The Burning Sun Sect's formation was halfway down the mountain pass when Haotian slowed. He had been feeling it since the gorge—faint, deliberate, almost erased—the kind of qi trail left by people who thought they were clever. He let his breath settle, let the world sharpen, and the Eyes of the Universe opened like a second sun behind his pupils. The path changed. Dust motes turned into map pins. Smears of breath and shed intent became lines of motion, thin as hair and bright as fireflies at dusk, threading away over the western cliffs where the wind sounded like someone whispering through their teeth.
He stopped. The high elder didn't need an explanation. One glance to Haotian, then a small nod as if he were answering a question no one else had heard. "Go. We'll keep moving."
Lightning crawled across Haotian's knuckles in a hush, not the riotous crackle of a storm but the tight hiss of metal cooling in snow. He vanished with a dry snap of air, the sound of distance being folded and pressed flat. Stone bulges along the cliffside became footholds. Every step landed in the same ring of silence, damped by a thin film of golden static that left the rock cool to the touch and bare of prints.
The threads of qi bent into a notch between two ridges and dropped like a knife stroke into a narrow canyon. He slid to his stomach and peered over the lip. Below, lantern-fire threw color across a circle of men. The leader had stripped his hood off; the Bloodshade Moon Sect elder's hair was iron-grey at the temples, his cheekbones cut like angry calligraphy, the mouth carved into a line that had forgotten how to lift. Around him stood half a dozen elders from other sects, robes scuffed, sleeves torn, faces sharpened by the kind of grief that wants to bite something that bleeds.
"You saw him," someone said, voice raw. "A Core Condensation nobody made you drop your sword."
"Late Soul Transformation and played like a novice," another snarled. "If that spreads, none of us will outlive the shame. It stains the line."
"Then we remove the stain," the Bloodshade Moon elder said. The calm in it was worse than rage. "We hunt him. We break his dantian. We leave him alive long enough for the story to walk."
Haotian stood, brushed grit from his sleeve, and stepped off the ledge.
The canyon met him with vertical speed and the smell of hot stone, then the air flexed around his ankles—tchk—as a ring of golden arcs bloomed along the ground where he would have landed. Lightning lifted him a finger's width above the dust and set him down without a sound in the center of their circle. The lantern flames bowed once under the pressure of his arrival and then snapped upright.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then the Bloodshade Moon elder's hand went for his sword and Haotian's shadow split.
The clones weren't illusions. They didn't smear like bad glass. They didn't stutter. They arrived on beat with him, shoulder-to-shoulder without touching, their eyes holding the same steady slow-breath calm, their bodies drawing spears of light out of nothing. Twelve Haotians. Twelve lightning spears. Twelve heartbeats, synchronized. The canyon received the sound of them the way a drum receives a mallet—one blow and then the echo running around the walls.
The first elder on the outside edge lifted his blade. A spear went through his chest before his elbows straightened. Not a sloppy punch of force that splashed qi everywhere and cut the ground for a dozen paces. A clean, narrow strike that entered at the fourth rib left of the sternum, drove through the lung, crossed the meridian pillars, and exited under the scapula with a sound like a wine cup cracking. BWOOM. The wall accepted him back-first, a starburst of white fractures racing out in a spiderweb and then going dim.
The lantern nearest that impact shattered in the shockwave—tink—and darkness folded in. Golden lines replaced it.
Two elders turned together, blades overlapping for coverage, their years of practice snapping into the geometry of survival. Haotian's nearest clone slid in at ankle height, spear haft horizontal, and rapped one man's shin with a velocity that turned bone into chalk under skin. The man's stance collapsed, the blade dipped, a second spear rode the steel like a river rides stone, climbed it, and kissed the knuckles that held it. A flash. The smell of copper heated to the edge of steam. The sword fell. The second elder tried to adjust—saw nothing but light. His guard was perfect. His timing exact. His meridians were the only thing that mattered and they were suddenly full of thunder.
Above them, two spheres spun themselves into being, each the size of a man's head, tight-packed coils of lightning braided around cores that hummed like struck crystal. They dropped as if a giant had let go of two nails. THOOM. THOOM. The shock in front did not ripple outward so much as stamp the air flat. Protective talismans lit in panic and incinerated before their formations finished drawing; the incomplete circles left stains of ash in the air and nothing else. The ground sighed and subsided, a shallow basin dug by pressure alone.
The Bloodshade Moon elder moved through that pressure like a knife through rope, sword unwinding from its sheath in a line of night-cloud steel edged in thin red. His first cut was long and flat and intended to make the clones commit. They didn't. The second was a feint that was not a feint, carrying two choices inside it like teeth. Haotian slid through the hinge of both without touching either. The elder's third cut bit into the place where Haotian's throat had been and found only afterimage.
Haotian was at his left flank, the clone on the right, both spears in the same line. The Bloodshade Moon elder pivoted, brought the sword to center to catch both, and met only one. The other vanished and reappeared at his back with a whisper of switched momentum that felt like a predator's breath. The sword had to commit somewhere—he chose the front, because that is where men who believe in steel always choose to commit. The back spear stopped a finger's breadth from his spine. It was only a mark, a reminder that mercy is a decision, not an accident.
It ended a breath later.
Haotian didn't waste a killing thrust on armor and muscle. He put his palm to the elder's side as lightly as someone closing a door to keep out a draft. The glow started under his hand and spread in nine colors that did not exist in paint. The Nine Element Chi went into the elder like water goes into a cracked bowl, searching seams, filling lines, finding the emptiest place and making it the most full. The elder's meridians hit overload in three points at once, the energy inverted, and the dantian clenched around the flood the way a fist clenches around hot iron. CRACK. Quiet and final. Teeth struck together from the shock. The blade wobbled at the edge of his guard. He was already a ruin in the shape of a man before the lightning spear traveled six inches and opened his throat without spilling anything to the ground.
On Haotian's left, someone tried to go up the wall. Good instinct—get above the storm. A clone went after him and didn't jump. It ran vertically the way wind runs, the spear-tip dragging a groove along stone that glowed for a breath and then scabbed over black. The elder pushed off to the opposite wall, met the clone midair, and found there is no "midair" when lightning has a say. The clone reversed direction like a thought changing course and hammered him down with a two-handed thrust that collapsed his breath out of his body in a grunt that sounded like a man waking from drowning. WHUMP. Haotian arrived half a second later and set two fingers to the center of the sternum. The poison flowed like warm metal. Something inside shattered like pottery under a cart wheel. The man went still with his eyes open, as if deciding how to tell time now that there was none.
The last three pulled together the way people who have practiced not dying always do. Their swords wrote three different stories of movement that ended in the same sentence: hold the line and wait for the next part. Haotian didn't give them time to get to the next part. Four clones spun around him in a corkscrew he didn't seem to be commanding with anything as small as hands. The spears came in high, low, center, off-beat, always where the eyes weren't, always where the weight had just left, never where the steel looked strongest. Every time their blades found purchase it was on a shaft, and every time a shaft rang it rang like an anvil called thunder down into wood grain and sent cracks crawling.
They were good. They were not bad men's idea of good. They were the kind of good you get when you start at twelve and have outlived everyone who began with you. One trapped a spear with the back edge of his blade and tried to torque it out of a clone's hands; the clone let it go and the spear exploded into filaments that wrapped the sword and made it hum until his fingers wanted to let go. He didn't. He paid for that discipline with a blow to the ribs that folded him hard enough to lift his heels off the ground. Another caught the tip on a parry and wagged it off-line just enough to save his eye; the spear shifted beam to beam without ever losing forward, sanded through his guard like it knew exactly how many molecules had to move for the gap to open, and kissed his temple with a shock that turned his feet traitor. The last elder tried to hold the triad's harmony and found himself holding a note alone.
Haotian went through them the way a river goes through reeds that think being in a group will save them.
When it stopped, the canyon listened to the tiny noises of cooling stone and dying sparks. Haotian dismissed the clones with a thought like closing a book. They went out without drama. He walked the circle like a shopkeeper who knows every shelf in the dark, stooping here, there, to slide rings free with a twist of a knuckle, to pull storage pouches loose, to lift scroll tubes and pill bottles and talisman rolls and toss them into his own ring with the same economy he used to kill them. Nothing ritual about it. Just tidying.
The dead are messy. He preferred clean.
He spread his fingers and called up Yang Fire. It rose pale and hungry, white-gold that drank shadow as it moved. It didn't billow or thrash; it crawled with intent, threading through hair and cloth and flesh and bone, eating qi residue as if it had a palate. The smell was not char. It was bright and metallic, like rain on a forge. In twenty breaths the canyon held nothing but rock, ash too fine to catch light, and the bare memory of heat that the night wind took without argument.
He left the same way he came, one long step becoming a road, and the mountain took him back without telling on him.
They were in the Azure Sky Sect's rest grounds before the sky had decided whether it wanted to be slate or blue. The courtyard had the hollow echo of a place where too many people slept badly. Lanterns swung. The wind dragged threads of incense smoke over stone. Disciples from other sects sat with their backs to the pillars, eyes open and not seeing anything they were looking at. The Burning Sun contingent peeled off toward their assigned quarters like a river slipping into lockstep between banks.
Haotian turned toward a side corridor where the light thinned into amber shadows. Two figures slipped out before he arrived, Cloudveil robes trailing behind them like the lingering tails of a question. Ru Mei met his gaze without a blink, cool and direct. Yue Lan's mouth curved in the kind of smile that dared the world to make a mistake.
Ru Mei's gaze was on Haotian a heartbeat longer than courtesy required as they walked. "What you did in the Forbidden Realm… you didn't just save us. You altered the outcome for both our sects." Her tone carried the weight of memory, and just beneath it, an unspoken warmth.
Yue Lan, walking at Haotian's other side, nodded. "Without you, neither the Burning Sun Sect nor the Cloudveil Spirit Sect would be standing here together today." She hesitated, then allowed the faintest smile. "It made me think… perhaps our sects should consider joint team missions. Training, exploration, political ties. It could strengthen us both."
Haotian's mouth curved faintly. "That would be… an interesting development. If your sect masters agree, I wouldn't oppose it."
The moment passed with the ease of polite diplomacy, but neither woman missed the subtle steel in his voice — the quiet authority of someone who was no longer simply a fellow cultivator, but the one who had carried them through death and fire.
Inside, Ru Mei's thoughts lingered on the way he had stood between them and annihilation — his presence a shield and a force. Yue Lan's mind traced the memory of his calm amidst chaos, the unshakable steadiness that had felt like the only fixed point in a collapsing world.
They did not speak those thoughts aloud. They didn't need to.
Haotian left Ru Mei and Yue Lan with a polite nod, letting their words drift behind him as he crossed the courtyard toward Lianhua and the guards. The group had been quartered in the Azure Sky Sect's guest halls since morning, and Lianhua had been speaking idly of seeing the grounds before they left.
The two guards straightened when he approached, eyes brightening at the prospect of a walk. "We'll come along," one said quickly.
Lianhua's smile didn't falter, but behind Haotian's back she shook her head sharply, mouthing a silent no. He caught the motion without turning and let the moment stretch, then said, "If they want to join, let them."
Her sigh was soft enough that only he heard it, but after a heartbeat she inclined her head. "Fine."
The guards grinned like boys given festival sweets, falling in behind as the group left the guest courtyard. Haotian walked ahead, his hand slipping easily into Lianhua's. The contact drew no comment from him, but the guards' grins turned sly, their voices pitched just low enough to carry.
"Didn't know the Young Master guided tours personally…"
"Must be nice, walking the sect grounds like that…"
Lianhua's blush deepened with each teasing remark, her usual composure cracking at the edges. Haotian didn't so much as glance back, the faint curve at the corner of his mouth the only sign he'd heard them at all.
The Azure Sky Sect's architecture rose around them in layered terraces and sweeping eaves, the pale blue tiles catching the afternoon sun. Courtyards opened like sudden clearings, each with its own pond or sculpted rock garden, disciples moving through with a quiet grace. Lianhua's steps slowed here and there to take in the details, her free hand brushing the carved railings, but the blush stayed high on her cheeks from the moment they'd stepped past the gate.
The sightseeing wound through garden courtyards and arched bridges, each turn revealing another carefully tended scene of the Azure Sky Sect's elegance. Lianhua stayed close at Haotian's side, the warmth of his hand in hers making her awareness sharpen at the smallest movement. The guards kept their position a few paces behind, tossing occasional remarks meant to prod her blush back to life.
"You sure you're not giving him a tour instead?" one murmured with mock innocence.
"Could be," the other replied. "Look at her, she's glowing more than the lanterns."
Lianhua tightened her grip in Haotian's hand, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a response, but the color in her cheeks betrayed her. Haotian's smile, faint and knowing, never left.
Then, somewhere beyond the path of winding colonnades, a sound drifted into the air—thin at first, then rich and resonant, like the voice of still water disturbed by the gentlest breeze. The first notes drew the tension from the guards' teasing; the next stilled their feet.
A zither.
The melody curved through the gardens like a silken ribbon, each note falling into the next with flawless ease. It was the kind of playing that could make strangers forget they were strangers, that could coax a moment of peace even from the most restless mind.
Haotian slowed, tilting his head toward the sound. Lianhua's eyes met his, curiosity clear. Without a word, they turned together, following the thread of music. The guards exchanged a quick glance and fell in behind.
The trail led them past a row of flowering plum trees to a broad pavilion set on a low rise above a koi pond. The carved plaque above the entrance read Zither Hall in flowing script. Inside, the polished floor gleamed beneath rows of seated Azure Sky Sect disciples—male and female alike—each intent on the figure at the center.
She sat before a table of dark lacquer, hands poised above the strings of a zither that seemed to breathe with the music. Her posture was perfect, her expression serene, every note coaxed into being with a grace that seemed effortless.
From the side, a young male disciple leaned toward another and whispered, "That's Senior Sister Lin Xue, Core Disciple of the Zither Pavilion."
The other nodded, eyes fixed on the performance. "Her playing can calm a raging heart and sharpen the dullest mind. No one in the sect matches her skill."
Lianhua's gaze lingered on the performer for a moment before returning to Haotian, as if gauging his reaction to the music. The guards had fallen uncharacteristically quiet, watching both the zither's mistress and the couple standing at the edge of the gathering.
Lin Xue sat in the center of the Zither Pavilion's light, wearing a robe of pure white silk that caught the afternoon sun in soft ripples. A veil, as pale as winter mist, covered the lower half of her face, letting only the curve of her jaw and the glint of her eyes show through. Her front hair was tied up in an intricate style adorned with delicate ornaments, while the rest cascaded down her back in long, shining strands that moved like water when she shifted.
Every man in the hall, whether disciple or elder, could not help but be struck by her figure—an almost untouchable beauty made more alluring by the veil's mystery.
Lianhua's gaze slid toward Haotian, her eyes narrowing faintly as if to see where his attention lay. But when she saw him, his eyes were closed—not fixed on Lin Xue's face, not distracted by her form, but simply listening to the melody. The faintest smile curved Lianhua's lips.
Lin Xue, accustomed to scanning the crowd for reactions, let her gaze drift across the faces of her audience. She knew the look in most men's eyes—the hollow admiration meant not for her music, but for her appearance. Normally, she detested it. Yet here was something different: a man not looking at her at all, his focus wrapped entirely around the music she played.
Beneath the veil, she smiled.
The melody wound toward its end, the final notes lingering like a fading breeze before settling into stillness. Lin Xue rested her hands lightly on the strings, letting the hall breathe again.
Haotian's eyes opened, and his voice was calm when he spoke. "Your playing is exquisite," he said, then lowered his tone so only the nearest could hear. "But… there was a section where the melody wavered—subtly. As if something weighed on you. Was it the crowd? Or the stares?"
He had whispered it, yet Lin Xue caught every word. Her fingers stilled completely. Under the veil, her smile deepened. She rose, her movements unhurried, and with a practiced gesture, stored her zither into her spatial ring. Her gaze swept the audience, lingering briefly on familiar faces before settling on Haotian and the Burning Sun Sect group.
"I would like to extend an invitation," she said, her voice carrying without effort. "To our honored guests from the Burning Sun Sect—please, join me for tea."
A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd, eyes shifting toward Haotian and his companions.
Haotian stepped forward, cupping his fist. "Senior Sister's kindness is appreciated. We are here only as guests of the Azure Sky Sect, and the beauty of your melody drew us here out of curiosity. Perhaps another time."
Lin Xue did not press the matter. Instead, she inclined her head with a slight smile. "Then I will look forward to that other time. You are welcome here whenever you wish."
Haotian returned the smile, took Lianhua's hand without hesitation, and turned toward the exit. As they walked away, the crowd parted to let them pass, murmurs following in their wake.
Lin Xue's eyes did not leave his back. She seemed not to notice—or perhaps not to care—that his hand remained in Lianhua's. Beneath her veil, she whispered a single word, her voice light but edged with interest.
"Interesting."
The murmurs from the Zither Pavilion faded behind them as they stepped back into the open garden paths. Lianhua's gaze was forward, but her thoughts kept circling the image of Lin Xue's eyes lingering on Haotian. She told herself it was nothing—just a musician's curiosity—but the faint, unfamiliar weight in her chest betrayed her.
Haotian glanced at her, the curve of his mouth unreadable at first. Then, without a word, he tightened his grip on her hand and lifted it slightly between them, as if the simple gesture was enough to make his point. His thumb brushed across her knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion.
Whatever had settled in her heart cracked and fell away in that instant. Lianhua smiled, letting the warmth in her eyes match the one in her chest. She stepped closer until their shoulders touched, her free hand sliding lightly onto his arm. His presence was steady, solid, the kind of calm that didn't need words to be understood.
Behind them, the six guards had been walking with suspiciously quiet steps—quiet enough that it could only mean trouble.
"Shameless," one muttered loud enough for all to hear.
"It's a public walkway!" another countered. "Is this allowed?"
"Of course it's not. We're in another sect's territory. There should be rules."
"And who makes the rules?"
"People with moral standards."
"You mean your standards?"
"My standards are the right ones."
"That's what people without standards say."
The bickering built into a full-blown "ethics and morality" war, their voices growing more animated with each back-and-forth. Haotian kept walking as if nothing was happening, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Lianhua's blush returned, but this time it carried amusement instead of uncertainty.
By the time they reached the next courtyard, the guards' mock debate had reached the point of absurdity, drawing sidelong looks from passing Azure Sky Sect disciples who had no idea whether to be offended or entertained.