Within the Lingyuan Division, there existed a place known only as the Hall of Silence.

No nameplate marked its gate.

No disciple dared mention its name.

It lay buried behind the second shrine past the stone forest, absent from records, jurisdiction, or law.

Only those who crossed invisible lines were taken there.

Shen Jin was one such.

—

He did not resist.

That morning, he had been examining fractured mirror fragments Luo Qinghan had delivered. Before the sealing glyphs on the archive doors even clicked, three lightless sigils fell from above — silent, soft as snow — caging him in silver.

He looked up, only once.

Then lowered his gaze and folded his sleeves.

When he opened his eyes again, he was inside a hall of utter stillness.

The chamber stood a hundred feet high, no windows, its ceiling glowing with a sterile white light. Runes breathed beneath his feet — living, ancient.

Before him sat a man atop a triple-ringed platform.

His robes were black trimmed in gold.

Hair streaked with white.

Silent.

Still.

The pressure of him — like an unmoved mountain.

Qi Ming Heng, head adjudicator of the Lingyuan Division.

Shen Jin stepped forward, bowed at the waist.

“This subordinate, Shen Jin, answers your summons.”

Qi Ming Heng didn’t rise.

He simply looked at him and said:

“Can you hear me?”

“I can,”

Shen Jin replied — calm, steady, respectful.

Qi Ming Heng raised a hand.

A circular seal fell from above and enclosed them in transparent light.

“This is a Silence Domain,” he said. “No third mind can hear what passes between us.”

Shen Jin gave the faintest nod.

“Understood.”

The pressure settled — dense, oceanic.

But he didn’t flinch.

He didn’t yield.

Like a beast who had felt storms before.

And knew how to breathe beneath them.

—

Qi Ming Heng let silence reign a few heartbeats longer.

“Have you dreamt of the thing inside the stele?” he asked at last.

Shen Jin met his eyes.

“Please speak plainly, Elder.”

“The headless corpse.

Broken wings.

Spine pinned.”

“You’ve seen it. Haven’t you?”

Shen Jin didn’t speak.

Qi Ming Heng continued:

“You stood before the monument for two full hours.

You hid the copper shard in your sleeve.

The monument cracked.

That does not happen to someone without a Keymark.”

Shen Jin’s gaze remained calm.

“I did not cause the fracture. And I did not ask for what lies in me.”

“Then where did it come from?” Qi Ming Heng’s tone sharpened slightly. “That mark—was not planted by us.”

“If I’d known what it was, I’d have reported it,” Shen Jin said.

His voice was low, measured, sincere.

“But I didn’t.”

“You didn’t,” Qi repeated, tapping the stone desk once. The sound echoed.

“Is this an interrogation?”

“If it were, you’d not be standing.”

“Then may I ask — is this inquiry… or judgment?”

The runes above them trembled faintly.

Qi Ming Heng stood.

His robes did not stir, yet the weight of him pressed harder with every step closer.

Four steps between them.

They stared at one another — still and unblinking.

Qi spoke:

“If you’ve seen Guiyao — then you are chosen.”

He turned.

The seal shattered.

A moment later, Shen Jin’s form vanished — soulmark returned him to the Archive’s outer chamber.

No sentence.

No verdict.

Only that one phrase —

“Chosen.”