In a deep stone hall nestled within the Plum Blossom Mountains, the elders of the sect gathered around a round table made of black wood. The air was thick with silence only the sound of their breathing could be heard, as if everyone was waiting for a single word to ignite the coals beneath their feet.
The sect leader, a man in his fifties dressed in simple gray robes, rose to his feet. Despite the modesty of his clothing, everyone in the hall knew his authority was far beyond appearances. He struck the ground with his short staff and spoke clearly:
"Have you confirmed the report?"
One of the elders responded:
"Yes, sir. The reports from the Burning Blossom are beyond dispute. The sect was attacked. Many followers were killed, but suddenly… someone intervened."
Everyone leaned forward when the man uttered that last word: "someone." He continued:
