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Rain fell upon a scarlet land. A lone man stood beneath the storm, each flash of lightning painting his form in terror and silence. Noted down in "Blood and Thunder," page twenty-one.
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The vast Moondragon City was ruled by the three ancient clans and the City Lord, Gao Wuchen. Together, they upheld order and prosperity of the city. The four of them split up the city into a square, and each of them ruled a quarter.
From time to time, there would be small disputes that flared between them, yet none dared let those flames burn too much. They all understood that unity kept them safe from other families who would love to take their place, though a touch of rivalry kept their blades sharp and they stayed vigilant. After all, challenge was the whetstone of growth, though some harbored ambitions to rise even beyond the walls of Moondragon City.
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In the grand residence of City Lord Gao Wuchen, lantern light flickered across polished jade pillars and silken drapes. Gao Wuchen stood before his son, Gao Liancheng, a youth of fifteen. Between them lay an open scroll marked with the names of sects and their lands.
Gao Wuchen's gaze lingered on the map before him, his voice low yet carrying the weight of command.
"You could have gone and joined a sect three years ago," he said, turning to his son. "But it was too early for you then."
He clasped his hands behind his back, the faint glow of the lanterns outlining the sharp lines of his face.
"Liancheng, you must become more than just my heir. You must be the pillar of your generation, a leader strong enough to carry the Gao name beyond the borders of this Moondragon City."
''I understand, father'' Gao Liancheng said.
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The Xie Clan Hall was vast and solemn, its ancient stone beams stretching toward the high ceiling like the ribs of a slumbering beast. Dim lanterns were lit across the gray walls, their faint glow barely pushing back the shadows. A heavy silence pressed down on the hall, as though even sound dared not intrude.
A half-moon of carved chairs curved around a raised platform at the back of the hall, though only one was occupied. In the center sat a man of about forty, his back straight, his expression was stern. His long black hair was tied neatly with a silver clasp. His presence alone seemed to fill the chamber, stilling even the flicker of the lanterns.
Below him stood two teenagers, they looked to be around fourteen years old, dressed in white robes embroidered with flowing silver clouds, the emblem of their clan They looked small against the vast emptiness of the hall.
The girl, Xie Lingxin, had brown hair tied into a delicate bun, with a jeweled flower hairpin. Her face was calm but her fingers brushed the hilt of her sword, a habit she hadn't yet grown out of. Beneath her calm face, she was extremely tense to meet the expectation of the clan.
Beside her stood Xie Wuji, his attire simpler but marked with the same drifting silver clouds along the wide sleeves. His black hair fell loosely to his shoulders, and though his face was still that of a boy, his eyes were steady and confident. His hands rested calmly behind his back.
Xie Moran's gaze swept over them like a winter wind. The silence between them thickened until even the faint crackle of oil in the lanterns seemed loud.
"Lingxin," he finally spoke, his deep voice echoing against the cold stone. "How much have you learned of our family's technique, Whirlwind Sword Art?"
Xie Lingxin bowed slightly, her voice respectful yet firm."I have reached the third stage, Clan Master."
Xie Moran nodded once, neither approving nor disappointed. His eyes turned to the boy."And you, Wuji?"
Xie Wuji met his gaze. "The fifth stage, Clan Master."
For a moment, the clan master's stern mask softened. A faint smile touched his lips, rare as snow in summer.
"Good, that will be helpful for when you reach the sect." he said, leaning back slightly. "The sects will only test your qi levels, for which you are guaranteed to join, and the dao you resonate with. They will offer you your path from there."
The silence continued until Xie Moran said "You have both done well."
''Lingxin and Wuji, you should try to join either Golden Wind Sect or Heavenly Sword Temple''
''Understood, we will do our best, Clan Master'' Xie Lingxin and Xie Wuji said in unison.
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The Yu Clan Hall had a smell of herbs and burnt minerals. The fragrance clung to the air, to the robes of the servants, even to the ancient wooden beams that framed the ceiling.
Yu Qianhe stood tall. Though in his forties, his sharp eyes gleamed with the vitality of someone who had spent a lifetime tempering both pills. His hands, scarred and calloused from years of tending cauldrons, were clasped behind his back as he gazed at the youth before him.
"Shentong," he said, his voice calm yet filled with quiet pride, "you must do well to impress the Eternal Cauldron Sect."
Before him stood Yu Shentong, barely thirteen years of age. His robe was the deep crimson of the Yu Clan, embroidered with patterns like flames along the wide sleeves.
Yu Qianhe's lips curved into a proud smile. "If they are not satisfied with a boy who has reached Spiritual Core Expansion at the age of thirteen," he chuckled, his laughter echoing through the hall, "then I do not know what will please them!"
The boy bowed deeply, his tone firm. "Father, I will not disappoint you."
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The Bai Clan Hall was quiet until a roar exploded in the hall.
"Hanyue! Why must you be so undisciplined?! Do you want to throw away your life?!"
The roar broke the silence like thunder. Bai Xuehai, the Clan Master, stood on the raised dais, his hands gripping the armrest of his chair, his face flushed with restrained fury.
Below him two teenagers stood a male and a female, the young female knelt down not daring to look up, meanwhile the male stood up.
Bai Hanyue met his father's gaze unflinchingly, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. Though his name carried a softness, Hanyue, the Cold Moon, there was nothing gentle about him. His features were fine, almost elegant, his long hair tied neatly behind him, yet his presence carried the edge of a hidden blade.
Beside him knelt Bai Yuerong, his cousin, silent and obedient, the contrast clear.
"A real man fights on the Scarlet battlefield, Father!" Bai Hanyue's voice cut through the hall, filled with fire. "I will not waste my youth trading herbs and treasures, nor will I rot away cultivating within some sect surrounded by pampered young masters!"
"Enough!" Bai Xuehai's voice shook the lanterns.
But Bai Hanyue only sneered faintly, his lips curling into a trace of defiance, the kind that could not be extinguished.
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Far, far away from Moondragon City sat a small tavern, it was alive with chatter inside, the clatter of mugs, and the smell of roasted meat was thick in the air. Lanterns swayed slightly from the low wooden beams, casting warm, flickering light over the worn tables. People laughed, argued over bets, and shouted across the hall, yet one figure remained oddly detached from it all.
At a corner table sat an old man, his face wrinkled and had multiple scars, the years etched deep around his eyes and mouth. In one hand, he held a small, dark cup of heavenly jade-brewed liquor, its surface rippling from the tavern's bustle. He sipped carefully, then let out a small chuckle that carried an unsettling note of amusement.
His eyes were fixed on the liqour, enjoying the bustling scene in the inn, listening quietly, one thing that caught his ear was that the surrounding sects would soon select disciples.
"Humph," he muttered under his breath, the corner of his mouth curling. "Those old fools from the Scarlet Battlefield and Celestial Brush Hall have been running their mouths lately, claiming I won't find anyone worthy to carry my legacy." His gaze sharpened, glittering with mischief and confidence. "I will show them… yes, I will show them."
A sly, almost evil smile tugged at his lips. Heh… perhaps I might snag a true genius for my disciple from some of the sect masters. The thought made him chuckle again.
Finishing his cup in one measured gulp, the old man placed a few coins on the table, their clink barely audible. With deliberate slowness, he rose, his long, tattered crimson robes brushing against the floor. Patrons barely noticed him, their attention absorbed by the raucous music and their liqour.
Outside, the night wind carried the scent of the forest. The old man walked along the cobblestones. After a few paces, he paused, eyes narrowing at the moonlit sky. With a small, sudden movement, he leapt, soaring into the sky.
His crimson robes billowed around him, revealing a small talisman tied at his belt, glimmering faintly with runes.
He smiled once more, sharp and knowing he was going to offend someone.
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End of chapter 4 - Inside The Halls Of The Clans