The grand tournament's echoes had faded into memory, replaced by the warm pulse of celebration that enveloped Verdant Cloud Sect like silk wrapping precious jade. Paper lanterns swayed between ancient trees like captured fireflies, their golden light painting the evening in shades of honey and wine. Banners fluttered overhead with the lazy grace of dragons at rest, while disciples gathered around tables that groaned beneath the weight of steaming dishes and ceramic wine jars.
Master Zhou raised his cup with paternal pride blazing in his weathered features, his voice carrying across the festive hall like temple bells on clear air. "As expected from my disciples! Especially Yan Zheng and that little rascal Xinyu... they fought with hearts braver than tigers!"
The hall erupted in thunderous approval, chopsticks clicking against porcelain in rhythmic celebration. Lu Rourou rubbed her shoulders with the theatrical suffering of a tragic heroine, lower lip jutting in an exaggerated pout.
"My delicate constitution feels utterly shattered," she declared to anyone willing to listen. "I fought with such valor, yet no one acknowledges my sacrifice."
Lan Xueyao nearly choked on her tea, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Rourou, you surrendered the moment you saw Yan Zheng's sword."
"That's because I'm adorable!" Rourou huffed, tossing her hair with wounded dignity. "Yan-ge couldn't possibly strike someone as precious as myself. I call it a tactical withdrawal."
Shen Yao snorted wine through his nose. "More like a dramatic evacuation."
Laughter rippled through the gathering like water over smooth stones.
At the high table, Prince Hua Ling sat cloaked in silence as deep as winter nights. He'd been compelled to attend—Master Zhou's insistence, wrapped in words like "community" and "celebration together." Now he nursed his wine cup like a prop, listening to conversations that felt as distant as mountain echoes.
"Well done, all of you," Master Zhou continued, his voice softening with affection that could melt winter frost. "Even though Xiao Yu isn't here... that boy truly exceeded every expectation. I'm proud of him beyond words."
Shen Yao nodded, grinning with genuine warmth. "He transformed completely during that final match. I've never witnessed him like that—he actually looked... dare I say it... charming."
That single word—charming—struck Hua Ling's consciousness like lightning against still water.
His fingers tightened around the wine cup until knuckles went white as bone. He lowered his gaze, porcelain frozen halfway to lips that had forgotten how to drink. The hall's cheerful cacophony faded into muffled noise as he stared ahead with an expression carved from winter stone.
Sect Leader Jiang lifted his cup toward the silent prince. "Your Highness, our gratitude extends to you as well. As expected of Lord Hua's son—your performance was nothing short of perfection."
Hua Ling managed a barely perceptible nod, uttering a sound that might have been agreement. Then silence reclaimed him like familiar armor.
But his sharp ears caught whispered conversation drifting from across the table—Shen Yao and Rourou plotting with the conspiratorial air of concerned siblings.
"I'll check on Yu-ge after this feast ends," Rourou murmured, worry creasing her delicate features. "He must be in such pain."
"I'll accompany you," Shen replied quietly. "That fool needs to stop collapsing after every dramatic moment."
The words lodged in Hua Ling's chest like arrow shards. He stared at his untouched food while his throat constricted with inexplicable tightness.
---
In the women's quarters, Chi Ruyan sat before her vanity like a statue of barely contained fury. Rage smoldered in her violet eyes, transforming beauty into something sharp and dangerous. Her attendant Chao Chao approached with trembling hands, offering tea like a peace offering to an angry goddess.
"Miss, please try to calm yourself..."
The cup exploded against the floor with crystalline violence, fragments scattering like her shattered composure.
"He dared humiliate me! In front of my prince!" Chi Ruyan's voice dripped venom that could poison rivers. "I'll make him regret drawing breath. I'll—"
A shadow shifted beyond her window.
"Still nursing wounded pride, Ruyan?"
She whirled around, gasping. Standing near the window sill with casual elegance stood Bai Mochen—hair bound high in severe perfection, midnight robes flowing like liquid darkness.
"What brings you here uninvited?" she hissed.
He entered as if the room belonged to him, hands clasped behind his back with lordly indifference. "Curiosity, naturally. I observed today's matches. That boy... quite the revelation, wouldn't you agree? Graceful. Powerful. Even... charming."
Chi Ruyan's expression twisted into something ugly.
"You as well?" she snarled. "Don't tell me you've fallen under his spell too."
Mochen's smile was sharp as winter wind. "No need for jealousy. But if you're contemplating something... reckless... don't. Assassinating a disciple under Hua Ling's protection?" He shook his head with mock sympathy. "Even the Demon Lord wouldn't shield you from those consequences."
"Get out," she spat, trembling with barely leashed violence. "This concerns you not at all."
He departed with theatrical grace—but didn't venture far. From shadow's embrace, Mochen lingered, fox-sharp eyes gleaming with calculation. She'll act tonight. Foolish woman.
---
At the pavilion's edge, beyond celebration's warm reach, a solitary figure walked beneath moonlight that transformed stone paths into rivers of silver. Hua Ling had escaped the feast's clamor, unable to endure another moment of forced cheer.
He wandered aimlessly until something stopped him cold—a pale silhouette visible through a half-open door.
Chen Xinyu lay unconscious upon his narrow bed, moonlight streaming through paper windows to wash his resting form in ethereal silver. Behind translucent curtains, his dark hair spilled across the pillow like spilled ink, lips faintly parted and colorless from exhaustion. He bore no resemblance to the usual troublemaking, sharp-tongued disciple—only a quiet youth worn thin by forces beyond his control.
Hua Ling had meant merely to pass by.
Yet light filtering through those curtains caught his attention—or perhaps it wasn't light at all, but the inexplicable pull of a presence he'd been unable to ignore for countless days.
He stepped inside soundlessly, settling beside the bed like shadow given form. His gaze lingered on Xinyu's peaceful face—calm and defenseless in sleep's embrace, so utterly unlike the Xinyu who glared, pouted, and played irritating tricks. He raised one hand, fingers hovering above that pale cheek, trembling with unspoken longing.
But he didn't make contact.
Instead, he leaned closer and whispered words soft as falling snow, voice carrying emotions he couldn't name.
"Chen Xinyu... don't get on my nerves "
The sleeping boy stirred slightly. His brows drew together in unconscious distress, lips moving as if attempting speech, though no sound emerged. Eyelids fluttered like caged butterflies, yet consciousness remained beyond reach.
As if startled by his own vulnerability, Hua Ling stood abruptly. Without another glance, he turned and strode from the room—only to encounter Lu Rourou hovering just outside.
"Tell Chen Xinyu," he said with forced stiffness, "he needn't return to my pavilion until fully recovered."
Rourou blinked in bewilderment. "O-of course, Your Highness."
She watched his retreating form with growing curiosity. Does His Highness actually... care about Xinyu?
But jealousy possessed many watchful eyes.
Chi Ruyan stood at careful distance, gripping her fan until bamboo bent beneath white-knuckled fingers. She'd witnessed his exit from that room, seen the careful way he'd closed the door.
"Why him?" she breathed through clenched teeth. "What's so extraordinary about that worthless nobody?"
Her fingers found the small vial hidden in her sleeve—poison from the Demon Realm's darkest corners. Colorless, scentless, a slow killer that crept through veins like winter fog. Its antidote existed only in the demon wilds' most treacherous depths, where even ancient demons feared to tread.
She waited with predator's patience. When the hallway emptied of witnesses, she slipped inside like death's whisper.
Chen Xinyu slept on, breathing steady and peaceful, the faintest flush of life returning to pale lips. But Chi Ruyan's heart held no mercy. She moved with surgical precision—opened the medicine jar on his bedside table, emptying the vial's contents into the dark brew. The liquid shimmered once like disturbed water, then settled into innocent stillness.
"Slow and silent," she whispered with poisonous satisfaction. "Just like your pathetic existence. Let's discover how long His Highness mourns your passing."
She turned to leave, unaware of watching eyes.
In shadows beyond the courtyard, Bai Mochen stood with arms folded, gaze sharp as obsidian blades. He'd expected tantrums, perhaps physical violence in rage's heat—but poison?
So theatrically dramatic,he mused with lazy amusement. *But effective.
Yet he made no move to intervene. Not yet.
"That girl's a complete fool," he murmured to darkness, lips curving in half-smile that contained winter's cruelty. "Doesn't she realize poison only affects those whose fate runs ordinary?"
---
Morning sunlight spilled through paper screens like liquid gold. Xinyu stirred slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. His body ached as if he'd wrestled mountains, throat dry as autumn leaves, chest heavy with exhaustion's lingering weight.
Still drowsy, he reached for the medicine jar and downed its contents in one bitter gulp.
He grimaced. Terribly bitter today.
Moments later, Lu Rourou burst through the door carrying a woven basket fragrant with fresh pastries.
"Yu-ge! You're finally awake!"
Xinyu managed a wan smile. "Barely conscious."
She set down her burden with maternal fussing. "Shen-shixiong and I worried ourselves sick. Oh! And His Highness visited last night. He said... he said you needn't return to his pavilion until completely healed."
Xinyu froze, medicine spoon suspended halfway to his lips. "He... came to see me?"
"Indeed! Most unlike his usual behavior."
Xinyu looked away, something indefinable shifting behind his eyes—quiet disappointment blooming like winter flowers in his chest. A distance he hadn't meant to acknowledge.
"...Yeah."
He offered nothing more, but shadows gathered in his gaze like storm clouds on distant horizons.
---
Meanwhile, in a secluded bamboo grove where morning light filtered through jade leaves like scattered coins, Bai Mochen sat in perfect meditation pose. His hair was bound high in scholarly fashion, pristine robes marking him as just another Verdant Cloud Sect disciple, spiritual aura disguised with masterful precision.
No one suspected the truth.
He waited with infinite patience until his hired spy returned, the man bowing low before whispering intelligence into Mochen's ear.
"His Highness visited a disciple's quarters last night."
Mochen raised one elegant eyebrow. "A female disciple, I presume?"
The informant shook his head quickly. "No, my lord. A male disciple—Chen Xinyu. He serves under Master Zhou, the one often seen near Prince Hua Ling's former guardian."
Mochen sat in contemplative silence before his lips curved in a smile dangerous as unsheathed steel.
"Chen Xinyu... how fascinating. So this is the one who inspired His Highness to abandon a celebration feast and walk moonlit paths just to sit beside his sickbed."
He rose with fluid grace, brushing invisible dust from pristine sleeves.
"Well, well, well. I believe it's time for a proper introduction."
The morning wind stirred bamboo leaves into whispered songs, carrying secrets and promises on invisible currents. In the distance, a peacock's cry echoed across the mountains—beautiful, wild, and strangely mournful.