The tour had begun in earnest, with Haotian leading the Four Saints, Lianhua, Ru Mei, Yue Lan, and the Cloudveil elder through the inner courtyards and training grounds. Everywhere they went, disciples and elders alike paused mid-step, conversations faltering under the weight of the Saints' presence.
Yangshen seemed to enjoy the way the atmosphere shifted around them, tossing Haotian the occasional smirk as though daring him to admit how different life would be now. Yuying and Meiyun, however, rarely let their eyes stray far from the two Cloudveil girls, their gazes like soft velvet hiding sharpened needles. Lianhua walked steadily at Haotian's side, her quiet confidence radiating in a way that only seemed to irritate Meiyun further—though Yuying's smile suggested she found it admirable.
But their stately procession came to a sudden pause as they rounded a corner near one of the side gardens.
A group of female disciples, their Azure Sky Sect robes flowing in the light breeze, approached from the opposite path. At their head was a woman who made the courtyard itself seem quieter—Lin Xue.
She looked exactly as she had the first time Haotian saw her at the zither pavilion: a robe of pure white silk catching the afternoon sun in gentle waves, a sheer veil masking the lower half of her face, soft as winter mist. The upper curve of her jaw and the gleam in her eyes hinted at beauty rarely seen in the open. Her hair was parted into an elegant front knot adorned with delicate ornaments, while the rest poured down her back like a river of ink catching faint sunlight, each step setting it into slow motion ripples.
Haotian recognized her instantly.
Lin Xue stopped in front of them and, without waiting for formalities, inclined her head in a graceful greeting. "An honor to meet you all."
Haotian returned the gesture with a respectful nod. "Senior Sister Lin."
Her eyes warmed faintly above the veil, but then a subtle furrow formed in her brow. "I don't believe I ever learned your name."
"Haotian," he said simply, then extended his hand slightly toward each in turn. "And these are my ancestors—Yangshen, Yuying, Jinhai, and Meiyun of the Zhenlong family. This is Lianhua of the Burning Sun Sect, and our guests from the Cloudveil Spirit Sect—Elder Xiu, Ru Mei, and Yue Lan."
Lin Xue's gaze moved over each of them in turn, the faintest glint of curiosity lighting in her eyes when they passed over the Four Saints. She bowed slightly to them, her movements as fluid as her music, then gave the same courtesy to Lianhua and the Cloudveil guests.
Behind Haotian, Meiyun's eyes flicked to Lianhua as if silently gauging her reaction to yet another refined beauty speaking directly to her great-nephew. Lianhua, for her part, simply met Meiyun's look with an unreadable smile.
Yangshen leaned toward Haotian just enough to be heard, his tone low and faintly amused. "And how many friends do you plan to collect before this tour is over?"
Haotian ignored the jab with practiced ease.
Yuying's eyes slid down to Lianhua, who was still holding onto her arm with quiet confidence. On her other side, Meiyun also felt the younger woman's grip—light but steady. There was no trace of tension in her face, no flicker of insecurity at Lin Xue's presence. Did she already resolve this one too? Yuying thought, a spark of amusement rising.
Meiyun, however, was not amused. Her aura began to seep outward like a slow tide of pressure, the air thickening enough that nearby Azure Sky disciples instinctively stepped back. Jinhai coughed—once, twice, then sharply a third time—until Meiyun finally reined it in with an annoyed glance.
Haotian, as if none of it were happening, smiled easily. "Senior Sister Lin Xue plays the zither very well," he said warmly.
Lianhua chimed in from Yuying's side, her voice calm. "Her melody was exceptional."
Yuying arched a brow toward Lin Xue, her expression an unspoken Really?
Lin Xue inclined her head, her voice soft. "My zither songs are nothing much. They only calm the soul and ease the nerves of those who listen."
Before the exchange could continue, a voice called from behind. "Ah, there you are!"
An Azure Sky Sect elder approached quickly, disciples following in his wake. He glanced at the gathering but only managed a hurried bow.
"My apologies, but we must return to Azure Sky Sect at once. I must report… that the descendant of the Four Saint Dragons is a disciple of the Burning Sun Sect. It would be wise to form good relations with them immediately."
The words struck like a thrown stone. Silence rippled through the group. The elder blinked, confused by the sudden weight in the air—until Lin Xue chuckled lightly and began formal introductions, naming each of the Four Saints and Haotian.
The elder's eyes went wide. A heartbeat later, thud!—he was on his knees, forehead nearly to the stones. "I beg forgiveness from the Four Saint Dragons and their esteemed descendant!"
Haotian raised a hand to intervene, but Yangshen was already moving. In one smooth gesture, he lifted the man by the arm like a child being set back on his feet.
"Don't mind it," Yangshen said with a faint smile. "Go back and report. The sooner the better."
"Yes, Saint Dragon!" The elder's head bobbed rapidly, relief and fear battling in his eyes.
Lin Xue and the Azure Sky disciples bowed once more, then excused themselves with smooth, precise steps. The courtyard seemed to breathe again as they left.
The tour continued with Lianhua still linked to Yuying and Meiyun's arms, her steps light, her face calm, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed her enjoyment. Behind them, Ru Mei and Yue Lan kept pace, their glances shifting between Haotian, the Four Saints, and Lianhua herself. The rivalry was subtle—an exchange of measured looks and quiet assessments rather than overt challenge—but Yuying and Meiyun noticed every flicker.
They rounded the last corridor before the east square when the Cloudveil Spirit Sect elder approached. "Ru Mei, Yue Lan," his voice was steady, "we depart now. Orders from the Sect."
The two girls turned to Haotian and Lianhua, offering respectful bows. "Until next time," Ru Mei said with her usual serene composure. Yue Lan gave a smaller smile, her eyes lingering on Haotian a moment longer before she followed her elder.
Once they were gone, Haotian led the remaining group to the alchemy hall and into his personal lab. The air was thick with the faint, lingering scent of rare herbs. Several elders from the Burning Sun Sect were already present, and they straightened the moment the Saints entered.
From a spatial ring, Haotian produced several jade cases, setting them neatly on the main table. "Crystal Vein Pills," he explained, "over two thousand. For the household army." His voice carried the weight of preparation long in the making. "These have been stored for the day my ancestors returned."
He detailed their properties—strengthening meridians, reinforcing the body's natural reserves, and accelerating cultivation for those still building their foundations. Then he drew out a final jade case and handed it to Yangshen. "This is the same pill the Sect Master used to break through to the Dao Comprehension Realm. I've prepared it for Father… for Wuhen. He's been at Soul Transformation too long."
A murmur ran through the room. The Four Saints exchanged brief glances. Yangshen cleared his throat and nodded, his deep voice carrying a rare note of pride. "Still thinking of the Zhenlong family even while standing here. Good."
"Then we should head back," Yangshen added with a wry grin. "Auction's over, and we've had our tour."
Lianhua hesitated, then asked, "Would you… like to stay for dinner?"
Yuying's smile curved like a blade. "It would be unwise for us old folks to interfere with the young ones' time together."
Lianhua's face flushed instantly. Meiyun giggled, her eyes narrowing in mischief. Jinhai coughed pointedly, his way of keeping the tone balanced—if barely.
"Let's return," Yangshen said, and with a casual step upward, his body became a streak of light disappearing into the horizon.
Yuying and Meiyun turned to Lianhua, both embracing her warmly. Meiyun leaned in to whisper, "Stop waiting and just anchor him once and for all. That'll stop the other girls from approaching."
"Ancestor!" Lianhua sputtered, her blush deepening.
Both women laughed softly. Yuying gave her a gentle pat before turning into a flash of light that streaked skyward. Meiyun winked once more before following.
Jinhai stepped to Haotian, his gaze cool but faintly amused. "Behave yourself."
Haotian gave an awkward laugh. "Of course."
And then Jinhai was gone too, leaving only Haotian and Lianhua in the quiet courtyard.
He stepped closer, one hand sliding to her waist, the other drawing her into his chest. She sank into his embrace without resistance, her head resting against him as her breathing slowed.
"You know," she murmured, eyes drifting shut, "I did try to remain calm, but…"
"I know," he interrupted gently. "I was the same." His hold tightened. "All day, I just wanted to turn around and hug you."
Her lips curved faintly as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. "Even in front of the others?"
"Especially in front of the others."
She rose onto her toes, and he met her halfway. Their lips met in a deep, unhurried kiss that made the rest of the day—the auctions, the politics, the watching eyes—fade into nothing. For that moment, there was only them, breathing the same breath under the quiet sky.
By morning, the warmth of the night had been replaced by the metallic tang of tension in the air.
The Burning Sun Sect's outer gates were crowded—not with merchants, not with wandering cultivators, but with envoys in the colors of half a dozen sects. Some stood openly beneath their banners, others wore plain robes and pretended to browse the market stalls. Every single one of them had arrived within hours of dawn.
Word of the auction's treasures had already been enough to stir interest. But word that the Four Saint Dragons had personally visited… and that their great-grandson was a Burning Sun Sect disciple? That had turned interest into obsession.
Inside the main audience hall, the Sect Master sat at the head with the high elders flanking him. Scrolls and messenger talismans lay in small stacks on the low table before them—fresh communications, all demanding meetings, alliances, or "friendly exchanges."
"Half of these arrived before I finished breakfast," one elder muttered, flipping through an open scroll. "The other half arrived after I finished breakfast."
The Sect Master's expression was unreadable, but his eyes gleamed. "Let them come. But they will leave knowing we are not prey."
One of the older elders leaned in. "The Saints' visit has erased any lingering thoughts of aggression… for now. But it's also brought new eyes—eyes that will weigh our worth, and test it."
At the far end of the hall, Haotian entered with Lianhua at his side. The murmur in the room dimmed slightly. He offered a respectful bow to the Sect Master.
"They'll test us," the Sect Master said, meeting Haotian's gaze, "because they now think we're worth testing."
"And some," another elder added, "will look for cracks between us and the Zhenlong family. To see if they can drive a wedge."
Haotian's smile was faint but certain. "Then we show them nothing but steel."
The Sect Master inclined his head. "We will. But I want you aware—envoys from Azure Sky, Cloudveil, Iron Sabre, and three independent merchant alliances have already requested audience with you specifically."
"Me?"
"They'll see the pavilion, they'll see the auction… but they want to see the one who made the pavilion matter."
A ripple of quiet laughter went around the table, more from amusement at the Sect Master's wording than from joy.
Outside, the political ripples were already spreading faster than any single meeting could contain. Rival sects that had plotted against the Burning Sun Sect the week before were suddenly re-writing their approaches. A few intended to court them directly. Others—especially those who had lost face at the auction—were discussing "joint ventures" that would mask their probing for weakness.
By mid-morning, the marketplace near the sect's base was thick with spies in disguise. Some were subtle; others were so obviously out of place that disciples began making a game of spotting them. Even those pretending to browse talisman stalls were really listening for the words "Haotian" and "Saint Dragons" in the same breath.
In the elders' chambers, plans began to shift. Patrol routes doubled. Outer market stallholders received quiet instructions on what not to say to strangers. The Sect Master himself drafted an announcement to remind the cultivation world that the Burning Sun Sect welcomed trade… but only on their terms.
Haotian stood in the open courtyard after the meeting, watching the messengers stream in and out like a tide. His hand brushed the small jade slip at his belt where he'd been jotting names, affiliations, and behavior patterns since dawn.
Last night had been theirs.
Today was the world's turn again.
And he intended to make sure the world left disappointed if it came looking for weakness.
The stillness of Haotian's inner world was a thing few mortals could ever experience. No wind, no passing of time—only the endless glow of the Golden Text Library. Towering shelves rose in every direction, forged of polished jade and inlaid with flowing streams of golden script that pulsed like veins of living light.
Haotian sat cross-legged in the central reading chamber, the vast dome above him painted with shifting constellations of his own memories. Scrolls and manuals hovered in the air at his gesture, drifting toward him like moths drawn to a lantern.
He had neglected this place for far too long. Too many days had been consumed by sect affairs, politics, and unexpected battles. But here, in the heart of his inner world, nothing could intrude.
One by one, he sifted through the techniques he had absorbed from the Azure Sky Sect's Weapons Pavilion. The golden text versions were purer than the originals, refined by his spiritual imprint. Sword styles that split rivers. Staff forms that moved like avalanches. Whip arts like coiling dragons. And then—his hand stopped.
Floating before him was a scroll inscribed in faint silver light:
"Sonic Fang Spear" – Low Earth Grade
His eyes narrowed. It was an unpretentious name for a dangerous art. The opening lines made his pulse quicken.
A spear thrust is not strength. It is speed made lethal.
The method relied on pushing the spear's tip to supersonic velocity, creating vibrations sharp enough to pierce through solid iron as though it were paper. Upon impact, those vibrations would tear the target apart from the inside. And if he could weave his Nine Elements into the technique… the destruction would be absolute. A single thrust could inject fire to incinerate from within, lightning to shred the nervous system, ice to freeze marrow, earth to burst blood vessels. Even spirit armors would fail—the elements would bypass them entirely, killing from the inside out.
His lips curved slightly. This wasn't just a martial art—it was a weapon meant to end fights instantly. But there was a catch.
The scroll's golden characters shifted to highlight the requirement: "Mastery demands a true spear of one's own, forged to resonate with the user's core."
He could conjure a lightning-fire spear from spirit energy alone, but the drain would be crippling over long practice. No—he needed something permanent, something that would carry the resonance of his Nine Elements without collapsing under their strain.
Haotian rose. The scroll dissolved into motes of gold and returned to its place among the shelves.
His inner world faded as his consciousness returned to his body.
When his eyes opened, the real world was already in motion—he was on his feet, striding toward the Forging Hall.
The moment he entered, the air shifted. The hammering slowed, then stopped entirely as the smithing disciples and masters looked up. Conversations broke off mid-sentence. Someone whispered his name, and in seconds the murmurs spread until the entire hall seemed to pulse with expectation.
He didn't waste words. His gaze swept over racks of ores until it settled on a stack of Voidsteel Alloy—rare, silver-black metal prized for its ability to endure high-frequency vibration. Perfect for a Sonic Fang spear.
"Clear the main forge," he said, voice calm but carrying a weight that left no room for hesitation.
The apprentices moved instantly.
Flames roared as Haotian took his place at the central forge. His hands rested on the ingots for a moment, letting his spirit energy seep in. The Voidsteel shivered, then began to sing under his touch. The forge fire turned from red to searing white as he infused it with fire essence, the heat so intense that even the seasoned smiths shielded their eyes.
Each hammer strike rang like a temple bell, deliberate and resonant. Between blows, he twisted the haft and folded the metal again and again, chasing perfect flow lines. Midway through shaping the spearhead, lightning crackled along the surface, feeding into the alloy until arcs danced across its edges like restless serpents.
By the time the quench came, the water hissed into an explosion of steam, filling the hall in a thick white shroud. When it cleared, Haotian stood holding his creation—a spear as sleek as a wind-swept current, the head gleaming silver-bright with faint ripples in the grain, the haft alive with a low, dangerous hum.
He gave it a single twirl. The tip cut the air so fast it left a sharp sonic snap in its wake.
"This," he said quietly, more to himself than to the crowd, "is Tempest Fang."
And with it, the Sonic Fang Spear Art would become a weapon no armor, no shield, and no cultivator could endure.
The forge's echoes had barely faded when Haotian returned to his quarters. His body still thrummed from the resonance of Tempest Fang, but deeper inside, something far greater stirred. He sat cross-legged on his meditation mat, letting his breath settle into rhythm. The world around him dimmed, and within, his dantian sea of qi began to churn.
The three cores that anchored his cultivation—the legacy of the Heaven-Sundering Trinity Scripture—shimmered in unstable harmony. For years they had been silent, restrained, their seals suppressing what his body was too young to bear. But now, as he merged his comprehension of the Nine Elements with his spirit flow, the seals began to fracture.
One pulse. Then another.
Suddenly—
BOOM!
A shockwave burst from his body, rippling outward in golden arcs of lightning. Windows rattled across the sect. The ground trembled, unsettling pavilions and shattering ceramic tiles. Disciples stumbled from their quarters in panic.
Lianhua, seated in meditation not far from his chambers, felt the eruption first. Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding. She clasped her hands together and whispered urgently, "Please… not the tribulation. Not now." Her lips quivered as she prayed for the heavens to stay their hand.
But the heavens had already stirred.
Above the Burning Sun Sect, the skies blackened without warning. Clouds coiled like serpents, devouring the sun in shadow. From the void above, a massive vortex spiraled downward, its core an abyss of lightless thunder. The air itself grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and doom.
Elders rushed from their halls. The Sect Master himself ascended skyward, robes snapping in the wind, his gaze sharp with dread. Disciples cowered in courtyards, clutching their hearts as thunder boomed overhead.
"What is happening?" one elder cried."Is this… the end of our sect?" another whispered.
The vortex spun wider, consuming the heavens, threatening to collapse upon the mountain itself. It was as though the will of the heavens had come to erase the Burning Sun Sect from existence.
But then… it stopped.
The clouds quivered, hesitated, and—impossibly—began to dissolve.
The vortex unraveled like smoke caught in the wind. Sunlight broke through in golden rays, as though nothing had ever happened. The elders froze mid-flight, baffled. Murmurs spread like wildfire through the disciples below. No lightning bolts, no tribulation. Just… silence.
Confusion reigned. The Sect Master lowered himself slowly, his expression troubled.
Meanwhile, within his quarters, Haotian sat motionless, body glowing. Golden lightning still danced across his skin, coiling like serpents of living light. His dantian roared as his three cores resonated in unison, forming the beginnings of his Nascent Core—a stage many cultivators dreamed of, but few achieved. His breathing slowed. His eyes opened.
What shone within them was not merely golden.
It was the Eyes of the Universe, swirling constellations reflected in both pupils, stars and galaxies forming infinite spirals. They gazed not outward, but into all things.
A faint smile touched his lips.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
He didn't need to rise to know who stood outside. His sight pierced through the wooden door as though it were glass.
"Enter," he said softly.
The door creaked open, and there she was—Lianhua. Her hands trembled as she shut it behind her, her gaze darting immediately to him. She froze when she saw him—sitting amidst golden lightning, his eyes vast and endless.
"Haotian…" she whispered.
He smiled, and the sight alone brought color to her cheeks. She hurried forward, kneeling beside him. "Are you alright? Your energy—your aura—it shook the entire sect! The heavens moved as if to smite us. I—" Her words faltered, worry clouding her delicate features.
"Yes," he answered calmly. His voice carried a depth that resonated beyond sound. "I am fine."
She blinked, as though uncertain she should believe him. But then he rose. Smoothly, gracefully—like the center of the storm standing tall after the storm had passed. Before she could say more, he reached forward and drew her into an embrace.
"You must have been worried," he murmured.
Her breath caught. The warmth of his arms dissolved the weight in her chest. Her hands pressed lightly against his back, her heart fluttering as her worries melted away.
Still holding her, Haotian lifted one hand. His clawed fingers brushed lightly under her chin, tilting her face upward. She gasped faintly as her gaze locked onto his—those golden, swirling universes, galaxies alive within his eyes.
Her lips parted. She had always loved them. From the moment he first awakened those eyes, she had been unable to look away.
The spell held her.
On instinct, she rose to her toes, and their lips touched.
At first, it was gentle—a brush, a hesitation. But then it deepened. His arm tightened around her waist as their mouths parted, then joined again, their tongues tangling in a clash as fiery as any battle. Lianhua let out a soft moan against him, the sound muffled as she surrendered to the kiss.
He turned her in his arms, never breaking the connection, guiding her backward until she met the edge of the bed. She yielded, her hands curling around his neck as he eased her down, their lips still locked. The room's candles flickered wildly, shadows dancing across the walls like specters of fire.
Their kiss grew hungrier, deeper, until every barrier between them dissolved. His hand caressed the curve of her waist as hers clung to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The world outside—the elders, the sect, the heavens themselves—no longer existed. There was only this moment, this storm of hearts entwined.
The night stretched long, candlelight swaying as if bearing witness.
And in the quiet hours, as lightning arcs faded into warmth, the eyes of the universe shone only for her.