小杂文

**"Twilight spread like thick blood, seeping slowly from the horizon until it drowned the entire sky. A fierce wind howled, carrying grit and withered leaves as it swept across the cliff’s edge, bending the waist-high wild grass into submission, their rustling cries lost in the gale. The black-haired man’s armor—forged of dark iron—gleamed cold and unyielding, the crevices between its plates stained with dried blood, now a dull brown, like parched riverbeds etched across metal, reflecting the dying sun’s eerie glow.**

Lin Jinxuan lowered his gaze to the blood-weeping blade in his hand. Crimson droplets clung to its serrated edge before sliding down the grooves, blooming into grotesque flowers upon the stone beneath. The hilt, wrapped in aged cloth, was saturated—a strip torn from Su Yinghan’s sleeve ten years ago, its original white long since lost to time. A subtle twist of his wrist sent the blade humming, as though answering the boiling fury in its master’s heart.

*'Lin Jinxuan!'*

The voice, clear as shattered jade, cut through the roaring wind, startling the crows circling below the cliff. Su Yinghan approached, his moon-white robes lashed by the gale into disarray, the jade flute at his waist swaying with each step, its faint chime barely audible. His pale fingers traced the flute’s intricate carvings, amber eyes fixed on the figure before him—ten years had carved hardship into Lin Jinxuan’s sharp features, yet his dark eyes still burned with the same fire of their youth.

Lin Jinxuan’s throat tightened. His blade screeched against the stone. *'Yinghan. You came.'* His gaze flickered to the crowd gathering behind Su Yinghan—disciples of the Xuanqing Sect with cloud-embroidered robes, warriors from allied sects, all wearing identical masks of hostility. Among them, Elder Xuanqing stood atop a ledge, his ageless face stern, a horsetail whisk gripped like a weapon.

Su Yinghan raised the flute horizontally, his sleeve slipping to reveal a vicious scar on his wrist—a wound left by Lin Jinxuan three years ago, during the raid on the Netherworld Pavilion’s stronghold. *'The ten-year pact ends today,'* he said, voice icy. *'Surrender the Netherblood Pearl, and our debts are settled.'* As the words fell, the clank of chains erupted from the cliffside. Seventy-two Xuanqing disciples materialized, their floating formation sealing the air with the *Tiangang Big Dipper Sword Array*, its glowing talismans slicing the twilight into fractured light.

Lin Jinxuan laughed, the sound scattering the last of the crows. He tore off his bloodied cloak, revealing the ghost-faced insignia of the Netherworld Pavilion. *'Surrender? Did you ever consider mercy when you cast me from Xuanqing’s cliffs that night?'* Memories surged—the storm, the seventeen-year-old boy branded a *'demon spawn,'* the betrayal in Su Yinghan’s eyes as he plummeted into darkness. Rain and blood had choked him, Elder Xuanqing’s verdict ringing in his ears: *'This boy bears the sealed soul of the Netherworld Pavilion’s founder. If we do not destroy him, he will drown the martial world in chaos.'*

Su Yinghan’s grip tightened, cracks spiderwebbing the jade flute. He had never forgotten that night—Lin Jinxuan’s gaze as the chains dragged him away, a mix of despair, defiance, and trust. A look that had haunted him for a decade. And he, bound by duty, had let his closest friend fall.

*'The pearl is in my flesh.'* Lin Jinxuan ripped open his collar, exposing a pulsating crimson sigil over his heart. *'Come and take it!'* As his energy surged, the sky darkened, thunder growling within the clouds. Elder Xuanqing’s face twisted. His whisk lashed out like silver threads, aiming for Lin Jinxuan’s vitals. *'You damned fool!'*

Su Yinghan moved simultaneously, the flute’s edge slicing toward Lin Jinxuan’s back—a strike rehearsed a thousand times in nightmares, yet now, his fingers trembled.

Lin Jinxuan pivoted, his blade deflecting the flute. The clash sent shockwaves through the ground, carving fissures into the earth. Su Yinghan’s sleeve tore, revealing a fresh *Demon-Slaying Seal* etched into his forearm—a spell branded by his master that morning. The golden runts burned with every surge of energy.

*'Why?'* Su Yinghan hissed between attacks. *'If you had just explained back then—'*

*'Explained?'* Lin Jinxuan parried, sparks flying where metal met jade. *'The moment you called me a demon, my words meant nothing!'* He remembered the Netherworld Pavilion’s poisons, the decade in lightless cells. Only Su Yinghan’s jade pendant, hidden against his chest, had kept him human.

Chaos erupted. Xuanqing disciples advanced, talismans and swords weaving a deadly net. Lin Jinxuan fought like a tempest, his blade sparing lives even as it drew blood. Su Yinghan danced through the fray, his flute crippling Netherworld assassins—yet each strike aimed at Lin Jinxuan’s throat veered wide.

The fragile balance shattered when Elder Xuanqing unleashed the *Nine Heavens Lightning Chains*.

The silver links, crackling with heavenly judgment, arced toward Lin Jinxuan. He gritted his teeth, channeling the pearl’s power—but the lightning tore through his defenses. His armor exploded, blood gushing from his lips. Su Yinghan’s breath hitched. His flute flew, intercepting the killing blow. The backlash hurled him into the cliffs, his robes drenched red.

*'YINGHAN!'* Lin Jinxuan’s roar eclipsed the thunder. Watching the chains coil around Su Yinghan’s body, watching agony twist that beloved face—*this* was true torment. Worse than the fall. Worse than hell.

Elder Xuanqing’s laughter merged with the storm. *'Die, abomination!'* The chains blazed, their sacred runes searing flesh. Su Yinghan’s energy guttered, his white robes now crimson. Lin Jinxuan’s vision went black. The pearl’s power erupted—his hair whipped wildly, a dark miasma enveloping him. When he swung his blade again, the heavens trembled. The sword array ruptured. And his eyes never left Su Yinghan."