The mountain city clung to the jagged spine of the Lian Yun Mountain Range, its stone walls smoothed by centuries of relentless wind and rain—a fortress carved from the earth's ancient bones. Three days had passed since the bloodshed in the mountains. Now, dawn crept over the Eastern Wilderness, its molten glow spilling across the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and bruised violet.
Qin Ting stood atop the city's highest terrace, a solitary figure framed against the vast expanse, his clothes rippling in the restless morning breeze. His ink-black hair danced faintly across his sharp features, framing eyes that glittered with a cold, predatory light. To the untrained eye, he was a vision of serene authority—a prodigy sculpted from marble and myth.
The crunch of boots on stone announced Elder Liu's arrival, his silver-threaded hair catching the sunlight like a tarnished halo. Despite his age, the elder moved with a vitality that defied expectation—shoulders squared, each step measured yet resolute.
His weathered face glowed not with the weariness of years but with a zeal bordering on fervor. In his hands, he held a scroll wrapped in crimson silk, its edges frayed from hurried handling—the damning record of Jiang Zhongbai's treason and demise.
"Young Master Qin," Elder Liu intoned, his voice a rich baritone, as he dipped into a deep bow, his robe's hem brushing the stone in a graceful arc. "The Auric Celestial Skyspire stands ready for departure, and the expedition report is complete. I trust it captures… the full weight of your victory."
Qin Ting turned just enough to meet the elder's gaze, his lips curling into a smile that blended charm and menace—a blade cloaked in silk. "You've outdone yourself, Elder Liu," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, each syllable a calculated move in a game of dominance. "The sect will find your words most enlightening, I'm sure."
The compliment lingered, laced with faint mockery only Qin Ting could hear. 'A man of such power, reduced to a fawning cur,' he thought, his amusement a cold ember in the depths of his mind. 'How swiftly the mighty bend when the wind shifts.'
A sharper tread broke the moment—Nie You, his broad frame cutting through the haze like a knife. His boots clicked against the terrace with military precision, and he dropped into a crisp bow. "Young Master, Lady Mu Qingyi of the Qianyuan Sect has arrived."
Qin Ting nodded, his expression softening into something almost tender—a mask worn with practiced ease. From the shadowed archway at the terrace's edge emerged Mu Qingyi, her pale jade robes shimmering like a sunlit river, the delicate silk whispering against the stone with each step.
Her silver hair spilled like a waterfall, framing a face marked by quiet sorrow. Her golden eyes shone, heavy with the weight of farewell. The air seemed to ripple with the bittersweet gravity of parting, and Qin Ting felt it tug at him, a delicate thread within reach yet impossible to sever.
In her, he saw a useful pawn, one he could wield to sway the Qianyuan Sect in the future. As the Sect Master's only daughter, she was his most valuable prize. Having manipulated her so easily, Qin Ting would keep her at arm's length for now, not discarding her entirely.
Elder Liu's craggy face split into a sly grin, his eyes darting between them with a matchmaker's glee. "I'll leave you to your farewells," he said, his tone thick with insinuation as he inclined his head and retreated. His footsteps faded into the murmur of the waking city below—hawkers calling, carts rumbling, the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer. Nie You inclined his head with a soldier's precision and stepped back, his imposing form vanishing into the shadows.
Mu Qingyi drew closer, her gaze fixed on Qin Ting like a moth to flame. Her voice trembled, soft as rustling leaves. "Senior Brother Qin, is it true you leave tomorrow?"
"Indeed," he replied, his tone a velvet caress hiding a blade. The faint creak of his boots on the stone broke the stillness. "My affairs here in Backridge City are concluded—neatly tied, you might say. The Xuantian Sect awaits my return. And you, Junior Sister Mu, will return to Qianyuan soon, I take it?"
She nodded, her eyes dropping to the terrace's edge, where the city sprawled in a chaotic tapestry of rooftops and smoke. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve, a nervous tic she couldn't suppress, stirring a dark satisfaction in Qin Ting's chest. 'How easily she lays her heart bare,' he mused, his gaze fixed on the faint tremor of her lips.
"But hold your sorrow," he said, his voice warm and soothing. "The coronation ceremony of Xuantian's Holy Son is near. Every sect will send their finest. On that day, we shall stand side by side once more."
Her face lifted, a spark of hope igniting in her eyes like a lantern piercing fog. She stepped closer, her voice trembling with earnest intensity, barely concealing her longing. "This Junior Sister wouldn't miss it for the world," she declared, her words brimming with determination and unspoken tenderness.
"It's your day, Senior Brother Qin—how could I not witness your triumph? You deserve this more than anyone… and I—" Her voice faltered, as if revealing more would bare too much. "—I want to stand beside you when it happens."
He tilted his head, his smile soft and practiced, each word polished with sincerity. "Then it's settled. I'll look for you among the throng when the time comes."
Yet the title of Holy Son lingered between them, a beacon of his ambition that outshone the fleeting warmth in his tone—a warmth that never reached his eyes. To Qin Ting, it was no mere aspiration but a destiny forged in his enemies' blood, as certain as the dawn now gilding the peaks.
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Deep within the Xuantian Sect, the Pavilion of Delicacy exuded serene tranquility. Silken tapestries adorned its walls, embroidered cranes gliding through painted clouds. The air carried the musky sweetness of sandalwood, its tendrils curling from a bronze burner sculpted as a coiled dragon.
Li Junning sat at a low table, her slender fingers tracing the rim of a jade teacup, its surface cool against her skin. Her midnight-blue robes pooled around her like spilled ink, accentuating her pale elegance, yet her brow was furrowed, her dark eyes shadowed with a restless unease.
After months of secluded meditation, her spirit sharpened by silence, she returned to find the sect's currents had shifted. Zhou Pingyue, the sect's celebrated female True Disciple and her quiet rival, had followed Qin Ting into the Lian Yun Mountains.
The news struck her like a plucked string, resonating with a bitter pang. 'What is this shadow coiling in my chest?' she wondered, her reflection rippling in the tea's glassy surface, warped by the tremor of her hand. Zhou Pingyue had always been her measure—their rivalry a subtle dance of skill and grace, their sparring a clash of wills masked as camaraderie.
Li Junning had once thought them equals, two stars in the same sky, but while she pursued the Dao in solitude, Pingyue had seized the chance to stand at Qin Ting's side.
The thought twisted in her gut, a jealousy as sharp as a hidden blade, laced with the sting of exclusion. Qin Ting's name stirred a flicker of warmth she barely acknowledged, a mild infatuation buried beneath her pride. More than that, Pingyue's triumph gnawed at her—the effortless way she'd drawn closer to him, leaving Junning stranded in solitude. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to still the restless tide within, when the door burst open with a jarring thud.
Qingluan stumbled across the threshold, her cheeks flushed crimson, her chestnut hair escaping its braid in wild tendrils. Her usual composure, honed through years of service, had shattered, replaced by breathless excitement. "My lady!" she gasped, clutching the doorframe, her chest heaving beneath her servant's garb. Her eyes held the resolve of one who had earned Junning's trust countless times.
Li Junning's frown deepened, her voice cutting through the haze. "Qingluan, when did you forget decorum? What's this chaos about?"
"Something big has happened!" Qingluan's words spilled like water from a broken dam, her eyes wide with revelation.
"I'm not in the mood for riddles. Speak plainly," Junning commanded, her tone firm, though curiosity flickered amidst the tempest in her heart.
"Jiang Zhongbai—he's dead! Slain in the Lian Yun Mountains!" Qingluan's voice quivered, her hands flailing as if to paint the scene.
Li Junning surged to her feet, the teacup slipping from her grasp to shatter on the floor in a spray of jade shards and amber liquid. The sound rang out, sharp and final. "What? How did this come to pass?" Her pulse thundered, a drumbeat of shock—and beneath it, a thrill she couldn't place.
Qingluan edged closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Word from the mountain city says Jiang Zhongbai schemed with an outsider who dabbled in the dark path. They set an ambush for Young Master Qin Ting. In a clash of blood and fury, Qin Ting cut down Zhongbai. As for the outsider, Lady Mu Qingyi of the Qianyuan Sect later hunted them down and delivered justice."
"Junior Brother Qin—is he unharmed?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, her breath hitching as her heart lurched. She cursed the heat creeping into her cheeks, the way his name lingered on her tongue.
Qingluan blinked, tilting her head. "Of course, my lady—he's the one who killed Jiang Zhongbai, after all. How could he not be?"
Li Junning faltered, her pulse quickening as a flush crept beneath her pale skin. She steadied herself with a measured breath, though the room seemed to sway. Memories of her clashes with Jiang Zhongbai surged—the suffocating weight of his dominance, the sting of humiliation in his taunts.
She had poured her soul into her divine arts, each a testament to her skill, yet he had met her efforts with unyielding strength, leaving her battered and seething. Of all his wounds, none cut as deeply as the bruises to her pride.
But now, he was gone. A faint smile tugged at her lips as the realization settled: she would never endure his condescension again. The thought of his voice silenced stirred a grim satisfaction. Qin Ting—a mere cultivator of the Divine Spirit Realm—had achieved what she never could: Jiang Zhongbai's downfall.
A wild, euphoric satisfaction welled within her, stealing her breath. Zhongbai's shadow had lifted, leaving the world lighter, unbound, as if a shackle had broken. But the joy was fleeting. Bitter threads wove through her elation as Qingluan's words echoed.
Lady Mu Qingyi—her name carried the prestige of the Qianyuan Sect, a brilliance beyond Junning's grasp. Envy struck, tightening its coils with every image of Qingyi's grace fueling Qin Ting's ascent.
A flicker of doubt crept into her thoughts. Had Qin Ting truly been aided by this renowned goddess? Rumors would amplify Qingyi's contributions, and jealousy gnawed at Junning's heart. With a wry twist of her lips, she scoffed inwardly.
Another rival, then—another figure whose radiance deepened the shadows around her. She had thought Zhou Pingyue her fiercest competitor, yet here she was, adding Mu Qingyi to the list of those vying for his favor.
'Qin Ting…' The name echoed in her mind, elusive and distant. 'He's too unpredictable,' she thought, a shiver rippling through her—a mix of reverence and something dangerously akin to longing. But the image of Zhou Pingyue at his side curdled the feeling, bitterness tugging at her composure. Pingyue had witnessed the chaos and triumph, while Junning sat here, tracing teacups in the dark.
Qingluan prattled on, unaware of her mistress's strife, her voice cutting through the silence. "Young Master Qin Ting has unleashed a storm—killing a True Disciple like Jiang Zhongbai, and the eldest at that! What will the sect do? Surely, they won't let his crime go unpunished?"
"They'll do nothing," Li Junning said, her tone hardening with certainty as she regained her grip. "When Junior Brother Qin returns, he'll ascend to Holy Son. In all the Xuantian Sect, none stand above him now—none but Emperor Qin himself."
Qingluan's jaw dropped, her eyes widening. "But Jiang Zhongbai was a genius, a True Disciple! Even if he struck first—"
Li Junning cut her off with a sharp glance, her thoughts drifting to the sect's hidden tides. For years, the elders had weighed Qin Ting and Jiang Zhongbai—two prodigies in an unspoken duel. Zhongbai's legacy was built on decades of battles and victories, each foe a cornerstone of his reputation.
Qin Ting's brilliance, though dazzling, was untested, a promise yet to be fulfilled. Now, that promise had ignited, crossing realms in a single, bloody arc. Among the sect's youth, no rival remained—not even Zhou Pingyue, for all her grace, could touch him now.
A pang of envy tightened Li Junning's grip on the table's edge, her nails digging into the wood as she wrestled with Pingyue's place at his side—and her own distance from it.