The morning sun bathed the Isle of Whispering Petals in a wash of pale gold, illuminating the mist that clung to the spirit-bamboo groves and the cascading waterfalls. To the disciples of the Fragrance Melody Sect, it was a beautiful, peaceful morning, a symbol of their sect's miraculous recovery and newfound strength. They moved through the stone pathways with light steps, their zithers and flutes strapped to their backs, greeting each other with smiles that had been absent during the dark days of the Iron-Blood Hall's invasion.
But for Wang Jian, walking along the white jade path that spiraled up toward the central peak, the morning air tasted not of peace, but of anticipation.
