The morning dawned like spilled honey across the heavens, painting the Verdant Cloud Sect's graceful rooftiles in shades of gold and amber that seemed to capture sunlight itself and hold it prisoner. Birds wove their dawn chorus through ancient pine branches while Chen Xinyu stood in the courtyard beside Prince Hua Ling's pavilion, humming an absurd little ditty as he wrestled with freshly laundered robes that seemed determined to escape their designated positions on the drying line.
"His Highness wears more layers than a winter cabbage," he muttered, slapping a particularly stubborn sleeve into submission. "Does he believe himself to be a walking dumpling? And these arms of mine—" He flexed his trembling limbs with theatrical despair. "They're no longer arms. They've become overcooked noodles, limp and useless."
With the dramatic flair of someone accepting inevitable defeat, Xinyu collapsed onto a nearby stone bench, spreading himself across it like a cat claiming territory in a patch of warm sunlight.
"How am I supposed to wield a sword in this condition?" he groaned, throwing an arm across his eyes with the exhausted grace of a fallen warrior. "Perhaps if I simply lie here long enough, enlightenment will find me..."
Within moments, the steady rhythm of his breathing announced his complete surrender to sleep's embrace.
What he failed to notice was the soft whisper of footsteps on the garden path as Hua Ling made his way through the morning shadows. The prince's stride faltered when his gaze fell upon the figure sprawled so carelessly across the bench, and something in his expression shifted—a crack in the perfect mask he wore like armor against the world.
He approached with the silent grace of a predator studying prey, his dark eyes taking in every detail of Xinyu's sleep-softened features. A single white flower petal had drifted down to rest upon the younger man's cheek like a blessing from some benevolent deity.
Without conscious thought, Hua Ling reached out to brush it away.
As he leaned closer, his gaze drifted lower, drawn by some invisible thread to the slight gap where Xinyu's robe had shifted during his sprawl. There, barely visible above the curve of his shoulder, lay something that made Hua Ling's blood turn to ice in his veins.
A mark. Faint, almost faded with time, but unmistakable to someone who had spent years memorizing every curve and line.
The Soul Box sigil.
Hua Ling's world tilted on its axis. His eyes widened with shock so profound it threatened to shatter his carefully constructed composure entirely.
This was the symbol from his father's letters—the cursed mark he had been ordered to seek, the key to finding that damned object which had haunted the demon realm for generations. And here it was, etched into the skin of someone who slept so trustingly in his garden, utterly unaware of the terrible secret he carried.
The prince's expression transformed, becoming cold as winter mountains, confusion and something deeper—something almost like betrayal—warring in his dark eyes.
His mission had been twofold: learn techniques from the righteous sect, yes, but more importantly, uncover any traces of the Soul Box and its cursed legacy. His father's letters had been explicit, urgent, demanding immediate reports of any discovery.
And now the first true lead lay sleeping before him, defenseless and beautiful in the morning light.
His fingers trembled with the urge to reach for the communication talisman hidden in his robes. He should report this immediately. Right now. The logical path was clear as mountain spring water.
But something deep in his chest rebelled against the very thought.
Why can't I move?* His mind reeled with confusion. Why won't my lips form the words that would seal his fate?
His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he struggled with impulses that made no sense, with loyalties he had never questioned before but now felt crumbling like sand between his fingers.
With a sharp intake of breath that sounded almost like pain, he turned and walked away without a word, his white robes flowing behind him like captured clouds fleeing a storm.
From her hidden position behind the training hall's ornate columns, Lan Xueyao had witnessed the entire exchange with growing unease. The Demon Prince's expression when he looked at Xinyu had been... strange. Troubled in a way that set off every protective instinct she possessed.
She had no context for understanding what she'd seen, but the intensity of Hua Ling's stare had been unsettling enough to make her skin crawl with foreboding.
Before she could process her concerns further, Lu Rourou materialized beside her with the supernatural ability she possessed for appearing wherever dramatic revelations were about to unfold.
"Lan Xueyao!" she whispered with theatrical intensity. "Why are you lurking here watching Yu-ge sleep? Don't tell me..." Her eyes widened with delighted scandal. "You have romantic feelings for him!"
Xueyao's composure cracked with confusion. "What? What are you talking about?"
"I'm simply amazed that such a cool beauty fell for that chaotic disaster of a human being," Rourou continued with the enthusiasm of someone who had discovered buried treasure. "But I pass no judgment! Love is blind, after all." She pressed her palms together in mock prayer. "As for myself, my ideal man is clearly His Highness—tall, mysterious, deadly. What more could any woman desire?"
Xueyao's eye twitched with the particular irritation that came from being thoroughly misunderstood. "Rou'er, your talent for misreading every situation is truly without parallel. And no, I absolutely do not harbor feelings for Xinyu, you fool."
---
Later that day, the Grand Hall resonated with excitement as Master Zhou took his position at the raised dais, his voice carrying the weight of anticipated glory.
"The annual Sword Competition will commence in four days!" he announced, his words sparking immediate whispers and calculations among the assembled disciples. "The top three participants will receive rare spiritual treasures and personal recommendations from Sect Leader Jiang himself!"
The hall erupted in excited murmurs as disciples began eyeing their rivals and plotting strategies. But Master Zhou's enthusiasm dimmed considerably when he contemplated one particular student who had been avoiding practice with the dedication of someone fleeing a plague.
"XINYU!!" he bellowed, his voice carrying enough force to rattle the windows as he stormed toward Prince Hua Ling's courtyard.
He found his wayward disciple lounging beneath a cherry blossom tree with the serene contentment of nobility, delicately plucking grapes from a vine with the refined air of someone posing for a romantic painting.
"WHAT do you think you're doing here?! You haven't attended training in three days!"
"Respected Master," Xinyu replied with the philosophical calm of someone who had made peace with his fate, "my arms ache, my soul weeps, and life is as fragile as morning dew. Permit me to enjoy this blessed sunshine while I still draw breath—"
Before he could complete his poetic justification, Zhou seized his ear with the precision of someone who had perfected this technique through years of practice.
"You're going to train RIGHT NOW! If you humiliate me at the tournament, I'll have you flogged fifty times!"
Xinyu's wail could have summoned rain clouds. "I've already informed you that defeat is inevitable! It matters not—Yan Shixiong will avenge my honor!"
"ONE HUNDRED TIMES!"
"Please, merciful Shizun!"
"Fine—TWO HUNDRED TIMES! Or better yet, I'll SELL you to His Highness and let him drag you back to the Demon Realm as a personal servant!"
At this threat, Xinyu's face drained of all color like autumn leaves touched by frost. "You wouldn't dare—all right, all right, ALL RIGHT! I'll go! Just don't condemn me to the demon realm!"
---
On the training grounds, Xinyu approached Yan Zheng and Shen Yao with the desperate hope of someone seeking salvation from imminent doom.
"Beloved Shixiong!" he whined with shameless manipulation. "I have come to be transformed into a sword prodigy through your superior guidance!"
"You're already a prodigy," Shen Yao observed with cutting precision. "A prodigy of pain and embarrassment."
Xinyu hurled a convenient rock in his direction.
After ten minutes of spectacular failure involving flailing limbs, accidental slips, and one near-impalement that would have been talked about for generations, Yan Zheng finally surrendered to reality with a heavy sigh.
"Xiao Yu... you're nowhere near ready. If you enter this competition, you risk genuine injury. Your cultivation level is far too low."
"But if I don't participate, Shizun will sell me to the demons!"
"Honestly," Shen Yao smirked with malicious glee, "that doesn't sound like such a terrible fate."
"SHEN YAO!!" Xinyu launched himself in pursuit, and soon the courtyard echoed with shrieks, the sound of feet on stone, and swords being wielded more like oversized chopsticks than weapons.
Yan Zheng, caught between his two most troublesome juniors, rubbed his temples with the weary patience of someone who had long since accepted his martyrdom. "You two are actual children. Literal children in adult bodies."
From a distant rooftop, Hua Ling observed this chaos with an expression of stone. Beside him, Qingze sighed with the resignation of someone watching a inevitable disaster unfold in slow motion.
"Useless," Hua Ling muttered, though something in his tone suggested the word carried less venom than usual.
He turned away, black robes trailing behind him like captured moonlight.
In his private chambers, a letter lay spread across his writing desk—elegant calligraphy that carried the weight of imperial command.
"Any progress, my son? Have you discovered any leads regarding the Soul Box? Report to me immediately upon any findings."
Hua Ling stared at the parchment as though it were a serpent coiled to strike. Then, with deliberate precision, he crumpled it in his fist and hurled it into the brass brazier, watching his father's words transform into ash and smoke.
Qingze observed this act of defiance in troubled silence, concern etching deeper lines around his eyes.
---
At the sect's main gates, a cold wind swept through the mountain pass as a figure in pristine white robes glided past the guards with the ethereal grace of winter itself made manifest. Her mere presence caused nearby disciples to shiver as though touched by unexpected frost.
Chi Ruyan moved through the sect's grounds with calculated grace, her steps measured and purposeful. She had successfully infiltrated the righteous sect, and now she had one singular goal burning in her mind like cold fire—find Prince Hua Ling and discover what had captured his supposedly untouchable heart.
At the registration hall, she presented her forged credentials with a polite nod, her performance flawless enough to fool even experienced elders. Her movements carried the refined elegance expected of nobility, her aura projecting exactly the right balance of power and humility.
None suspected that the demon realm's ice princess now walked among them.
As she moved through the sect, taking note of disciples practicing forms and elders passing in quiet conversation, her mind replayed the gossip that had driven her to this desperate infiltration. Merchants in a roadside inn had whispered of the impossible—Prince Hua Ling, cold and untouchable as winter mountains, seen carrying someone on his back, shielding them with his own body.
"I thought he cared for nothing beyond his cultivation," one had murmured.
"Must be someone very special..."
"Perhaps a beauty from the Verdant Cloud Sect?"
Chi Ruyan's jaw had clenched with barely controlled fury at those words.
I'll find her, she had sworn silently. Whoever this woman is who has bewitched him. And then I'll remove her from existence.
Fate, it seemed, delighted in irony.
As she turned a corner, lost in her vengeful planning, she collided directly with someone coming from the opposite direction.
"Oof—!" Xinyu stumbled backward, blinking in surprise at the elegant vision before him. "Ah! I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new to our sect?"
Chi Ruyan steadied herself, quickly composing her expression into something appropriately demure. "Yes, I arrived just today."
"Ohhh," Xinyu squinted with the intense focus of someone trying to solve a particularly interesting puzzle. "Let me venture a guess—inner disciple? Outer disciple? Or perhaps you belong to the legendary pretty-girl class?"
She raised an eyebrow at his casual irreverence.
"I'm Chen Xinyu," he announced with the proud confidence of someone introducing visiting royalty to local landmarks. "A treasured local disaster and, by unfortunate circumstance, a disciple of this esteemed sect."
She blinked in confusion, momentarily thrown by his complete lack of proper decorum. Who is this person? Why does he speak to me so freely? She sighed internally. Whatever. I must simply play along until I find what I seek.
"Since you're new here," Xinyu continued with helpful enthusiasm, "how about I provide you with a comprehensive tour? This place is vast—easy to become hopelessly lost. You wouldn't want to accidentally wander into the spirit beast stables."
At first, she politely declined, but his persistent cheerfulness eventually wore down her resistance like water eroding stone.
And so Xinyu led the way, talking with the unstoppable enthusiasm of someone who had never met a silence he couldn't fill.
"That building houses our medicine hall—if you're poisoned, it's your best hope for survival. But if you're lovesick, I'm afraid that condition remains incurable here."
"That structure is designated for combat training. I once dueled someone using a cleaning broom as my weapon. I lost spectacularly."
Then, with carefully calculated casualness, she inquired, "By the way... where might Prince Hua's pavilion be located? I've heard it's quite magnificent. I've always harbored curiosity about seeing it."
Xinyu stopped short, wariness entering his expression. "Eh? Why would you want to see that?"
She tilted her head with practiced innocence. "Simple curiosity."
He sighed with the weight of someone who had learned hard lessons about royal temperaments. "Look, I really shouldn't venture there unless I wish to be assigned scrolls worth of additional chores. Besides, His Highness is... extremely particular about visitors."
"But aren't you a fellow disciple?"
"I am—yes. Technically speaking." He scratched his cheek with embarrassment. "I'm also something resembling an unpaid personal attendant. The situation is... complicated."
Chi Ruyan observed him with growing certainty. This young man was loud, unrefined, completely lacking in dignity or grace. He couldn't possibly be the one the prince carried. No, the person must have been a gentle, delicate woman. This boy is far too noisy, too ordinary to capture such attention.
After another moment of internal debate, he sighed in defeat. "Fine, just this once. I'll show you the way. But don't hold me responsible if he decides to practice his sword techniques on unwelcome visitors."
The Prince's Pavilion emerged from the mountainside like something from a master artist's dream—black tiles that shimmered with threads of silver, stone paths swept to geometric perfection, an aura of quiet power that seemed to make the very air hold its breath.
Xinyu glanced around nervously and exhaled in relief. "Excellent. He's not currently in residence."
"Well then," he turned to her with a gesture of invitation, "feel free to admire the architecture. I'm going to disappear before I'm conscripted into polishing floors with my own face."
As he moved to leave, Chi Ruyan suddenly reached out, her slender fingers closing gently around his wrist.
"Young Master," she said softly, her voice carrying a musical quality that had enchanted demons and mortals alike.
Surprised, Xinyu glanced back at her with curious eyes. "Eh?"
And in that precise moment—as though summoned by some cosmic sense of dramatic timing—Prince Hua Ling appeared from a shaded corridor, his white robes flowing around him like captured starlight.
His expression froze completely.
He hadn't intended to return so early from his brooding session on the mountain peaks. But there, directly in front of him, stood Chen Xinyu with his hand held gently but unmistakably by an elegant woman in white.
For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, no one moved or spoke.
Hua Ling's gaze fixed upon their joined hands with an intensity that could have burned through steel, his face maintaining perfect composure while something dangerous flickered in the depths of his dark eyes.