Chapter Text
The Shackling Prison had held war criminals, mara-struck abominations, disciples of the Sanctus Medicus, even enemies of the Alliance whose names had long since been erased from public record.
But never a High Elder.
For thousands of years, the title had stood above ordinary law. The High Elder was not just an individual, but an institution, a pillar woven into the very foundation of Xianzhou itself. Now, one sat imprisoned beneath it.
News of the newly coined charge—‘Sedition of Yinyue-jun’—spread faster than wildfire. Markets whispered, tea houses argued, and the Seat of Divine Foresight was overwhelmed with petitions, accusations, demands, and prayers.
Some called for immediate execution. Others demanded rebirth. Many simply demanded answers, yet none received them. Not yet.
The crimes attributed to Dan Feng were immense, unprecedented and politically catastrophic. As the Luofu High Elder, thee had broken ancient laws older than some entire civilizations. He had twisted a comrade into an abomination of abundance, and in the calamity, over twelve hundred Vidyadhara, pearlkeepers, alchemists, and healers had died. Thousands more had vanished without a trace. The public had already counted Yingxing among those casualties, entirely oblivious to the faint, unsteady heat still clinging to Dan Feng’s wrist. Though the full truth of that night remained buried, the wound to the Alliance was clear.
No verdict could be reached in days. Perhaps not even months.
Until then, the accused would remain where no Yinyue-jun had ever been placed before. The Shackling Prison.
The chains had been forged for monsters. Though, Dan Feng supposed that was fitting. If he wasn't a monster now, then what had he become? Iron wrapped tightly around his wrists, forearms, waist, thighs, and ankles. Additional restraints disappeared into the ceiling above, forcing his arms outward and slightly elevated—not enough to tear muscle, but enough to ensure constant discomfort. Enough to make even sleep a torment.
The architects of the prison understood suffering well, he thought.
He had arrived yesterday. Since then, nothing had happened. No interrogations, no sentencing, no punishments. Not yet, at least. The Ten-Lords Commission moved deliberately when handling matters of such magnitude. Every statement would be dissected, every witness questioned, every law scrutinized. Resolution was nowhere near. Months, perhaps even years before any conclusion is reached.
Until then, Dan Feng would wait, silent and still, with only one small comfort beneath his tongue. The jade pendant rested there, cold and smooth. The taste of stone was constant, a reminder of what he may forget. The taste of stone lingered, dulling his words and making speech difficult. That, too, was by design.
Questions, accusations, demands—they were inevitable. Dan Feng planned to answer as few as possible, if any.
The pendant served another purpose, one he had never spoken aloud and never would. Should rebirth await him at the end of this ordeal, he wanted something to carry forward. Something untouched, something that belonged solely to him. Not the High Elder, nor Yinyue-jun. Something quietly kept, a fragment of a life no one else could claim.
If only the courtroom had been this empty. The memory of it was still sharp in his mind. The heavy hush that fell over the room the moment he entered, the ten Judges of the Ten-Lords Commission seated in solemn judgment. Every eye was a condemnation before a single word had even been spoken.
The courtroom fell into a heavy silence as he entered. Not out of respect or fear, but the solemn hush of witnessing history in motion.
Seven Arbiter-Generals were present, as the law demanded. The gravity of the charges brooked nothing less.
At the center sat General Teng Xiao of the Luofu. To his right, General Yuexing of the Fanghu. General Shuren of the Xuling. General Yueyu of the Yaoqing. General Cangye of the Yuque. General Huaiyan of the Zhuming. Alongside them were representatives from the Ten-Lords Commission, the Divination Commission, the Alchemy Commission, surviving witnesses, Pearlkeepers, and Vidyadhara Preceptors.
Too many faces, too many eyes—all fixed upon him.
Dan Feng stood alone and silent in the heart of the hall, his hands and feet bound. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was utterly stripped of authority.
“The Scalegorge Waterscape has suffered catastrophic damage,” intoned a Pearlkeeper representative, his voice still echoing in Dan Feng’s memory. “Twelve Preceptors confirmed dead. Two hundred and fifty-three Pearlkeepers dead or missing. One hundred and sixteen alchemists and healers unaccounted for.”
“Current estimates place total casualties at over one thousand two hundred and eighty-five.”
Murmurs rippled through the chamber—not shock, for most had already heard the figures. Something far grimmer: confirmation. The transformation of rumor into undeniable fact.
Another voice followed, colder, more detached. An elder preceptor. “The accused stands responsible with violating multiple sacred laws, including the unlawful manipulation of life and death.”
Dan Feng recalled neither the man’s face nor his name. Only the weight of his words.
“An attempt was made to restore the deceased Nameless Baiheng to life.” The chamber fell into a deeper silence. Even now, recalling it felt unreal, as if it had happened to someone else. “The result was an Abundance-derived monstrosity.”
No one interrupted. No one protested. No one spoke in Baiheng’s defense—not out of malice, but because all had witnessed the aftermath: fields stained with blood, shattered structures, and bodies. Far too many bodies.
Then came a sharper voice, cutting through the murmurs. A Judge of the Ten-Lords Commission. The chamber fell quieter, the weight of his words settling like a stone. “Furthermore, the whereabouts of the Yinyue-jun’s dragon heart remain unknown.”
The revelation stirred a stronger reaction than the casualty report. Whispers rippled through the room, uneasy glances exchanged beneath furrowed brows. Questions hung heavy in the air, unspoken but palpable. The dragon heart was no mere organ, it was the cornerstone of a High Elder’s lifespan, authority, and inheritance. A fragment of “Permanence” itself. And yet now, it had simply... vanished.
“We have scoured Scalegorge Waterscape.” he continued, voice steady but strained. “We have combed the surrounding waters. We have searched the remnants of the ritual site.” His eyes never wavered. “And still, nothing.”
A hush fell.
Then the judge’s voice broke through again, quieter this time but no less piercing. “Tell the court, Dan Feng. Where is your dragon heart?”
Dan Feng’s silence was absolute. Even when the question was repeated, again and again, each time met with the same unyielding quiet.
Finally, General Teng Xiao’s voice cut through the thick tension, clear and unwavering. “If he intended to answer, he would have done so already.”
The chamber fell silent once more, the weight of those words settling like dust.
After a pause, General Yueyu rose. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze sharp and steady as it fixed on Dan Feng. “The location of the dragon heart is not our only concern,” she said calmly. “If it remains intact, the potential for further catastrophe persists. Should it fall into the wrong hands, chaos will surely follow.” Her words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.
Silence stretched across the chamber. No one disputed her. In truth, none could. The dragon heart had vanished along with whatever remained of the ritual. Whether destroyed, concealed, or willingly surrendered, no one knew. The uncertainty loomed over the proceedings like a gathering storm.
Voices rose again—questions, accusations, speculation. Some demanded explanations of the ritual itself; others sought answers for the thousands dead and missing. Several pressed once more for the dragon heart’s location. Dan Feng said nothing. The jade pendant rested beneath his tongue. It scraped against his gums, drawing blood. An unpleasant taste, he thought. So what if they wanted answers? What could he say that would change anything?
He clenched his jaw tighter. The pendant was a small, sharp reminder of what he carried inside. What he could not speak aloud.
Looking back, he could scarcely remember the faces attached to those voices. Thousands of eyes were on him, but their faces blurred—judges, officials, witnesses—all robes and titles, none truly seeing.
Only one gaze remained sharp.
Huaiyan.
The Zhuming’s General had spoken little during the proceedings—less than most, in fact. Yet every so often, Dan Feng felt the weight of his attention settle on him. Not accusatory, nor entirely sympathetic, more like a craftsman studying the ruins left by a vehement fire.
Dan Feng had known Huaiyan for centuries—though not closely. Their paths crossed at official functions, military gatherings, festivals, and occasional visits to the Zhuming’s forges. Beyond that, little connected them. But Huaiyan had known Baiheng. Huaiyan had known Jingliu.
Had known Yingxing.
The thought surfaced unbidden.
For the first time since entering the courtroom, Dan Feng looked away briefly. When he met Huaiyan’s gaze again, the General was still watching. Neither spoke. There was nothing to say. No explanation could bring back the dead. No defense could undo what had happened in Scalegorge Waterscape. No apology could answer the question Dan Feng suspected lingered unspoken behind that steady gaze: Where is he?
The thought settled heavily in his chest. Because Dan Feng did know. Or rather, he knew enough.
The dragon heart was gone. And yet, Yingxing still lived. The connection was undeniable, the conclusion inevitable to him. Still, he remained silent.
As he always would.
The verdict had not been delivered—only the decision to detain him. Even now, Dan Feng could recall the harsh scrape of chains against polished stone as the judgment was announced. Detainment within the Shackling Prison, pending investigation. No end date specified. No guarantees offered. No objections accepted.
Though not a formal verdict, the sentence resonated through the chamber with all the finality of one.
Around him, officials gathered their documents. Witnesses were dismissed. The Arbiter-Generals rose from their seats one by one. The hearing was over.
The questions however, were not.
Dan Feng remembered the guards approaching, the cold iron cuffs locking around his wrists. Above all else, he remembered one final thing: as he was led from the courtroom, he did not look back—yet he could still feel Huaiyan’s gaze following him all the way to the door.