Zixiao's training was as exhausting as it was bizarre.
Mu Feng had him learning everything — alchemy, combat, even cooking.
One afternoon, Zixiao stood in the middle of the house, sweat dripping down his face as he worked over a large metal pot. Flames roared beneath it, heating a glowing green liquid that bubbled like it was alive.
"Just a little more…" he murmured, carefully grabbing a small jade-white bottle from the wooden table beside him. Tilting it slightly, a few brown pills rolled out and plopped into the mixture with soft plip sounds.
At that exact moment, Mu Feng popped his head in from the side, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. But as soon as he saw what Zixiao had just added—
"Wait, you fool! Don't—!" Whack!
He smacked the back of Zixiao's head hard enough to make him stumble forward. "Do you even know what that is!?"
Blinking in confusion, Zixiao peered at the jade bottle in his hand… then froze.
The bubbling inside the pot suddenly grew louder—glug glug glug—until the entire cauldron started trembling violently.
Both of them turned toward it, faces pale.
Then—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shook the entire house. Windows and doors burst open from the shockwave, sending thick black smoke pouring outside.
Moments later, the two of them stumbled out, coughing and gasping for air, their faces covered in soot.
Zixiao knelt on the ground, panting, before slowly turning to his master. A sheepish grin crept across his face.
Mu Feng glared at him, nostrils flaring, and without hesitation—
Thwack!
He smacked Zixiao's head again, even harder this time. "You nearly blew up my house, brat!"
At night, Zixiao would bury himself in scrolls and ancient books, eyes glowing under the flickering candlelight. By day, he practiced every technique he had learned, from martial stances to spiritual control, until his body gave out.
Whenever he collapsed from exhaustion, Mu Feng would quietly carry him to bed, tucking him in as though he were a child. He would pull the blanket over Zixiao's shoulders and whisper with a soft sigh, "You fool… training is useless if you forget to rest."
This became their rhythm — their unspoken bond.
For Zixiao, Mu Feng had become more than a master. When he was at his lowest, Mu Feng was the only light that reached him. And now, Zixiao wanted nothing more than to repay that kindness by living up to his master's expectations — even if it meant pushing himself beyond his limits.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Seasons shifted like fleeting dreams. The petals of the sakura tree outside Mu Feng's house danced through the air, falling one by one with the cold wind until only the bare branches remained.
The rivers froze, and the lake turned to glass beneath the snow. Yet laughter still echoed through the courtyard — the laughter of a boy and his master. Zixiao built snowmen, while Mu Feng attacked with snowballs, and soon both were rolling on the ground, laughing like fools.
Time slipped by without notice. Two years passed in the blink of an eye.
Now, beneath the old sakura tree, a small wooden swing hung from its branches. Whenever the world felt quiet, Zixiao would sit upon it, swaying gently, the snowflakes falling around him like drifting petals.
On a bright yet utterly silent plane, a lone figure walked barefoot across a long white jade bridge. On both sides, endless clouds stretched into the horizon, as though the bridge itself hung suspended in the heavens. Resting upon the clouds were countless pink lotuses, each one glowing softly with golden light — like stars blooming in the night sky.
The man's steps were calm and measured. He wore white robes with golden out lines that rippled faintly with each movement. His head was clean-shaven, his right hand raised before his chest, palm facing upward in quiet grace. In his left hand, he gently held a chain of golden prayer beads, the light glinting off them with every sway. His eyes were half closed, serene and undisturbed.
He was a monk.
He walked until he reached the very edge of the bridge, where the clouds thickened into a sea of mist. From afar, through the shimmering haze, he saw another figure — one who faced away from him,he wore golden ish brown robes.
That person sat upon an enormous pink lotus that floated high above the clouds. His jet-black hair was tied into a neat bun atop his head, with two slender strands falling gracefully across his forehead. Unlike the monk, his right hand formed the Vitarka Mudra — the index finger and thumb touching lightly, while the other fingers extended upward — a gesture of wisdom and teaching. His left hand rested upon his lap, palm open and still.
Both of his eyes were closed, yet the world itself seemed to tremble beneath his presence. The being was vast — as large and unmoving as a mountain, radiating an unshakable, divine grace that seemed to connect heaven and earth.
The monk knelt, pressing his forehead to the cold surface of the jade bridge.
With a voice steady yet reverent, he spoke softly,
> "My Lord… why have you summoned me?"
"Xuan, have you ever heard of the legend of the Snake Queen from the Heavens?" the figure asked, his voice calm and graceful, yet it carried through the expanse as if echoing from the skies themselves. He did not turn to face the monk.
"Yes, Sire," Xuan replied, head bowed. "According to the myths, she was the queen and god of snakes until she fell from the Heavens for unknown reasons, billions of years ago — if I am correct."
"Indeed, you are correct," the figure said, his voice smooth yet tinged with a subtle menace. "But it was never merely a myth. I have spent over ten million years searching for her vessel… and now, after countless ages of effort, it seems that the vessel of the Snake Queen has finally appeared — in a place called the 'Starry Sky River Forest,' within the Phoenix Empire of the Starry Sky Realm."
"Congratulations, Sire," Xuan said, still bowing, his tone both respectful and quietly pleased.
The figure interrupted Xuan, his calm voice now carrying an edge of seriousness. "Don't celebrate just yet, Xuan. I still do not know how the vessel has appeared."
He slowly unfolded his left fist, and from his palm, a pink lotus bloomed, glowing with golden light. The lotus floated gracefully toward Xuan, who remained bowed, raising both hands above his head. The glowing lotus landed in Xuan's palms and began to spin, radiating a faint golden light.
"This will aid you in locating the vessel," the figure continued, his calm tone now laced with an unmistakable authority. "I want you to take disciples and persuade the vessel — no matter what. And when I say no matter what, Xuan… I mean it. No matter what."
The words hung in the air like a silent threat, an unspoken warning of the lengths he expected to be obeyed.