The morning mist lingered like a shroud over the jagged cliffs of the Azure Peaks, coiling around stone and pine in slow, ghostly breaths. The world below was still, drowned beneath an ocean of cloud. Above it all, a single figure sat motionless upon a lonely plateau — Tiān Lán.
His robe, pale as frozen moonlight, stirred faintly in the wind. Frost gathered upon his sleeves, each crystal glinting like a star. Beneath his calm, closed eyes, storm-blue irises flickered with hidden lightning. The qi of the world flowed toward him — streams of silver vapor drawn from miles around, converging into his breath, his pulse, his soul.
The mountain hummed in resonance. Even the beasts that prowled these peaks dared not breathe too loud, sensing the awakening of something ancient.
Inside his chest, his core pulsed like thunder behind glass. His consciousness reached beyond flesh — out into the rhythm of the land. Every mountain vein, every whisper of flowing qi, every disturbance in the distant horizon appeared before his mind's eye. He could feel the continent's pulse, the quiet tremors of countless cultivators training, fighting, plotting. And beneath it all… a darker current.
So it begins again, he thought. The same currents that once drowned me in betrayal now rise once more.
A faint hum broke his meditation. His Guardian, an ethereal construct of light and spirit metal, hovered near his shoulder — its spherical core revolving gently, trailing streams of azure energy. Around the plateau, his spirit beasts formed a silent perimeter: a fox with nine silver tails, a coiled frost dragon breathing mist into the air, and a white hawk perched atop a jagged rock, eyes glimmering with awareness.
Yet even amidst such power, Tiān Lán's senses pricked.
Something moved.
The shift was minute — a breath against the current of wind. His eyes snapped open. The storm inside them flickered to life, rippling outward. His hand moved slightly, weaving invisible threads through the air. Space itself bent.
A figure froze mid-step — caught between reality and illusion.
"Show yourself," Tiān Lán said quietly.
His voice carried across the plateau, calm yet heavy with the authority of someone who had once commanded heavens.
The mist parted.
A tall man stepped forward, cloaked in black so deep it seemed to drink the light. His face was hidden beneath a hood, and yet the air around him rippled faintly — the pressure of a Spirit Severing cultivator. His qi signature was sharp, refined, and disturbingly controlled.
"You are called the Mountain Phantom," the stranger said. His tone was even, respectful — but the air beneath his words carried a faint, testing weight. "I was sent to observe… to test whether the whispers about you are true."
Tiān Lán tilted his head slightly. His hair, black as thunderclouds, caught the glint of frostlight. "Observing," he murmured, "is one thing. Testing without consent… is another."
A faint chuckle answered him. "Then consider this a courtesy. You are entering dangerous waters, Tiān Lán. The Continental Tournament approaches — a gathering of every sect, family, and hidden clan from the four dominions. Many come to win glory."
He paused, and his tone deepened. "Others come to end you before it begins."
The plateau seemed to grow colder. Even the frost dragon stirred uneasily.
Tiān Lán's gaze sharpened — like a blade unsheathing behind his calm expression. So they move this early. His thoughts burned like distant lightning. They fear me enough to act before the first bell rings.
"Who sent you?" he asked.
The envoy's lips curved faintly beneath the hood. "Names are dust, blown by the wind. Remember only this: some old faces will appear in that arena. And debts… long thought buried, will surface."
A single breath passed.
Then Tiān Lán spoke — softly, almost tenderly.
"Then let the debts come due."
The envoy's eyes flickered — a glint of something like respect, or fear. "Then this meeting is concluded." He inclined his head. "Do not mistake this as mercy, Tiān Lán. It is only… the calm before the storm."
He turned — and in the next instant, his body melted into the mist, vanishing like smoke caught in a gust of wind.
Only silence remained.
---
The wind carried the faint cry of hawks as Tiān Lán moved toward a hidden cave, half-veiled behind knife-like rocks. Inside, it was dim, the walls cold and damp with seeping frost. But as he raised his hand, blue light flared to life — thousands of thin, glowing lines etched themselves across the stone, forming an intricate array of protection.
Each marker pulsed faintly, linking together until the entire cavern became a web of living qi.
"Activate defensive strata," he commanded.
The Guardian's core spun, releasing luminous spheres that embedded themselves into the cave's walls. Threads of energy stretched between them, forming a sensory network that mapped the entire surrounding valley.
No intruder would cross it unseen.
Tiān Lán stood at the center, eyes half-closed, thinking.
The envoy's warning was not empty. They know I have returned.
Then they will test me, measure me, and finally… try to erase me again.
He exhaled, frost spilling from his lips.
"I will not be caught unaware this time."
The nine-tailed fox leapt onto a stone ledge, its tails flicking lazily, while the frost dragon's breath thickened the air with mist. Tiān Lán's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Every step in this tournament must be precise. Every alliance measured. Every betrayal anticipated."
His mind moved faster than most could dream — tracing sect hierarchies, known geniuses, rumored prodigies, the invisible strings of politics connecting every faction. Faces blurred through his thoughts — some proud, some treacherous, some hauntingly familiar.
He saw the Celestial Frost Sect, the Moonveil Pavilion, the Golden Fang Clan, the Shadow Hall — each preparing their champions. Some he had known in his past life. Some had killed him.
A soft chime echoed through the chamber.
Instantly, Tiān Lán turned.
One of his markers pulsed crimson — far to the east.
A subtle qi fluctuation. Concealed, moving fast.
His voice dropped, calm but cold.
"Interesting. Someone moves before the storm."
He stepped out into the open, robes rippling. Frost gathered beneath his feet, spreading outward like a frozen mirror.
"Then I will move faster."
---
Twilight descended like a bruise over the sky, staining the clouds purple and gold. From the edge of the plateau, the entire world unfurled beneath Tiān Lán — rivers glimmering like veins of light, forests whispering secrets older than dynasties.
He stood against the wind, silent.
The beasts gathered around him, eyes reflecting the rising moon. Lightning cracked far away, faint but insistent — the herald of a coming storm.
"They will come," he murmured, his voice barely louder than the wind. "They always do."
A faint smile touched his lips — not of joy, but of defiance.
"And this time… I will not fall."
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. His gaze turned toward the horizon, where the faint outlines of distant cities glowed — the heartlands of power. Somewhere out there, the people who had betrayed him in his past life were preparing to stand upon the same stage again.
He could almost hear their laughter, their certainty that the ghost of Yè Tíanshuāng was gone forever.
His fingers tightened around the hilt of the Cold Snow Blade at his waist — the weapon forged from his soul's frostfire, bound by the echoes of his past life. A single droplet of condensed qi slid down its edge and froze into light.
"Let them come," he whispered. "Let them remember the name they tried to erase."
The clouds above churned violently. Lightning flickered, illuminating the faint outlines of his face — calm, resolved, unbreakable.
In that moment, he looked less like a man and more like a god waiting for judgment to come.
The rain began to fall, fine and silver, coating the cliffs in glassy sheen. Tiān Lán did not move. The world might have been collapsing; he stood unmoving, an eternal figure upon the edge of destiny.
And as the storm rumbled across the horizon, unseen watchers whispered his name across the lands —
"The Mountain Phantom rises again."
The Continental Tournament would soon begin.
And the world would learn that not all ghosts rest quietly.