The banquet was held in the Upper Blooming Hall, a rarely used structure high in the Ironwood cliffs, surrounded by spirit-forged stone and enchanted blossoms.
It was a trap in silk, Fang Xi thought.
Only successful cultivators were invited. And he had, of course, been careful to succeed just enough.
The hall was filled with fine tables, lacquered wood, spirit wine in pearl-colored jars, and servants who moved without speaking.
Elder Hua presided from a higher dais. Next to her: Elder Qian. And one unfamiliar face — the robed guest from before.
Introductions and Factions
Fang Xi arrived in a simple robe, clean but unembellished. Humble.
Han Yuren wore gold. Bai Mo wore pride. Wei Lian wore shadows.
Dozens of disciples greeted, toasted, and measured each other in the ancient game of smiles and poison.
Fang Xi stayed near the edge of the room, observing.
Then he saw it — Lan Geng, the brawler he had defeated in the first round, being helped into the hall.
Still bruised. Still recovering.
Interesting. They brought him back to prove something.
The Toast
At the peak of the evening, Elder Hua stood.
"To the children of Ironwood," she said. "To steel that survives the forge. May you burn, and not break."
Glasses were raised.
Fang Xi raised his. And did not drink.
A few others followed suit.
Moments later, Shui Fang, the illusionist girl, stood… and collapsed.
Crimson at her lips. Her fingers trembling. Eyes wide.
The hall exploded into noise.
The Reactions
Elder Qian moved first, lifting the girl's body and channeling cleansing Qi into her.
"Poison," he growled. "Refined. Silent. Hidden beneath spirit wine — meant to bypass detection."
Lan Geng began shouting accusations. Han Yuren folded his arms.
Fang Xi said nothing.
This wasn't meant for her.
It was meant to see who would act, who would panic… and who would not.
He stepped forward.
"I believe I saw someone near the wine jars before the banquet," he said calmly.
Heads turned.
"Someone in gray, pretending to refill a jar. He wore a sigil not from this sect."
A Web of Lies
There was no such person.
But Fang Xi's words planted seeds.
Within minutes, two minor servants were detained. The elders began whispering.
More importantly: Han Yuren watched him differently now.
Not with arrogance.
With caution.
And from the dais, the robed guest nodded once.
Fang Xi caught the gesture.
And for a moment, the mark on his wrist grew cold.
Aftermath
That night, Fang Xi returned to his quarters.
There was a note beneath his pillow.
Same symbol. Same script.
"Memory sharpens. Truth softens. You have passed the second gate."
And beneath that — a name:
"Yun Zhao still lives."
Fang Xi stared at the ink until dawn.
The founder of the Echo Cult… not dead after all.