The Soul Tablet Hall of the Mei Clan had always been a place where time seemed reluctant to move.
Silence did not merely exist there—it ruled.
It pressed down upon the chest like a weight, settled into the bones, and seeped into the mind. Even the faintest sound carried an unnatural clarity, as though the hall itself listened, remembered, and judged.
Rows upon rows of soul tablets stood in perfect formation, each one carved from ancient spirit wood and polished to a mirror sheen. They were not merely objects; they were extensions of life itself. Within each tablet flickered a fragile sliver of a cultivator's soul flame—steady for the living, dimming with injury, and extinguished only by death.
For forty years, Old Man Lin had been their keeper.
Forty years of routine.
Forty years of silence.
Forty years of never once witnessing a true disaster.
—
That illusion shattered in a single breath.
—
Crack.
A small sound.
Too small.
Too wrong.
—
Old Man Lin paused mid-motion, his feather duster hovering inches from a tablet's surface.
He frowned.
"Strange…" he muttered.
—
Snap—crack!
—
This time it was louder.
Sharper.
Violent.
—
His head snapped upward.
His heart began to pound.
—
CRACK—!
—
Five tablets on the middle tier exploded simultaneously, splintering outward into jagged fragments.
—
Lin staggered back.
"N-no…"
—
His breath hitched.
His hands trembled.
—
Those tablets—
They belonged to inner-court disciples.
Young. Promising.
Alive just hours ago.
—
Before his mind could process it—
—
THUD.
—
A deeper sound echoed from above.
Heavy.
Final.
—
Lin's gaze rose slowly…
toward the upper dais.
—
And then—
his soul nearly left his body.
—
Two tablets—
larger, carved with golden inscriptions—
split cleanly down the middle.
—
The names burned into them flickered once…
then faded into lifeless grey.
—
Elder Zhao.
Elder Feng.
—
Foundation Establishment Realm experts.
Pillars of the Mei Clan.
—
Dead.
—
Lin's knees buckled.
He collapsed to the ground, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"This… this cannot be…"
—
But the hall was not finished.
—
At the very center—
on the highest pedestal—
stood a jade tablet.
—
It gleamed faintly.
Elegant.
Precious.
—
The tablet of Young Master Mei.
—
For a moment—
nothing happened.
—
Then—
—
CRRRRACK—!!!
—
It shattered.
—
Not cracked.
Not split.
—
Shattered.
—
Into a thousand glittering fragments that scattered across the floor like fallen stars.
—
Silence returned.
—
But it was no longer peaceful.
—
It was suffocating.
—
Old Man Lin stared blankly.
His mind went empty.
Then—
panic surged.
—
"No… no… no…"
—
His breathing became ragged.
His vision blurred.
His chest tightened as if something invisible was crushing him from within.
—
"The Young Master… the Elders…"
—
"All at once…?"
—
"This is not death…"
—
"This is a massacre!"
—
He scrambled to his feet, nearly slipping on the polished floor.
Gone was the composed hall keeper.
Gone was forty years of discipline.
—
What remained—
was a terrified old man.
—
"Heaven is falling!" he screamed as he ran.
"Heaven is falling—!"
—
His voice echoed through the corridors.
Shattering the calm of the Mei Clan.
Within the Ancestral Hall, order still reigned.
Patriarch Mei Yu sat at the head of a long stone table, his posture straight, his expression composed.
Before him rested a cup of Spirit Mist Tea.
Steam rose in slow, elegant spirals.
—
He was speaking.
Discussing.
Planning.
—
A man in control.
—
Then—
—
BANG—!
—
The doors burst open.
—
Old Man Lin stumbled in, collapsing to the ground.
—
Chaos had arrived.
—
"Patriarch—!" he cried.
"Mercy—!"
—
Mei Yu's brows furrowed slightly.
Annoyance.
Nothing more.
—
"Old Lin," he said coolly,
"compose yourself."
"You disgrace the clan."
—
But Lin did not listen.
He could not.
—
"The tablets—!" he wailed.
"They shattered—!"
—
Something shifted.
—
Mei Yu's fingers paused.
—
"Explain."
—
"The Soul Tablets—!"
"They didn't dim—they didn't crack—"
"They shattered!"
—
A faint chill crept into the room.
—
"Whose?" Mei Yu asked quietly.
—
Lin's voice broke.
"Elder Zhao… Elder Feng…"
—
The teacup trembled.
—
"And…"
—
"Y-young Master Mei…"
—
The cup slipped.
—
CLATTER.
—
Tea spilled across the table.
—
No one moved.
—
"What did you say?" Mei Yu whispered.
—
Lin collapsed fully, pressing his forehead to the floor.
"They are all dead—!"
—
The room fell into absolute silence.
—
Then—
—
CRACK.
—
A fissure spread across the stone floor beneath Mei Yu's feet.
—
His aura leaked.
Cold.
Heavy.
Terrifying.
—
"My grandson…" he murmured.
—
His voice trembled.
—
"Tell me…"
—
"That this is a lie."
—
But Lin could only sob.
—
And that—
was answer enough.
—
The Gathering Storm
The emergency bell rang.
Three times.
—
The sound spread across the Mei Clan like a funeral knell.
—
Elders arrived quickly.
Faces tense.
Eyes sharp.
—
Confusion.
Fear.
Suspicion.
—
"Why have we been summoned?" one demanded.
—
"Where is the Grand Elder?" another asked.
—
Their voices overlapped.
Clashed.
—
Until—
—
"Silence."
—
Mei Yu spoke.
—
And the room froze.
—
He stood.
Slowly.
—
"The Young Master…"
"…is dead."
—
The words landed like thunder.
—
"What—?!"
"Impossible!"
—
"And Elder Zhao and Elder Feng."
—
The hall erupted.
—
"Two Foundation Establishment experts?!"
"Annihilated?!"
"By whom?!"
—
But beneath the chaos—
something else stirred.
—
Something quieter.
—
Relief.
—
Hidden.
Suppressed.
—
Yet undeniable.
—
Some elders lowered their eyes.
Others avoided looking at each other.
—
Because in their hearts—
They were thinking the same thing.
—
The burden is gone.
—
The Young Master—
a source of endless trouble.
Cruel.
Arrogant.
Protected beyond reason.
—
Now—
dead.
—
But no one dared say it.
—
Because of one name.
—
Mei Yuze.