The Burning Sun Sect had never known such brilliance.
Silken banners unfurled from every pavilion, lanterns drifted above like constellations, and the central plaza had been reshaped into a ceremonial hall wide enough to host sects from across the land. Long tables lined the perimeter, laden with delicacies, spirit wine, and exotic fruits. At the heart, a grand dais bore the sect master, the elders, and the newly promoted couple: Elder Haotian and Elder Lianhua.
The air was electric — pride, envy, reverence, ambition — all tangled into a single atmosphere thick enough to choke on.
The Sect Master rose first, his cup raised high. His voice carried across the plaza, deep and sonorous:
"Today, the Burning Sun Sect stands not only in celebration, but in transformation. Our pillars are stronger, our banners brighter, for in our midst stand two who carry the fire of the future. Elder Haotian. Elder Lianhua. May your paths blaze beyond the heavens."
"To the Raising Dragon and Phoenix!" the crowd thundered back, disciples and elders alike. Cups clashed, and the celebration erupted into life.
One by one, sect delegations offered gifts of art and martial prowess:
Cloudveil Spirit Sect performed a drifting sword-dance, their blades veiled in mist, forming illusions of soaring cranes. Yue Lan herself stepped into the circle, offering her dance as both homage and subtle declaration of kinship with the new couple.
Moonlight Blossom Sect unveiled a performance of petal storms, a martial exhibition cloaked as art. The blossoms filled the plaza in fragrant cascades, but within them the faint outlines of lethal strikes could be discerned — a reminder of their sect's elegance and danger.
Ironclad Tyrant Sect eschewed beauty for raw dominance. Their disciples struck steel upon steel until sparks rained, then demonstrated their "Iron Curtain Formation," drawing a murmur of respect even from rivals.
Azure Sky Sect made their entrance last, the delegation clad in robes like rolling clouds. At their head was Lan Xin, the famed zither prodigy. She stepped gracefully onto the stage, her expression serene yet resolute. When her fingers touched the strings, the world seemed to still.
Her melody rose, soft as a breeze across spring waters, then swelled into a torrent that thundered like a storm. Illusions unfolded with each note: rivers flowing, mountains rising, stars wheeling above. The sound pierced hearts and shook souls, the resonance of her Dao evident in every vibration.
The hall fell utterly silent, lost in her music. Even the Saint Dragons closed their eyes to savor it. When the final note faded into the night, no applause came at first — only reverent silence. Then the plaza erupted with thunderous acclaim.
Finally, the Burning Sun Sect disciples, emboldened, presented their own performance: the captains of the Raising Dragon and Phoenix Faction demonstrating paired martial techniques born from Haotian's teachings. The precision and unity silenced all whispers — this was no longer just a faction. It was an army in the making.
Over wine and roasted phoenix-beast, alliances quietly deepened.
Yue Lan of Cloudveil leaned close to Haotian during a lull in the performances. "Your rise is no less than destiny fulfilled. If ever your faction seeks companions beyond your walls, Cloudveil will walk beside you."
Elder Hua Renshu of Moonlight Blossom praised Lianhua openly, but his gaze lingered with calculation. His words were honeyed, but his sect's intent was clear: to weave connections before the couple grew untouchable.
Elder Kuang Tie of the Tyrant Sect simply smirked at Haotian. "When you think you're ready, boy, come challenge my disciples. Then we'll see if your spear is as sharp as your reputation." His challenge drew laughter, but all knew it was a test — both respect and rivalry in equal measure.
From the Azure Sky delegation, Lan Xin herself approached Lianhua, her tone gentle but eyes sharp. "Your aura harmonizes with his perfectly. No wonder the heavens stirred for your breakthrough. Perhaps, one day, our zithers and your spears may play in concert."
Not all faces in the hall were joyous.
Rival Burning Sun factions forced smiles, but beneath them their eyes burned. How had these two risen so far, so quickly?
A few whispered poison into cups: that it could not have been done without forbidden methods. That dual cultivation was the only answer. But with the Saint Dragons present, no one dared voice it aloud.
Instead, jealousy cloaked itself in laughter, in empty toasts, in words that stung with the weight of what they did not say.
When the wine reached its peak, it was Yangshen who rose from his seat, laughter rolling like thunder.
"Do you see them?" he called, voice booming over all others. He pointed to Haotian and Lianhua, his tone both proud and teasing. "This is no accident. The Raising Dragon and Phoenix Faction, this sect, this union — all of it is the heavens' way of reminding us that new roots grow fastest in fertile soil."
Cheers erupted, roars echoing across the mountains. The Saint Dragons' presence sealed the night: no sect, no rival, no whisper could diminish what had been acknowledged here.
As fireworks of spiritual fire burst overhead, casting gold and crimson across the night sky, Haotian and Lianhua stood hand in hand at the dais.
Their faces glowed with the light of the fireworks, their auras pulsed in harmony, and the entire cultivation world — allies, rivals, and family alike — saw them not just as young prodigies.
But as pillars.As destiny made flesh.
The celebration roared into the night, yet all knew: this was not an ending.
It was only the beginning of a new age.
When the Azure Sky Sect delegation stepped forward, their robes of cloud-white and sky-blue rippled like mist under the lantern light. At their center walked Lan Xin, slim and poised, carrying her jade zither with the gravity of one carrying a divine weapon.
The plaza hushed at once. Even the younger disciples who had laughed and whispered moments ago now stilled, sensing something profound about to unfold.
Lan Xin set her instrument down upon the stage with graceful precision. She sat cross-legged before it, closing her eyes, her breath sinking into the stillness. For an instant, all sound seemed to vanish — as if the sect itself held its breath.
Then her fingers touched the strings.
The first note rang like a dewdrop falling onto still water, soft yet carrying ripples that spread through every soul present. The sound gathered, swelling into a flowing river, each pluck of the string like currents weaving around stone. Images shimmered in the air above her: rivers coiling, mountains rising, clouds drifting across peaks.
The disciples gasped. This was no mere performance. This was Dao within melody.
The song rose, sharp and cutting, and the illusions shifted: stormclouds rolling, thunder flashing, torrents crashing. The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive, as though the audience were trapped in the storm. Elders frowned, unconsciously channeling their qi to brace against the unseen weight.
And then — a sudden turn. The storm broke. The clouds parted. A single ray of golden light pierced through, and the melody softened into warmth, serenity, and vastness. The plaza filled with the vision of dawn breaking over mountains, rivers sparkling as if touched by divine fire.
Lianhua's hand tightened around Haotian's unconsciously. For a moment, the scene painted by Lan Xin's music seemed to mirror their own cultivation path — trial, storm, breakthrough, and harmony.
Finally, the melody drew itself inward, softening into a whisper of wind, until only silence remained.
No one clapped. No one dared. The plaza was still, held captive by the afterimage of her Dao. Even the Saint Dragons sat with their eyes closed, acknowledging the depth hidden in the Azure Sky Sect's chosen heir.
Only when Lan Xin opened her eyes and bowed gracefully to Haotian and Lianhua did the plaza erupt in thunderous applause and cheers.
Lianhua smiled warmly at her, inclining her head in return. Haotian, more restrained, simply met her gaze with a slight nod, but in his eyes flickered respect — the kind reserved for those who pursued the Dao with equal devotion.
Lan Xin's melody lingered in the hearts of all who heard it, not as challenge nor rivalry, but as acknowledgment.
The Azure Sky Sect had come not to overshadow, but to honor. And in doing so, they carved their presence into the memory of the Burning Sun's greatest night.
The plaza still vibrated faintly with the lingering resonance of Lan Xin's zither. Even as the applause thundered, disciples and elders leaned toward one another, their hushed words carrying currents of envy, awe, and speculation.
"Did you feel it? My qi trembled like a reed in the storm… as though her music reached into my very core."
"More than a performance. That was Dao. The Azure Sky Sect must have poured decades into raising her."
Others, less generous, could not help but compare:
"Hmph. She's talented, yes, but she only painted illusions. Elder Haotian leveled a battlefield with one thrust of his spear. Which truly weighs heavier?"
"Still, imagine if Elder Haotian's spear art and her zither Dao combined… would not even heaven itself bow?"
The rival factions of Burning Sun whispered in sharper tones:
"No wonder the Azure Sky Sect holds themselves so high — if she's their jewel, they'll parade her as a counterweight to Haotian's rise."
"But she bowed to him, not challenged him. Did you not see? That was no duel — it was tribute."
Among the outer sect disciples, awe mingled with jealousy. Some sighed with dreamy admiration:
"Her fingers moved like clouds drifting across the heavens. If only I could train under her hand…"
"She's beyond us, fool. Look — she and Elder Lianhua exchanged smiles. There's respect there, woman to woman. As though she recognizes Elder Lianhua as her equal, or rival, in standing beside Haotian."
The elders exchanged their own quiet remarks, more pointed, more calculating:
"The Azure Sky Sect sends a message. They will not oppose, but they will not be forgotten either."
"Mn. The zither carried not just Dao, but intent — the Azure Sky Sect aligns with us, yet marks its own pride."
Through it all, Haotian and Lianhua remained composed, receiving the waves of attention with the calm of true pillars. But their hands, still gently clasped beneath the banquet table, betrayed their silent understanding: such currents would only deepen as their names grew brighter across the cultivation world.
And with the zither's final echoes fading into the night, the celebration surged back into life — toasts raised, performances offered, alliances quietly woven, and rivalries kindled under lantern light.
The lanterns burned high, music faded into the night air, and the plaza of Burning Sun buzzed with laughter, cheers, and whispered negotiations. Toasts had been exchanged, alliances whispered into existence, rivalries brushed with polite smiles. It seemed the celebration would end only in harmony.
Until one voice cut through the golden haze.
From the Cloud-Tiger Sect delegation, a broad-shouldered elder in pale-grey robes rose, cup of wine in hand. His tone was genial, his smile polite — yet the gleam in his eyes betrayed a deeper edge.
"Elder Haotian," he said, projecting his voice so all could hear, "we have admired your meteoric rise, and your feats have reached our ears even across provinces. But words and rumors are shadows only — tonight, under the blessing of the heavens, why not let all gathered here witness the true brilliance of Burning Sun's youngest elder?"
A ripple spread instantly across the hall. Murmurs stirred, disciples leaning forward, rival elders straightening in their seats.
"A challenge?""No — a spar, he said.""Hmph. A test wrapped in honeyed words."
The Sect Master of Burning Sun raised his brows, but did not intervene. His gaze slid to Haotian, calm yet weighted with the quiet message: This is yours to answer.
Lianhua's hand tightened against Haotian's beneath the table. Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes held the glint of worry — not for his strength, but for the politics woven into this "friendly spar."
The challenger — Elder Wei of Cloud-Tiger — stepped lightly into the plaza's open center. He swirled his cup once, downed it, and with the flourish of a sleeve, his qi erupted like rolling thunder.
"Come, Elder Haotian. Let it be no life-and-death battle, only a meeting of arts. Let the heavens, the sects, and your peers see what kind of man the Dragon-and-Phoenix Faction has forged."
Disciples gasped, some giddy, some aghast. Rival factions smirked, eager to see if Burning Sun's "heavenly pair" would stumble when tested. The Azure Sky Sect disciples leaned forward with keen eyes, while Lan Xin herself plucked a silent string, the sound like a question hanging in the air.
All eyes turned to Haotian.
Would he accept? Would he refuse?
The plaza held its breath, the night's harmony teetering on the blade's edge between festivity and duel.
Haotian felt Lianhua's grip tighten under the table, her warmth carrying both worry and trust. He turned to her, a smile touching his lips — calm, steady, the same smile that had carried her through storms.
Then he rose.
His footsteps were not hurried, not proud. Each step was measured, echoing across the plaza with a weight that made silence fall. The disciples leaned forward as though gravity itself pulled them. When he reached the stage, Haotian cupped his hands politely to Elder Wei, his bow a gesture of respect that only heightened the contrast with the storm building in the air.
"Please."
Elder Wei's eyes narrowed. He lunged, his qi flaring as claws of spirit energy extended from his hands, cutting sharp lines through the air. The sound was like rending silk. Gasps rang out from disciples — the opening strike was fierce, even merciless.
But Haotian… did not move.
At the very last breath, his body turned, one foot sliding back, his torso shifting as lightly as if moved by a breeze. The claw strike tore through nothing but air.
Before Elder Wei could blink, Haotian's fist was already raised — stopping just beneath his chin, so close the elder could feel the heat of spirit energy pulsing against his skin.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Wei gritted his teeth, twisting backward into a leap, robes flaring. He landed, ready to recover — but froze, eyes wide. Haotian's foot hovered just before his eyes, balanced with surgical precision.
"When…?" Wei thought, his breath catching. When did he move?
Anger flared, pride stung. Elder Wei slapped Haotian's foot aside and surged forward, unleashing a storm of claw swipes and thrusts, his arms blurring, his qi leaving afterimages across the stage. It was a barrage meant to overwhelm.
Haotian flowed around it. His body turned and dipped, weaving between each strike. And yet — each time Elder Wei lunged, a counter appeared, swift and deadly, only to stop just short of contact. A fist that paused an inch from the ribs. A spear-hand halted at the heart. A kick that breezed past the throat.
Not a single blow landed. Not a single strike was needed.
Frustration tightened Wei's jaw. With a roar, he gathered his qi into a special technique, his claws now wreathed in condensed spiritual energy sharp enough to carve through steel. He pounced, aiming to force Haotian to respond in kind.
The plaza leaned forward.
Haotian's eyes glimmered.
One step. One turn. His foot snapped outward, kicking Wei's empowered hand away with such precision the qi dissolved in sparks. His other hand caught Wei's wrist mid-swipe, twisted once — and then his free fist pressed forward, stopping dead at the hollow of Wei's throat.
Elder Wei froze. His entire body locked by the inevitability of that strike. His spirit energy, his technique, his fury — all of it collapsed in silence beneath Haotian's restrained dominance.
A hush swept the plaza.
The spar was over.
Haotian had won. Without a blow landing. Without arrogance. Without effort.
Only control.
Elder Wei stood frozen, Haotian's fist poised before his throat. For a long breath, he did not move — not because he was bound, but because he could not bring himself to. His pride screamed for denial, yet his body already knew the truth.
Slowly, Haotian withdrew his hand, bowing once more. His voice was even, steady.
"Thank you, Elder, for granting me this exchange."
The humility struck deeper than any blow. Elder Wei's lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. His clawed hands trembled faintly — not from injury, but from the weight of realization. He had attacked in earnest, even pushed into one of his advanced arts, and yet… he had been defeated without Haotian landing a single strike.
This boy… no, this man… Wei's chest tightened. Even holding back, he saw through everything. My attacks, my habits, my weaknesses…
For the first time in decades, Elder Wei felt not humiliation, but a sobering awe. His anger drained into something heavier — respect, laced with unease. He stepped back and gave a formal bow of his own.
"…Your control shames me. I concede."
Gasps and whispers broke loose at once.
The younger disciples erupted first, voices sharp and unrestrained.
"He didn't even strike him!""Elder Wei's claws couldn't touch him—did you see that?!""One fist! One foot! That's all it took!"
Awe filled their faces, but beneath it was a hunger — the rising tide of ambition to follow someone who had just shown them what mastery looked like.
Across the plaza, rival sect delegations watched in tight silence. Their elders exchanged uneasy glances. Some stroked their beards in quiet calculation, others folded their arms with thinly veiled frowns.
"He's… dangerous," one muttered under his breath."Not dangerous. Untouchable," another corrected, voice grim.
The younger disciples of the visiting sects wore mixed faces — envy, fear, awe. The whispers among them turned into comparisons, their gazes shifting back and forth between their own prodigies and Haotian, knowing none could stand equal.
Amidst the chaos of murmurs, Ru Mei's lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. Her eyes lingered on Haotian's composure, the way he bowed with humility even in dominance.
"That restraint…" she whispered, almost to herself. "He doesn't fight to prove. He fights to teach."
Beside her, Xue Lan's brows furrowed, her gaze sharp as she studied every detail. Unlike the others, her admiration was guarded. She pressed her fan lightly to her lips, voice cool but edged with a tremor of awe.
"He made Elder Wei look like a reckless disciple. Without even trying. If this is him holding back…"
Her eyes flicked toward Lianhua standing at the edge, radiant, proud. Xue Lan exhaled, a quiet sigh escaping despite herself.
"…No wonder the sect calls them the Heavenly Pair."
From their elevated seats, the sect master and councilors had watched the spar in taut silence, eyes locked on every movement. When Elder Wei froze under Haotian's fist, when the young elder pulled back without even grazing him, the hall itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then the sect master exhaled — long, controlled — before rising to his feet. He began to clap.
The sound was steady, deliberate. One by one, the elders followed, until the applause rolled like thunder through the pavilion.
"Well done," the sect master declared, voice ringing. "A spar to remember. Elder Wei, thank you for offering this exchange. And Haotian—" His gaze softened, almost reverent. "You have honored us all with your restraint."
Haotian released Elder Wei fully, stepping back with a respectful bow. "It was only a test, Sect Master. I have much still to learn."
That humility only deepened the applause.
Away from mortal ears, however, the storm was different.
Yangshen's voice thundered within the telepathic link, his tone sharp as steel. That Elder Wei dared test my grandson as if he were some wandering disciple. Insolence!
Meiyun's tone was like ice, laced with indignation. The Cloud Tiger Sect has grown arrogant. To pit one of their elders against Haotian at a celebration? A veiled insult to our line.
Yuying scoffed audibly in their shared mind space. A sect like theirs, with claws but no fangs. I say we break them, scatter their roots, and leave them a caution for others.
Jinhai's deep voice rumbled agreement. A lesson in blood may be overdue.
But before their anger could spiral further, another voice cut through — calm yet heavy with authority.
It was then that Wukang stepped forward, bowing his head slightly—not in submission, but in quiet plea. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of lived experience:
"Mother. Father. Uncles. Please. Do not reduce their sect to ashes over this. I have walked the world long enough to know how swiftly a spark becomes wildfire. If the Zhenlong household acts rashly now, the surrounding sects will not see it as justice. They will call it tyranny. Every rival will seize it as an excuse to rally against us."
He lifted his gaze, steady, meeting even Yangshen's thunderous eyes. "Haotian already proved his supremacy. That is enough. Let the world see restraint in us, not wrath. For if our enemies whisper that the Zhenlong cannot suffer even a spar without blood, we will invite more knives in the dark than any battlefield could hold."
Silence settled in the ancestral link. At last, Yangshen gave a gruff snort, folding his arms. Jinhai exhaled sharply, flames receding. Yuying and Meiyun softened their eyes toward Wukang, not entirely appeased but acknowledging his words.
For now, the storm was stayed.
Silence followed. At last, Meiyun gave a reluctant sigh. Very well. For today, mercy. But if they dare again…
Yangshen's mental growl softened into a grudging hum. …Then they will learn what it means to awaken dragons.
The applause in the pavilion thundered on, masking the storm of voices above. Haotian stood calm, hands clasped, Lianhua's proud gaze fixed on him. To the sect, it was a triumph. To the ancestors, it was restraint—barely leashed.