In Ash Kiln Village, it was time to light the morning cooking fires again.
Cooking smoke curled into the air. Beside an earthen wall, several children crouched before the Trial Stele, carefully cradling wisps of weak flame in their palms. Some flames were no larger than beans, wavering unsteadily; others had grown to the size of fists and burned steadily. The old village physician walked past with his cane, smiling as he patted a child's head. "Steady your heart, and your flame will steady too. Don't be afraid. Anyone can cultivate now. No one will call you 'worthless meridians' anymore."
The child nodded hard, and his flame instantly grew an inch, casting light into his eyes.
On the Trial Stele, the words "Mortal flames can burn; those with resolve can become emperors" were no longer mere carved marks. Countless flame patterns formed them naturally, flowing day and night like breathing, like a heartbeat. At the foot of the stele, the Flame Blade remained embedded in the ground. Its blade was crimson-gold, but its killing intent was gone, leaving only a gentle warmth, as though it were standing guard.
Lin Yan sat beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance, wearing a cloth robe washed pale and holding a bowl of coarse tea. He watched the children practice their flames, the women carry water and cook, and the elders hum little tunes on the field ridges.
He had withdrawn from the world.
Since that battle, he had never left the village. He claimed no imperial title, founded no sect, and took no disciples. He simply guarded this patch of land and this gate.
"Senior Lin," a youth approached timidly. "Could I... ask you a question?"
Lin Yan looked up and smiled. "Go ahead."
"Everyone says you cleaved the old world