The storms that had once torn through the Cang estate were finally gone. Where blood had stained the marble, sunlight now poured through the high windows—warm and golden. The banners that once bore Cang De's crest had been replaced with new ones—white silk trimmed in azure, the mark of renewal.
In the following weeks, the Cang Family began to breathe again.
Servants returned to their duties. Elders once divided now stood together in silent unity, and disciples trained from dawn till dusk without fear of betrayal. The once-empty courtyards echoed again with the sound of swords clashing and the scent of medicinal herbs drifting from the alchemy wing.
Lady Cang Lian stood atop the northern terrace, watching the sunrise wash over the estate. Her robe of pale blue fluttered gently in the breeze. The Sky Seal Pearl rested at her waist, faintly glowing as if resonating with her calm yet resolute spirit.
Elder Shen stepped beside her, hands folded behind his back. His presence was subdued but vast—a silent mountain guarding the Cang lineage. "It has been a long while since I have heard laughter in these halls," he said quietly.
Cang Lian smiled faintly. "Because of you, Elder Shen. Without your strength, none of this would have been possible."
The old man shook his head. "Strength is nothing without someone worthy to guide it. Your father would have been proud."
Her expression softened. "Then let me be worthy of that pride."
Below them, the clan assembled—elders, disciples, and servants kneeling in perfect order. The courtyard, decorated with white lanterns and blooming magnolia, carried an air of solemn joy.
Lady Cang Lian descended the marble steps, her voice clear and firm. "The Cang Family has endured trial and bloodshed. Yet through loyalty and courage, we have survived. Today, as head of the clan, I declare a day of reward and renewal!"
A ripple of excitement spread through the gathered crowd.
"Every disciple and elder who stood by the family during our darkest hours shall enter the Cang Training Grounds to cultivate freely for one full day. In addition, each of you may choose one weapon or spiritual artifact from the Cang Family's treasure vault!"
Gasps filled the air. Even the stoic elders exchanged astonished glances. The treasure vault—sealed for decades by Patriarch Jianhong himself—was a sacred place few had ever stepped into.
Lady Cang Lian's tone softened. "This is not merely a reward, but a symbol. From this day onward, strength and loyalty will walk hand in hand in our house."
The crowd bowed deeply. "Long live the Cang Family Head!"
Elder Shen raised his hand. "You heard your Lady. Prepare yourselves—let this day mark the beginning of our family's rise."
By noon, the training grounds roared with spiritual energy. Qi shimmered like mist, swirling around hundreds of disciples as they trained with fervor unseen in generations.
At the western edge, Zhang Wei, Han Yu, and Pan Qiang stood before a large spirit array carved into the ground. The glowing symbols pulsed with life, channeling power from the mountain's veins.
Han Yu exhaled slowly, aura blazing. "Feels strange," he muttered. "For once, we're not fighting to survive."
Pan Qiang grinned. "Don't jinx it."
Zhang Wei smiled faintly, placing the jade pendant against his chest. "Even peace is a kind of battle. But today… let's see how far we can go."
They sat cross-legged as the formation activated, flooding the air with vibrant, living Qi that coiled around them like a dragon's breath.
Hours passed in silence.
Zhang Wei's breathing deepened, black impurities seeping from his pores as his inner core tightened and pulsed. The jade pendant thrummed softly, guiding his flow. Then—Crack! A surge rippled through his body.
Upper Completion of the Qi Gathering Realm.
His eyes opened—calm and bright as steel. The jade light dimmed, satisfied.
Nearby, Pan Qiang let out a roar as fire danced over his skin, then settled into calm waves of flame within. Middle Stage of Qi Gathering.
And then—Han Yu's Qi erupted. Silver arcs burst across the sky, the ground trembling underfoot. Boom! A pillar of light rose like a blade piercing the heavens. The disciples watching gasped.
Foundation Establishment Realm.
Han Yu stood, lightning crackling faintly around his hands. "Feels… lighter," he said, smiling faintly.
Zhang Wei grinned. "You monster."
Pan Qiang groaned. "Don't get cocky. I'll catch up."
Their laughter echoed across the field—a rare, genuine moment of peace.
Later, the trio entered the Cang Family's treasure vault. Inside floated hundreds of ancient weapons and artifacts, humming softly with dormant spirits.
Pan Qiang found a golden-dragon staff that trembled once, then stilled in his grip. Han Yu was chosen by the Azure Gale Blade, glowing with sky-blue light. And Zhang Wei—guided by the jade pendant—discovered a sealed chest containing two ancient silver needles etched with faint runes.
Elder Shen's voice softened. "Those needles belonged to the Healer-Saint of our ancestors. They pierce body and spirit alike—a fitting weapon for one who heals and fights."
Zhang Wei bowed. "Then I shall honor their spirit."
By dusk, as the trio stood before Lady Cang Lian and Elder Shen to take their leave, the Cang estate glowed with serenity.
"You've done more than anyone could have asked," Lady Cang Lian said warmly. "Without you three, the Cang Family might have fallen to ruin. Our doors will always welcome you."
Pan Qiang smirked. "We'll come back for your best wine."
Elder Shen chuckled. "Train well, Zhang Wei. The road to power has only begun."
Zhang Wei bowed. "Thank you, Elder Shen. Thank you, Lady Cang Lian."
As the gates opened, the three walked down the mountain road, sunlight gleaming off their weapons. Behind them, the Cang Family stood reborn—a phoenix rising from ashes.
Days later, Zhang Wei, Han Yu, and Pan Qiang departed from the Cang estate, leaving Elder Shen behind to safeguard the family's future. Their journey southward was swift—winds at their backs, determination in their hearts.
By the time they reached the gates of Shuiha's capital, the guards recognized their insignia and ushered them directly into the royal palace.
King Han Yunji sat upon his throne, his expression calm but expectant. Beside him stood General Wu, armored and grim, and Master Yu Wenshan, the trio's mentor and guiding force.
The King's voice echoed through the grand hall. "You have returned from the north. Speak—what became of the Cang Family?"
Han Yu stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, the Cang Family endures. Cang De's treachery was revealed, and his conspiracy with Hei'an envoys exposed. He sought to overthrow his brother and surrender the north to Hei'an's influence."
King Han Yunji's brow furrowed. "Hei'an again…"
Zhang Wei spoke next. "Cang De's plot was crushed. Patriarch Jianhong's passing left Lady Cang Lian as the rightful successor. Under Elder Shen's guidance, the family stands united. They have pledged loyalty to Linhua and Shuiha."
The King's tone softened slightly. "Then peace returns to the north… thanks to your efforts."
Master Yu Wenshan bowed. "Your Majesty, the trio's actions prevented a greater war. Their judgment was sound."
Han Yunji nodded, his gaze steady. "Zhang Wei, Han Yu, Pan Qiang—your names will be recorded in Linhua's annals. But the winds of the continent are stirring once more."
Zhang Wei looked up. "Your Majesty… what do you mean?"
The King's voice grew solemn. "The Continental Spirit Competition approaches. Once every decade, the Tianlong Dynasty summons the five great nations—Hei'an, Linhua, Yunzhou, and Frostwind—to send their finest young cultivators. This competition determines influence, alliances, and the favor of the Emperor himself."
General Wu's voice rumbled. "A contest that decides which nation thrives… and which fades into dust."
Yu Wenshan stepped forward. "Your Majesty, if we are to stand tall before the continent, we must send our most capable youth."
King Han Yunji nodded. "Indeed. And I wish to hear your counsel on who shall represent Linhua and Shuiha."
Pan Qiang exchanged glances with his comrades, then stepped forward. "Your Majesty, Lady Cang Lian deserves a place among our ten. Her courage saved her clan—and she bears strength few can match."
Han Yu added, "Her insight and discipline would honor Linhua's name."
Zhang Wei bowed. "We recommend Lady Cang Lian as one of the chosen."
The King smiled faintly. "A wise suggestion. She shall be summoned."
He turned to Yu Wenshan. "As for the rest—ten young cultivators will represent Linhua and Shuiha. Three elders will oversee them. You, General Wu, and another elder of your choosing will serve as guardians."
Yu Wenshan bowed. "As you command, Your Majesty."
King Han Yunji raised his hand. "Send forth the royal invitations. Every province, sect, and clan will receive notice. In one week, all chosen contenders will gather here in the capital to prepare."
A messenger bowed deeply and hurried out of the hall, clutching scrolls stamped with golden wax—the royal sigil of Linhua blazing like a sun.
Far beyond the palace walls, the letters began their journey.
In the tranquil mountains of Shuiha's eastern sects, a young woman in crimson robes caught the descending falcon bearing a royal seal. Her eyes gleamed as she read the parchment. "The Continental Spirit Competition… So fate calls me at last."
In the southern forests, a blacksmith's son lifted his hammer as another messenger arrived. The youth's hands trembled as he broke the seal. "Chosen… me? For the capital?"
In the Cang estate, Lady Cang Lian stood before the rising moon as Elder Shen handed her a scroll. "The King summons you, Lady Cang," he said with a proud smile. "Your name will stand among the ten."
She bowed her head, the Cang Sky Seal glimmering faintly. "Then I will carry the north's honor to the capital."
Even in remote corners of the empire, the summons reached disciples, heirs, and hidden geniuses. The continent stirred—each nation preparing its chosen.
The capital of Shuiha blazed with life. Flags of gold and white rippled from every tower, and spiritual energy buzzed in the air like a storm about to break.
In the royal courtyard, ten young cultivators stood in formation, each carrying the pride of their clan and kingdom.
Zhang Wei, Han Yu, and Pan Qiang stood at the front. Behind them stood Lady Cang Lian, General Wu's son Wu Jian, and several prodigies from Linhua's great families.
Master Yu Wenshan stepped forward, his eyes sharp yet calm. "From this day forward, you are Linhua's chosen. The path ahead will test your strength, your loyalty, and your heart. Fail—and your name will fade from history. Triumph—and you will carve Linhua's future into legend."
King Han Yunji's voice followed, echoing over the gathered youth. "In seven days' time, you will depart for the Sacred Sky Plateau—the heart of the Tianlong Dynasty. There, your mettle shall be tested before the continent."
Zhang Wei looked toward the distant horizon, the jade pendant at his chest pulsing faintly. "A new battlefield", he thought. "And a chance to see the world beyond Linhua."
Han Yu smirked, sparks flickering at his fingertips. "I can't wait to see who dares to stand against us."
Pan Qiang grinned. "Then we'd better make sure they remember our names."
Lady Cang Lian's eyes gleamed with quiet determination. "For Linhua… and for the north."
Meanwhile, far to the west, beyond the misty ridgeline, the Obsidian Palace of Hei'an loomed like a shard of night. Torches guttered along obsidian columns; incense smoke curled in slow, blue spirals. Within the throne hall, servants and ministers awaited the emperor's word with faces like stone.
A cloaked envoy knelt, breath ragged from his ride. "Your Majesty," he said, voice low. "Our operation to seize influence within the Cang Family has failed. The plot was uncovered; our assets were compromised. Cang De has been exiled and the clan now stands united under new leadership. Our foothold in the north is broken."
Silence sat heavy for a long moment. The emperor did not move. Then Emperor Zhao Ren's lips curved into a small, patient smile—one that never reached his eyes.
"So the net snapped," he murmured. "A failure. Not unexpected."
General Hu Cheng's impatience flared. "Shall we march the legions north at once and take what they stole?"
Zhao Ren folded his hands behind his back and regarded the moonlight striping the marble floor. "Not now." His voice was cold and deliberate. "Blunt force will only rally their banners. We will not feed their martyrdom."
He turned, every movement practiced, precise. "Prepare for the next phase. The Tianlong Dynasty summons a continental contest. Let us make the contest our instrument." His eyes glittered. "Send our finest. Let them enter as competitors—but also as scouts and seeds. We will learn the strengths and weaknesses of the other nations. We will place watchers among the ranks. We will use the competition to probe, to weaken, to prepare."
He paused, then added, voice low and sharp: "Spread word among our sect allies—the Shadow Fang, the Corpse Lotus, and the Nine-Serpent Cult. Have them send their 'disciples' to compete. Disguise them well."
Hu Cheng bristled. "You would mask soldiers as competitors?"
Zhao Ren's smile widened just enough to chill. "Mask? No. We will send our elite—our best blades, scholars, and shadow-operators—dressed as hopeful youth and honored champions. Let the Dynasty admire their prowess. Let the other empires open their gates and show us their center."
He added, quiet and lethal: "While they chase glory, we will build advantage. When the time is right, we strike with certainty—when their eyes and swords are turned elsewhere."
Commands flew like hawks from the throne. Couriers were summoned; secret sects were contacted; lists were made—names of prodigies, of masked agents, of alliances to call upon. The Obsidian Palace hummed with purpose as plans shifted from direct subversion to patient, strategic infiltration.
Outside the palace, beneath a sky slowly clouding over, Hei'an's banners were folded and prepared anew. Training grounds roared to life in the empire's hidden valleys; masters sharpened blades and minds alike. The competition would come—and Hei'an would arrive, not merely to compete, but to take measure of the world and, in silence, to prepare its next move.