The sun had begun its slow descent toward the western ridges. It cast long, golden shadows across the meadow of the Grand Defile.
On the white pine frame stand table, the golden spirit-silk scroll lay smooth and radiant, its edges held steady by green jade weights. Su Ling’er picked up a slender calligraphy brush carved from thousand-year purple bamboo with bristles of refined silver-wolf hair. Dipping the tip into the freshly ground red stone pine-soot ink, she turned toward the seated traditional leaders, offering the brush with poised, two-handed courtesy.
“Grand Elder Xuan Ji,” Su Ling’er spoke gently, her amber eyes calm and clear. “Heavenly Sword Manor marched as the leader of the crusade. It’s fitting that you make the first mark.”
Xuan Ji stared at the outstretched brush as if it were forged from white-hot iron.
Slowly, his knees trembling beneath his mud-stained trousers, the ancient elder pushed himself up from the cedar bench. His joints groaned, stiff from two hundred years of piled up pill toxins and the lingering shock of the sky-trial. He stepped forward to the table, his bloodshot eyes darting toward Lin Xiao.
Lin Xiao was currently leaning back in his wicker chair, popping another roasted chestnut into his mouth, smiling encouragingly at the old fighter.
