Verdant Peak Village had never seen a night like this.
The news of Ming Yue's victory had spread like wildfire, carried on the wind by messengers, cultivators, and awestruck spectators. By the time the sun descended below the mountains, the entire region was alive with celebration. Lanterns floated in the air like drifting stars, casting golden light across the cobbled streets. The scent of roasted meat, sweet wine, and fresh dumplings filled the air.
Laughter echoed from every corner of the village, and the sky above was painted with qi-crafted fireworks—bursts of brilliant color that shimmered like rainbow flames before fading into the night.
The villagers cheered. Cultivators toasted. Children danced through the streets, waving paper fans and pretending to wield swords. And in the center of it all stood Ming Yue, the tournament champion.
She wore a pale blue robe embroidered with silver moons, her long, dark silver flowing like silk behind her. Her sword was sheathed at her side, but her presence was radiant, demanding attention without a word. Wherever she walked, people bowed or offered praise.
"She's not just strong," one elder whispered, "she's elegant—like a goddess descended."
"A beauty like that, and the first disciple of the Demon Lord?" another muttered. "Heaven help the fool who tries to court her."
"I heard she defeated the Phoenix Talon prodigy with a single stroke of her sword that gleamed like moonlight!"
"She's too good for any sect. No wonder, Mo Yanluo keeps her close."
Indeed, many admired her—some for her strength, others for her beauty—but all were wary.
For behind her stood Mo Yanluo, the man whose name still sent shivers down the spines of even the boldest cultivators. The Demon Lord, the man who had once bathed battlefields in blood, now stood quietly among his disciples, a rare smile on his lips as he watched them laugh and drink.
Despite his fearsome reputation, tonight he was simply their master. He toasted with Yan Ling, who had already downed three cups of wine and was challenging Qing Mei to a duel of drinking. He nodded approvingly at Xue Lan, who played a soft melody on a guqin, her fingers dancing over the strings like falling snow. Xiao Fengwu stood beside him, calm and poised, her eyes never straying far from Ming Yue.
It was a night of joy, of triumph, of unity. But fate, as always, had other plans.
Ming Yue had stepped away from the main square for only a moment. The noise, the lights, the endless praise—it was all overwhelming. She needed air, space, and silence. She wandered down a quieter path lined with tall plum trees, their petals glowing faintly under the brilliant display in the sky.
She didn't notice the figure that followed her until he spoke.
"You've become quite the star, Ming Yue."
She turned, her hand instinctively grabbing the hilt of her sword. Wei Lian stood a few paces away, his white robes pristine, and his smile polite. His eyes, however, gleamed with something sinister.
"Wei Lian," she said coolly. "You're quite bold to approach me alone."
"I mean no harm," he said, raising his hands to prove his sincerity. "I only wish to talk."
"I'm not interested."
He didn't move. "You trust your master, don't you?"
Ming Yue's eyes narrowed. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
"Then tell me—what do you know of his past?"
She said nothing. The question struck too close to home.
Wei Lian took a slow step forward, his voice lowering. "Did you know he once belonged to an orthodox sect? That he was adopted as a child, raised by a kind master who treated him like a son? And that he—your beloved master—killed that very man?"
Ming Yue's breath caught. "You're lying. My master would never do such a thing."
"Am I?" Wei Lian asked softly. "He killed his fiancé and drove his sect to ruin. Burned their scrolls, desecrated their ancestral grounds. All for power. He didn't fall from grace—he chose the demonic path."
Ming Yue shook her head. "No. I've seen him mourn. I've seen him protect us with his life. He's not the monster you claim."
Wei Lian's smile didn't falter. "Then ask him. Ask him why he never speaks of his past. Ask him why he cultivates forbidden qi, even among the unorthodox. Ask him why he hides his true name."
She faltered.
He stepped closer and slipped a folded note into her hand. "If you wish to learn more, come to this address. I'll say no more."
And then, like mist, he was gone.
Ming Yue stood alone beneath the blossoming plum trees, the note trembling in her hand. Her heart pounded, her thoughts a whirlwind. She wanted to tear it apart, to cast it into the wind—but she didn't.
Why didn't he ever tell us?
She remembered the night she had seen Mo Yanluo weeping. It had been brief, a rare moment of vulnerability. He had thought no one was watching. That night, she had sworn to follow him, to trust him. But now…
He cultivates demonic qi that not even the Unorthodox dares to practice. He opposes the orthodox sects. He never speaks of his past. Why?
She clenched the note in her fist and turned back toward the celebration, her expression unreadable.
When she returned, her sisters rushed to her side.
"There you are!" Yan Ling cried, throwing an arm around her. "We thought you got kidnapped by some lovestruck fool!"
Ming Yue laughed, the sound hollow in her own ears. "Just needed some fresh air."
Mo Yanluo approached, noticing her unusual behavior,"Are you well? Maybe we should rest and continue another day."
She nodded. "No need to worry, I'm fine, Master. Thank you."
He studied her for a moment longer, then smiled. "Then let us celebrate. You've earned it."
They drank, they danced, they sang. The party lasted deep into the night, the sky above a canvas of shimmering fireworks. Ming Yue smiled, laughed, and toasted with her sisters—but her mind remained elsewhere.
She kept the note hidden in her sleeve.
Far from the lights and laughter, Wei Lian stood on a rooftop, watching the celebration from afar. His escorts stood behind him, silent shadows.
"She didn't throw it away," he murmured. "Good."
One of his men shifted. "Will she come?"
Wei Lian's smile widened. "Curiosity is the most dangerous poison. Even if she doesn't drink it now, it's already in her blood."
He turned away, a laugh escaping from his lips.
"Let them celebrate. The truth will come soon enough. You can't run away from your past after all."