**Chapter 7 – Night Whispers and Fractured Dreams**
The guest chamber assigned to Lin Wuji was small, austere, and deliberately isolated—high on Bright Peak's western face, where the wind moaned through narrow arrow-slits and the only light came from a single spirit-glow lantern hung from the ceiling. A low wooden bed, a table, a basin of cold water, and a meditation mat. No windows large enough to climb through. The door was barred from the outside, though the Wudang guards had left it unlatched as a gesture of "guest" status rather than prisoner.
Lin Wuji sat cross-legged on the mat, back straight, palms resting on his knees. He had not touched the basin or the thin blanket. Sleep felt like a betrayal tonight.
The Dragon Slaying Saber rested against the far wall, still under its triple seal but no longer wrapped. The crimson veins had settled to a dull, steady glow—like embers banked for the night. Every so often they pulsed once, softly, as though checking whether he still breathed.
He closed his eyes and tried to circulate what little unpoisoned qi he could muster. The Nine Yin Meridians fought him as always, but tonight there was a difference: thin golden threads lingered in his dantian, remnants of the phoenix essence that had brushed him in the hall. They did not burn the ice away—they merely sat beside it, patient, watchful.
A soft knock at the door.
He opened his eyes.
The bar slid back. Zhou Qingruo slipped inside, closing the door behind her without sound. She wore plain night robes instead of her sect uniform—soft gray silk, hair unbound and falling past her waist like spilled ink. In the lantern light her face looked younger, more vulnerable.
"You shouldn't be here," Lin Wuji said quietly.
"Neither should you," she replied. "Yet here we are."
She crossed the room and knelt facing him, close enough that their knees almost touched. She studied his face for a long moment.
"You're paler than this afternoon. The saber… it spoke to you again, didn't it?"
He hesitated, then nodded.
"Not words exactly. Images. A choice. Unite them and rule. Keep them apart and the world keeps bleeding. Or destroy them both—and pay whatever price they demand."
Zhou Qingruo's fingers tightened in her lap.
"My master says the Heavenly Sword has never truly been drawn. Not in living memory. It chooses its wielder, or it remains sealed. But when the elders carried the case today… I felt it stir. Not toward them. Toward *you*."
Lin Wuji gave a small, tired smile.
"Two weapons, two curses, and somehow I'm the only one they both seem to want. I don't know whether to feel honored or terrified."
"Both," she said simply. "You should feel both."
Silence stretched between them. The wind outside howled louder, rattling the arrow-slits.
Zhou Qingruo reached out slowly—hesitant, as though afraid he might vanish—and laid her palm against the back of his hand.
Her touch was cool, steady. No qi flowed from her; this was not cultivation. It was simply human contact.
"You don't have to carry this alone," she whispered. "Whatever path you choose—whether you take the third road or walk away entirely—let someone walk beside you. Even if it's only for a night."
Lin Wuji looked down at their joined hands. Her fingers were slender, callused from sword practice, yet gentle.
"I don't want to drag anyone else into this curse," he said.
"You already have," she answered. "The moment I saw you on the northern path, I chose to step forward instead of aside. That was my decision. Not yours."
He lifted his gaze to hers. In the dim light her phoenix eyes held no pity—only quiet resolve, and something warmer, more fragile.
"Qingruo…" he began.
She shook her head slightly.
"Don't say anything yet. Just… let me stay until the lantern dims. Let me keep watch while you rest. You haven't slept properly in days—maybe years."
He exhaled, long and slow.
"Alright."
She did not move away. Instead she shifted to sit beside him, shoulder brushing his. They remained like that—two silhouettes against the wall, the saber glowing softly in the corner like a watchful guardian.
Eventually his breathing deepened. His head tipped sideways until it rested lightly against her shoulder. She did not pull away.
In the silence, the lantern's glow began to fade.
But sleep did not come gently.
---
*Dream.*
Lin Wuji stood on a shattered plain under a sky cracked like porcelain. Black thunderheads boiled overhead; crimson lightning forked between them.
Before him rose two colossal figures:
The phoenix—wings of living flame, eyes like molten gold.
The dragon—scales blacker than void, horns crowned with starfire, tail coiling through mountains.
They did not fight. They simply regarded him.
*"You delay,"* the phoenix sang, voice like a thousand bells.
*"You fear,"* the dragon rumbled, deep as collapsing earth.
"I fear what happens after," Lin Wuji answered. "If I unite you, do I become another tyrant? If I shatter you, do I die—and leave the world to the same endless war?"
The phoenix tilted its head.
*"We were forged from love that became war. From a celestial who loved a mortal dragon. Heaven forbade it. They tore each other apart to prove their point. We are the fragments left behind—half punishment, half plea."*
The dragon lowered its massive head until one eye—larger than Lin Wuji's body—filled his vision.
*"Choose, child of mixed blood.
Rule with us and rewrite fate.
Leave us apart and fate rewrites itself in blood.
Or break the cycle.
But breaking requires a heart willing to be broken."*
Golden flame and black blood swirled together, forming a vision:
Bright Peak in ruins.
Zhou Qingruo lying still, sword broken beside her.
Zhao Min laughing atop a throne of bones, crown of dragon scales on her brow.
Xie Yuan, mad and alone, wandering endless snow.
And Lin Wuji—standing over two shattered weapons, hands bleeding light and shadow, body fading into mist.
The phoenix's voice softened.
*"The price is not death.
It is becoming nothing.
So the world can finally choose for itself."*
Lin Wuji woke with a sharp inhale.
The lantern had dimmed to a faint ember. Zhou Qingruo still sat beside him, eyes open, watching.
"You were dreaming," she said softly. "You called out."
He swallowed. His throat felt raw.
"I saw the end," he whispered. "One way or another… it ends with me gone."
She turned to face him fully, both hands now clasping his.
"Then we find another ending," she said fiercely. "I won't accept that one."
Before he could answer, a distant alarm bell rang—three sharp peals.
Trouble.
Zhou Qingruo rose in an instant, hand on her sword hilt.
"Stay here," she said.
Lin Wuji stood as well. The saber's glow flared brighter, almost eager.
"I think," he said quietly, "that part is over."
Outside the chamber, footsteps pounded down the corridor. Voices shouted:
"Intruders at the northern pass!"
"Ming Flame banners—and they're not asking for parley!"
The three-day truce had lasted less than one night.
And the storm had returned—faster, hungrier than before.
(End of Chapter 7)