The heavy, lacquered doors of the Alchemy Pavilion splintered inward with a resounding crack, torn from their iron hinges. A squad of robed initiates poured into the room, led by a tall, gaunt man with a face like carved granite. His tunic, woven with the crimson thread of an inquisitor, marked him as one of Elder Ku’s direct enforcers. “Gongsun Yang,” the inquisitor barked, devoid of warmth. “Elder Ku demands your presence. Now.” Su Wanyan stepped forward, placing herself between Baili Chen and the advancing disciples. Her usual composure had a new, brittle edge. “This is an outrage! The heir is resting. Such an inspection requires formal summons and ample notice.” “Notice has been served,” the man scoffed, his gaze sweeping over the shattered door. “And given the nature of the recent Blood Ring incident, Elder Ku deems immediate action necessary. Step aside, Alchemist Su, or face charges of obstruction.” Baili Chen laid a hand on Su Wanyan’s arm. Her skin felt cool beneath his touch. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could discern the underlying tension. “I’ll go.” He met the inquisitor's hardened stare, keeping his features placid. There was no escaping this. He walked past Su Wanyan, whose dark eyes tracked his passage with sharp calculation. Yaoluo’s voice, a serpent’s hiss, slithered through his mind. *They suspect. Good. Let them come.* They escorted him down winding corridors of dark slate, the silence of the night broken only by the rhythmic scuff of their boots. The path descended into the sect’s core, toward an inner vault few novices ever saw: the Crypt of Eternal Lanterns. The air grew stale, thick with dried pine pitch and prickling ether. They entered a vast, circular crypt, its walls lined with niches, each holding a flickering lantern. The pale oil fire cast long, dancing shadows across the flagstones. In the center, beneath a towering arch of petrified bone, stood Elder Ku. His back was turned, spine bent under black brocade, hands clasped behind him. “You arrive,” Elder Ku stated, his voice raspy, turning slowly to face Baili Chen. His eyes, sunken and sharp, fixed on him. “Gongsun Yang. Or should I say… imposter?” Baili Chen’s muscles tensed. “I am Gongsun Yang. You accuse me without proof, Elder.” “Proof?” Elder Ku’s thin lips curled into a sneer. He gestured to a pedestal before him. Resting upon it was a shallow, circular mirror, perhaps a foot in diameter, its surface a swirling vortex of deep, dark obsidian. It emitted a faint, unsettling hum, and the air around it shimmered. “This is the Soul-Searching Glass of the Cangming Elders. It reflects the truth of one’s inner essence, revealing any corruption, any unhallowed taint hidden within the soul. The true Gongsun Yang possessed a pure, unblemished root. Let us see what you possess.” Elder Ku’s gaze remained unwavering. “Place your hand upon it.” Baili Chen hesitated. Yaoluo’s presence within his dantian thrummed, hungry and dangerous. This glass could expose everything: the ruined channels, the forbidden artifact he harbored. Yet to refuse was to admit guilt, inviting immediate execution. He walked forward, jaw stiff. His palm hovered over the obsidian disk, which gave off a low, heatless vibration. He met Elder Ku’s stare, then lowered his hand, pressing his skin flat against the dark sheen. A blinding flash erupted from the glass. It reflected neither Baili Chen’s silhouette nor the clear aura expected of a noble scion. Instead, a chaotic torrent of images burst from its depths, swirling in the air like oily soot. It was not his past; it was a projection of someone else’s private sins. The hall filled with the wails of unseen victims, the stench of roasted tallow, and the clatter of silver bullion. Elder Ku’s face, decades younger and contorted in triumph, flashed amidst the smoke. He stood over a slumped figure, steel dripping at his side, then offered a blood-stained talisman to a cloaked, shadowy phantom. A child wept, clutching a torn doll as fire engulfed a thatched hamlet. The images flickered in rapid succession: betrayal, severed throats, pacts sealed in burial mounds. Elder Ku gasped, a strangled sound, stumbling back. His eyes, wide with terror, were fixed on the swirling phantasmagoria. The initiates, stunned, recoiled against the masonry, some covering their ears as phantom shrieks tore through the vault. Pressure spiked until the masonry trembled. Yaoluo’s laughter, sharp and mocking, rattled in Baili Chen’s skull. *Fool. Did they think only *your* secrets would wake the glass?* The glass, overwhelmed by the surge of unearthed rot, groaned. Fissures split across the black disc, glowing sulfur-yellow, before detonating into a spray of razor fragments. The blast hurled Baili Chen back, slamming him into a granite pillar and jarring his fractured pathways. “What… what was that?” a disciple stammered, his face pale. Elder Ku scrambled upright, his wrinkled face purple with fury, and pointed a trembling finger at Baili Chen. “Witchcraft… he harbors a vile fiend! It twisted *my* memories, *my* past… This is proof! Bind him! Rip out his soul—” Before he could finish, the heavy bone doors swung open on iron pivots. Framed in the threshold, her emerald silks shimmering under the lantern light, stood Song Jiao. Behind her arrayed senior retainers and armed guards bearing the Song crest. “What is the meaning of this?” Song Jiao’s voice cut through the ringing air. She swept into the room, her gaze finding Baili Chen where he leaned against the pillar, blood trickling from his temple. “Elder Ku, this harassment of my betrothed is intolerable. My family was informed of your midnight trial. It looks remarkably like an attempt to sabotage an alliance.” Elder Ku’s furious expression faltered. The Song clan’s political weight was immense, and their accusation, though misplaced, carried severe implications. “Lady Song? This whelp… this imposter… he harbors an unholy fiend!” Song Jiao arched a penciled brow, lips curling with pure noble disdain. “A fiend that shattered your judging glass? Or did it lay bare filth you meant to keep buried, Elder Ku? Gongsun Yang proved himself in the Blood Ring before hundreds of witnesses. I will not tolerate slander against him.” She walked to Baili Chen’s side, resting a silk-draped wrist on his sleeve. “My elders will examine every record of this night. Another step out of line, and the Song clan will demand your formal censure.” A bitter amusement settled in Baili Chen's gut. The woman who had crippled him and thrown his corpse to the dogs was now standing between him and the execution pyre, blind to the wolf behind the dead youth's face. Just then, another figure pushed through Song Jiao’s retinue. Baili Ming, his face flushed with a mixture of excitement and spite, stepped forward, a grand, sheathed sword strapped to his back. His eyes, however, were fixed on Baili Chen. “Elder Ku, Song Jiao, you needn’t trouble yourselves with this trivial matter any longer,” Baili Ming declared, his voice ringing with self-importance. “I bring news that eclipses this wretched sideshow. I, Baili Ming, will represent our clan in the upcoming Grand Tournament. And I take the field bearing… the Baili Bloodstone Sword!” Baili Chen remained motionless, knuckles turning white against his torn robes. The Baili Bloodstone Sword. The heirloom forged from meteoric ore—looted directly from his dead father’s tomb.

Mirror of Sins