The mutilated face of Lanyue stared at Yuelong, its bloodied expression and blank eyes stabbing right through his soul. Why did you let me die?

“NO!” Yuelong screamed with all his might, but no sound came out. Like the ripples of water, the dream faded into darkness, leaving only the bitter taste of grief and loneliness behind.

Dong~ Dong~ Dong~

The bass tones of temple bells broke through the stillness of dawn, rousing Yuelong from his slumber. For twenty years he heard these morning bells and woke up at this time every single day.

“It was just a nightmare,” he sighed.

He sat up. Dizziness and a slight, annoying pain in his head soon followed. He massaged his temples gently and looked around, trying to remember what he did the last day. The war horn, the flashes of a sword, the blood, red…

Right… He’s gone.

Remembering this, he unconsciously went to place his hand over his chest. But his hand flinched away when he felt the sweat-soaked robes.

His mind, acting on its own accord, told him to forget Lanyue, that he would never come back, but his heart opposed his mind with a single thump.

So this is what loss feels like.

“Shi-xiong!” a faint voice cried. “Yuelong shi-xiong!”

Yuelong looked up in shock. “Lanyue? Is that you!?”

“Shi-xiong? Are you in here?” asked the voice.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the vague shadow cast onto the sliding paper screen doors. The high ponytail bound with a Qianyang crown, the tall figure—it was all too familiar…

He stood up and reached for the sliding doors. Just as he was about to open them, his hand flinched. What if it’s not him?

Yuelong gazed at the door, hoping that it would be that familiar figure who would open it. The door’s intricate carvings of mythical beasts sprang to life as he stared at the phoenix carving in a daze. He felt another weight drop onto his chest, and clutched at it, hoping to seize and destroy this unfamiliar feeling in his guts. But it was in vain.

Gently, the doors slid open. Yuelong looked up in anticipation, only to feel disappointment when he realized it was Bailong1, a junior disciple of Qianyang Summit.

“Yuelong shi-xiong…” Bailong looked around at the dusty room and noticed the small jar of wine lying on the bed. “Leader Fan—uhh, your father, uh, Master—is waiting for you at Yanren Hall2.”

“I got it,” replied Yuelong coldly. Even though he knew that the dead could not come back, he still wished that his visitor had been him.

“Sorry for your loss.” Bailong bowed.

Hearing these words, the tiniest spark of warmth sprang forth from his sunken heart. Finally—someone on this summit actually has feelings. Yuelong straightened his collar and adjusted his crown. He looked at Bailong and nodded once.

Bailong was one of the few disciples on Qianyang Summit who personally knew how close Yuelong and Lanyue were. Not only were the two really close with other, but their birthdays were also on the exact same day and the exact same hour—or at least according to Lanyue’s adoptive parents. Both of them celebrated their birthdays on the twenty-eighth day of the seventh month, on the hour of the pig3.

Yuelong walked down the corridor, readjusting his posture and focus. If others were to compare Yuelong’s current appearance with the one he had the night before, they would not have believed that the two sights were separated only by a couple of hours.

His body moved, and his back stood straight, but his heart remained cold and dead.

Suddenly, he stopped and turned back to face Bailong. “Clean up the dust in his room.”

“Yes, shi-xiong,” Bailong bowed. Bailong knew that a big change had happened in Yuelong the night before, the night his shi-xiong locked himself up in Nan Lanyue’s old bedroom, submerged in memories. The room had been left to collect dust because they thought Lanyue would come back one day. Besides, a dusty room would give Yuelong the perfect excuse to scold and make fun of Lanyue when he did.

But he never came home. Not as the person Yuelong once knew.

Who knew that he would betray them all? Life just never works the way you want it to.

Yuelong wanted to smile to show that he wasn’t at all affected, but he found that he simply didn’t have the strength for it—or that he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Smiling was not a common thing for Qianyang disciples to do, especially in front of ordinary people.

He swept his long sleeves and continued to walk on to the main hall, Yanren Hall, where his father awaited him.

The white fog dissipated with his every step. The morning dew glistened under the golden sun. The light passing through the dew projected faint rainbows onto the palace walls, creating the perfect scene for an artist's canvas. If a mere mortal were to see this sight, they would immediately fall onto their knees calling out “Lord Immortal! Lord Immortal!” But this was a common scene at Qianyang Summit—the sight of a thousand fairies and immortals drifting among the clouds.

And among the sea of clouds was the towering building of Yanren Hall. Its dark charcoal roof tiles glimmered against the bright morning sky, drawing a clear border between the Heavens above and the Earth below.

Ascending the stairs to the hall, the rails twisted and turned, bringing flights of stone-carved dragons up to the clouds. The faint, sharp scent of spruce drifted out from the entryway as Yuelong approached.

The mortals of the human society described Qianyang Summit like this:

Upon the peak of Qianyang stands a majestic palace,

Whose serenity competes with that of Heaven.

'Tis the place where earthly Immortals live;

Oh! What I would give to see such divinity!

Tall brown pillars, with yellow piping around the shaft ends, towered above as they supported the massive building. Pale green drapes lined themselves neatly in rows across the ceiling, connecting pillar to pillar. Standing in front of his throne at the end of the hall was Fan Haoren, the leader of the Qianyang Sect and Yuelong’s father.

The leader stood straight and poised like a standing spruce, immune to the howling winds. He had a beard that was kept short and white streaks of hair that ran from his temples up to his golden crown. The man looked incredibly young and magnetic for someone who had passed fifty and was nearing sixty—except for his chilling eyes, which could see right past your soul and into the depths of your heart.

Seated along the two sides of the hall were the leaders of the other orthodox sects, all arranged according to their sect’s power.

Actually, that was, in part, false: The strongest sect was the Lishui Sect4, whose leader, Murong Teng5, sat on the right of Fan Haoren, who, as the host, sat on the grand throne placed at the end of the hall. Because the sect leaders were gathered as guests at Qianyang Summit, even the strongest leader had to let Qianyang’s leader sit at the top. It was basic etiquette.

“Disciple Yuelong greets Leader Fan and the other sect leaders.” Yuelong bowed. The other sect leaders each nodded their greetings.

“Yiheng6, you have come,” Fan Haoren’s strong voice echoed through the hall. “The other sect leaders and I have agreed upon a banquet later this week to officially celebrate our victory against the Bi An Sect and the death of their leader, Chixi Mojun.”

At the mention of his late friend’s name, the cold steel in Yixiao Zhenjun hardened and stood firm without any sign of movement. At least not on the surface. How could you? The voice inside him rebelled. He was my best friend. He was your student. He was like a son to you! Yet you all sit here getting ready to celebrate his death!? The thought of their celebrating at this point in time ruined the impression that Yuelong had of the sect leaders, including that of his own father—actually, especially his father.

His father was known to be the most virtuous of the sect leaders, “a real gentleman,” as the ordinary person would describe him. He would often teach his students the importance of first impressions and the image that one gives off to others. “One’s actions are the reflection of one’s inner thoughts,” he would often say. And many would agree until they heard the line that followed: "that is why one must learn to give up one’s emotions."

However, there were times when even he did not abide by his own rules. Actually, there were many times when he “forgot” his own teachings and reverted to force to command his disciples.

Every time they journeyed for a visit to human society, they would always have to “keep their cool,” as ordinary people would put it. And if they didn’t, well… Let’s just say that none of them ever dared to break the rules again after.

There was a Taoist phrase that his father would always avoid teaching, and that was “When matters approach extremity, things develop in the opposite direction.”7 His father’s reputation as an extremist also spread alongside his genteel reputation. But no one was brave enough to speak up against it, probably because his father was backed up by the elders of the sect and because no one wanted to be flogged, or worse, be thrown into The Pit…

Leader Fan continued, “The banquet will also be in honour of the fallen disciples who have fought bravely against the demonic sect. It will be a celebration that strengthens the bond between our sects, to one day fully annihilate evil from the face of this world.”

Yuelong’s heart was in disarray. Faced with the orders from his father on one side and the mystery behind his late friend’s actions on the other, he simply did not know what to do. His father’s training in emotion suppression didn’t help. Not one bit.

“Should I announce the upcoming celebration to the kitchen?” asked Yuelong, fighting the urge to rebel.

“Yes, do that,” Leader Fan approved. “Also, notify the other disciples on the summit. They all deserve a good celebration after yesterday’s battle. Remember: this is a joyous occasion, and a time of bonding.” At the words “joyous occasion,” Leader Fan looked at Yuelong, his eyes saying, A gentleman doesn’t cry over spilled milk—or in this case, spilled blood.

Yuelong bowed in acknowledgment, the voice in his heart protesting otherwise.

“Leave it to Leader Fan to bring our sects together, eh?” the leader of the Yefeng Sect8 said. The other sect leaders laughed lightly and nodded in agreement. To Yuelong, who was an outsider to the affairs between the sects, this scene seemed mostly normal, yet there was just something off about it.

Yuelong’s soul was repulsed. The leaders of the most powerful orthodox cultivation sects sat here laughing while what exactly happened to Chixi Mojun remained to Yuelong a mystery. He felt a hot rush of blood to his temples, the fires of anger desperate to break free. He clenched his teeth to restrain the urge to release it.

As if reading his mind, Leader Fan ended the meeting with the sect leaders. “Yiheng, stay here for a moment. I have some news for you.” said Fan Haoren.

As the other sect leaders left the halls of Yanren, Fan Haoren stepped down from the raised platform that he had been standing on and made his way to Yuelong.

“My son, I know that this is a tough time for you, but you have to strengthen your mind. This is a good chance for you to prove yourself to the elders of our sect and to the leaders of the the others!” encouraged Fan Haoren.

The fire in Yuelong’s heart grew stronger with each word that slipped into his ears, with each word that cut like knives, digging into the deepest part of his fallen heart.

Yuelong stood still, looking downwards. He had learned well when to speak and when not to. And even though his anger nearly surfaced, he managed to shove it back down with the sheer power of his will. The disciples of the Qianyang Sect were taught to always remain poker-faced, or as the ancients said, “to keep one’s inner thoughts secret,”9 and this training that his father had forced on him was now doing its job.

“And with the death of that traitor—”

Yuelong nearly winced at that.

“—we now have an excellent opportunity to further our relations with the other sects and so strengthen Qianyang’s position among the rest!”

“…”

“And what greater bond can there be between sects than the bond of marriage! You will be married!”

“!!!???”