The doors of the council hall closed behind them, the wooden pivots giving a faint scrape. Bai Zhi stood before the seat of honor, her gaze sweeping across the seats on either side. The elders' seats were empty, with several senior disciples attending in their stead. Every one of them sat ramrod straight, their eyes like nails driven into flesh.
Chen Wuya sat at the far end of a side row, the hem of his coarse cloth robe brushing the green bricks. One elbow rested casually on his knee. He looked at no one, merely lowering his head to rub the edge of a patch on the pack at his waist, as though counting its stitches.
A disciple with gray sleeve bands rose to his feet, his voice steady. "Senior Sister Bai returned to the mountain only yesterday and has yet to rest, yet today you have called a council meeting. For what purpose?"
"For the sect's future." Bai Zhi spoke softly, but every word rang clear. "I intend to implement three changes. First, revise the teaching order of the Qingfeng Thirteen Forms: teach methods of adaptation before explaining the fundamentals. Second, introduce the essential arts of three other sects as supplementary courses. Third, establish a practical combat hall, where monthly bouts shall place no restrictions on techniques."
Before her words had faded, someone sprang to his feet. "Absurd! How can the order of our ancestral sword art be altered at will? You are shaking the very foundation!"
"Exactly!" another chimed in. "The martial arts of other sects are mixed and impure. If they are permitted into our halls, what will remain of Qingfeng's century-old good name?"
"No restrictions on techniques in combat?" A third gave a cold laugh. "How is that any different from a street brawl?"
Questions surged