The courtyard held its breath in that peculiar way silence does before a storm. Hua Ling rounded the corner with his usual measured stride, only to freeze at a sight that struck him like lightning to still water.
There, bathed in dappled afternoon light before his pavilion, stood Chen Xinyu. And beside him—a young woman whose delicate fingers were wrapped around his wrist with intimate familiarity.
Recognition hit Hua Ling like a blade between the ribs. Chi Ruyan.
His eyes narrowed, not from jealousy—certainly not that—but from the sharp instinct of a predator sensing danger. Why is she here? And why... His gaze flickered briefly to where Xinyu's collar had shifted, revealing the pale curve of his neck.Why is she with him?
The ancient sigil's secret burned in his memory. Could she have noticed it too?
He didn't wait to ponder the possibilities.
Hua Ling moved like shadow made flesh, his hand shooting out to capture Chi Ruyan's wrist—not gently, not with the courtesy due to a lady, but with the iron grip of someone seizing a weapon.
She gasped, startled, her eyes flying up to meet his. "Your Highness..." she breathed, and despite everything, her cheeks bloomed with color. *Even more perfect than I remembered...*
Without a word, without explanation, Hua Ling dragged her away. His robes billowed behind them like dark wings as he pulled her down the corridor and into a side chamber, the door closing with a sharp click that echoed like a death knell.
"What are you doing here?" Each word fell from his lips like winter's first frost.
Chi Ruyan's lips curved in a smile soft as silk and twice as dangerous. She moved closer, moonlight and shadow dancing across her features. "Is it so wrong that I missed you?"
Her hand rose toward his cheek—pale fingers reaching for warmth that would never come. He turned his head sharply, rejecting her touch as surely as the mountain rejects the tide.
"Don't play games with me." His voice could have frozen fire itself. "Why were you with Xinyu?"
She blinked, confusion flickering across her perfect features like clouds across the moon. "Ah, so that's his name—Xinyu?" Something glittered in her eyes, sharp and calculating. "Why? Are you jealous he might steal me away?"
Hua Ling's expression darkened like a sky before thunder. "Ridiculous. Leave."
"I won't." Her voice hardened, soft steel wrapped in silk. She stepped closer, close enough that her perfume—jasmine and danger—filled the space between them. "I won't leave your side. Not now. Or have you forgotten your father's arrangements? Our betrothal?"
He went rigid as a blade, but said nothing.
Chi Ruyan pressed her advantage, arms sliding around his shoulders like serpents seeking warmth. Her cheek found the curve of his neck, and when she spoke, her breath was warm against his skin. "Besides... I heard such interesting rumors. They say you carried someone on your back during your last mission. A girl, perhaps? That doesn't sound like the Hua Ling I know."
"What girl?" The words snapped out like breaking ice. "I did no such thing."
She tilted her head, studying him with the patience of a cat watching a mouse. "Are you certain?"
"I have no obligation to explain myself to you."
Her smile faded like winter's last flower. "Don't make me jealous, Your Highness," she whispered, and for a moment, something cold and terrible flickered behind her eyes. "You have no idea how ugly I become when provoked."
Hua Ling shoved her away—not gently, not with courtesy, but with the firm resolve of someone casting off shackles. His face might have been carved from jade for all the emotion it showed.
Without another word, he turned and left, his robes streaming behind him like ink spilled across silk.
---
Outside, Chen Xinyu remained frozen by the pavilion entrance, blinking slowly as his mind struggled to process the sudden whirlwind that had just swept through his peaceful afternoon.
He saw Hua Ling approaching and opened his mouth to speak—perhaps to apologize, perhaps to explain—but before sound could form, iron fingers seized his collar and yanked him forward.
Their faces were suddenly inches apart. Hua Ling's eyes burned like winter stars, and his voice when it came was soft as death itself.
"Don't go around talking to every stranger you encounter."
The words carried undertones Xinyu couldn't name—something wounded, something possessive, something that made his heart skip like a stone across still water.
Xinyu's world condensed to this moment: the prince's fingers twisted in his robes, the warmth of breath against his cheek, those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through to his soul.
"I—yes, Your Highness," he stammered, tongue suddenly clumsy in his mouth.
Hua Ling released him as abruptly as he'd seized him, robes swirling like storm clouds as he strode away, leaving only the lingering scent of sandalwood and steel.
Xinyu remained frozen, cheeks burning like they'd been kissed by flame, lips parted in wordless confusion.
What just happened?
---
The training grounds caught fire with the setting sun, golden light painting every blade and burning in every eye as disciples threw themselves into preparation for the coming tournament. Steel sang against steel while spiritual energy crackled through the air like trapped lightning.
Even Lu Rourou had been dragged into the chaos, wielding her sword with all the enthusiasm of someone attending their own funeral.
"Aiya!" she wailed, collapsing dramatically onto the dusty ground. "Why must I suffer like this? I'm meant for tea ceremonies and poetry readings, not sweating like some common warrior!"
Lan Xueyao sighed with the weariness of a saint and tapped Rourou's leg with her sword hilt. "Because Master commanded it. And because wallowing on the ground like a dumpling helps no one."
Rourou pouted with the artistry of a master performer before scrambling up to throw herself at Yan Zheng's legs. "Shixiong! Save me! Shijie is being mean!"
Yan Zheng didn't even pause in his forms. "Don't be like Xiao Yu. Stand up and train."
"No one loves me!" Rourou wailed, but her dramatic cries were swallowed by the symphony of combat surrounding them.
At the courtyard's far edge, Chen Xinyu stood alone as the sky deepened from gold to purple. Sweat traced silver paths down his temples as he repeated the same strikes over and over, muscles screaming protests he refused to hear.
Even as darkness claimed the training grounds and other disciples sought their beds, he remained, lost in the rhythm of blade cutting air.
Why did His Highness look so angry? The thought circled his mind like a hunting hawk. Did I do something wrong?
From the shadows, Chi Ruyan watched with eyes like winter water. She'd spent the afternoon gathering gossip like a spider collects flies, weaving together whispers of a certain young man the prince had carried during a ghost hunt.
"So that's him?" she murmured to herself, studying Xinyu's clumsy footwork with disdain. "He seems... insignificant. Loud, perhaps, but hardly threatening."
Her smile was sharp as a blade's edge as she melted back into the darkness.
---
Later, when the moon hung like a pearl in velvet sky, Xinyu sought solace in the hidden hot spring nestled behind the mountain's embrace. Moonlight turned the water to liquid silver as he slipped beneath the surface with a sigh that seemed to carry all his exhaustion.
But as warmth seeped into his aching limbs, fire suddenly blazed along his neck—sharp, burning, merciless.
"What the hell..." he groaned, fingers clawing at the pain.
The world tilted. Reality cracked like broken glass, and suddenly he wasn't in the peaceful spring anymore. He was drowning in memory, in nightmare made manifest.
His father's voice echoed across years: "I won't let you have him! He's my son!"
His mother's sobs followed like a funeral dirge: "Xinyu, my baby... please don't cry..."
Then came the song of steel. Screams. The metallic taste of terror.
He jolted awake gasping, soaked not with spring water but with cold sweat. His neck throbbed like a second heartbeat, glowing faintly in the darkness.
Stumbling from the water, he threw on his robes and collapsed against a nearby boulder, trembling like a leaf in winter wind.
That's when the air began to shimmer.
A figure descended from the star-drunk sky—wings like flowing water, feathers of aquamarine and gold catching moonlight and transforming it into something beyond beautiful. A spiritual peacock of magnificent bearing settled before him with all the grace of a celestial emperor.
"A-AH!" Xinyu scrambled backward like a startled crab. "Are you here to eat me?! Look, I'm mostly bones and complaints—hardly worth the effort!"
The peacock tilted its regal head, and when it spoke, its voice resonated directly in his mind—dry as autumn leaves and twice as amused. "Eat you? Please. I don't waste time on such... inadequate prey."
"Hey!" Xinyu's fear transformed into indignation faster than lightning strikes. "That was unnecessarily rude!"
The peacock's response was to peck him delicately on the head.
"Hey, you overgrown chicken! Stop that!"
The great bird went perfectly, terrifyingly still. "...Did you just call me a chicken?"
Xinyu blinked with the innocence of someone about to meet their doom. "Aren't you one?"
Without ceremony, the peacock seized him in its talons and lifted him skyward.
"WAAAH! WAIT! I TAKE IT BACK!" Xinyu flailed helplessly, the ground falling away beneath him like his dignity.
"Say that again and I'll introduce you to the abyss," the peacock threatened with silky menace.
"I take it back completely! You're obviously not a chicken! You're—uh—a phoenix in disguise! A very beautiful, very terrifying phoenix!"
Satisfied with this correction, the peacock swooped gracefully downward and deposited him on soft grass with surprising gentleness.
Xinyu staggered upright, dripping and wide-eyed, looking like he'd wrestled with a typhoon and lost.
The peacock studied him with ancient eyes that seemed to see beyond flesh and bone. "There's something... unusual about you," it mused, voice carrying notes of genuine puzzlement. *"Something I can't quite identify. Still..."
"Still...?" Xinyu prompted, curiosity overriding his terror.
"Why not form a contract with me?"
Xinyu stared as if the peacock had just suggested they take up flower arranging together. "Are you serious? Why would a magnificent spiritual beast like you want to contract with someone as useless as me?"
The peacock executed what might have been a shrug—somehow making even that gesture look like poetry in motion. *"Perhaps I'm bored. Or perhaps..."* It tilted its head, leaving the sentence hanging like morning mist.
Xinyu continued staring. It's definitely as strange as I am.
The peacock's laughter was like silver bells in a gentle wind, carrying secrets and starlight in equal measure.