The Azure Scaled Court no longer felt like a place of authority or grandeur. What once stood as a symbol of power and order now carried an unsettling distortion, as though the very air had begun to warp under the weight of deception.
Lianhua stood where she was, unmoving, her figure almost unnaturally still. The gentle grace she had always carried now felt rehearsed, like a painting that looked perfect until one stared too long and noticed the flaws beneath the brushstrokes.
Beside her, Long Junlan shifted ever so slightly upon his throne.
For the first time since they arrived, there was restlessness in him.
It was subtle. A tightening of his fingers against the armrest. A slight delay in his breathing. But in a hall where every movement was calculated, even the smallest crack was enough to expose the truth.
Everyone present could feel it.This was no longer a negotiation. It was exposure.
Lianhua was the first to speak, her voice calm, but no longer soft.
"How did you figure it out?"
Jiang Yunxian did not answer immediately. He tilted his head slightly, as though genuinely considering the question, then let out a quiet hum.
"Which part?" he asked lazily. "Because I can't quite place what you're referring to."
The carelessness in his tone was almost insulting.
Lianhua's expression flickered, just for a moment.
"You…"he began, a trace of irritation finally breaking through. "How dare you—"
"Beard Long," Jiang Yunxian interrupted lightly, not even sparing her a glance. "I would prefer if you didn't speak."
His tone carried no anger, no sharpness.
And somehow, that made it worse.
It was the kind of dismissal that placed someone beneath notice entirely.
The hall fell silent again, the tension tightening like a drawn bowstring.
Jiang Yunxian finally shifted his gaze back to Lianhua, his lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile.
"Maybe it was just a miscalculation on your part," he said. "But tell me… do you remember the Heavenroot Arbor?"
Lianhua's brows knit together slightly.
"Heavenroot Arbor?"
Jiang Yunxian let out a soft "oh," as if something had just confirmed itself.
"I see," he murmured. "So you really don't know."
He took a slow step forward, his boots echoing faintly against the polished stone.
"That tree isn't just decoration," he continued. "Anyone who has lived here long enough would know what it represents, what it does, and why it was planted."
His eyes lifted, locking onto hers.
"But you didn't. So you guessed."
Lianhua's calm demeanor wavered slightly, though she held her ground.
"I did my research," she said, her tone sharpening. "Where was my flaw?"
Jiang Yunxian smiled, wider this time, but there was no warmth in it.
"Your flaw is simple," he said. "You knew when it was planted… but not why. And that is not something you can learn from observation alone."
He paused briefly, letting the words settle.
"The real Lianhua would know."
That was the moment everything cracked.
Xing Yue, standing at the side, felt it clearly now. The illusion, the deception, the carefully constructed reality around them—it all felt thinner, like a veil stretched too far.
Her gaze shifted toward Lianhua, that ever-smiling face now seeming less comforting and more unsettling.
If this was false… Then what else was?
Her thoughts turned immediately to Rong Qi.
If this place was fabricated, if these people were impostors, then where had they left him? Was he trapped somewhere? Was he already in danger? The questions tightened in her chest, but before she could voice them—
Long Junlan's voice shattered the silence.
"You bastard!" he roared, rising slightly from his throne, his composure finally cracking. "How dare you accuse me?! Do you wish to perish here?"
The authority in his tone returned, but it felt forced now, like a role he was struggling to maintain.
Jiang Yunxian did not react. Not to the anger. Not to the threat. He simply looked at him, calm and unwavering.
"I will ask one last time," he said, his voice low, each word pressed with quiet finality.
"Where is Rong Qi?"
There was no room left for deflection.
No space for lies. For a moment, Long Junlan stared at him… and then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
It was loud, echoing through the hall, but hollow beneath the surface.
"Fine," he said at last. "You caught us."
His expression twisted into something colder.
"But since you care so much about that friend of yours…" he continued, leaning forward slightly, "you will hand over the Heart of Yanshi. Or he dies."
The words settled like poison in the air.
Jiang Yunxian's gaze did not waver.
"Are you looking for a fight?" he asked simply.
There was no bravado in his tone. Just a statement.
Xing Yue stepped forward then, sensing the situation slipping further into chaos.
"We may not know who you truly are," she said carefully, her voice steady despite the tension, "but deception does not grant you the right to coerce us. What we have, and what we gave, were based on trust. You broke that first."
For a brief moment, the hall stilled again.
Then Long Junlan's lips curled.
"I see," he said slowly. "The Star Goddess wishes to play mediator."
His eyes gleamed with something dark.
"Then let us make this simple," he continued. "Give me your core spirit… and you can have both the Heart of Yanshi and that worthless friend of yours."
Xing Yue froze.
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Core spirit.
It was not a negotiation. It was a death sentence. To take one's core spirit was no different from tearing out a mortal's heart. It was the foundation of existence, the essence of cultivation, the very thing that made one who they were.
Without it—
There was nothing. The sheer audacity of the demand made the air feel suffocating.
Even Jiang Yunxian, who had remained indifferent to most things, seemed to pause for a fraction of a second.
Not in hesitation. But in acknowledgment.
So that was the kind of opponent they were dealing with.
Someone who did not understand limits.
Who did not respect boundaries. Who believed everything could be taken.
And then—
Jiang Yunxian smiled. It was not his usual lazy grin, nor the teasing smirk he wore when mocking others.
This one was different. Crooked.
Unsettling. Almost… amused.
Because if there was one thing about men who had long since stepped outside the rules of the world—
It was that they laughed. Not because things were funny. But because they had already decided how things would end.
__
A long time ago, back at Cloud Peak Sect when it still stood wrapped in drifting mist and quiet arrogance, there lived a man named Jiang Yunxian—if one could truly call him a "disciple." He wore the robes, yes. He bore the title, technically. But in truth, he belonged to no discipline, no order, no expectation. His world was small, self-contained, and unapologetically simple: wine, sleep, and whatever fleeting amusement the day happened to offer him.
Cloud Peak Sect itself was a place of prestige, carved into the spine of a towering mountain that pierced the heavens. White cranes circled its peaks, and waterfalls spilled like silver threads down jagged cliffs into pools that shimmered with spiritual energy. Disciples trained day and night in courtyards paved with ancient stone, their swords flashing beneath the sun or the cold glow of the moon. Every corner of the sect breathed ambition.
Except for Jiang Yunxian.
Even when whispers began to circulate about expelling him, he remained utterly unmoved. On the day he was summoned to the Assessment Hall, he did not rush, nor did he show the slightest hint of concern. Instead, he strolled in lazily, a gourd of wine swinging from his hand, the scent of alcohol trailing behind him like a stubborn shadow. His steps swayed, not from weakness, but from a deliberate disregard for balance, as though the world itself was not worth standing upright for.
The seven elders sat in a semicircle at the far end of the hall, each one aged, each one dignified, their long grey beards resting against their robes like symbols of authority carved by time itself. Their gazes were sharp, heavy with judgment. Any ordinary disciple would have trembled under such scrutiny.
Jiang Yunxian did not even bother to straighten his posture.
If anything, the Assessment Hall had become more familiar to him than the training grounds. He had been summoned there so many times that he could practically count the cracks in the stone floor from memory. Ironically, people joked—quietly, of course—that it was the only place he showed consistent attendance.
The sect had not been entirely neglectful in its efforts to "fix" him. Luo Zhu and Peng Yang, two of the most celebrated disciples in Cloud Peak Sect, had been assigned to train him personally. They were the pride of their generation—talented, disciplined, and unbearably proud. Yet no matter how much they lectured, threatened, or even attempted to coerce him, Jiang Yunxian remained exactly the same.
Unmoved. Unbothered. Untouchable.
Until that one day.
It was a warm afternoon, the kind that made even the most diligent cultivators slow their pace. Jiang Yunxian had drunk himself into a deep, unceremonious sleep on a wooden bench tucked beneath the shade of an old pine tree. His snores echoed so loudly that disciples several courtyards away could hear them, some rolling their eyes, others shaking their heads in disbelief.
He, of course, heard none of it.
At first, the tapping on his shoulder barely registered. It was distant, like a ripple against a stone sunk too deep in water. But the tapping persisted, growing more insistent, more disruptive, until it finally tore through the haze of his drunken sleep.
He jerked awake abruptly, his expression dark and irritated, his brows furrowed as though the world had committed a personal offense against him.
"What?" he snapped, his voice rough, stripped of its usual lazy humor. His head throbbed violently, as though a thousand nails were being hammered into his skull at once.
Standing before him was a young female disciple, visibly nervous. Her hands twisted together as she spoke, her words tumbling out in anxious fragments.
"I'm sorry for waking you. I know you like to sleep, I really do, but—"
"Get to the point," Jiang Yunxian cut in, his patience already worn thin.
She swallowed hard before blurting it out. "Luo Zhu and Peng Yang… they took your feather companion. They said they were going to pluck it. Everyone is gathered. They're betting whether you'll show up."
For a moment, everything stilled.
The breeze that rustled the pine leaves seemed to falter. The distant chatter of disciples faded into an indistinct murmur. Even the throbbing in Jiang Yunxian's head dulled, replaced by something colder, sharper.
He stood up slowly, almost too calmly. There was no explosion of anger, no dramatic outburst. Just a quiet, controlled movement that somehow felt far more dangerous.
By the time he reached the training grounds, a crowd had already gathered. Laughter echoed through the air, mixed with mocking remarks and idle bets. At the center of it all stood Luo Zhu and Peng Yang, their expressions smug as they held the small, trembling form of Rong Qi.
The phoenix looked pitiful. Its once vibrant feathers were bent and ruffled, and a single delicate plume had already fallen to the ground, lying there like something broken beyond repair.
To anyone else, it might have looked insignificant.
To Jiang Yunxian, it was not.
Rong Qi was not just some creature. Not some toy for amusement. He was a phoenix—proud, dignified, even in weakness. And more than that, he was his.
"Give him back."
Jiang Yunxian's voice was not loud, yet it carried across the entire courtyard with unsettling clarity. Conversations halted. Laughter died mid-breath. Something in that tone—flat, controlled, and utterly devoid of negotiation—made the air itself feel heavier.
Luo Zhu opened his mouth, no doubt ready to deliver one of his usual condescending remarks.
He never got the chance.
No one saw Jiang Yunxian move. One moment he stood at the edge of the crowd, and the next, everything had already changed. The details blurred, like a scene swallowed by a sudden storm. What followed was not a battle in the traditional sense. There were no grand techniques shouted aloud, no drawn-out exchanges.
Only the aftermath remained.
Luo Zhu and Peng Yang lay on the ground, their faces pale, their breaths uneven. Their core spirits had been damaged—not destroyed, but impaired in a way that promised backlash if they dared push themselves too far again.
Around them, the other disciples fared no better. Many clutched their chests, their meridians in chaos, their cultivation paths fractured so severely that some would have to start from the beginning if they wished to survive.
Silence blanketed the courtyard.
The elders, who had arrived midway, stood frozen, their expressions unreadable but their eyes filled with something unmistakable.
Shock.
Fear.
Disbelief.
"Wasn't he the careless one?" someone whispered.
"How did he do that?" another murmured, voice trembling.
"Who… is he?"
No one had an answer. Jiang Yunxian simply bent down, picked up Rong Qi with surprising gentleness, and brushed off the dust from its feathers as though nothing significant had happened. As though he had merely swatted away a minor inconvenience.
From that day onward, one truth became unspoken law within Cloud Peak Sect.
Avoid Jiang Yunxian.Avoid the phoenix.
Because it was far better to let a sleeping drunk lie in peace than to wake something that even the strongest could not comprehend.
__
The hall of the Azure Scaled Court seemed to hold its breath.
The towering pillars, carved with coiling dragons that gleamed like living things beneath the dim light, stood silent witnesses to the tension thickening the air. Incense smoke curled upward in slow, deliberate spirals, as though even it hesitated to disturb what was about to unfold. Outside, distant thunder rumbled faintly, though the skies had been clear moments before.
And in the center of it all stood Jiang Yunxian.
Unmoving. Unyielding.
"And this imposter still doesn't understand what he is up against," he said, his voice calm, almost lazy, yet carrying a weight that pressed against every ear in the hall.
Then, more clearly, more sharply, he spoke again.
"I will ask you for the last time… where is Rong Qi?"
Each word landed like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of unease through the room.
Before anyone else could respond, Lianhua stepped forward. She moved with the same grace she always carried, her snow-fur cloak brushing softly against the polished floor.
Her smile remained intact—gentle, warm, almost comforting—but there was something wrong with it now. Something that did not quite reach her eyes.
She placed herself between Jiang Yunxian and the throne, her posture relaxed, as though she were simply greeting an old acquaintance rather than standing in the path of danger.
"I'm afraid," she said softly, her voice smooth as silk, "you will have to go through me."
For a brief moment, silence followed.
Then Jiang Yunxian tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were nothing more than a curious object placed before him.
"Oh?" he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "A mistress protecting her master. I see."
The words were light, almost teasing, but the air shifted instantly.
No one could say whether he was angry. His expression did not change much, his tone did not rise, and yet something about him felt… different. The casual indifference that once clung to him like a second skin began to thin, revealing something far less
predictable beneath.
Xing Yue felt it immediately.
Just as she stepped forward, intending to intervene before things spiraled beyond control, something snapped through the air behind her.
A sharp, metallic sound—like chains dragged violently across stone. Before she could react, a burst of crimson chains shot forward, wrapping tightly around her arms, her waist, her legs. They coiled with precision, glowing faintly with an ominous red light, binding her with a force that even she could not immediately break.
Her breath hitched as she turned.
Floating high above, untouched by gravity, was Cui Wulei.
There was nothing beneath her feet, no support, no platform—just empty air. Her robes fluttered wildly around her, yet she remained perfectly still, as though the wind itself obeyed her will. Her eyes gleamed with that familiar mixture of mockery and cold intent.
Xing Yue exhaled slowly, her voice laced with restrained irritation.
"Of all times," she muttered.
Cui Wulei's lips curved into a faint smile, though it carried no warmth.
"I'm sorry," she said, almost casually, "but I have to steal your friend."
Her gaze sharpened. "I have to kill her now."
There was no hesitation.
With a simple flick of her wrist, the chains tightened, and Xing Yue's body was yanked backward with overwhelming force. The ground beneath her feet shattered as she was dragged through the air, thrown far beyond the palace walls like a streak of blue light swallowed by the distance.
The moment she vanished from sight, Cui Wulei followed.
A blur of motion. A ripple in space. And then she was gone as well. Outside, a distant explosion echoed across the mountains, followed by the violent clash of power—cold starlight colliding with something darker, heavier, more chaotic.
Inside the hall, the silence broke.
Lianhua moved.