The wind over the stone terrace suddenly stilled. Fallen leaves hung suspended in midair for a moment before drifting slowly down. The envoy, clutching his wooden case, retreated to the corner of the side courtyard's corridor. His steps paused, yet he did not leave. Instead, he turned and walked back to the foot of the stone stairs, his movements stiff as though someone had shoved him from behind.
"I'll ask one more time." His voice was lower than before, but colder. "Will the Qingfeng Sword Sect accept the decree or not?"
Chen Wuya stood where he was, the lingering warmth of the jade token still on his fingertips. That heat no longer burned; it had sunk into his meridians like a brook flowing upstream, silently winding through his limbs and bones. He looked neither at Bai Zhi nor at the surrounding disciples, only at the document the envoy had unfurled again—the Ministry of War's great seal starkly stamped upon it, with a vermilion imperial notation and secret signature added at the edges.
"If you refuse it, you defy orders." The envoy raised the document overhead. "The central government has resolved that the allied forces shall henceforth fall under the Ministry of War's command. Military merits will be reassessed, and all deployments will follow orders. This is not a discussion. It is an imperial decree."
Chen Wuya suddenly smiled. It was neither mockery nor anger, but a smile of near-relief. He stepped forward, his boot crushing a dead leaf.
"You say this is an imperial decree?" His voice was not loud, yet it carried a great distance. "Then let me ask you: are there rules to martial cultivation?"
The envoy frowned. "You are mere wilderness rabble. What do you know of martial arts?"
"Don't be so quick to deny it." Chen