The main courtyard of the Silver Cloud Clan was not breathing; it held its breath. The morning sun cast a pale, analytical light upon the stone slabs, but the air was charged with a tension so palpable it seemed to have weight and texture. The usual murmur of disciples in their morning training had been extinguished. The servants, laden with their baskets and buckets, had stopped at the edges of the courtyard, their movements frozen, their faces a mixture of awe, fear, and an incipient adoration.
The news had spread faster than wildfire, a whisper that raced through every corridor and kitchen: "Lady Xiao Yue is coming out." But this was no ordinary outing. It was a manifesto.
Kenji was the first to appear.
He did not emerge from the kitchens or the service corridors, but from the Central Administration Pavilion, the very nerve center of Matriarch Feng's power. He no longer wore the anonymous gray of a servant, but the robes of a high-ranking personal assistant: a sober, unadorned charcoal-colored silk, yet cut with a precision that spoke of authority. His back was as straight as if he had swallowed a sword, and his face, as always, was a mask of impassive efficiency. He did not walk toward the main gate; he positioned himself beside the open door of the carriage waiting in the center of the courtyard, not as a lackey, but as a herald presenting the main act. His mere presence, so calm and out of place amidst the martial splendor, was already a declaration of intent, an anomaly in the clan's order that no one knew how to interpret.
And then, the world stood still.
The doors of the main pavilion, reserved for the Elders and the Sect Master, swung wide open. And from them, Xiao Yue emerged.
The silence that followed was not one of respect, but of absolute shock. It was the silence that precedes the passing of a comet, the fall of a deity. The transformation was so radical, so complete, that for a moment, those present doubted she was the same person.
The crimson silk dress was a living flame, a red so deep and vibrant it seemed to absorb the sunlight itself only to return it to the world, magnified. The cut was at once bold and imperially elegant: a discreet yet suggestive V-neck hinted at the curve of her breast, while the cinched waist accentuated her slender figure before falling into a flowing skirt that opened with every movement, revealing a glimpse of her ankles. The sleeves, long and wide in the courtly style, added a touch of drama and majesty. The dress didn't cover her; it revealed her: the powerful, sensual, and elegant woman who had lain dormant beneath training robes.
Her hair, that fiery cascade, was no longer tied back in a practical ponytail. Her maids' skillful hands had woven it into a sophisticated updo, an intricate crown of braids dotted with small, ginkgo-leaf-shaped silver pins and a single white camellia—her favorite flower—fastened to one side. The hairstyle was regal, that of a woman who knows her place is at the top.
And her face… her face was a weapon. A light dusting of pearl powder evened her skin tone, giving it an ethereal glow. A touch of kohl, applied with the finest of brushes, accentuated the almond shape of her golden eyes, making them appear even larger and deeper, two liquid suns. On her lips, just a hint of honey balm gave them a natural, suggestive sheen.
She did not walk; she glided. Her aura of power, now refined and controlled, was not an explosion but a constant pressure, so tangible that the air around her seemed denser. The disciples' jaws dropped with an audible snap. The maidservants stared at her with wide eyes, a mixture of astonishment and adoration. It was not just beauty; it was the manifestation of a power that everyone could feel, but no one could comprehend.
The procession awaiting her was the final seal on her declaration. The Clouded Phoenix, a masterpiece of polished black sandalwood and spirit silver, reserved exclusively for the Sect Master, waited in silence. Pulling it were not the usual draft beasts, but two Wind Steeds, spiritual creatures whose speed was legendary and whose upkeep was astronomical. Flanking the carriage were eight motionless figures mounted on black-scaled beasts: the Shadow Wolves. Captain Guan's personal elite guard, veteran warriors whose blades were only drawn by direct order of the Sect Master or in an emergency that threatened the very existence of the clan. Their faces were impassive, but their presence was a declaration of legitimacy.
Kenji opened the carriage door completely. Xiao Yue paused for an instant before stepping in, her gaze sweeping across the courtyard. It was not a look of defiance, but of possession. This was her home, and she was about to leave to conquer it from the outside. She entered the carriage with imperial grace. Kenji followed, sitting across from her. The doors closed with a dry, definitive click.
With a soft snap of the reins, the procession set off, exiting through the main gate in a parade of power that left the entire clan submerged in a stunned silence—a silence that would take hours to break into a torrent of rumors and speculation.
In Zian's opulent private courtyard, the news arrived not as a rumor, but as an earthquake. A loyal disciple, pale and breathless, burst into the serene atmosphere of expensive incense and whispering maids.
"Young Master!" he gasped, stumbling over his own words. "It's Lady Xiao Yue! She has taken the Sect Master's carriage! And the elite guard is escorting her!"
The reaction was instant and visceral. Xiao Jin, the brother whose only response to the world was force, exploded.
"WHAT?!" His shout was a thunderclap, and his qi energy erupted without control, cracking a delicate nearby jade table. "That insolent bitch! She dares to use our father's carriage! I'll drag her out of that carriage myself!"
His fury was that of a bull, direct and without nuance; it was a humiliation of his martial power, an affront to the natural hierarchy as he understood it.
Zian's reaction was colder, and for that very reason, infinitely more terrifying. His smirk of disdain froze, then cracked like ice under a boot, revealing a murderous fury that chilled the blood. He didn't look at Jin. His mind had already processed the true implication.
"The Matriarch…" he hissed, the words like poison in the air. "That old witch… she's given her the keys to the kingdom."
His anger was not about the carriage itself, but about what it symbolized: the open and blatant support of one of the most powerful and entrenched factions in the clan.
"This is an open declaration of war," he concluded, his voice now a deadly whisper.
Xiao Hong, in contrast, had remained silent, observing his brothers' reactions with analytical calm. When he spoke, his voice was like frosted silk.
"It's brilliant," he admitted grudgingly, earning a furious glare from his brothers.
"Brilliant?" Jin roared. "It's treason!"
"It's not arrogance," Hong corrected, his strategic mind disarming the situation. "It's a bold maneuver. She is telling the entire clan: 'I have the power, I have the backing, and I am no longer hiding.' She has challenged us on our own board, and in a way that we cannot publicly counter without looking like jealous tyrants. If we attack her for this, we become the villains of the story."
Hong's cold, precise logic calmed Zian's fury, only to replace it with an even icier determination.
"The plan for the tournament is no longer enough," Zian decreed, standing up. "This requires… a new approach. Hong, use your network of informants. Find out where she is going, what she is doing, who she is meeting. I need to know everything. Jin, prepare my most loyal men. If she makes a single mistake outside the clan walls, if she gives us the slightest excuse, I want us to be ready to 'correct' it. Permanently."
The war had escalated. Humiliation was no longer the goal. Now, it was elimination.
In the Silk Whispers Tea House, the only place in the upper city where silence was more valuable than gold, Xue Li was enjoying a top-quality Jade Frost tea. The delicate aroma and luxurious atmosphere were the natural environment for a man like him, a predator dressed in silk.
The news reached him through one of his own spies, a merchant with eyes everywhere. He didn't speak of the carriage or the guards, but of the procession as a whole, in terms he understood.
"A display of power unlike any seen in years, my lord. And at its center, the youngest daughter, the one they said was a failure."
Xue Li's ever-calculating mind connected the pieces at the speed of an abacus in the hands of a god. The impossible technique, the inexplicable power, the sudden confidence, and now, political backing so strong she could use the Sect Master's carriage. His "ghost alchemist" theory was no longer a suspicion; it was an almost absolute certainty. Someone, a new and powerful player, was betting on Xiao Yue. And that bet was paying spectacular dividends.
A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips. "A new contender has entered the arena with a magnificent debut," he thought. He could not afford to ignore this. He needed to observe this "threat" up close, to weigh her value before she upset the balance of power.
He summoned his assistant with a gesture.
"The Golden Carp Guild's auction house holds its biweekly session today. Get me an invitation to the private room. There is a new… 'jewel' on the market I wish to evaluate personally."
He paused, his serpentine eyes glittering with a calculating light.
"And prepare our funds. If something interesting is at stake, I want to be ready for the bidding. Curiosity, after all, is a boldness that often yields great returns."