The dawn unfurled like a silk banner over the horizon.
The city below shimmered beneath that rising light, each roof tile reflecting gold, each winding street breathing life into the newborn day. From the distance, the ancient city of Liuxuan looked almost otherworldly — bridges arched over silver canals, clouds drifted lazily past tall pagodas, and the faint toll of temple bells echoed through the mist.
By the time the sun fully rose, the festival had begun.
Drums beat in rhythmic waves through the air. The scent of roasted chestnuts and honeyed pastries intertwined with the sharp fragrance of incense that spiraled upward from jade censers placed at street corners. Stalls unfolded like lotus petals — some stacked high with shimmering artifacts, others laden with herbs still wet with morning dew. The people of the continent had gathered — cultivators, merchants, nobles, and even wandering poets — their laughter weaving into the sound of flutes and bells.
From the western hills, two figures descended the stone path toward the city gates.
The first, Tiān Lán, walked in silence — his azure robe whispering with each step. The faint trace of frost clung to the hem, catching the light like tiny shards of glass. His hair, dark as midnight water, stirred in the wind, framing eyes calm enough to silence storms.
Behind him trailed Yao Xiangyi, her expression caught somewhere between awe and amusement. Her robes were lighter — sky white with faint gold embroidery — but her steps carried the same disciplined grace that marked one long tempered by cultivation.
"Are you sure blending in is a good idea?" she murmured, glancing at him sidelong. "With your energy… you'll draw eyes whether you wish to or not."
He didn't answer immediately. The wind caught his sleeve, fluttering it like a banner before he finally replied, voice low but steady, "Observation requires humility. Let the world reveal itself, not be commanded."
As they passed through the gate, sunlight spilled over them like a benediction. For a moment, Tiān Lán could almost forget the long nights spent beneath cold moons and the weight of ancient power coiled beneath his soul. The city before him was alive — and that life hummed in every heartbeat, every lantern flame, every echo of laughter.
Whispers began almost instantly.
"Is that him…?"
"The one they call the Mountain Phantom?"
"No, can't be. He'd be taller. Or colder. Or…"
"Look at his eyes."
He ignored them all. He had grown accustomed to whispers — they were softer than the screams of betrayal he once endured.
They passed rows of market stalls. One merchant shouted cheerfully, "Herbs of Frostveil! Just picked this dawn!" The leaves shimmered faintly blue, and Tiān Lán paused just long enough to glance at them. The energy was pure — not potent, but cultivated with care. He smiled faintly, then moved on.
"Try this," Yao Xiangyi said suddenly, holding out a small pastry glowing with soft azure light. "Infused with minor qi. Supposed to enhance awareness — though you probably won't feel a thing."
He accepted it, breaking a small piece off and tasting it. The sweetness spread first, then the faint tingle of energy brushing through his meridians like ripples across still water. He exhaled softly, the faintest smile on his lips. "Even mountains need sunlight," he murmured. "Even cultivators… need simplicity."
They walked deeper into the city. The streets widened, revealing a vast plaza paved in white stone, where performers displayed martial and elemental arts before gathered crowds. Children ran among them, holding miniature lanterns painted with beasts and stars. The air shimmered with qi residue — from fire dancers, sword illusions, and melodic cultivators playing ancient zithers whose notes bent reality itself.
Tiān Lán paused. His eyes lingered on one young illusionist — a boy barely past his first foundation stage — crafting illusory dragons that flickered uncertainly. His control wavered, his spiritual flow uneven. Tiān Lán watched quietly, then with a flick of his sleeve, released a faint, invisible wave of stabilizing qi. The boy gasped softly as his illusion solidified, the dragon coiling majestically through the air. The crowd erupted in applause, unaware of the invisible hand that guided it.
Yao Xiangyi saw, and smiled faintly. "You can't help yourself, can you?"
"Old habits," Tiān Lán replied. "Guiding the unsteady costs nothing."
But even as he said it, something cold rippled at the edge of his awareness.
From the rooftop of a nearby pavilion, unseen eyes followed him — eyes belonging to the Azure Star Sect's shadow scouts. Their leader, cloaked in dark blue, whispered into a jade talisman, "Confirmed. He's here. Power levels… indistinguishable, but the aura matches reports. Proceed with caution."
Not all who came to the festival sought celebration.
The plaza's laughter and song could not fully drown the undercurrent of tension that snaked through the crowd. Rival sects, hidden families, and wandering mercenaries mingled in the open, each with their own motives.
Tiān Lán felt it all — the vibrations of suppressed hostility, the ripples of spiritual probes brushing against his aura like testing fingers. He allowed it. Observation flowed both ways.
A gong sounded, and a voice announced:
"Next! The Festival of Spheres — open to all cultivators below the Core Formation realm! Test your control and harmony!"
On the stage, dozens of glowing energy spheres floated midair, shifting unpredictably as contestants tried to guide them into alignment using only qi control. Tiān Lán approached casually, curiosity in his gaze. Yao Xiangyi sighed under her breath. "You really can't resist a challenge, can you?"
"Not a challenge," he said, stepping forward. "A reflection."
When he raised his hand, the air itself seemed to still. He extended a thread of qi so fine it shimmered like mist, wrapping around the spheres with effortless precision. In moments, the floating orbs moved as though alive — weaving intricate patterns like celestial constellations, forming a slow, spiraling mandala above his palm.
The crowd gasped. The judges blinked, stunned. Some younger cultivators fell silent in reverent awe.
When the final sphere aligned, Tiān Lán closed his hand — and all light collapsed into a single point, dispersing harmlessly into the air. He stepped down without another word.
Behind the crowd, a cloaked figure whispered, "So it's true… even without exertion, he commands the essence of equilibrium itself."
Another responded grimly, "We test him tonight. During the lantern descent."
As dusk deepened, the city transformed again. Lanterns bloomed like stars across the canals, each carrying a prayer or wish written on silk. The warm glow danced upon Tiān Lán's features, softening the usual calm steel of his gaze. Yao Xiangyi walked beside him, holding her lantern close.
"You ever write a wish?" she asked quietly.
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "Once. A lifetime ago. It was never granted."
"What was it?"
He smiled faintly, eyes on the floating lights. "Peace."
Their steps carried them to the central pavilion where the ceremonial dancers performed. Ribbons of light spun through the night air, each dancer moving with practiced grace. Music shimmered like liquid moonlight. The crowd hushed, lost in the beauty of the performance.
And yet — even amidst such serenity — Tiān Lán's senses stirred.
A faint tremor pulsed beneath the music. The artifact displayed at the pavilion's heart — a crystalline orb suspended within a lattice of gold — began to hum softly, light flickering unevenly.
The crowd murmured in confusion.
"Is it part of the show?"
"Something's wrong…"
Tiān Lán's eyes narrowed. He recognized the signature — an ancient stabilizing artifact, capable of balancing chaotic energy flow. But this tremor… it wasn't natural.
"Someone is tampering with it," he murmured.
Yao Xiangyi tensed. "Now?"
He lifted his gaze slightly, scanning the shadows. There — three faint presences. Azure Star Sect scouts. Subtle, coordinated, but clumsy compared to true assassins. A probing attack, nothing more than a message.
He sighed softly. "So predictable."
Raising a single hand, he sent out an invisible pulse of frost qi. The energy spread in concentric circles, freezing the artifact's wild pulse mid-air. The light stabilized, the tremor fading instantly — the orb returning to its serene, radiant glow.
The people cheered, unaware of the silent duel that had just taken place.
But in the rooftops, the three scouts stumbled back, clutching their chests, frost spreading across their talismans.
"He… he neutralized it with a thought!"
Tiān Lán lowered his hand slowly, his expression unreadable. "Curiosity leads to wisdom," he murmured. "But recklessness leads to regret."
Yao Xiangyi exhaled softly beside him, half-amused, half-admiring. "Even in celebration, the world insists on testing you."
"Every encounter is a lesson," he said. "Every festival, a mirror."
The lanterns floated higher, drifting toward the heavens. Music rose again, laughter returning as the moment of tension passed. Yet beneath the surface, unseen powers stirred. Across the continent, whispers spread — of the man called Mountain Phantom, who silenced energy storms with a thought, who carried frost and lightning beneath his calm eyes.
And somewhere beyond the light, in the deep alleys between temples, a lone figure stood — face hidden, aura ancient. The faintest smile touched their lips.
"So… you've returned, Yè Tiānshuāng," they whispered. "The world will not remain still for long."
The wind stirred. The lanterns ascended higher, their glow reflecting in Tiān Lán's eyes — serene, unfathomable, filled with both longing and resolve.
Tonight was not merely a festival.
It was an omen.