Four days had passed since the Sect–Clan Tournament ended in triumph.
The morning sun blazed high above the horizon, painting the skies in a pale gold. Its warmth fell over the endless valley, where the Sanatan Flame Sect's temporary camp stretched across the green meadows like a small city. White tents gleamed under the light, their banners fluttering gently in the soft breeze. The air carried the rhythmic sounds of cultivation—fists striking the air, swords cutting through space, and the calm chants of disciples seated cross-legged, immersed in meditation.
Elder Wan, Elder Liya, and Elder Feng Yu moved among the disciples with patient authority, correcting stances, guiding breathing, and sharpening focus. Their voices rose and fell like temple bells, steadying the restless energies of the younger cultivators.
