The morning mist draped over Greenheaven Ridge like a veil of silk, flowing gently through the leaves and over the peaks. The spirit trees swayed without wind, their blossoms releasing sparkling pollen that drifted through the air like tiny stars. Small creatures chirped and chittered. The mountain breathed.
Sunmok dozed.
He lay sprawled across a thick tree branch near the cliff edge, tail dangling lazily, a half-eaten spirit peach stuck to his cheek. A quiet snore escaped his lips every few breaths. Below him, the forest stretched for miles, deep and sacred, untouched by mortals.
Then — a flicker.
His ears twitched. His snore stopped.
The hairs on his arm stood up.
He opened one eye slowly, like a beast too lazy to be curious… but the golden iris beneath was sharp as a blade.
Rip.
There it was again — like a thread being cut in the distance. He sniffed.
The air smelled different.
Metal. Greed. Flame-root powder. A bitter scent — unmistakably human.
He blinked once. Then twice. He sat up. Looked down at his half-eaten peach.
"Not today," he muttered.
He gently placed the fruit on the branch beside him and stood, stretching until his spine cracked. The circle behind his head did not glow — not yet — but a low hum began to stir in his core.
In a blur, he vanished.
Down near the eastern edge of the ridge, the spirit mist was unnaturally thin. The trees no longer whispered. Birds had gone silent.
Five figures stepped through the thinned fog, robes fluttering despite the still air. On their shoulders: a tiger swallowing a crescent moon — the crest of the Moon-Tiger Sect.
"We're in," whispered the leader. He was young, maybe twenty-five, with sharp brows and a jade token hanging from his belt. His name was Fang Xu, a senior inner disciple.
Behind him, two men and two women followed cautiously, each keeping a hand near their weapons.
"Careful," Fang Xu said. "We're only here for the Spirit Core Serpent. Nothing else. No distractions."
One of the junior disciples scoffed. "Isn't this the domain of that… monkey beast? The so-called 'King of the Ridge'?"
Another laughed softly. "Just a spirit beast who got lucky. Probably rotted away after a hundred years of peace."
"Don't say that," the woman beside him said, eyes wary. "The Sect Elders warned not to provoke anything on this mountain.
The records say