The council circle filled with the weight of old power. The flags of nine sects snapped in the frozen wind, each color sharp against the gray sky. The pale ring above the horizon had already sunk lower, casting a strange sheen over the sea.
No one wanted to speak first, but silence could not last forever.
Sect Master Liang of Glacier Gate broke it, voice even, measured like ice.
"The Azure Dragon delegation will arrive by mid-afternoon. Do we meet them in open sky or behind walls?"
"Open sky," said Elder Han of Cold River Sect firmly. "If we hide, we look afraid."
"Or cautious," countered Elder Shen of Ice Mirror Pavilion, his tone soft but cutting. "Sometimes the two are the same."
"Fear or caution, they'll read it however they want," muttered Elder Qiu of Frost Tide Abbey, his arms crossed. "The West always finds a way to put us beneath them."
Elder Yun of Cloudveil Spirit Sect tilted her head, watching the pale ring glimmer. "Yet they came with a parley token. No war banners. No flotilla. They know the Accord still binds."
"Accord or not, we should be ready," said Sect Master Mei of Moon Lotus Sect, her voice calm but steely. She glanced briefly at her disciples gathered near the back. Her gaze lingered on Haotian, just for a beat, before moving on. "We'll choose carefully who stands on that Bridge when the time comes."
At this, a low stir rippled through the gathered disciples. The unspoken truth was heavy: the Sea Bridge would not open for all. It never did.
"Twenty," said Sect Master Liang. "That's the number written in the oldest records. No sect may send more than twenty disciples to step onto the Bridge."
"So the question," Elder Han said, "is not whether we'll allow Azure Dragon to join us, but how many of their people we'll have to share with."
"Share?" Elder Qiu scoffed. "You think they'll ask? They'll demand. The West doesn't know the word 'share.'"
"Still," said Elder Yun, her tone calm as silk unraveling, "the sea itself seems to invite them. Perhaps the Bridge no longer belongs only to us."
The silence that followed was jagged, full of pride, full of dread.
Shuyue stood among the Moon Lotus contingent, shoulders stiff. She glanced sideways. Haotian had not spoken, not even looked toward the elders. He stood with arms folded, watching the pale ring over the water as though the council's words were nothing but background noise.
And yet, when her eyes lingered too long, he shifted slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. It was almost as if he knew the decision had already been made, long before any elder opened their mouth.
Sect Master Mei of Moon Lotus finally said what none wanted to admit:"Azure Dragon Sky Sect will stand on the Bridge beside us. That much is certain. The choice left to us is whether we treat them as partners or as enemies. Decide now. Because once we take that first step onto the Bridge, there will be no turning back."
The flags rattled in the wind. The sea answered with a hollow boom as another wave struck the cliffs.
And high above, the pale ring turned once more.
The council had dispersed, but its words lingered like smoke. The Seafrost courtyards were alive with whispers. Disciples who should have been drilling formations or repairing charms found excuses to cluster under eaves and behind walls, their voices hushed, their eyes darting toward the horizon where the pale ring glowed.
Shuyue moved through them, her own thoughts tangled, hearing more than she wished.
"Azure Dragon Sky Sect… do you know what they did to the Southern leagues?" whispered Liu Cheng of Frost Tide, his voice low and eager. "I heard their elder shattered a mountain peak just to seal a beast. A whole peak, gone, with one strike."
"Not a beast," corrected Yan Mei of Cloudveil, her silk sleeves brushing the snow-dusted stone. "It was a sect. They broke the sect, and then the mountain, to make sure no one remembered the name."
"That's just a story," muttered Wei Rong of Glacier Gate, though his frown said he didn't believe himself. "If half the rumors were true, the West would already rule the continent."
"Maybe they do," Yan Mei said softly. "We just don't know it yet."
The group fell silent as a patrol of elders crossed the courtyard. Only when the elders passed out of earshot did the whispers return, sharper now.
"They're not coming to share," Liu Cheng said. "They're coming to take."
"Careful," Wei Rong warned, glancing around. "If their delegation hears you—"
"What? What can they do here?" Liu Cheng shot back. "This is our coast. Our Bridge."
"But they came under Accord flag," Yan Mei reminded him. "That binds us too. If we break it first…" She let the words trail off, but the meaning hung heavy.
At the edge of the courtyard, Jun Tao of Moon Lotus leaned toward Shuyue. "Do you believe any of it? The Saint Son rumors?"
Shuyue blinked. "What rumors?"
Jun Tao lowered his voice. "They say Azure Dragon's Saint Son vanished years ago. Some think he's dead. Others say he walks the world in disguise, testing himself. If he's with this delegation…" His eyes widened. "Then maybe he's here."
Shuyue forced her expression still, but her heart gave a sharp, painful beat. Her gaze flicked toward the practice grounds where Haotian stood alone again, spear in hand, silent as stone. He hadn't joined the gossip. He never did. And yet—
"Rumors are just rumors," she said, more firmly than she felt.
Jun Tao smirked. "Until they're not."
Above the courtyard, the wind shifted. The pale ring on the horizon bled faint light into the mist, and the sea gave another low, shuddering hum. The disciples glanced up, some clutching their tokens, others falling silent altogether.
Shadows of the West were already stretching long, even before Azure Dragon set foot on their shores.
By afternoon, the sea had gone still. Too still.
Even the gulls refused to circle. They hung far back on the cliffs, watching as if they knew the tide carried strangers. The pale ring on the horizon had lowered until it almost kissed the water, its glow cutting the surface into two worlds: one bright, one dark.
Drums came first—low, steady, rolling up from beyond the Black Tooth rock. Then sails appeared, pale as bone. A ship glided into view, hull carved with dragons that coiled in and out of the timbers as though alive. The prow's dragon head gleamed in the dim light, eyes set with blue crystal that caught and drank the sea's glow.
The disciples gathered along the terraces gasped.
"That's them," whispered Liu Cheng of Frost Tide, clutching the railing. "Azure Dragon Sky Sect."
"Look at the size of that ship," murmured Yan Mei of Cloudveil, her voice tight. "It's not even moving with the wind—it's just gliding forward on qi."
"Too smooth," said Wei Rong of Glacier Gate, unease creeping into his tone. "No wake. Like the sea itself is carrying them."
On the high dais, the Nine Northern elders stood waiting. Lanterns etched with Accord sigils swung in the wind, casting pale light across the circle.
The Azure Dragon ship halted just beyond the shoals. A single longboat detached, carrying a dozen figures in azure robes stitched with silver scales. Their movements were unhurried, precise, each step onto the pier like choreography. At their head walked a man with silver hair bound in a plain clasp. His presence pressed on the air like a storm before lightning, though he wore no weapon.
Shuyue gripped the hem of her sleeve. The sound of their boots against the pier was soft, but every disciple heard it.
The man stopped at the circle's edge. He swept his gaze across the Nine Northern Sects, his eyes sharp and unflinching. Then, with surprising ease, he inclined his head.
"I am Elder Longji of Azure Dragon Sky Sect," he said. His voice carried without effort, smooth as water over stone. "Our Sect Master remains in the West. He has sent me to walk the Sea Bridge at your side."
The words stirred the circle like thrown pebbles.
"Walk with us?" scoffed Elder Qiu of Frost Tide Abbey, his tone bristling. "Or claim it?"
Elder Longji's expression didn't change. "If we intended to claim it, this ship would not have come alone." His eyes lingered on Elder Qiu for a beat, then swept the rest of the council. "We came with respect. We came to share the opportunity. Not seize it."
Sect Master Liang of Glacier Gate's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. "Then speak plainly. What do you propose?"
"The Bridge is vast," Elder Longji said simply. "It will not open for one sect, nor for one coast. Let each of us send disciples. Let us honor the Accord, and let the Bridge decide the worth of those who walk it."
The Nine exchanged glances. Silence stretched—until Elder Han of Cold River Sect broke it. "You're suggesting a pact."
Elder Longji nodded once. "Yes. A pact of twenty. Twenty disciples from each sect, no more. Fair and equal."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind rattling the lanterns.
"That's…" Elder Yun of Cloudveil allowed herself the faintest smile. "Almost reasonable."
Elder Qiu bristled, but Sect Master Mei of Moon Lotus spoke before he could erupt. Her voice was calm, but edged like a blade hidden in silk."If the West abides by this rule, then so will we."
The lanterns flared brighter as if sealing the words.
The pact was struck.
All around, disciples whispered furiously, their eyes flicking between the proud Western envoys and their own masters. Shuyue caught herself glancing at Haotian, who stood motionless near the back, mask catching the lantern-light. He hadn't said a word. He didn't need to. Somehow, she felt he already knew this pact was inevitable.
The Sea Bridge would not belong to one coast, or even one continent. It would belong to those who survived it.
The air inside the Seafrost circle had grown tight enough to snap. The Azure Dragon envoys stood unbending beneath the lanterns, their azure robes moving just slightly in the wind. Behind them, the sea was a black mirror, the pale ring burning low on the horizon like an eye that refused to blink.
Elder Longji clasped his hands behind his back, waiting as though he had infinite patience. His silver hair caught the lantern light, making him look more statue than man.
It was Elder Han of Cold River who spoke first. "Twenty from each sect. The rule is old. The records confirm it."
"Twenty is too few," said Elder Qiu of Frost Tide Abbey, his voice a rumble. "The Bridge may stretch for days. If we leave too many behind, we lose the chance to secure it."
"Or we lose them all," countered Elder Shen of Ice Mirror Pavilion, his tone quiet but firm. "Send too many, and we're weaker when the tide turns against us."
"You're afraid of shadows," Elder Qiu snapped. "The Bridge holds treasure. Inheritance. Power. We can't let the West outnumber us—"
"They won't," interrupted Sect Master Liang of Glacier Gate, his gaze sharp on the Azure Dragon envoy. "If they send twenty, then so do we. Balance keeps the Accord. Without it, this parley collapses."
Elder Longji inclined his head. "Then we agree. Twenty each. The Bridge decides who rises, not us."
The words rippled through the circle, but no elder spoke against them. Even Frost Tide's bluster fell quiet, smoldering behind clenched teeth.
It was Sect Master Mei of Moon Lotus who sealed the moment. "The pact is set. Twenty disciples per sect. Those who step onto the Bridge carry not just their own names, but the names of their continents. Let no one disgrace them."
Her voice cut like a blade through the frost. The lanterns chimed as the wind shifted, and the pale ring on the horizon glowed brighter, as if acknowledging the pact.
At the back of the gathering, disciples erupted into hushed whispers.
"Only twenty? Out of hundreds of us?" muttered Wei Rong of Glacier Gate, fists tight at his sides.
"It'll be the elites," said Yan Mei of Cloudveil, her voice bitter. "The rest of us never stood a chance."
Liu Cheng of Frost Tide snorted. "If I'm not chosen, I'll swim after the Bridge myself. Better that than watch the West take everything."
Shuyue stood silently, her gaze flicking toward Haotian. He hadn't reacted at all. His mask caught the lamplight, hiding everything beneath. Yet she felt, with a strange certainty, that he already knew he'd be among the twenty.
A prickle of unease touched her spine. The pact was meant to bring balance, but in the eyes of the disciples, it was already carving lines between pride, fear, and desperation.
Elder Longji raised his head. "Then let us prepare. The Bridge opens soon. When it does, hesitation will kill faster than any blade."
His voice carried like the sea itself. And for the first time, some of the disciples wondered if walking the Bridge alongside the West might mean more than rivalry—because already, the West felt like a tide no one could stop.
The day after the pact, the northern courtyard of Seafrost buzzed like a disturbed hive. Lanterns burned through the gray morning, throwing long shadows over the frost-slick stones where the disciples gathered in rows. Elders from each sect stood at the front, their gazes sharp as blades.
This was the choosing.
Sect Master Liang of Glacier Gate spoke first, his voice as cold and precise as the steel his sect forged."Glacier Gate names our twenty. Wu Jian, Meng Xiu, Zhang He…" One by one, he called names like hammer-strikes. The chosen disciples stepped forward, faces hard with pride, while those left behind tightened their jaws, refusing to show disappointment.
Next was Elder Han of Cold River Sect, calm and steady."Cold River names ours. Yan Zhou, Lin Ke, Zhao Ren…" His selections were balanced: fast blades, steady shields, and three formation adepts. The Cold River disciples who weren't called lowered their heads in silence, their discipline unbroken.
Frost Tide's turn came, and Elder Qiu announced with his usual thunder."Frost Tide names the strongest of the strong. Liu Cheng, Gao Min, Sun Yi…" His voice rose with every name, as if daring anyone to challenge his sect's choices. The chosen stomped their boots in unison, loud enough to echo off the cliffs.
Snowpetal Hall, Ice Mirror Pavilion, Cloudveil Spirit, Winter Reed Court, and White Torrent Monastery each named their disciples in turn. Pride flared in some faces, bitterness in others, but no one openly contested. Not yet.
Finally, it was Sect Master Mei of Moon Lotus's turn. She stood with her hands folded inside her sleeves, her gaze sweeping her disciples like a net cast wide and unseen."Moon Lotus names: Shuyue, Jun Tao, Lin Yan…" Her voice carried no pride, no apology—only finality.
When nineteen names had been spoken, she paused. The courtyard held its breath.
Her gaze fell on the masked figure standing at the back."…And Haotian."
The silence cracked.
Several Moon Lotus disciples stiffened. Jun Tao's mouth twisted before he caught himself. A ripple of discontent ran through the others—too quiet to be outright protest, but sharp enough to sting.
Shuyue's pulse jumped. She should have expected it, but hearing his name spoken aloud still struck something deep inside her.
Haotian stepped forward without hesitation. He gave no bow, no salute, only that slight tilt of his head as if acknowledging nothing more than the inevitability of his own presence. His mask gleamed in the lantern-light, hiding whatever expression lay beneath.
From the Glacier Gate line, Wei Rong muttered under his breath, loud enough for others to hear. "A masked man in our twenty? What kind of joke is that?"
"Maybe he's hiding scars," said Yan Mei of Cloudveil, her tone edged with mockery. "Or shame."
Liu Cheng of Frost Tide scoffed. "Scars I could respect. But a mask? What's he afraid of showing?"
Haotian didn't move, didn't even glance their way. His silence only made the whispers grow sharper, like knives drawn behind backs.
Shuyue clenched her fists. She wanted to speak, to snap at them, but Sect Master Mei's eyes swept the courtyard, silencing dissent before it could rise into open words.
"The twenty have been chosen," Sect Master Mei said. "They will carry the honor of their sects onto the Bridge. Any who question them now question us all."
Her voice struck like a blade. None dared answer.
Still, the air hummed with tension, heavy and unspoken. Disciples stared at one another—North against West, rival against rival, and all of them against the vast unknown waiting beyond the pale ring.
And through it all, Haotian stood untouched, the mask turning him into something more than human—or less.
The Twenty were chosen. But unity was a fragile dream, and already cracks were spreading.
The sea groaned like an opening gate.
Mist coiled low over the black shoals, rolling back to reveal the thing no map could predict. A silver span rose from the water, broad enough for twenty men to walk side by side, its surface smooth like crystal and etched with glowing veins of blue light. The Bridge stretched east into endless haze, as though the sea itself had given birth to a road toward another world.
The chosen disciples gathered at its mouth, their sect banners snapping above them in the frozen wind. Elders and sect masters remained behind on the cliffs, watching in grim silence. This was not their place. The Bridge belonged to the young—or the reckless.
Azure Dragon envoys were already there. Twenty disciples in azure robes stood at perfect ease, their boots unmarked by frost, their eyes steady as if the Bridge itself welcomed them. At their head, a youth with a braided silver cord at his waist smirked, arms folded.
"So these are the North's best?" he said, his voice carrying easily. "I thought you'd be taller."
A ripple of anger surged through the Northern ranks. Liu Cheng of Frost Tide stepped forward at once, fists tight. "Say that again."
The Azure Dragon youth's smile widened. "You heard me."
"Don't waste your breath," muttered Wei Rong of Glacier Gate, though his hand had already dropped to his sword hilt.
Shuyue felt the air tighten, sharp with the promise of violence. Around her, whispers broke: too soon, not here, not now. But the West's arrogance pressed like a knife.
Then the Azure Dragon youth moved. His hand blurred—fast, too fast—and in a single motion, he struck. His palm didn't land on a body, but on the Bridge itself. The shockwave blasted across the surface, cracking frost, throwing back three Northern disciples who staggered, barely keeping their footing.
Gasps rang out.
"Impressive," said Elder Longji of Azure Dragon, who had followed his disciples onto the span. His voice was calm, but his eyes cut sharp. "This is why we said twenty. The Bridge doesn't forgive weakness."
Liu Cheng snarled, half-ready to leap forward. "He attacked without warning—"
"And proved a point," Elder Longji said smoothly. "The Bridge will not be kind to those who hesitate."
Tension knifed higher.
Shuyue's pulse hammered. She glanced at Haotian. He stood near the back, arms loose, unreadable beneath the mask. Not a twitch, not a word. But when she looked closer, she saw it: the faintest curve of his mouth. Not anger, not pride. Amusement.
He finally stepped forward, voice carrying clear across the frozen air.
"Enough."
Heads turned. Even the Azure Dragon disciples shifted slightly.
Haotian tilted his chin, his mask gleaming in the Bridge's glow. "If you're all so eager to fight over scraps, then we'll spend the whole Bridge cutting each other's throats instead of finding what lies ahead." He paused, then added lightly, "Let's settle disputes another way."
The Azure Dragon youth sneered. "And what way is that?"
Haotian's smirk deepened. "Rock. Paper. Scissors."
For a moment, the Bridge was silent. Then laughter burst—first harsh, then nervous, then disbelieving.
But Haotian just raised his fist, slow and deliberate. "Or are you afraid of losing?"
The challenge hung in the cold air, absurd and undeniable.
And somehow, the Bridge itself seemed to hum louder, as though amused.