The weight of Archmage Solan's words settled on Evan like a physical burden. Mastery of self was the key to mastering his power. Yet, the discord sown by Luna's accusations and the looming shadow over Yale Leaf churned within him, a constant threat to the inner peace he desperately needed. The Institute, with its labyrinthine politics and Oliviera's simmering hostility, offered no sanctuary. He needed answers, not just for Luna's vendetta, but for the stability of his own heart and the control of the Sovereign's power resonating within him.
The Nine Heavens Jade Pendant felt heavy in its case as Evan walked the polished corridors back towards the Annex. Students in their colorful robes gave him a wide berth, whispers trailing in his wake – whispers about the Founder Sigils, the shattered dummy, the strange boy from the south and his terrifying guardian. He felt like an exhibit, a curiosity, a potential bomb.
Zander fell into step beside him as he neared the quieter Annex wing, his silent presence a grounding force. "The elder's shadow darkens your song," Zander rumbled, his keen perception cutting through Evan's turmoil. "Silence feeds the doubt."
"I know," Evan sighed, pushing open the door to his small room. "But how do I find the truth from here? Arcadia is weeks away. Grandfather... Yale Leaf... he wouldn't lie in a letter. And what if..." He couldn't voice the fear that Luna might be right. "What if the truth is something I can't bear?"
Zander placed a large hand on the reclaimed Sovereign's case. "The instrument sings truth. Play. Seek resonance... not just in power, but in memory. In the echoes he left within you."
Evan looked at the guqin. Play? Seek resonance in memory? Could the Innocent Heart Core, attuned to fundamental harmonies, help him discern the truth about Yale Leaf through the echoes of their shared past? It felt like grasping at straws, but it was the only thread he had.
He set up the Nine Heavens Jade Pendant, its familiar wood a comfort under his fingers. He closed his eyes, not seeking to channel power, but seeking the feeling of Yale Leaf. He recalled gruff lessons in the bamboo grove: "Footwork, boy! Light as falling leaf, swift as striking snake!" He recalled the rare warmth in the old warrior's eyes after Evan mastered a complex evasion sequence. He recalled the fierce, protective rage when bandits threatened a village elder – a rage directed at injustice, not indiscriminate slaughter.
He began to play. Not a formal piece, but a spontaneous melody woven from these fragments of memory. The notes were hesitant at first, searching. He poured his confusion, his love, his fear, his desperate need for truth into the music. The Innocent Heart Core hummed, amplifying the emotional resonance, seeking patterns, seeking the fundamental frequency of the man he called grandfather.
The music flowed, a tapestry of stern discipline, gruff affection, fierce protectiveness, and an underlying, unyielding sense of honor – a code as rigid as bamboo, demanding loyalty to kin and defense of the weak. Evan felt it resonate deep within his core. It felt true. It felt like the Yale Leaf he knew.
But then, a discordant note. A memory surfaced, unbidden: Yale Leaf, years ago, staring into the embers of a fire, his face etched with a profound, weary sorrow Evan hadn't understood then. "Some debts," the old man had muttered, almost to himself, "can never be repaid. Some stains never wash clean." The memory carried a resonance of deep regret, of a burden carried in silence.
The melody faltered. Doubt surged. Was this the regret Luna spoke of? The stain of the Verdant Vale? The Innocent Heart Core vibrated with the dissonance, unable to reconcile the image of the honorable protector with the shadow of hidden atrocity. The song collapsed into silence.
Evan slumped forward, resting his forehead on the cool wood of the zither. Frustration warred with despair. The Heart Core could sense the truth in the memories, but it couldn't pierce the veil of what was hidden, what was deliberately unspoken. It resonated with the man Yale Leaf was now, and the man he had been in Evan's life, but the path to the man he might have been twenty years ago remained shrouded.
He needed context. He needed history. He needed knowledge the Institute might possess.
"Zander," Evan said, lifting his head, a new resolve hardening in his eyes. "I need the Library. The Archives. Anything on the Whispering Jade Clan. The Verdant Vale. Bamboo Sect history... twenty years ago."
Zander nodded. "Knowledge is a weapon. Sharpen it."
The Grand Athenaeum of the Milan Institute was a city of knowledge unto itself. Towering shelves carved from living crystal stretched towards a vaulted ceiling depicting constellations that shifted with the time of day. Ladders on silent enchantments glided along the stacks. Robed librarians moved with quiet efficiency, their fingers tracing glowing catalog runes in the air. The air hummed with the accumulated wisdom of millennia.
Evan, feeling small and insignificant amidst the vastness, approached a central information desk manned by an elderly librarian whose spectacles perched precariously on his nose.
"I seek historical records," Evan stated, trying to sound confident. "Regarding the Whispering Jade Clan of the Verdant Vale. And the Bamboo Sect's activities approximately twenty years ago."
The librarian peered at him over his spectacles. "Whispering Jade Clan? Verdant Vale?" He tapped a crystal slate, frowning. "Obscure references. Borderlands history. Classified as... Restricted Regional Anthropology, Level 3." He looked up, his gaze sharpening. "Your authorization, Apprentice?"
Evan's heart sank. Restricted? "I... I don't have specific authorization. But it's for academic research related to my cultivation path—"
"Restricted means restricted, young man," the librarian said firmly, though not unkindly. "Level 3 requires a Master Archivist's approval or Council dispensation. Without proper credentials, access is denied." He gestured towards the towering public sections. "General Bamboo Sect histories are available in Section Emerald, Row 42."
General histories wouldn't suffice. Evan needed the specifics, the accounts Luna claimed existed. He wandered into the vast public stacks, Zander a silent, intimidating shadow beside him, drawing curious and wary glances. He found Section Emerald and pulled several heavy tomes on the Bamboo Sect. They spoke of its founding principles – agility, evasion, defense of the vulnerable. They detailed famous techniques, renowned Elders... but Yale Leaf was mentioned only in passing as a current Elder. There was nothing about the Verdant Vale. Nothing about the Whispering Jade Clan. The official narrative was one of disciplined neutrality and regional guardianship.
Frustration gnawed at him. The truth was locked away, deemed too sensitive for apprentice eyes. Was it to protect reputations? To hide dark deeds? The lack of accessible information felt like another layer of the shadow Luna had cast.
As he reshelved a tome, his hand brushed against an older, less ornate volume tucked away at the end of the row. Its binding was cracked leather, its title faded: "Unverified Accounts: Borderland Skirmishes and Sect Conflicts (Circa Imperial Cycle 982-987)". Imperial Cycle 985 was roughly twenty years ago.
Heart pounding, Evan pulled it out. It wasn't an official Institute record; it seemed like a compilation of traveler's tales, merchant logs, and hearsay. Flipping through the brittle pages, his eyes scanned entries about bandit raids, minor sect disputes... and then he found it. A short, chilling paragraph:
"Disturbing reports from the Southern Reaches near the Verdant Vale. Whisper of a purge. The Bamboo Sect, led by Elder Yale Leaf, descended upon the reclusive Whispering Jade Clan settlement. Accusations flew of forbidden spirit pacts and hoarding vital leylines. Conflict erupted. Sources claim the settlement was razed, the Clan scattered or destroyed. Bamboo Sect claims it was a necessary action against corrupt practitioners threatening the region. Independent verification impossible. Casualties unknown."
The words were stark, clinical, yet they confirmed the core of Luna's story: Yale Leaf led an attack. The Whispering Jade Clan was destroyed. The Bamboo Sect claimed justification. Evan's hands trembled. The "necessary action" sounded chillingly like the rationale Luna had described. The "corrupt practitioners" could easily be the "forbidden knowledge" she denied.
Before he could process it further, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the quiet library air.
"Scavenging in the dustbins of history, little thief? Looking for excuses for your butcher grandfather?"
Luna stood a few shelves away, leaning against a crystal column, her arms crossed. She wore simple grey apprentice robes now, stripped of her previous insignia, her expression a mix of bitter amusement and lingering fury. A Disciplinary Custodian, a stern-faced woman in grey and white robes, stood watchfully nearby.
Evan closed the book with a snap, his heart hammering against his ribs. "It happened," he stated, his voice tight. "The attack. The destruction. He led it."
Luna's smirk was devoid of humor. "Told you. The official records are scrubbed cleaner than Oliviera's conscience, but the echoes remain if you know where to listen." She pushed off the column, her green eyes blazing. "Now you know the bare bones. The truth is in the screams of the dying, in the smell of burning jadewood and blood. The truth is that Yale Leaf is a murderer, and your precious Bamboo Sect are hypocrites bathing in stolen power."
The Custodian stepped forward. "Apprentice Thorne, you are permitted library access for assigned remediation work only. Engaging other students is prohibited. Return to your section."
Luna held Evan's gaze for a moment longer, the challenge burning in her eyes. "The deal stands, Evan Young. Help me bring him down. Or live with the blood on your hands." She turned and walked away, the Custodian following closely.
Evan stood frozen, the old book heavy in his hands. The damning paragraph echoed in his mind, intertwining with Luna's venom and the dissonant memory of Yale Leaf's regret. The foundation of his world wasn't just cracked; it felt shattered. The honorable grandfather, the noble Sect... the image was irrevocably tarnished.
Zander's hand landed on his shoulder, a solid anchor. "One note does not define the song," he rumbled quietly. "The elder's regret... it resonates. Seek the why before passing judgment."
Evan looked up at Zander, then down at the faded book. The official silence, the damning footnote, Luna's pain, Yale Leaf's hidden sorrow – they were all fragments of a discordant melody. He needed the full score. He needed to hear Yale Leaf's side, not from a distance, but face to face. The path to mastering his power, to finding inner peace, now led inexorably back to Arcadia. Back to the Emerald Canopy. Back to a confrontation he could no longer avoid.
The Sovereign of Strings had reclaimed his instrument. Now, he needed to reclaim his past.