The sect was never truly silent.
Even before dawn, footsteps echoed across the white stone paths, distant bells rang from the alchemy towers, and birds circled the bamboo groves near the outer cliffs. But to Yao Yi, all of it felt... muted.
He walked through the Inner Sect courtyard, robes fluttering in the morning breeze. Disciples nodded in greeting, some with polite deference, others with barely hidden wariness. Conversations paused as he passed. Eyes lingered too long.
He was used to being invisible.
Now, he was something else.
His hand brushed the mirror at his side. It hadn't pulsed since the night on the island. But it didn't feel dormant. Only…watchful.
He made his way to the Scripture Pavilion.
Inside, the air was heavy with dust and time. Shelves stretched higher than most could reach, filled with bamboo scrolls, jade tablets, and forbidden records sealed in black wax.
An old man waited at the table by the rear alcove.
He wore no Sect insignia, only plain robes of soft brown, and a jade ring that shimmered with layered seals.
"Disciple Yao," the man said, without looking up. "Sit."
Yao Yi obeyed. He recognized the man—Elder Jiu Tan, master of the Records Division. Few disciples saw him more than once in their lives.
"I heard," the elder said softly, "you had a conversation with the Mirror."
Yao Yi froze.
"I didn't ask what it said," Jiu Tan continued, finally raising his eyes. "Only what you became after."
Yao Yi met his gaze. "I'm still trying to answer that myself."
Jiu Tan nodded slowly.
"Good."
He leaned forward.
"Do you know why mirrors are forbidden in the Core Sect?"
"No."
"Because they don't reflect. They remember."
Yao Yi blinked.
Jiu Tan tapped the table.
"Three hundred years ago, there was a disciple like you. Gifted. Touched by a mirror. He dreamed of power, of justice, of balance. He died screaming, believing he was the sun reborn."
"And you think I'll become him?"
"No," Jiu Tan said. "You're already something else. But others won't see it that way."
A silence stretched.
Then Jiu Tan stood.
"When the Sect begins to whisper, it's already too late to speak loudly. Be careful who you train with. Be careful where you walk. And if the mirror speaks again—"
He paused, looking at Yao Yi not with suspicion, but with something colder.
Pity.
"—don't listen too long."
Yao Yi returned to his quarters unsettled.
The words wouldn't leave him.
"Mirrors don't reflect. They remember."
That night, during his meditation, he saw something strange.
He saw himself standing beneath the Jade Stairs near the north tower—before he had actually gone there. When he walked there the next morning, a disciple accidentally knocked over a pot of ink, just as in the dream. A bird landed on the railing, precisely as he had seen.
It happened again later that afternoon.
A duel. A name whispered.
He began writing these things down. At first, he believed they were coincidences.
Then he dreamed of someone bleeding in the Hall of Bells.
And the next day, a disciple—Xue Han—was found there, unconscious, fingers sliced open by shattered glass.
He said he had been hearing voices.
Yao Yi stopped meditating after that.
On the fourth night, Ling Yue came to him.
"You need to see something," she said.
He followed her through a hidden path in the cliffs, past the waterfall caves and into a sealed passage choked with vines and stone roots. She used a token to open it—Silvermoon's, he guessed.
It led to a buried shrine.
The walls were lined with mirrors.
Each one was different—some cracked, some blackened, others too clear. None reflected true.
"What is this place?" he whispered.
"The Old Mirror Hall," Ling Yue replied. "It predates the Inner Sect. This was where the first mirror-bearers trained… before the Sect rewrote their history."
She knelt before a round obsidian mirror set into a pillar of white ash wood.
"When the Sect grew afraid of what mirrors could show, they sealed this place. Silvermoon keeps it from being erased."
Yao Yi stepped closer. He could feel the tug from the mirror—gentle, like a whisper tugging at memory.
He spoke without thinking. "It remembers me."
"It remembers all of us," Ling Yue said quietly. "But it only answers to those who've been chosen."
She reached into her robe and withdrew a scroll. It was wrapped in black silk, and smelled faintly of ash and sandalwood.
"It's a fragment of the Mirror Sutras. Forbidden. Transcribed in secret."
She handed it to him.
"You're not the only one trying to understand what you are, Yao Yi."
Later that week, during the outer disciple sparring trials, Yao Yi was approached in front of a crowd.
Li Zhi.
With a perfect bow and an unreadable smile.
"Senior Brother Yao," he said loudly, "I'd like a friendly match."
Whispers surged like wind through dry grass.
Yao Yi narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
Li Zhi shrugged. "Curiosity. And the Sect is always watching. Don't we owe them a good show?"
Yao Yi glanced at the Elders. Jiu Tan was there. So was Ru Lan. Both silent.
He nodded. "Very well."
The circle was cleared.
Li Zhi fought with a style as slippery as his words—flickering footwork, glancing strikes, small movements that built toward something more dangerous.
Yao Yi fought carefully, trying not to call on the mirror.
But Li Zhi was good. Too good. He pressed harder, mocking, dancing.
"Struggling already?" he whispered mid-clash. "No help from the ghost in your mirror?"
Yao Yi flinched.
Li Zhi struck.
The mirror pulsed at Yao Yi's waist.
And time—shifted.
Yao Yi saw the blade coming before it moved.
He turned, grabbed Li Zhi's wrist, and shattered his stance with one clean blow to the chest.
Li Zhi flew back ten paces, blood spraying from his mouth.
Gasps erupted.
Yao Yi stood still, heart hammering.
He had not used a technique. Only instinct.
And yet—he had known what was coming.
The mirror at his waist glowed faintly, silver lines snaking through its edges.
From the crowd, Jiu Tan did not speak. But he looked away, as if tired.
Li Zhi rose slowly, smiling despite the blood on his lips.
"Very impressive," he said. "You'll make history… one way or another."
That night, the Elders convened.
Not in the main hall, but in the Veiled Lantern Room, deep beneath the Jade Archive.
Twelve flames burned above twelve sealed mirrors.
Elder Silvermoon stood before them, silent.
Jiu Tan spoke first. "The boy has awakened reflexive precognition."
"Untrained," said Elder Ru Lan. "Unstable. And growing."
Another spoke—Elder Mu Xiang, head of the Outer Sect. "Then perhaps it's time to… isolate him."
Silvermoon's voice was quiet.
"He is still himself."
"For how long?"
Silence.
Silvermoon touched the mirror before him.
It shimmered.
"Until he ceases to bleed," he said at last, "he is still Yao Yi."
That night, Yao Yi dreamed again.
But this time, he was not himself.
He stood in red robes, a spear in his hand.
People knelt before him.
A city burned behind him.
Someone screamed his name—not in fear, but in praise.
And then he raised his spear—
—and thrust it through Ling Yue's heart.
He woke, gasping.
His hand hurt.
He looked down.
His fingers were stained with blood.
Not dream-blood.
Real.
And the mirror beside him was warm.