Eternal Night Mansion...

Mo Han stepped down from the chariot sent by the Wood family. The horses snorted, exhaling white mist in the cold night air. The servant who had escorted him bowed politely. "Young Master Mo Han, the Wood family expresses its gratitude once again for visiting. The young lady asked me to convey that her doors will always remain open for you."

Mo Han gave a polite nod. "Tell your lady I will return when her sister's next session begins."

The chariot rolled away, its wheels fading into the mist. The faint fragrance of roses — the same that clung to Rose Wood's sleeves — lingered for a moment before dissolving into the crisp night air. Mo Han turned toward the gates of Eternal Night Mansion.

Two disciples stood guard, their spears gleaming faintly in the light of the crystal torches. Upon seeing Mo Han, both bowed deeply. "Senior Brother Mo Han!" one said urgently. "Elder Mei has sent word. You're to report to the Elders' Gathering Hall immediately. The meeting has already begun."

Mo Han's brows furrowed slightly. "Now? what meeting?!"

"Yes, Senior Brother. It's urgent — something about the Golden Crow Syndicate."

He said no more. His calm face betrayed nothing, though inside he felt the faint ripple of unease. The Golden Crow Syndicate rarely involved itself in sect affairs — and when it did, it was never good news.

Without another word, he strode through the gate. The disciples stepped aside respectfully, lowering their weapons in salute. His robe fluttered softly with his pace, his shadow long and still behind him as he crossed the moonlit courtyard toward the Hall of Elders.

When he entered, the heavy wooden doors opened with a low groan.

Inside, thirteen elders sat in a semicircle.

At the head of the semicircle sat the Patriarch of the Eternal Night Mansion — a man of vast presence, his white hair bound neatly, his eyes deep and calculating. Beside him sat another man — younger, dressed in lavish robes of scarlet silk trimmed with crow feathers, a golden crest upon his chest. His very bearing spoke of arrogance born of wealth and authority.

The atmosphere was suffocating.

Mo Han walked silently along the edge of the hall until he stood behind Elder Mei, who was seated third from the left. Her expression was calm but her eyes — sharp as tempered glass — flicked back briefly, acknowledging his presence. Beside her stood only two of her personal disciples, both as still as statues.

The conversation was already heated.

"I understand your loyalty to your sect," said the richly dressed man. "But the Golden Crow Syndicate must act for the balance of the realms. It is not personal. The era of Dual Cultivators may have brought both glory and disgrace — yet the will of the majority stands firm. Instead of seeing this as a punishment, take it as an opportunity."

His golden turban shimmered faintly as he leaned forward, the long crow feathers brushing against his shoulder. "It is difficult, I know. But if your sect truly values its heritage, you should prepare. This upcoming Elder Rank Tournament will decide everything."

The vice patriarch, Elder Yuan, slammed his palm on the table, his spiritual energy cracking faintly in the air. "Respected Golden Crow representative, with all due respect — this is absurd! Cultivation is not a marketplace! What crime is it for one to seek balance between yin and yang? To call dual cultivation a sin is to defy the natural flow of life!"

"Sin?" The man — Baku of the Golden Crow Syndicate — laughed lightly, a mocking sound. "No, Elder Yuan. Not sin. But… instability. The path of pleasure-based cultivation has drawn too many failures, too many disasters. We do not forbid it entirely, but the Syndicate will no longer support those who rely upon it as a legitimate art — unless, of course, one of your kind wins the next tournament."

His smile faded, and his tone hardened. "If your Eternal Night Mansion — the last sanctuary of dual cultivators — wins the Elder Rank Tournament, the Syndicate will honor its word. You will retain your status, your disciples, your resources. But if you fail..."

He paused, letting the silence weigh like a blade.

"...then dual cultivators will be stripped from all syndicate-recognized sects. Your lineage will be branded as heretical. Those who continue will be expelled from the syndicate's protection and privileges."

A ripple of shock spread through the elders.

Elder Yuan's face flushed with anger. "You would destroy centuries of tradition because of politics? The Golden Crow Syndicate was founded on freedom of pursuit!"

Baku merely shook his head. "Not destruction, Elder Yuan — correction. And you do have a chance. The Syndicate offers you one last opportunity: win the tournament. Prove that your path is worthy."

He turned his golden ringed fingers toward the patriarch. "In addition, should the Eternal Night Mansion wins, you will be granted a month-long right to harvest in the Golden Crow Valley — a herbal land not opened in ten decades. Do you understand the value of that?"

The patriarch's eyes flickered. Every elder in the hall understood too well — the Golden Crow Valley was rich with ancient herbs and lost relics. Access to it could raise an entire generation of cultivators.

But the condition was clear. Win — or vanish from the recognized world of cultivation.

The elders broke into arguments, voices rising and falling.

"This is unfair!"

"Who can fight such odds?"

"They're forcing us to dance on a blade's edge!"

Baku watched their agitation with calm disdain, swirling the wine in his crystal cup. "The Syndicate has spoken," he said coldly. "The decision is final. The path ahead is yours to choose. But remember — the world has little mercy for those who cannot prove their worth."

He rose to his feet, raised his cup toward the patriarch, and said with a thin smile, "May your night not end in eternal silence."

He drank the wine in one swallow, then set the cup down and walked out.

The door closed behind him with a hollow thud.

For a long time, the hall was silent except for the flicker of lamps.

The patriarch's fingers tapped once against the armrest. "Every one," he said finally, his tone calm but heavy, "send word to the training divisions. We have less than a month. Select our strongest Elder Rank disciples. This time, it will not be enough to participate — we must win."

Elder Mei bowed her head slightly. "Yes, Patriarch."

Elder Yuan clenched his fists. "It's a death trial, Patriarch. The Syndicate has already decided to bury our art. They're just giving us a stage to bleed upon."

"Then we shall bleed with dignity," the patriarch replied. "If we fall, we fall as cultivators who fought for our way." His gaze hardened. "But if we win — the Eternal Night Mansion will rise again beyond their reach."

He stood, signaling the meeting's end. One by one, the elders rose and left, their expressions grim but resolute.

Elder Mei remained seated for a moment, then turned slightly. Her eyes met Mo Han's.

That single glance spoke volumes.

Mo Han understood. He, too, had felt the weight of what the patriarch said — the heavy silence between hope and extinction.

Elder Mei's gaze lingered a heartbeat longer. "Mo Han," she said softly, just as the hall began to empty, "this tournament... may decide more than you realize."

He bowed slightly. "I understand, Elder."

As he left the hall, the wind from the open courtyard swept through, scattering the last echoes of debate. He looked toward the night sky, the dark moon hanging like a silent judge above the mansion's towers.

In less than a month, one battle would determine whether the Eternal-Night-Mansion lived… or vanished from history forever.

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