under this specific inkstone, scraping lightly against the floor each time before being lifted.


    clean. It was the smell of honed steel carefully wiped down, perhaps treated with a specific type of preservative oil – an oil far finer than the crude grease sometimes used on the sect’s functional training equipment. It clung faintly to the air around the weapon rack, strongest near a particular halberd whose blade, despite the rust elsewhere, seemed to have a slightly less corroded edge, almost as if it had been recently handled, perhaps even sharpened and then deliberately re-dulled or coated to blend in.


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    was declining. Wen Xuan saw the evidence every day. Fewer disciples attended morning lectures. The quality of the rations in the outer disciple mess hall had noticeably decreased over the last year. Repairs to essential structures were often delayed or done poorly. Elder Shen, who oversaw outer disciple training, seemed more weary and distracted than usual, his instructions often vague. Rumours circulated of promising inner disciples leaving for larger, more prosperous sects, of strained finances, of dwindling spiritual resources in the mountain range itself. The Falling Star Sect felt like an old tree shedding its leaves, its roots struggling in depleted soil. Yet, here were faint whispers of something else – hidden compartments, secretly maintained relics. Desperation? Preparation? Secrets layered thick as the dust?


    live in this dump. Elder Fei was getting annoyed. If I hadn''t come back to check, you''d probably still be back there counting cobwebs."