Two days later, the morning mist had yet to disperse, and the gravel on the mountain path still glistened with dew. Chen Wuya led the horse at the front, the reins loosely draped over his wrist, his pace neither hurried nor slow. Bai Zhi followed half a step behind him, the hem of her moon-white sword robe brushing the grass tips and dampening at the edges.
They had stayed at an inn at the foot of the mountain the previous night, without alerting the sect. As they began climbing that morning, birds were already taking startled flight, while occasional rustling came from the woods—as though someone were deliberately muffling their footsteps.
Just before they reached the mountain gate, Chen Wuya suddenly stopped.
Bai Zhi looked up—more than ten disciples stood in rows along both sides of the stone steps. Their gray sleeves were neatly bound, and the tassels on their swords were all knotted with hemp cord, not a thread out of place. The leader stood with his sword in his arms, his gaze meeting theirs directly. Neither obsequious nor overbearing, he cupped his hands and said, "Welcome back to the mountain, Senior Sister Bai."
Chen Wuya neither moved nor spoke. He merely shifted slightly, placing Bai Zhi half a step behind him.
"Is this a welcome?" he asked, his voice low. "Or a roadblock?"
The disciple's expression changed slightly, but he maintained his manners. "The position of sect master concerns the honor and disgrace of the entire sect. As inner disciples, we naturally must clarify your intentions, to set the record straight."
"Clarify?" Chen Wuya gave a cold laugh. "You lined up here in formation, even dividing yourselves into left and right wings, staggered front to back like you're rehearsing a battle array—and you call this 'coming of your