The morning sun slanted across the sprawling courtyards of the Beast Handling Hall, gilding the wooden pavilions and open training fields where spirit beasts lounged or trained alongside their handlers. The scent of fresh hay, beast musk, and medicinal herbs hung thick in the air.
By the time Haotian arrived, the lecture space — a semi-open hall overlooking a series of enclosed training rings — was already crowded. Disciples sat on benches, some with small beasts curled at their feet. Others stood along the walls, eyes bright with anticipation. A cluster of elders occupied the raised seats at the back, their expressions a mix of curiosity and measured appraisal.
Yueying, the Moonfang Tiger, lay stretched out just outside the hall's entrance, her golden eyes following Haotian's every step. Xiaoque, the cub, was draped comfortably across Lianhua's lap in the front row, wearing the ridiculous little bow one of the female disciples had tied days ago.
The Lecture Begins
Haotian stepped to the front, cupping his hands in greeting. "Today," he began, "we will not only discuss the training and synchronization of spirit beasts, but also the hidden potentials in forming a true combat partnership — one where qi, intent, and instinct are aligned."
He moved with deliberate calm, occasionally glancing at Yueying outside. "A beast is not a tool. It is a cultivator in its own right, with instincts honed by survival and an innate understanding of spiritual energy. The more you learn to listen, the faster you will grow together."
A Living Demonstration
At his signal, Yueying padded into the hall, her steps silent yet commanding. Haotian gestured toward her. "This is Yueying. Core Condensation realm. She and I share a synchronized qi flow built through tailored drills and mutual trust."
The elders leaned forward slightly, watching as he raised a hand and Yueying responded instantly — moving through a series of maneuvers without a single verbal command. He explained each movement, breaking down the qi cues, body language, and subtle intent shifts that triggered them.
Some disciples scribbled furiously in their notes, while others simply stared at the smoothness of the exchange, a few jaws slack.
The demonstration ended to a low hum of murmurs. Yueying returned to her spot by the door, her tail flicking lazily, while Haotian faced the gathered disciples and elders.
"I'll open the floor," he said. "Questions?"
A hand shot up from the front row — a young handler with a hawk perched on his shoulder. "Senior Haotian, the Moonfang Tiger is said to be near impossible to tame without suppressive arrays. How did you gain her obedience without one?"
Haotian's answer was calm. "Not obedience. Partnership. I did not bind her — I convinced her. The difference is that trust lasts longer than force."
A ripple of interest — and a few frowns — passed through the crowd.
Another hand, this one from an older disciple in brown leathers. "The qi synchronization — you mentioned tailored drills. Could you share the specifics of your Moonfang regimen?"
Haotian's gaze flicked briefly to the elders before answering. "Some are tailored to Yueying's unique qi flow. The principles, however, can be adapted to other beasts: joint sparring with real opposition, environmental challenges, and coordinated breathing cycles that match both beast and handler."
The Pressure Rises
One of the seated elders leaned forward, his voice carrying over the room. "And what of her combat formations? We saw maneuvers outside standard Beast Handling doctrine. Were those your own creation?"
"Yes," Haotian said simply.
A pause. Then another elder spoke, sharper. "Would you be willing to submit those formation patterns for inclusion in our hall archives?"
The room went quiet. Every pair of eyes turned to Haotian, waiting for his reply. Even Lianhua's gaze sharpened slightly.
The elder's request for Haotian's Moonfang formation patterns hung in the air for a moment. Haotian inclined his head politely.
"My formations are built for Yueying and Xiaoque alone," he said. "But I can share the principles during lectures — so others may adapt them to their own beasts."
A murmur of approval ran through the disciples, and the elders exchanged faint smiles. Whatever political heat might have sparked was extinguished before it could kindle. In the days that followed, the hall elders quietly made their own inquiries, learned of Haotian's Zhenlong heritage, and decided not to risk offending one of that bloodline.
Lectures Completed
Within days, Haotian had finished his lecture series for all halls. With his commitments met, he turned his attention back to his true passion — the library.
When he arrived at the sect library's tall, solemn gates, the old caretaker elder looked up from behind the counter. His face broke into a knowing grin. "Ah, little dragon… or should I say flood dragon?"
Haotian stopped mid-step. "...Elder?"
The old man chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Word travels, boy. I've heard about your… recent activities. And the lectures. Come, let's talk."
They spoke for a while about the beast-handling demonstrations, the forging successes, the alchemy breakthroughs. Then, with a tone as casual as if offering tea, the elder said, "You may access the library from the first floor… to the sixth."
Haotian blinked. "Elder… how?"
"I manage the library," the old man said simply, with a flick of his sleeve. "I can grant access to anyone I please. The sect master's approval isn't required."
The Gift of Knowledge
Haotian cupped his hands and bowed deeply. "Thank you, elder."
The old man waved him off. "Go on then — read until your eyes fall out."
Haotian's lips twitched in a smile, and he turned toward the library doors. But the elder called after him again.
"Oh, and don't worry about your little girlfriend — I'll have someone inform her. I'll even have meals brought to you here."
Haotian paused, then turned back, eyes bright. "Really?"
"Really," the elder said with a smirk.
Haotian bowed again. "Thank you, elder."
The old man chuckled, gesturing toward the towering shelves. "Go on, boy. The books are waiting."
Haotian stepped inside, the scent of aged parchment and ink wrapping around him like a welcome home. He found a quiet table, opened the first tome from the sixth floor, and began to read.
Haotian all but floated toward the towering shelves, his arms already burdened with several weighty tomes from the upper floors. The elder's permission felt like a door to a hidden world swinging wide open. But as he sat at a secluded table and stacked the books neatly before him, the old man's earlier words echoed back.
Your little girlfriend…
Haotian froze mid-motion, his hand still resting atop the first book's cover. …My little girlfriend?
He replayed the elder's grin, the deliberate tone. His breath caught. Wait… did he mean… Sister Lianhua?
A slow heat crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. He could see her in his mind's eye — the calm, patient gaze, the way her voice softened when she spoke to him, the countless moments she had shielded him from trouble since he was small. She'd been at his side since before he could walk, years older, yet somehow always within reach.
The thought lingered longer than he expected, curling warm in his chest. Maybe…
But he shook his head sharply, forcing the warmth back into a quiet corner of his mind. "Focus on the books first," he muttered to himself.
Drawing a slow breath, Haotian opened the first tome, its pages whispering like old friends. The scent of ink and time filled his lungs. And with that, the world outside — elder's teasing, blushes, questions — faded into the vast, boundless expanse of knowledge laid before him.
Haotian's fingers traced the spine of a thick, dust-edged volume, its title inked in faded gold: "Moonshadow Forms: Unabridged". Even before opening it, he could feel the faint pulse of qi lingering in the parchment — the kind of refined resonance only left behind by cultivators of considerable rank.
He eased it open. The characters inside weren't just neat; they moved. Each stroke seemed to shift subtly when glanced at from different angles, revealing layered meanings that couldn't be captured in a single reading. The first passages alone spoke of principles beyond the narrow scope of the foundational methods he'd been taught in the hall. Footwork that dissolved killing intent before it reached the skin. Blade arcs that folded qi in on itself to multiply force. It was elegant… lethal.
Another book, bound in lacquered wood, bore the title: "Serpent River Flow". The diagrams within described movements like water breaking stone — coiling momentum until it snapped forward with crushing speed. Its creator had blended movement technique and striking forms so seamlessly that defense and attack became the same act.
By the third book, "Ironveil Pulse: Core Guard Methods", Haotian realized these weren't mere upgrades — they were complete evolutions of the basic arts he already mastered. Each was aligned to his current cultivation stage, but brimming with hidden depths meant to grow alongside the practitioner. His mind was already mapping how the footwork from Moonshadow could pair with the velocity bursts from Serpent River, and how Ironveil's internal rotations could serve as a foundation to withstand the recoil of both.
One by one, he stacked them beside him — not to memorize fully now, but to dissect and reassemble later into something his own. The thought stirred a rare flicker of anticipation in him. This wasn't just studying anymore. This was the beginning of a personal arsenal, one that no elder had scripted for him.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the warmth from earlier lingered — but this time, it mingled with a quiet sense of purpose.
Haotian stepped out into the cool evening air, the lingering scent of old parchment and candle smoke still clinging to his robes. The sudden shift from the warm, quiet library halls to the crisp bite of dusk felt almost jarring. He drew a slow breath, letting the world outside settle back into focus.
The elder stood near the threshold, hands tucked behind his back, watching him with that same unreadable expression. Haotian could only imagine what he must look like — hair jutting in every possible direction, robes slightly rumpled, faint traces of ink smudged along his fingertips. But his mind… his mind was sharp, alive, brimming with the weight of everything he'd just absorbed.
He bowed deeply. "Many thanks for your help, Elder."
The elder gave a dismissive wave, though there was a faint curve to his lips. "Hmph. Don't burn yourself out, boy. Even a spirit fire needs air to breathe. Take it slower next time."
Haotian straightened, hands still cupped in front of him. "Yes, Elder." He began to turn away, then paused, glancing back. "May I know the name of the one who has helped me so greatly?"
But the spot where the elder had stood was empty. Only the faint sway of a hanging lantern marked the space he'd occupied. Haotian blinked, scanning the shadows —
"Call me Renshu."
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once, soft but resonant, like it carried through the marrow. Haotian smiled faintly, turning toward the sound, and bowed to the empty air. "Understood, Elder Renshu."
The silence returned, the moment gone. Haotian adjusted his robes, smoothed his wild hair as best he could, and stepped out into the courtyard. The night air was cool against his face, and the faint glow of moonlight seemed to follow him as he made his way back, the quiet weight of knowledge and possibility pressing warmly against his thoughts.
Haotian returned to his quarters, but the room was silent and empty. He stripped off the travel-worn robes, washed away the layer of dust clinging to his skin, and let the cold water wake him fully. When he emerged, his hair was neatly bound, his robes fresh and clean — a far cry from the disheveled state he had left the library in.
Feeling renewed, he made his way to Lianhua's quarters, intending to tell her about the elder's generosity and the treasures he had discovered. But when he arrived, the courtyard was quiet, the door barred from within.
A voice from the path drew his attention. A female disciple slowed her steps as she recognized him. "Senior Brother… are you looking for Sister Lianhua?" she asked, her cheeks tinting faintly.
"Yes," Haotian replied.
The girl hesitated for only a moment before explaining. "She and her team — the Moonfang Tigers — left several days ago on a mission. They haven't returned yet." Her voice softened, almost as if sensing the faint crease forming between his brows.
"I see. Thank you," Haotian said with a small nod.
The girl dipped her head and continued on her way, leaving him standing before the empty quarters. He turned and walked away, forcing himself to keep a steady pace. That night, he cultivated, pushing stray thoughts from his mind.
But the days passed, and the Moonfang Tigers did not return.
Each sunset deepened the unease settling in his chest. What mission could they be on? And why so long? His questions pressed against the walls of his composure until, on the fourth day, he could no longer wait.
Haotian's footsteps quickened as he crossed the sect's inner courtyards, the fading afternoon sun casting long shadows across the flagstones. The unease in his chest had been growing with each passing day, ever since he learned Lianhua's team had left on a mission. He had told himself it was routine — the Moonfang Tiger handlers often took on external assignments — but this was now far beyond a normal return window.
He pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the mission hall, the familiar scent of ink, dust, and beast-hide parchment washing over him. Inside, the low murmur of disciples checking postings filled the space, but Haotian's arrival drew more than a few glances.
The elder at the records desk, a wiry man with a thin beard, looked up from his ledger. "Mm? Haotian? What brings you here?"
Haotian stepped forward, cupping his hands politely. "Elder, I've come to inquire about a mission — one taken by Sister Lianhua and her Moonfang Tiger team. They've been gone for several days."
The elder's brush stilled mid-stroke. His eyes flicked up sharply. "Lianhua…" He reached under the desk, pulling out a stack of mission slips bound in twine. His fingers moved quickly, flipping through until he found the right record.
"This is the one." He laid the parchment flat. "Assigned eight days ago. Destination: the Black Hollow Range. Classification: Beast Subjugation, Rank B… with possible escalation to Rank A."
Haotian's brows drew together. "Black Hollow Range? That's—"
"Dangerous." The elder's voice was firm. "Plenty of spirit beasts there… but also reports of unaligned rogue cultivators and demonic traces."
Haotian's unease solidified into a cold weight in his gut. "And there's been no contact?"
The elder shook his head slowly. "No word. No messenger hawk. And…" He hesitated, eyes narrowing. "The mission slate still lists them as 'active.' That means they haven't been confirmed dead… but they also haven't reported in."
Haotian stood there for a long moment, his jaw tight. Eight days. No word. A dangerous range.
He bowed once more to the elder. "Thank you for telling me."
As he stepped out of the mission hall, the orange light of sunset painted the clouds in streaks of crimson. His mind was already racing. If no one else was moving to check on them… then perhaps he would have to go himself.
When the sun broke the horizon that morning, he had already made his decision.
He strode into the Martial Hall, his steps echoing against the polished stone. Disciples turned to look, sensing the tension in his frame, but no one dared to approach. He found one of the duty elders, a stern man robed in deep crimson, and bowed just enough to show respect.
"I need to speak with you. It's about my team," Haotian said.
Inside the elder's private chamber, he explained everything — the days without contact, the strange silence from the mission records. "I want permission to leave and find them," he finished.
The elder's brows knit together. "Following protocol, you cannot leave without authorization. Missions have their risks… but I will bring this to the high elder."
Minutes later, Haotian stood before the Martial Hall's high elder, a man whose presence alone commanded respect. The high elder listened without interrupting, then leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly.
"No. You will not leave," the high elder said flatly. "Missions are dangerous. Disciples die on them. It is part of our world. You should not waste concern over such things. Focus on cultivating yourself."
Something inside Haotian snapped.
The air around him crackled — wind whispering into a howl, lightning threading in jagged arcs across the floor. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from where he stood and reappeared directly before the high elder, his hand clamped around the man's throat. The wood of the high elder's chair groaned under the sudden force.
"What… did you say?" Haotian's voice was low, teeth clenched so tightly that the sound of enamel grinding filled the room. The fury in his eyes burned like a storm contained within a single heartbeat.
The elders present froze for half a breath, then erupted in alarm. "Release him, now!"
Soul Transformation Realm pressure slammed down on him from multiple directions, the air twisting from the weight. Even the high elder's own aura surged in an attempt to break Haotian's hold — but the man did not move.
How… is he this fast? the thought rippled silently through the room.
Then, as if a veil had lifted, Haotian's focus cleared. He released his grip, retreating in a streak of golden lightning to the far side of the chamber. Drawing a deep breath, he cupped his hands and bowed.
"My apologies," he said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of raw emotion. "This team is not just a team to me. They are family. And… especially L—" he caught himself, "…especially Lianhua. She has been with me since I was a child. I am… close to her."
The elders eased back, their auras receding. Some exchanged knowing glances.
The high elder coughed, eyes studying Haotian for a long moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he pulled an emblem from his sleeve and tossed it. Haotian caught it midair without looking.
"I will issue a mission," the high elder said. "Haotian, you are to investigate, track, and rescue the Moonfang Tigers. Bring them back… if they can be brought back."
A rare spark of relief touched Haotian's expression. He bowed deeply. "Understood."
Then, in a burst of golden lightning, he was gone.
The silence that followed was heavy.
One of the elders exhaled slowly. "high elder… is it wise to let him go?"
The high elder 's lips curled into something between a grim smile and a warning. "Wise or not, none of us could stop him. Did you see his speed? If he wished to strike, even together we might not survive it."
No one argued.
Golden arcs hissed and cracked across Haotian's frame, the sound of thunder chasing in his wake as his boots barely kissed the dirt before he was airborne again. The sect's main gate loomed ahead, but he didn't slow—he only lifted his arm, the high elder's emblem gleaming in his grip.
Two disciples on guard froze mid-breath at the sight of it, their expressions swinging from confusion to outright alarm. "I have an urgent mission!" Haotian's voice cut like a thunderclap, snapping them to attention.
They caught sight of the emblem's unmistakable seal, the one that no one in their right mind would dare challenge, and both stepped back without a word.
The instant they cleared the path, Haotian's stride broke into a lightning-bound leap.
BOOM!
A column of golden light tore past the gate, the pressure of his movement kicking up a shockwave that rattled the guard station and made the tiles overhead shiver. Above the road, his body blurred into a streak—half man, half storm—until the horizon swallowed him whole.
Somewhere far behind, one of the gatekeepers swallowed hard and muttered, "That… wasn't even his full speed, was it?"
The other could only shake his head, eyes still locked on the fading trail of electric fire in the sky.