The sky was painted in a soft golden-blue hue, and flocks of foreign birds drifted from the north to the west, circling above a realm untouched by mortal dust — Qīng Lòu, the floating heaven.
It was the day of the clan's yearly ritual, when not only birds but special guests arrived from distant sects.
At the center of the floating mountains stood the grand blue sect — Qìn Qīngyè Clan, rising like a forgotten shard of the heavens.
Inside, the clan members — the legendary Qingyè Gate Keepers — moved busily through the halls. Sky-blue walls reflected the morning light, and light feathers shimmered on curtains and robes.
Some arranged low tables, placing soft blue feather-pens on each. Others tested the sweetness of the grape wine prepared for guests.
On the fifth floor, a young man — barely twenty — stood by an open balcony.
His mismatched red-and-blue eyes wandered across the sky like a restless wingless bird. The wind tugged at his navy-blue hair, brushing gently against the two pale white strands near his ears.
A thin fabric stained with blood was pressed to his lips."I hope the other half of the pair won't run under my nose as another curse…"
The words slipped out before he could stop himself.
He froze, covering his mouth quickly.
…I shouldn't talk too much. Let it not be true this time, he prayed silently.
"Qingyè."
His older step-brother, Qingxuè, stood behind him. The young man's silver eyes held no warmth — they never did.
"Mother is calling you downstairs."
"I'll be there, brother," Qingyè replied softly, wiping his lips clean.
"Don't be late," Qingxuè said before turning away.
Qingyè nodded and followed shortly.
Downstairs, the main hall was spacious, calm, and decorated with disciplined elegance. Standing at its center were the two Dàozǔs — head of the Qìn Qīngyè clan — a couple dressed in matching pale-blue robes, crowned with feathers.
"This year will be different," said Lady Yàn Qīngxì, her voice gentle yet carrying a quiet seriousness.
Her husband, Lán Shāng Qīng, looked at her in mild surprise.
"So suddenly? You didn't consult me beforehand."
"Nothing critical," she replied. "I simply decided to pair the guests by lottery this year. All pairings are already completed."
"That's not too drastic," he admitted. "We shouldn't have problems."
"Only Qingxuè will not be included. But Qingyè…"
She paused, her gray eyes softening.
"Qingyè will follow the lottery like any other student."
Her husband frowned lightly.
"You're making things harder for our younger son?"
"He needs to learn," she said gently. "He is not yet the second Dàozǔ. Handling a random guest will teach him more."
"So Qingxuè will monitor the young Dàozǔ himself, while Qingyè takes an ordinary cultivator?"
"Exactly. And I want him to learn to control and hide himself properly."
Lán Shāng nodded slowly.
"As long as he isn't hurt again… like when we first found him."
Footsteps echoed.
Qingxuè entered first, bowing.
"Qingyè is on his way, Mother."
A moment later, Qingyè arrived, eyes lowered in respect.
"You called me, Mother?"
Yàn Qīngxì stepped toward him with a soft smile.
"Yes, dear. Since this is your first trial as a Gate Keeper, we followed the lottery pairing. You've been matched with a talented eighteen-year-old cultivator from Jìng Mò — Xù Yao."
Her husband added,
"He is a little troublesome… but warm-hearted. Be cautious, but also understanding. This may be a good chance for you to learn about others — and yourself."
"As you wish, Mother… Father," Qingyè said, bowing sincerely. He always spoke little, and worked with quiet dedication.
Just then, faint flute music, drums, and distant voices filled the air.
"They're here!"
"Open the realm seal!"
"Prepare the entrance!"
Leaders rushed forward.
Yàn Qīngxì turned to her son.
"Go with them, Qingyè."
He nodded.
The young man followed the group toward the grand doors, his steps light as wind — almost floating.
It was his first time stepping out as something more than an adopted heir.
Today…he was
Qīngyè Língshǒu
= Qingyè's Soul Guardians..
The sky gradually filled with three great fleets as the clans approached the Qīngyè territory. Their floating ships glided through the golden morning light, the symbols on their sails shimmering faintly like living spirits.
The middle fleet bore red flags, each marked with a burning flame-bird — the emblem of the Jìng Mò Sect. Their central ship was the largest, carrying the young Dàozǔ, Jìng Yēn, proudly standing at the prow like a fully grown cultivator rather than someone barely of age. Two smaller escort ships flanked him on each side.
To the right came a single ship with royal-blue banners, embroidered with a pale ice flower — the symbol of the Xuè Chén Sect.
To the left sailed a ship flying silver flags, inked with a coiling dragon pattern — the proud mark of Zhào Yīn Sect.
On land, Qingyè's mother and father stood behind the welcoming party. Qingxuè stepped forward to receive Jìng Yēn, while Qingyè quietly took his position beside the other clan leaders.
Even from afar, the music from Jìng Mò Sect grew louder — drums, strings, and a chorus of youthful voices.
"Open the realm seal , now! " Qingyè commanded— for the first time , steady but inwardly tense.
He and the two senior leaders raised their palms. Navy-blue spiritual energy spiraled upward and condensed into the shape of an elegant blue feather, pressing gently against the invisible barrier. The seal slowly began to part.
Qingyè inhaled deeply.
The moment was grand… but his chest felt strangely constricted. "Don't mess anything up. This is your first duty.
You are the Qīngyè Língshǒu from today onward… act like— "
Though he seemed calm — straight posture, sharp gaze — there was a hidden tremble in the breath he exhaled.
"What are you murmuring?" Qingxuè's voice was clipped, as if scolding him for daring to be human.
Qingyè didn't tries to hide— he didn't wants to bleed again so he answered honestly. "Praying… that I pass this unfamiliar trial. I've only watched these event. Never led one."
Qingxuè crossed his arms. "No matter who that Jìng Mò Nightingale is, keep your composure. One wrong word from you and the walls might crumble."
"Jìng Mo's… Nightingale?" Qingyè echoed, blinking like someone hearing a foreign language.
"Yes. The one you're handling." His brother's tone flattened. "Talented third-class cultivator, dancer, singer, volunteer… A favorite among the young sects."
Qingyè stiffened.
Why is someone like that coming here?
Is there anything he can't do…?
Seeing his confusion, Qingxuè continued dryly — more teasing than informative:
"Your head must be shrinking from staying indoors too long. Stretch your mind a little."
Qingyè sighed, long-suffering.
But then Qingxuè said something that made Qingyè's heart stop.
"He's quite famous for performing the works of Hǎiniǎo — the Ocean Bird."
Qingyè froze.
"…what?"
His fingers curled unconsciously at his side.
"And most of all," Qingxuè added, "for giving perfect vocals to Hǎiniǎo's most renowned piece—
Xīn xì zhī yǔ — Heartbound Feather."
Before Qingyè could respond, a single flute note pierced the air — soft, nostalgic, impossibly familiar.
Qingyè's breath caught.
The melody followed — rising gently like a feather drifting through the wind.
Beautiful.
Unmistakable.
Deeply personal.
He shivered before he could stop himself.
No one around him noticed.
No one knew why this song was the one thing capable of making the composed Qingyè tremble.
And he prayed none of them ever would.
From the burning-red ship, a slim figure stepped forward — a young man dressed in layered red and soft blue, as if fire and ocean wrapped around the same body.
He held a bamboo flute with the ease of someone born with it in hand.
His face was still hidden by distance, but the melody… and the way his long rosy-red hair drifted in the wind… carried something dangerously unforgettable.