HYMN OF PAST (5)

For a long moment, YinPing Hall felt suffocated by tension. Even the disciples seated along the outer rows sensed the shift in atmosphere. No one dared whisper.

Chao Fei, however, did not retreat from it. He turned toward Cian Xia, brows drawn tight.

“A-Xia… are you certain?”

“I am.”

Cian Xia's expression remained steady.

“Though I am displeased to admit it, the elders are not wrong. We must prepare.”

His brows furrowed, sharp as blades.

"We will not repeat what happened twelve years ago. I will not allow anyone of this sect to sacrifice themselves again."

The words were quiet, but they struck deeply.

Chao Fei exhaled slowly.

"...I understand."

He inclined his head toward the elders.

"Forgive my earlier discourtesy."

The elders nodded. They knew his temper came from concern. It had taken twelve years for Cian Xia to step forward again in sect affairs.

Twelve years since the calamity… since the fall of the Grandmaster of the Han Sect, since Wun Lan death.

Relief washed over Elder Lu, Elder Cu, and Elder Shu.

But Chao Fei did not fully relax.

This arrangement… it felt too soon.

He cast a sideways glance at Cian Xia, hoping to read something, hesitation, and resistance. But he saw only that same straight, unyielding expression.

Chao Fei sighed silently.

Gradually, the hall returned to life.

Voices rose. Disciples resumed their soft chatter, and junior disciples finalized the preparations.

Outside, the ceremonial bell rang, signaling the start of the anniversary celebration.

As tradition dictated, each residence would present a performance representing its prestige and cultivation philosophy.

First was Lingdao Residence, under Elder Master Chao Fei.

He had selected fifteen of his finest disciples, dividing them into three groups of five.

One group performed a disciplined sword-dance, precise, structured, and reflecting Lingdao's mastery of law and order.

The second group sang an ancient Ran hymn, their harmonized voices steady and dignified.

The third played spiritual instruments, channeling controlled spiritual energy into each note.

The performance was balanced, measured, with commanding respect, and applause followed.

Through it, all Cian Xia remained expressionless. He disliked extravagance. Since Wun Lan's death, such celebrations felt hollow to him. He preferred solitude, and tending to his garden.

But this ceremony had existed since the founding of the Ran Sect. He would not dishonor it.

Next came JiaoYu Residence, led by Grandmaster Yao Lu.

This time, all of Yao Lu's disciples participated. Dressed in layered white silk, translucent and flowing, they resembled celestial beings.

Yao Lu himself sat at the front, playing the kudyapi, and the dance began softly.

His disciples movements symbolized grief, loss, and conflict. In which gradually shifted toward resilience, hope, and light.

The performance was titled Zhangzheng Zhong de Guang, Light Within War.

By its end, several younger disciples were quietly wiping tears from their eyes, while some sobbing clearly alongside their peers, fully understanding the meaning of the performance itself.

KangFu Residence followed.

Elder Master Lao Cu's disciples arranged themselves in formation. Flutes in the front, guqin and kudyapi behind them.

The first flute note rose, clear and pure, and the strings joined.

The deeper resonance of the kudyapi, the harmonization was seamless.

As spiritual energy flowed through the instruments, a soft blue light began to gather above them, forming an aurora-like veil across the hall.

Gasps echoed.

From within the shimmering light, the Ran Sect's sacred symbol manifested.

A great raptor. Its wings broad and powerful. Crown feathers rising regally. Eyes sharp and piercing.

The bird circled the hall in an elegant illusion, synchronized perfectly with the rhythm of the music.

It was not merely performance, it was technique. An advanced illusion art, shaped through sound and spiritual resonance.

The disciples were mesmerized. Even some elders nodded in approval.

Finally, Zheng Residence, under Elder Master Jao Shu, took the stage.

He selected only four disciples.

They performed a sword-dance demonstration, precise footwork, fluid transitions, and flawless coordination.

Their blades flashed like silver lightning beneath the lantern light filled of discipline, and control.

By the time the final strike landed in perfect unison, applause erupted through the hall.

Yet amid the celebration, Cian Xia's gaze remained distant.

The music echoed, and laughter rose. But somewhere beneath the noise, his thoughts lingered elsewhere. And soon. It was LianHua residence's turn.

His turn.

All eyes shifted toward him as Cian Xia rose from his seat.

The simple motion quieted YinPing Hall. Conversations dissolved into silence as he stepped forward, unhurried, robes flowing like pale mist around his form.

Without a word, he ascended the ceremonial platform and seated himself at its center.

He lifted both hands. With a subtle sweep of his fingers, spiritual energy gathered and condensed before him. Light rippled in the air, and a guqin manifested.

It was unlike any ordinary instrument.

Its body was dark as midnight water, polished to a depth that seemed almost endless. Faint silver lotus patterns were inlaid along its length, so delicate they appeared etched from moonlight itself.

The seven strings shimmered softly, restrained spiritual light humming beneath their surface.

A ripple of whispers spread through the hall.

“That is Grandmaster Xia’s spirit-bound guqin…”

“They say he forged it himself at fifteen…”

Cian Xia paid no attention to such, and rested his fingers lightly upon the strings.

The first note fell. Soft, so soft that many instinctively leaned forward. The melody unfolded slowly, like morning mist drifting across a silent lake.

Each note was measured, precise, yet beneath that control lay an unfathomable depth.

As the second movement began, spiritual energy stirred.

From the guqin’s surface, lotus petals formed from light.

Translucent white, pale gold. They drifted outward, floating through the hall in unhurried arcs.

Wherever a petal passed, disciples felt warmth spread through their meridians. It was subtle, like spring sunlight through closed eyelids.

Impurities loosened, tension eased, and even restless spiritual currents calmed.

Elder Shu’s brows lifted slightly.

“He is guiding spiritual circulation through resonance alone…”

Minutes passed, and the melody deepened. Grief entered, the notes trembled, not chaotically, but with restrained anguish. The air shimmered, and illusion manifested.

A battlefield emerged in faint outline above the platform. Shadows clashed. Spiritual techniques collided in flashes of light. A sky darkened with smoke and sorrow. The distant echo of war trembled beneath the music.

Some of the senior disciples stiffened. They knew. Such thing could only came from twelve years ago.

A single clear note rang out. It cut through the heaviness like dawn breaking over a storm-torn horizon.

The illusion shifted. From ruined earth, lotus blossoms rose, and from darkness, light unfurled.

The battlefield dissolved into calm waters beneath a rising sun. Golden light spilled across the hall, and the drifting petals gathered above Cian Xia, weaving together into a radiant lotus emblem. It was the true symbol of LianHua Residence.

The final movement carried resolve. A vow woven through sound. Grief acknowledged, loss endured, and strength reborn.

The last note lingered in the air before fading into silence. YinPing Hall did not erupt immediately.

It remained utterly still, not because they were unmoved, but because they were overwhelmed.

Several disciples found tears on their cheeks without knowing when they had begun to fall.

Elder Cu exhaled slowly.

“He has refined grief into strength.”

Elder Lu lowered his head in solemn respect.

Even Jao Shu’s stern expression softened, the rigidity in his posture easing.

Chao Fei watched Cian Xia quietly, something complicated stirring in his gaze.

“A-Xia…” he murmured under his breath.

“It has been many years since he played his own composition,” Elder Cu added softly. The other elders nodded.

Above the platform, the lotus of light slowly dispersed into countless shimmering motes, drifting down like falling stars before vanishing.

Only then did applause rise. It was not thunderous. It was unified, and sincere.

One by one, the senior disciples stood and bowed deeply.

“Grand Master Xia!”

Their voices echoed through YinPing Hall.

Cian Xia rose. His expression remained composed, dignified as ever. Yet for the briefest moment, something gentler flickered in his eyes.

Not for the applause, nor for the praised, but for the sect. For those who still lived, and for the one who did not.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment, sleeves swaying softly as he turned and returned to his seat.