Smoke curled into the morning sky, and the scent of charred silk and steel filled the air.
Wind howled through the manor halls — not the gentle wind that once symbolized peace, but a storm born from rage.
At the heart of the courtyard, Feng Xiaoyan stood like the eye of a tempest.
Her fan snapped open with a sharp clang, and streams of air twisted around her like blades.
"Yangguang! " she shouted, voice cutting through the storm.
Feng Yangguang, sword drawn, nodded once before charging toward the front lines.
Each slash of his blade summoned gusts so sharp they tore through enemy armor, sending black-bannered soldiers crashing into walls.
Feng Lingxi, calmer and more strategic, guided the guards with silent precision.
Her mastery over air pressure allowed her to redirect arrows mid-flight — the wind itself obeyed her.
Together, the three siblings fought as one —
Yangguang's strength,
Xiaoyan's precision,
Lingxi's control —
a symphony of wind that held back the advancing tide.
Yet for every soldier they struck down, two more took their place.
Inside the grand hall, Master Jian raised his zither.
Its strings shimmered with spiritual energy. He struck once — and the sound exploded like thunder.
The vibration shattered weapons, ruptured eardrums, and sent shockwaves through the enemy ranks.
Qin Yijun, played beside him, using flutes that guided the sound waves into controlled bursts.
The harmony between father and son created a wall of invisible sound — those who crossed it fell lifeless, their energy disoriented and dispersed.
Qin Yuxi, standing near the fallen pillars, chanted quietly, weaving protective resonance around the wounded.
But even their melodies began to falter as the black army adapted — moving in patterns that defied rhythm.
Qin Jian's brows furrowed.
"They… they're immune to sound disruption."
A realization chilled him: These enemies have been trained to counter us.
Mo Xiang moved like ink spreading across paper — elegant, deliberate, deadly.
Each flick of his sword summoned sharp streaks of light.
His sister, Mo Yuming, painted sigils across the walls with her fingers, activating barriers that shimmered like stained glass.
"Brother, their energy feels… twisted," she called.
"It's not from any known cultivation!"
A soldier lunged at her — she stepped aside, and her artwork came alive.
A painted dragon burst from the wall, swallowing the attacker whole before dissolving into ink.
Mo Xiang spun his brush and carved a final character in the air —「灭」 (Destruction) —l those stroke exploded outward, clearing a dozen foes.
But the backlash was brutal. Blood spilled from his lips as his own energy rebelled.
Mo Yuming caught him, trembling.
"Don't push yourself, ge."
Mo Xiang gave a faint smile.
Bai Yue stood unmoving as the battle raged.
His eyes glowed faintly silver — he wasn't fighting with his hands.
The enemy lines fractured, turning against one another. Confusion spread through their ranks like infection.
Bai Yue's power — cognitive manipulation — twisted perception itself.
He could rewrite thoughts, bend focus, and distort sight.
"Lose your way," he murmured, and twenty soldiers turned their blades upon each other.
Bai Yujing and Bai Chenxing fought near their father, moving with synchronized precision.
Chenxing's illusions confused the enemy's senses, while Yujing used pressure points and mental disruption to paralyze them.
Bai Linyan, calm but fierce, projected psychic blades that cut through armor without leaving a trace of blood.
Then, amid the chaos, Bai Yue's concentration broke — a sudden tremor in the mindscape.
Someone — or something — was invading his mind back.
"Who dares—?" he hissed, clutching his temple.
A dark laughter echoed in his consciousness.
"You taught us how to see, Master Bai Yue. Now see what you've created."
He realized, horrified —
The Black Banner soldiers are not just trained… they are enhanced through forbidden psychic methods.
While the clans battled across the grounds, Madam Yan drew her blade — the ancestral sword of the Feng.
Wind gathered around her like ribbons of light.
When she struck, it wasn't with fury, but with grace. Each swing sent whirlwinds that sliced through the attackers' armor.
Her movements were poetry — calm, fluid, devastating.
Even the Masters paused to witness her command.
"Fall back to the inner court!" she ordered.
"Protect the wounded! The Feng Manor will not burn while I breathe!"
At last, silence fell — heavy, uneasy.
The smoke cleared just enough to reveal the figure leading the Black Banner army.
A mask of obsidian concealed their face, but their voice — smooth, resonant, filled with power — carried through the ruins:
"For years, you've hidden your sins behind your sacred clans. But the truth you buried has returned… and it bears the mark of the Black Serpent."
Every Master froze.
Even Qin Jian's hand trembled.
Because the Black Serpent…
was the ancient emblem of a fifth clan — one erased from the histories long ago.
The courtyard burned.
The four clans — wind, art, mind, and sound — stood shoulder to shoulder, wounded but unbroken.
Above them, the Black Banner fluttered — no longer a mystery, but a promise of vengeance reborn.
And in the shadows beyond the flames, the masked leader raised their hand.
"The Fifth Clan has returned."
------
The forest of Ye was serene that morning.
Mist hung low among the ancient trees, and dew clung to every leaf like crystal.
Beneath the grandest tree — roots twisting deep into the earth — Feng Mei'yin sat in still meditation.
Her breathing was steady, her spirit calm. For the first time in weeks, her thoughts were silent.
Yet, that peace shattered in an instant.
A sudden vibration rippled through her wrist — the ring her brother had given her before she left.
It burned faintly, pulsing with qi. Once. Twice. Then again — harder.
The signal of danger.
Her eyes flew open.
A sound echoed faintly through the forest — distant, but unmistakable.
The roar of battle carried on the wind.
She rose immediately, heart hammering.
"Fengming…" she whispered.
From the branches above, a faint cry answered — sharp and clear.
Her spirit bird, Xihe, descended in a flash of black feathers. The creature's body shimmered with light, wings spanning wider than the ancient pines.
Mei'yin reached out, brushing her hand against its beak.
"We don't have time," she murmured.
"Take me there — now."
Xihe let out a low, rumbling note, as though understanding.
In a single movement, it bent its great neck and allowed her to climb atop its back. Xihe turned bigger.
Wind gathered under its wings, spiraling upward. Leaves scattered, branches bowed.
With a single powerful beat, Xihe launched skyward.
The forest blurred beneath them — rivers, valleys, the distant shimmer of villages.
From above, the horizon burned red.
Mei'yin's pulse quickened. She could feel the energy — the clash of spiritual auras, familiar and fierce.
Xiaoyan. Lingxi. Yangguang.
Her family.
She clenched her fists against the feathers.
"Hold on… just a little longer."
Xihe shrieked, wings slicing through the air like silver blades.
The wind tore at Mei'yin's robes, her hair whipping across her face — but her eyes remained fixed ahead.
Through the thinning clouds, she saw it —
Fengming Manor, half in flames.
The banners of the four clans struggling amidst chaos.
And the black tide that flooded their gates.
Her jaw tightened.
She could already sense the weakening spiritual energy of her kin — the fragmented auras of her brother and sisters.
---
As they descended, she raised her hand, summoning her qi.
The faint green glow of her energy flared into her palms — wind and spirit entwined.
"Xihe," she said quietly. "Don't stop until we break through."
The bird roared, folding its wings to dive.
The world below spun into a blur of smoke and fire as they pierced the clouds, wind shrieking around them.
A storm followed in their wake — the true daughter of Fengming returning to a battlefield swallowed by despair.
The battle at Fengming raged like a storm.
Flames devoured the courtyard; the once-proud banners of the Feng Clan were torn and bloodstained.
Amid the chaos, Madam Yan stumbled backward, her robes singed, her spirit weapon trembling in her hands.
"Mother!" Her children shouted in unison.
Two disciples had already fallen before her. Around her, the Feng guards fought valiantly — but the enemy came in endless waves, their faces masked, their banners black as night.
One of the intruders, cloaked in shadows, broke through the defense line — his blade raised high, aimed straight at Madam Yan.
And then—
A blinding wind split the air.
The man froze mid-strike.
An arrow of light — sharp, spiraling with wind energy — pierced through his chest before he could even take another breath.
He fell without a sound.
The battlefield fell silent for a heartbeat.
Xihe descended in a rush of wind and light, scattering ash and smoke.
And upon its back — standing tall, hair whipping wildly — was Feng Mei'yin.
The moment her boots touched the scorched ground, a gust of air rippled outward, forcing even the flames to bend away.
"No one," her voice rang out — low but powerful — "lays a hand on my mother."
Her eyes were fierce, glowing faintly with blue light.
The Black Banner warriors hesitated, recognizing the aura that rippled from her — the wind of Fengming bloodline, ancient and untamed.
Madam Yan's eyes widened, disbelief and relief colliding in her chest.
"Mei…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Mei'yin turned briefly, her expression softening only for a second.
Then her gaze hardened again. Wind gathered around her like a living storm, spiraling into her next strike.
Another enemy charged — she loosed an arrow, and the force sent him flying across the courtyard, crashing into the burning wall.
Feng Lingxi, bleeding but standing, could only stare.
"She came back…"
Feng Xiaoyan gripped her sword tighter, a faint smile ghosting across her face.
Even Feng Yangguang, standing near the collapsing gate, felt his breath catch.
For a moment, all the rage and guilt in his heart stilled — replaced by something older.
Pride.
Mei'yin's presence turned the tide.
Every strike of her arrows shattered the air; every movement commanded the wind itself.
Xihe circled above, its cry echoing like thunder, scattering the Black Banner ranks.
But amid the chaos, a figure stepped forward — masked in black, his aura dark and immense.
The leader.
His voice was cold, cutting through the storm.
"So the daughter of Fengming returns at last… the one who betrayed her own blood to save the weak."
Mei'yin's bow gleamed as she raised it, her expression unreadable.
"Oh! You knew. Then you should know that," she said quietly, her tone like steel wrapped in wind,
"I don't miss twice."
Smoke drifted over the ruined courtyard of Fengming, mingling with the sharp scent of iron and ash.
He raised a hand.
At once, the others tore off their black veils — revealing faces the clans knew too well.
Gasps rippled through the ranks of defenders.
Familiar faces.
Disciples who had vanished months ago.
Old allies from the outer posts.
Even a few once trained in the clans stood among them, their eyes cold, their spirit marks now blackened by corruption.
"Impossible…" Master Yue whispered. "They were— they were ours…"
The leader's laughter rolled across the courtyard, deep and mocking.
"Yes. We were yours. We learned from you, fought for you… and were discarded like shadows when peace came."
He spread his arms wide, black spiritual energy crackling around him.
"You taught us everything we needed to destroy you."
One by one, the Black Banner soldiers began to radiate energy — the same techniques once used by the four clans, twisted and darkened.
Their speed matched the Feng.
Their precision mirrored the Qin.
Their formation flowed like the Bai.
And their strikes carried the creative unpredictability of the Mo.
"Whatever you do," the leader sneered, "we can block it. Counter it.
Because we were you."
An evil laugh echoed through the smoke, cruel and sure of victory.
But then—
From the center of the battlefield, a soft laugh answered him from where Mei'yin stood.
Her bow was drawn, her hair fluttering in the wind, eyes glowing faintly.
"You can mimic what you were taught," she said, her tone calm, almost playful.
"But do you know mine?"
The leader frowned. "Yours?"
Mei'yin tilted her head slightly, her smirk cutting through the haze.
"I have a skill you don't know…" Wind gathered around her in a slow spiral, bending flame and shadow alike.
"…because I only just discovered it."
The moment she said it, the wind roared to life — fierce, wild, and alive.
Leaves and ashes swirled upward, forming glowing sigils in the air.
Xihe screeched from above, answering her power with a gust that split the clouds.
Even the Masters watching from afar — injured but still standing — turned in awe.
"Her energy…" Qin Yijun murmured, clutching his side. "It's— it's not the Feng style anymore."
Qin Yuxi turned to her his eyes reflecting the light.
Mei'yin lowered her bow, smiling faintly at the stunned enemy.
"Let's see how well you counter something you've never seen before."
For a fleeting moment, silence cloaked the battlefield. Only the crackle of distant fire dared to speak.
Mei'yin stood in the middle of it all — her bow lowered, her eyes cold and unreadable.
Then… she laughed.
A soft, chilling sound that made even the wind hesitate.
"If you won't leave," she said, her voice smooth but merciless,
"then you might die here. I don't have mercy anymore."
Her words rolled through the smoke like thunder.
But the Black Banner only sneered — arrogance flickering across their blood-streaked faces. Their leader gestured sharply, and with a howl, they charged again.
Steel clashed. The ground quaked.
Sparks danced in the air as every clan moved in rhythm —
the Feng pushing back with roaring wind blades,
the Mo striking from the shadows,
the Bai forming brilliant barriers of light,
and the Qin weaving energy threads that sliced through the ranks like silver fire.
Mei'yin stood still, her eyes scanning the chaos — watching the war unfold like a storm she no longer wished to be part of.
And then…
her gaze met Yuxi's across the battlefield.
His sword arm was bloodied, his expression full of longing and regret. For one breath, everything around them vanished — the screams, the smoke, the flame.
He mouthed her name. "A'yin."
But Mei'yin only turned away, her face set in cold resolve.
"I'm done," she whispered.
Her heart hardened. The hesitation was gone.
She lifted her hand slowly, but before her power could rise, a firm grip caught her wrist.
Yuming.
"Don't," Yuming warned, her tone trembling. "You'll lose your energy — it's too much for your core to handle!"
Mei'yin glanced at her — a single tear glimmering in her eye before it vanished in the wind.
"I don't care," she said quietly. "They've crossed the line."
She wrenched her hand free.
A dark aura rippled through her veins — black smoke coiling from her fingertips. Xihe cried out above, wings flaring wide as she began to circle the battlefield in widening loops, faster and faster.
The air grew heavy.
The ground began to tremble.
And then, with a single motion of Mei'yin's hand—
From the cracks, ghostly mist erupted. Pale hands clawed upward through the soil. The fallen soldiers — the ones who had died defending Fengming — rose again, their eyes hollow yet burning with faint blue light.
"W-what is this…?" one of the Black Banner gasped.
"Necromancy—?! No, impossible!"
The dead moved with unnatural grace, forming ranks at Mei'yin's silent command.
"You learned our skills," Mei'yin said, her voice echoing with power.
"But I've learned from death itself."
The air filled with chaos.
Wind and spirit energy swirled together as the Feng clan summoned gusts to aid the fallen, while the Bai and Qin joined in, their techniques illuminating the night sky like a storm of light and darkness.
Blades met flesh, shadows met flame, and one by one, the Black Banner fell — unable to block or counter what they could not understand.
When the final scream faded, only ashes and silence remained.
The battlefield was still again, littered with bodies — friend, foe, and the risen alike.
Xihe landed beside Mei'yin, folding her wings protectively.
Yuming stepped forward, her voice barely a whisper.
"You… you killed them all."
Mei'yin's eyes, glowing faintly from the lingering power, softened for a brief second.
"I warned them."
The cries of battle had long faded. The air hung heavy with smoke and grief, the once-bright banners of celebration now torn and darkened with ash.
The Feng family stood among the ruins of their courtyard — the wind carrying faint echoes of what once was laughter.
Feng Xiaoyan held her mother's hand tightly; Feng Lingxi helped the injured to their feet, while Feng Yangguang, his robes scorched, kept his gaze fixed on the woman standing a few steps away.
Feng Mei'yin.
Her expression was unreadable, her face calm, though her eyes — faintly rimmed with exhaustion — betrayed the storm beneath.
She said nothing, only glanced briefly at the wounded, at the shattered hall, and at the bloodied flags that once bore their pride.
When the wind brushed past, she finally spoke. Her tone was quiet — steady.
"The dead can rest now."
It was all she said.
The Fengs exchanged uncertain glances, unsure whether to thank her or fear her.
Madam Yan stepped forward first, her voice soft.
"You saved us all, Mei."
Mei'yin's lips curved — not in a smile, but something close.
"I only did what I had to," she replied. "That's all."
She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping across the courtyard once more.
Her eyes met Feng Yangguang's, who lowered his head in silent respect.
"Congratulations, brother." She said.
But before she could leave, a familiar voice called her name.
"A'yin—"
Qin Yuxi approached, his robes torn, his hair disheveled — but his eyes held the same warmth they always had for her.
He reached out, hesitating before gently taking her hand.
"You shouldn't go alone."
She looked at him — calm, distant — then slowly slipped her hand free. Not harshly, not coldly, but with a quiet finality that said everything words could not.
"Yuxi, I have xihe with me." she said softly, "some paths can't be walked together anymore."
For a moment, silence settled between them. The world around seemed to hold its breath.
Then she turned away.
Her long sleeves brushed lightly against the air as she walked past him — each step steady, graceful, unhurried.
Xihe, her great bird companion, let out a low, sorrowful cry before spreading its wings.
Without another word, Mei'yin mounted and took flight — vanishing into the pale horizon, leaving only the whisper of wind and the faint scent of lotus and ash behind her.
Qin Yuxi stood frozen, his hand still suspended midair. Mo Yuming came beside him quietly, watching the sky where Mei'yin had disappeared.
"You can't stop her," Yuming said softly. "Not anymore."
Yuxi lowered his gaze.