The road to Hollow Echo Peak was long, winding through ancient forests and canyons where even sunlight hesitated to tread. As Mei Lian and Shen Liuxian walked it, a heavy stillness clung to the path—a silence not of peace, but of waiting.
They were not alone.
Behind them trailed thirty newly sworn disciples of the Crimson Sect—former villagers, miners, and wanderers, each bearing no more than basic weapons and a crimson thread tied around their wrist, the symbol of their pledge. Old Ji walked among them, now an advisor and lorekeeper, his voice often heard recounting legends of forgotten sects and fallen tyrants.
"Are we truly ready?" Mei Lian asked Shen quietly as they approached the shadowed rise of the mountain.
"No," he replied, "but readiness has never made legends—resolve has."
Hollow Echo Peak loomed before them.
An enormous plateau carved into the side of a mountain, surrounded by cliffs that dropped into mist-shrouded abysses. In the center stood a circular arena of gray stone, its surface marked by deep battle-scars—each a tale of a past confrontation between clans, bloodlines, or betrayals.
Around the arena, camps had already formed. Tents bearing the banners of sects from every corner of the martial world flapped in the high wind. The Silver Root Sect with its ice-forged insignia. The Jade Hammer Clan with their iron-plated armor. The Ravenlight Order, silent and draped in veils. Over two dozen sects, all gathering like crows around a battlefield.
As the Crimson Sect entered the clearing, all eyes turned.
Whispers rolled like thunder.
"Are those the rebels?"
"They bring peasants to a conclave?"
"Where is their patriarch? Their grandmaster?"
Mei Lian walked straight to the center of the arena, unflinching. Shen followed, flanking her like a blade of shadow. The disciples formed a ring behind them.
An elder in green robes stood up on a dais. His hair was silver, his gaze sharp.
"I am Master Kui of the Mistwind Sect. This conclave has gathered to determine the future of our world, threatened by the unchecked tyranny of the Heavenly Sky Pavilion. But we will not replace one tyranny with another. So, Crimson Sect—prove your worth. Speak."
Mei Lian stepped forward. Her voice rang across the stone like a bell.
"I am Mei Lian, daughter of no noble line, bearer of no divine beast blood. I claim no ancient inheritance… only the right to resist."
Scoffs echoed.
She continued. "I stand for those who were broken by the Pavilion's chains. Who were told they could never cultivate because they lacked a name. I do not seek to lead you. I seek to stand beside you."
A taller man from the Iron-Blooded Lotus Clan shouted, "Words are wind. Do you even have a cultivation base worthy of standing here?"
Another elder, from the Ghostflame Sect, added, "The Crimson Sect burned one rogue cultivator and a few slavers. But power is not won by saving peasants. It is proven through duel."
A hush fell.
Mei Lian didn't flinch. "Then choose your warrior."
Gasps spread through the gathered crowd. Shen turned his head slightly, but said nothing. He knew her too well to stop her now.
A cloaked woman stepped from the Silver Root Sect's ranks. Her aura was sharp, crystalline, and cold. Ice trailed her footsteps.
"I, Yan Qi of the Silver Root, accept."
The duel was simple.
No artifacts. No external aid. First blood drawn, or one opponent incapacitated.
They stepped into the arena.
Mei Lian closed her eyes. She felt the flame pulse in her core—still learning her body, still wild. But in her mind, she whispered: Let me protect. Let me blaze true.
The signal was given.
Yan Qi struck first—lances of ice darting through the air, her speed blistering. Mei Lian dodged, each step leaving sparks on the stone. Her palm ignited, crimson fire dancing across her fingertips.
A spike of ice slashed her cheek—but she didn't stop. She slid under a hail of spears and pressed her hand to the ground.
Whirlwind Flame.
Fire surged up in a spiral, clashing with the cold and melting the next volley of attacks mid-air. The crowd leaned forward.
Yan Qi's eyes narrowed. She channeled her qi into a blade of pure ice and lunged—
Only for Mei Lian to catch it between two fingers, flames searing up the weapon, melting it into mist.
In that breath, Mei Lian stepped in, her palm grazing Yan Qi's shoulder.
A scorch mark appeared. Smoke curled.
Yan Qi froze.
She dropped her weapon and raised her hand.
"I yield."
Shock echoed through the spectators. The duel had lasted less than two minutes.
Silence. Then whispers.
"…She won."
"…without a sacred weapon…"
"…using basic flame arts?"
Mei Lian turned to the crowd.
"I don't come from legacy. I come from survival. And survival teaches faster than any scroll."
One by one, members of lesser sects nodded. The truth of her strength had been displayed—not just in battle, but in restraint. She had not humiliated Yan Qi. She had proven her control.
Master Kui rose once more. "Then let it be recorded. The Crimson Sect is granted a seat at this council."
A roar of surprise—and reluctant approval—echoed across the conclave.
As Mei Lian rejoined Shen and the others, she exhaled slowly. "It has begun."
Shen smiled faintly. "Now they're paying attention."
Far from Hollow Echo Peak, in a pavilion shrouded in cloud and gold, a crystal mirror flickered.
A woman in white robes watched the scene.
She traced Mei Lian's face in the reflection, her gaze unreadable.
"So," she murmured, "the Crimson Flame still lives. How inconvenient."
And her eyes began to glow.