The instant the baby opened his eyes, Chen Wuya's fingers were still resting against the edge of the swaddling cloth. Those eyes were very dark, like night newly fallen—without light, yet reflecting a person's silhouette. He lowered his head to look, and his heartbeat missed a beat.
No one spoke outside. Zhao Tianying stood beneath the stone steps, one hand on his halberd's shaft, his gaze fixed on the sliver of lamplight spilling through the door crack. Han Tianba leaned against a corridor pillar with his spear in his arms, his breathing heavy, but he did not move. Mo Feng had put away his mechanism mirror and merely stared at the door, his fingertips still trembling.
The door opened.
Chen Wuya emerged with the child in his arms. His steps were somewhat unsteady, his legs seemingly unable to support his body, yet his back remained straight. The wind swept across the loose strands over his brow, revealing that old scar. He did not look at anyone. First, he lowered his eyes to glance at the infant in his arms.
The child closed his eyes, then opened them again.
Zhao Tianying broke into a grin, his voice abruptly rising. "Good! Those eyes have spirit!"
That shout shattered the silence. Shadows stirred all around them; disciples from every sect, elders, and guild leaders all lifted their heads. Someone edged half a step forward, then stopped. No one dared reach out.
Han Tianba slammed his spear against the ground, making the bluestone slabs ring. He strode forward, dropped to one knee, and pressed a hand against the spear shaft. "Today, the Greenwood Alliance recognizes this child as my godson! I, Han Tianba, swear here—if this child ever calls upon me, I will answer even unto death!"
When his words fell, he looked up