Shi Yan's path led him to a crossroads where silence ended—and consequences began.
He and Xiao Lan had followed the dying assassin's trail through whispers and ruins, past burned temples and frightened villagers. But it was in a forgotten monastery—one untouched by the Black Lotus, where the wind still carried chants—that they found something different.
Not fear.
Not silence.
A man who had been waiting.
He called himself Brother Wen, a monk once of the Shaolin library sect—custodian of records, historian of forgotten names. His robes were simple, his eyes sunken with sleepless years. Yet when he looked at Shi Yan, there was no hatred in his face.
Only pity.
"You shouldn't have come here," Wen said as he served them tea in chipped bowls. "If the Order knew I was still alive…"
"Then you're a dead man," Shi Yan replied. "Which means you know something worth dying for."
Wen gave a faint smile. "You always were quick."
Wen led them beneath the sanctuary, down a trapdoor lined with scripture. Beneath lay a vault—cramped, dusty, and full of records that had been erased from official archives.
"There was a monk," Wen said, rolling out an aged scroll. "His name was Master Bao An. He trained in silence, wrote no scriptures, led no disciples. Yet… he had access to every sealed scroll in the temple. Including the forbidden ones."
Shi Yan's brows furrowed. "Why have I never heard of him?"
Wen's voice darkened.
"Because they made sure you wouldn't."
Wen revealed a parchment inked in Master Bao An's own hand—one that referenced the Soul-Severing Elixir… weeks before the massacre.
"Master Bao An predicted the use of the elixir. He feared someone would use it to turn one of our own into a weapon. He wrote that it had been tested—on an unwilling subject."
Shi Yan's breath caught.
He looked at the dates.
They matched.
The week he blacked out during deep meditation. The missing time.
Before Wen could say more, the vault trembled. Dust fell from the rafters. Outside, someone had triggered a ward.
Wen's face went pale. "They found me."
"You said they thought you were dead," Shi Yan said.
"They did," Wen replied. "But the Black Lotus… listens better than the Shaolin ever did."
Shi Yan stood at the mouth of the vault as black-clad silhouettes moved through the trees outside. He glanced back at Xiao Lan, who held tight to her doll, unmoving. Then at Brother Wen, who handed him one last scroll.
"Take this to the grave," Wen said. "Or… take it to the fire."
And in that moment, Shi Yan knew:
The truth wasn't just buried.
It was hunted.