Dawn painted Verdant Cloud Sect in shades of pearl and gold, sunlight pooling along ancient stone pathways like liquid amber. The morning air thrummed with barely contained excitement—that particular silence that precedes momentous occasions, when even the wind seems to hold its breath in anticipation.
Sect Leader Jiang's announcement had rippled through the sect like stones cast into still water: the chosen few would journey to the legendary Cave of Spirit Echoes, where fate itself waited to be claimed.
Only disciples selected by their masters—those blessed with strength, potential, or fortune enough to catch divine attention—would be granted this sacred opportunity to seek spiritual artifacts, companions born from the marriage of destiny and cultivation.
Master Tang Meilin, after careful deliberation that lasted three sleepless nights, had chosen Lan Xueyao. To everyone's surprise, Lu Rourou had also secured passage through days of strategic tears, winning smiles, and the kind of persistent charm that could wear down mountains.
From Master Zhou's pupils, Yan Zheng and Shen Yao were selected—their talents proven through years of steady dedication. But when it came to Chen Xinyu, Zhou hesitated like a man standing at cliff's edge.
The boy's recent collapse haunted his master's thoughts like restless ghosts.
Yet Xinyu knelt before him with unwavering resolve. "Shizun," he'd said, voice carrying quiet steel beneath silk, "please grant me this chance. I'll be cautious. I won't burden anyone."
Hours passed in tense negotiation. Pleading glances met with worried silence. Determination faced protective fear.
In the end, Zhou's paternal heart conquered his practical mind.
Shen Yao and Yan Zheng flanked Xinyu like guardian spirits. "If danger finds you," Shen Yao declared with rare seriousness, "we'll shield you even if it costs our lives."
Bai Mochen had somehow secured his place among the travelers—selected by a master whose identity remained mysteriously vague. Prince Hua Ling chose to accompany the group with Qingze, claiming desire for "worldly experience" rather than any artifact.
The matter was settled.
Tang Meilin, usually sharp-tongued as her beloved blade, found herself uncharacteristically tender as she embraced her disciples. "Take care of yourselves," she muttered, before adding with familiar acidity, "Return with useless artifacts and I'll disown you both."
Zhou appeared haggard, as if he'd wrestled with demons all night. His gaze lingered on Xinyu's delicate wrists and pale complexion longer than strictly necessary.
---
Before departure, Xinyu slipped away to the back mountain where ancient trees swayed like wise sentinels. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called softly,
"Psst... Fluffycock? Are you there?"
Silence answered him.
He sighed and raised his voice. "Lingque! Don't sulk—"
Spiritual pressure crashed down like a falling star. Leaves scattered in all directions as glimmering light materialized midair—wings like polished mirrors, a beak sharp as carved jade. Lingque looked ready to commit murder.
"Hey! I'm sorry! Don't attack me for a silly nickname!"
The peacock spirit hovered with eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Why didn't you claim tournament victory?"
Xinyu blinked in bewilderment. "What kind of question—Hua Ling exists, you know! Do you think I'm suicidal?"
She snorted, feathers ruffling with disdain. "Tch. You're pathetically soft."
"Then make me stronger," he shot back, wiping sweat from his temple. "I'm seeking a spiritual artifact. Train me harder."
She circled once before landing beside him with a rustle of silk-soft plumage. "I'm accompanying you."
"Fine. But don't reveal our contract. Act like we're strangers."
"Do I appear foolish? I'm not the one shouting 'Fluffycock' across mountaintops."
---
Back at the sect, Hua Ling stood outside his pavilion like a statue carved from winter marble. He bound his long hair with precise movements, each gesture controlled as a ritual ceremony.
"Qingze," he commanded, voice cold as mountain snow, "we depart immediately."
Qingze bowed with perfect deference. "Understood, Your Highness. I'll monitor that Mochen as well."
"Watch his every breath," Hua Ling said, something dangerous glittering in his dark eyes. "Miss nothing."
---
By noon, disciples gathered like birds preparing for migration. The journey to the Cave of Spirit Echoes would require three and a half days on foot—no spiritual beasts, no shortcuts, only endurance tested against unforgiving terrain.
Shen Yao already looked half-dead from anticipation. He fanned himself with theatrical despair. "Why no carriages? This is barbarism! My delicate constitution is crumbling!"
Lan Xueyao rolled her eyes with sisterly exasperation. "Delicate? You sound like a pampered concubine from cheap opera."
Xinyu arrived just as impatience began to stir. Lu Rourou rushed to his side, tugging his sleeve like an affectionate kitten.
"Yu-ge, what delayed you?"
"A small errand," he smiled, deflecting further inquiry.
Ahead, Hua Ling walked beside Qingze in silence profound as deep mountain lakes. His presence radiated the untouchable majesty of winter storms, and he hadn't so much as glanced toward Xinyu.
For reasons he couldn't name, that deliberate indifference burned worse than any insult.
Fine, Xinyu thought, clenching his fist. I don't care what he thinks.
Chi Ruyan clung to Hua Ling's vicinity like persistent perfume—cloying, unwelcome, impossible to escape. "Your Highness," she cooed sweetly, "shall I carry your belongings?"
Mochen, walking several paces behind, clicked his tongue in disgust. "Foolish woman. He doesn't even acknowledge your existence."
His calculating gaze drifted toward Xinyu with predatory interest.
At least the poison has stabilized, he mused. He appears well... perhaps too well.
Catching up with easy strides, he approached Xinyu with manufactured cheerfulness.
"Yu-ge," he said brightly, "I wonder what manner of artifact awaits me."
Xinyu turned with genuine warmth. "Something useful, I hope, shidi."
Lan Xueyao, positioned on Xinyu's other side like a protective shadow, frowned at Mochen's calculated proximity. Her battle-honed instincts screamed warnings.
Lu Rourou remained blissfully oblivious, distracted by a butterfly's dancing flight.
They paused beneath a grove of ancient trees for rest. Mochen produced a small, perfectly ripe fruit from his sleeve.
"I gathered this along our path. Please, try it."
Xinyu accepted the offering with grateful surprise. "Thank you."
Rourou pouted with wounded dignity. "Unfair, Mochen-shidi! You only care for Yu-ge. What about the rest of us?"
Mochen scratched his cheek, projecting bashful embarrassment. "Well... Yu-ge was my first friend here. He holds special importance."
"You exaggerate," Xinyu protested, attempting to deflect the intensity.
But Mochen shook his head with apparent sincerity. "Not at all. You're... the finest person I've met."
Behind them, every word reached Hua Ling's ears with crystalline clarity.
His knuckles turned white as winter bone.
"Qingze," he murmured, voice soft as falling snow and twice as deadly. "Increase surveillance."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The wind whispered through pine branches, carrying scents of earth and growing things, along with the unspoken weight of jealousy, concern, and emotions too fragile and unnamed to bear examination.
The road to the Cave of Spirit Echoes stretched before them—winding and treacherous as the fates they carried in their hearts, leading toward destinies none could foresee.
---
As afternoon shadows lengthened, their small procession moved like a painting come to life through landscapes that shifted from cultivated sect grounds to wild mountain paths. Each step carried them further from familiar safety toward the unknown perils that awaited in caves where spirits dwelt.
Xinyu found himself walking between Shen Yao's complaints and Lu Rourou's chatter, while ahead, Hua Ling's straight back never wavered, never turned. Behind them, Mochen's presence felt like a constant weight—watching, waiting, planning something that made Lan Xueyao's sword hand twitch with unease.
The peacock Lingque flew overhead, disguised among wild birds, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she tracked her contracted partner's progress toward whatever fate the Cave of Spirit Echoes might hold.
In the distance, mountain peaks rose like sleeping giants, their summits wreathed in clouds that promised both wonder and danger in equal measure.
The journey had begun.