First Round of Verbal Sparring

This year saw heavy snow. Peak after peak of Wulong Mountain lay wrapped in silver, and a thick layer covered the foot of Ganzhu Ridge as well. It was fresh snow that had fallen last night, crunching beneath every step. Dark clouds still piled up overhead, and the snow that had not yet finished falling continued to drift down slowly. Yet such weather failed to dampen people's enthusiasm for watching, nor did it... A spring breeze brushed through the valley, and the sound of soil loosening was as faint as silkworms nibbling mulberry leaves. The two jade flutes lay quietly beneath the ground, one whole as ever, the other split down the middle, green marks lining the break as though some force had torn it apart by brute strength before quietly sealing it away. Above the soil, wild grass ran rampant, its roots winding around the flutes as if even the earth were listening to the echoes they had never played.

At the same time, in the icy abyss of the Northern Border, a thousand miles away, the wind and snow abruptly ceased. Amid the shattered ruins of the Law Hall, a bottomless fissure stretched across the heart of the earth. Cold air gushed from within, carrying ancient memories and frozen wails. The Law Guardians remained unconscious, their bodies curled like infants as unfamiliar names slipped from their lips—true names that had once been erased, yet now echoed over and over in their dreams. The bloodstained black robe had long since vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a trail of footprints, deep and shallow, leading toward the untouched wilderness of the far north.

Su Yan had indeed escaped, but the price he paid was far heavier than anyone could have imagined.

He had not broken the seal through force,