Pa Ti Cia's wild accusation about Jia Wei Xin's ties to demons stirred more than whispers—it triggered something in Liu Mo Fei's mind, something that had been nagging him since the Grand Contest. As his eyes scanned the disciples standing in silent solidarity behind Jia Wei Xin, his gaze landed on one particular figure—Chang Dian.
Too calm. Too observant. Too perfectly placed.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
Zhang Tian was already here. Inside the sect. Disguised.
A rush of heat surged through Liu Mo Fei's chest. Rage. Shock. And—beneath it all—reluctant gratitude. The man he should have hunted down had been right here under his nose, wearing the face of a disciple. But the very same man had saved Jia Wei Xin. Had protected her. That truth—infuriating and undeniable—burned through him.
"I will deal with him later," Liu Mo Fei murmured under his breath, jaw clenched.
As if on cue, the disguised Zhang Tian—still wearing the name and face of Chang Dian—lifted his head. Their eyes met. A beat of silence stretched between them like drawn blades.
He knows.
I know.
Neither moved. Neither spoke. Not yet.
There were more urgent matters. Jia Wei Xin came first.
---
Liu Mo Fei turned back to the court. He stood slowly, the rustling of his robes the only sound in the stillness. The tension that had built over hours—days, even—crackled in the air. It was time.
"The committee and I have come to a decision," he announced, his voice echoing through the chamber with controlled force. "Let it be known to all that the sect will no longer tolerate the abuse of power masked as duty, nor cruelty cloaked in righteousness."
He looked directly at Pa Ti Cia, his gaze like frost.
"Pa Ti Cia, your actions have not only harmed individuals. You have tarnished the spirit of this sect. You are hereby stripped of your position. Your cultivation will be sealed. You are to be banished. Effective immediately."
Pa Ti Cia's face contorted. "You fools!" she screamed. "I did what no one else dared! I kept this place in order!"
---
Her fury exploded into motion.
She lunged—not at Liu Mo Fei, but straight at Jia Wei Xin.
From beneath her sleeve, she drew a concealed artifact—small, dark, etched with crimson runes that pulsed with unstable spiritual force. The artifact flared to life, vibrating violently with forbidden energy.
A soul-severing device. Rare. Illegal. Designed to permanently cripple a cultivator's connection to their meridians.
"You bitch!" she shrieked, eyes wild. "I won't let you win!"
Time slowed.
Liu Mo Fei's heart dropped. A cold spike of panic shot through him. Not again. Not in front of everyone. Not her.
"JIA WEI XIN!" he shouted, already moving.
From the side, Chang Dian's eyes went wide—panic flashing across his face for the first time. He surged forward on instinct, no longer caring about appearances. No demonic qi, no forbidden power—just pure, natural speed and protective instinct.
The artifact surged toward Jia Wei Xin's chest.
But Jia Wei Xin was already moving. Her instincts, honed in battles far beyond the court's marble floor, kicked in. She sidestepped in a blur of motion, her robes barely fluttering in the wake of the dodge.
In the same breath—
Two figures closed in.
Liu Mo Fei's hand lashed out, golden spiritual energy streaking through the air like a whip, striking the artifact mid-course.
Chang Dian dove from the other side, grabbing Pa Ti Cia's wrist and twisting it sharply to redirect the strike—not with power, but with sheer, practiced precision.
The artifact veered.
It spun violently in the air—energy unstable, its runes flickering wildly—before its momentum, now uncontrollably redirected, flung it straight back toward its origin.
Toward Pa Ti Cia.
There wasn't even time to scream.
The artifact detonated at her chest.
A raw, unstable burst of spiritual energy erupted in every direction. The backlash slammed into Pa Ti Cia's own body. Her scream pierced the air, a sound more animal than human.
Her meridians tore from the inside. Her core shattered. Her cultivation—her very essence—was annihilated in an instant.
She collapsed, twitching on the floor.
Her spirit was still intact. But the cultivator in her—the years of mastery, of pride, of ambition—was gone. Crushed by her own hand.
Jia Wei Xin stared down at her, chest rising and falling. There was no triumph in her gaze. Only silence.
She turned—just slightly—and met Liu Mo Fei's eyes. His hand was still trembling. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Then her gaze slid to Chang Dian. He was already stepping back, jaw tight, breath unsteady.
Whatever else lay between them—today, they had protected her.
Together.
---
Liu Mo Fei didn't move until the silence returned. He glanced at the guards standing at the edge of the court.
"Remove her," he ordered.
Two sect enforcers stepped forward. They carefully lifted Pa Ti Cia's limp, twitching form—now devoid of the pride she once carried—and carried her out of the hall in complete silence. The heavy doors closed behind them with a dull echo.
Then he turned his attention to the other figure seated in quiet tension.
"Elder Hai," he said, voice like steel wrapped in silk. "Though there is no direct evidence linking you to these abuses, you were her superior. You allowed this rot to fester. For that, this court finds your leadership compromised. You are hereby removed from your advisory role. Elder Pang shall assume your responsibilities."
Elder Hai's eyes flashed. He did not protest. But he didn't bow either. Instead, he looked at Pa Ti Cia, her broken form still trembling on the floor—and something in his expression finally cracked.
He had gambled with another's cruelty. And lost.
---
Liu Mo Fei exhaled slowly. Then turned to the crowd—disciples and elders alike.
"Today we uncovered not just corruption, but the consequence of silence. We saw what happens when order is enforced without compassion. When suffering is ignored. When justice is delayed."
He looked at Jia Wei Xin.
"And I must confess, I failed you."
The hall was utterly still.
"I believed that protecting the sect meant strengthening our walls. Growing our name. But I neglected what mattered most—your well-being. Your dignity. The soul of our sect."
He drew in a breath and stood taller.
"From this day forward, that changes."
His voice rang louder now, with conviction.
"All disciples, regardless of origin or ranking, will have equal access to training resources and opportunities. An anonymous reporting system will be established so that no voice can be silenced again. And we will build a mentorship and unity initiative to heal what has been broken—to create not just strength, but family."
Many disciples in the hall exchanged tentative, hopeful glances, a quiet understanding passing between them.
No applause followed.
Only reverence.
Because they knew something real had changed.
The court was dismissed. And outside, the wind stirred gently, carrying the scent of fresh rain—like the first breath of spring after a long, bitter winter.