng elder gestured for him.
Wei Yehan swallowed. "...Why did he look at me like that?"
Ling Zheming said nothing.
Before Wei Yehan could press further, Feng Tingshen strolled over with his usual theatrical flair, fan snapping open between his fingers.
He strolled casually toward the Longling Pavilion table, folding his arms and flashing a grin at Ling Zheming. "So," he said, "we're still pretending your junior is impressive, while mine's out here forming golden cores without knowing what element he wants?"
Ling Zheming remained silent, sipping his tea.
Wei Yehan, lips still slightly dusted with powdered lotus, gave Feng Tingshen a long look. "He doesn't have an element yet? That explains the personality void."
Feng Tingshen blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. "You're surprisingly sharp-tongued for someone still swordless."
Wei Yehan smiled sweetly. "You're surprisingly talkative for someone still irrelevant."
Feng Tingshen smirked. "Careful. You're talking to a man whose younger brother is the talk of the banquet. I'd be nervous, if I were you."
Wei Yehan smiled sweetly. "Oh, I am. About your manners."
Feng Tingshen's brows lifted in theatrical offense, and he opened his mouth—only for Ling Zheming to speak, voice mild but firm.
"Tingshen," he said, without looking up. "Return to your table."
Feng Tingshen gave a dramatic sigh, bowing with one hand over his heart. "As always, Young master Ling—your hospitality overwhelms me."
He retreated, his smile fading from his lips before returning back.
Behind him, the tension at the table faded like steam over tea.
Wei Yehan leaned sideways, voice low. "He really never gets tired of talking, does he?"
Ling Zheming picked up his cup again, unbothered. "Only when someone listens."
Wei Yehan popped the rest of the lotus bun into his mouth and muttered, "I liked him better when he was pretending to be dead."
Ling Zheming, quietly, refilled Wei Yehan's cup.
From the head table, the Lianfeng Sect elder smiled faintly as he observed the interplay between disciples. The Spirit Assessment Ceremony would begin in just two days, but tonight… tonight was for show.
For mingling.
For measuring.
And for drawing the lines no one would admit were being drawn.
---