Night fell like ink poured across the heavens. The wind carried no warmth — only whispers of what tomorrow might bring.
While Qingling's disciples slept under the anxious silence of coming war, the enemies of the sect convened in the deep chambers of conspiracy.The air in that secret hall was thick with suppressed intent — the faint hum of barrier talismans weaving threads of golden light along the walls, cutting off every sound and sense from the outside world.
A half-dozen figures sat within that sealed darkness: the masters of the sects who had sworn, in whispered oaths, to see Qingling Sect fall. Their faces flickered between pride and unease as spirit lamps burned low, throwing long, devouring shadows.
Crimson Empress Feng Lanyi's envoy spoke first, her tone sharp as frost.
"You promised us victory. Instead, Qingling stands taller than before. That boy — that heir — has humiliated every one of us."
The Iron Vow Master, expression grim, stared into his cup of bitter tea.
"Our mistake was believing he was his father's shadow. He's something else… something his sect doesn't even understand."
Across from them, Prince Hong Ye exhaled through clenched teeth, his wounded pride burning more fiercely than his body's injuries.
"We bled for this farce of a tournament. And still that child of Qingling rises. What kind of monster are they raising in those sacred halls?"
A low chuckle drifted through the smoke-filled room.
It came from Hei Mu, his form half-swallowed by mist, sitting in stillness like a blade sheathed in night. His voice was soft — too soft — and yet it carried a weight that silenced the room.
"Underestimation," he said, "is the most dangerous sin of the living."
He leaned forward, the faint curl of amusement never leaving his face.
"But it's not too late. I will end him in the finals. Shadow against lightning. Let him burn his light — I'll consume it whole."
His words rippled through the room like oil poured into flame.
The others said nothing, but their silence spoke of both hatred and fear.Every man and woman present had seen the boy's duels — the precision, the restraint, the sheer weight of will that had shattered expectations.
And yet, they told themselves, he was only human. He could still bleed. He could still die.
A knock came — sharp, deliberate.The Headmaster of Black Mist Academy rose and took the sealed jade slip offered by a messenger. The seal was etched with an insignia none dared to name aloud — the emblem of their true leader, the one who had bound their interests together.
The headmaster broke the seal. A few glowing characters shimmered and faded as he read:
"You disappoint me.Your incompetence reeks through the wind. Do better — or be replaced."
Silence descended like a blade. The letter dissolved into ash between the headmaster's fingers.
Hei Mu's lips twisted into a smirk.
"He speaks as if we are puppets."He rose, his black mist rolling outward in waves that swallowed the light from the spirit lamps. "Let him think so. He knows nothing of me — or what I intend to do."
His laughter — low and mirthless — echoed against the stone.
"The final will decide more than a title. It will decide whose will the heavens favor."
Meanwhile, in Qingling Sect
Far above the plotting and the whispers, the night in Qingling was quiet. Too quiet.
Xuanye sat alone in his quarters, the soft glow of moonlight spilling across his sword. He could feel the storm gathering far beyond the horizon — a pressure like a divine hand pressing down upon the world.
Inside his Sea of Consciousness, the ancient voice stirred again, the same one that had guided him through countless trials.
"Two days, háizi... Two days until the storm breaks. You've seen what fear can do. Now show them what resolve means."
Xuanye's lips curved slightly. "I will, Master."
Outside, thunder grumbled behind the distant peaks, the wind howling like a beast remembering its name.
The Visitor in the Wind
That night, exhaustion finally claimed him. Xuanye lay back, his sword still resting beside him, and drifted into uneasy sleep. The candles burned down one by one, and shadows began to move where none should have been.
A black mist seeped into the room — silent, smooth, and cold. It curled along the floorboards like living smoke, climbing the bedpost, reaching toward the sleeping youth.
There was no alarm, no fluctuation of qi, no barrier triggered.It was the same mist that had once filled the Empress's cave, the same that had made even time itself kneel.
From within that fog, a voice whispered — deep, fragmented, like the echo of eternity itself.
"You've done well, child."
The tone was calm, neither friend nor foe — only absolute.
The figure bent low, its outline shifting, indistinct. A pale, almost human hand reached out and lightly patted Xuanye's head.
"This is how righteousness should look. You have done a great job… I have watched you grow. I have watched every duel, every strike. You fight with purpose — and that pleases me."
The air thickened, the scent of cold iron and ancient incense filling the room.
"I have seen countless mortals rise and fall," the voice murmured. "But few carry both darkness and light in equal measure. You... remind me of something once lost."
Xuanye stirred, unease creeping into his dreams. His breath quickened. The pressure in the air grew until his eyelids fluttered — and suddenly, he woke.
The room was empty.
The mist was gone.
Only the window stood ajar, the curtains rippling in a calm, fragrant breeze.Outside, moonlight fell like silver dust over the training grounds. Leaves rustled against the eaves; the night returned to its natural rhythm — still, beautiful, deceivingly peaceful.
Xuanye sat up slowly, scanning every corner. His sword's blade glimmered faintly in the moonlight, catching his reflection — his eyes uncertain, wary.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, almost as if speaking to the air itself, he murmured:
"You again…"
The wind whispered back — wordless, familiar, almost fond.