The Frozen Dragon Sect hands over Immortal Chen Xi to the righteous faction on a sleepy April day.

The day has just broken— the sky is a pallid dark gray, rendering even the loudest morning birds quiet. Still, most everyone has woken in this compound: servants rush here and there to prepare for the day. In another complex, a man in regal blue walks down the hall, six men following behind, melting into the hazy shadows.

They stop at a door.

Ye Xiyang waves a hand. The door slides open. Two of the guards enter and pull a man out of his slumber by the arms, dragging him to the floor.

“W-wha… Eh, huh?”

Immortal Chen Xi, or Wan Yu, courtesy name Rushu, has seen better days. Sleep-addled and bleary, his untamed hair is a mess, his sleeping robes stretched and wrinkled. Even after three weeks his entire torso is wrapped in bandages, the gauze winding all the way up his neck. Cuts are still healing on his forehead. Drugged by the sect physician, his qi runs sluggish in his meridians, though perhaps the biggest hindrance to any escape plans is the sedative properties of his fever medications.

That bit will always be up for speculation. The man has not made any attempt to leave this entire time, having slept through most of his days.

“It will be our last day together, Immortal Chen Xi,” Ye Xiyang says. He tilts his head, gazing down at the man forced to kneel by the bed. “How about a breakfast together?”

Still kneeling, Wan Yu shrugs. The right guard kicks him.

Ye Xiyang chuckles. “All right. Wash him up and dress him. I’ll be waiting.”

The Frozen Dragon Sect is one of the oldest surviving sects since the last jianghu upheaval. That it’s located in a remote, icy mountain helps— geographical isolation might make it harder for them to move and attack, but it also provides great defense. The mountain’s hostile nature worsens in winter, but is no less unfriendly in summer. In fact, some might say the climate influenced the sect’s nature: needs, as it turns out, triumphs all societal law. For its members, whatever gets them through the day is forgivable.

But that day-to-day hardship is a thing of the past. Nowadays, the Frozen Dragon Sect does well. Today’s breakfast, for example, is a feast— it’s simply a shame that the guest of honor can only eat congee. His throat was almost crushed, after all.

Wan Yu has been dressed up for the day: wearing white robes with silver accents, his hair properly styled with a milky jade hairpiece, he does look more like his title Immortal Chen Xi.

Of course, everything on his person has been taken away. His personal sword Silvergrass, for one, sits in Ye Xiyang's study ever since his subordinates brought the man into the sect. Today, what his servants handed over to him is a pearl.

It's quite a strange thing to suddenly uncover— this past three weeks, the number of times his people stripped this man for medical reasons is pretty high. Nobody found it. But today they do— a pearl the size of a thumb, it now sits on a silk pillow, out of place amidst all the plates of food.

Breakfast is quiet.

“You can have it.”

At that raspy sound, Ye Xiyang raises an eyebrow. “Ah, you speak?”

Wan Yu scoops up some more congee, sipping it with eyes closed. “Keep it. Take it as my thanks.”

Ye Xiyang chuckles. He reaches forward, picking the pearl up— his other hand pushes his bowl of rice to the side. “Well, I’ve always heard that Immortal Chen Xi is a fair man. It’s quite valuable— my thanks, as well.”

Valuable, indeed— this thing… Ye Xiyang rolls it on his thumb and index finger, probing into the pearl with his qi. This is no mere artifact. There is a note of… budding consciousness, similar to awakening spiritual weapons. Strong characteristic energy, rather than simply elemental or malleably blank. Usually, that kind of “personality” is reserved for soul-bonded personal weapons. So that makes this magical item quite unique already. Curious, how nobody's ever heard of it before.

The Soul Bell School accused Wan Yu of stealing their heirloom, said heirloom being this pearl. This is the start of his fall.

Must be some grudge, Ye Xiyang muses, that he’d rather hand it over to a demonic faction sect leader than to let the righteous faction reclaim it. This entire thing amuses him from the very start— it's why he told his people to save Wan Yu, when they found the man dying from wounds and exposure not too far from this Slumbering Dragon Mountains.

“It’s such a shame we didn’t get to talk more during your stay,” Ye Xiyang sighs. "I feel we could've had some interesting chats had we the time."

Wan Yu smirks, letting out his amusement in a huff and a shake of a head. “Supreme Leader Ye is out of the loop. I’m poor company.”

"More correctly, few cultivators seem to have the pleasure of talking to you."

"Eh, makes sense. It's not rare for it to devolve into a fistfight."

Ye Xiyang laughs. "Clearly they're in the wrong. Who's more right than the sole disciple of Immortal Master Ning Shan?"

A husky huff. Wan Yu scrapes the last of his congee from the bowl. "Leave my shifu out of this. He tried his best educating the thug out of me, but he really should’ve tried beating it out first. T’was a pity he was so nice."

What a mouth. Amused, Ye Xiyang continues with this meal— his free hand, however, cannot help but continue fiddling with the pearl. Why did the Soul Bell School fight Wan Yu so hard over this artifact? Playing with it for this long, Ye Xiyang still can't tell what it's used for. It does not respond to any probing, only weakly flickers. It has about as much strength as a hungover man swatting someone's hand away.

“So you were guarding this from them.”

“Guard what? I just don’t want my things taken by force. If they want my life, they don’t get my things.”

"Fair enough."

Really a shame that they want him dead. Ye Xiyang finds him rather intriguing.

“Immortal Chen Xi. Since your hatred of the righteous faction is irreconcilable… How about I be the one to kill you instead? I'll allow you the dignity of dueling with me. What do you think?”

At that, Wan Yu laughs. “Hell no. Go screw yourself.”

Servants come in to take the plates away. Guards appear to drag Wan Yu to his fate.

The handing over is set at the first half of si shi [1] — not long before midmorning. Between now and then, some things need preparations— for one, messengers sent ahead by the representatives of the righteous faction are already waiting in the outer gate at this initial hour of chen [2]. After these years of budding war, people were surprisingly civil in the face of a possible end. Guests need to be welcomed, defensive arrays need to be further secured; all a festive time, really. All the while, Wan Yu kneels at the Sacrificial Altar by the sect leader's hall, high above everyone on a carved stone platform stretching up 5 bu [3]. His eyes are blindfolded with blue silk, his wrists and ankles chained. Ye Xiyang has waved off attempts to have the Immortal Chen Xi drugged, as is usually the case with sacrifices.

"This is no sacrifice," Ye Xiyang says. "Not to the Slumbering Dragon, anyhow."

Hidden by his sleeves, his fingers still rub the pearl.

Finally, the time comes. As Ye Xiyang walks out of his hall, he is greeted with the sight of three elders of the righteous faction standing in front of the altar.

"Sect Leader Zhao of Fire and Water Sect, Immortal Master Lu Kong, Esteemed Daoist Linghu Yang of Heavenly Cycle School," Ye Xiyang greets. "Immortal Chen Xi is welcomed by quite the figures."

"Supreme Leader of Frozen Dragon Sect Ye Xiyang," Immortal Master Lu Kong acknowledges. "This lowly character no longer deserves his illustrious title. We will take him back. We thank you for this cooperation— truce, we think, can continue for perhaps a few more generations. Though young, I admit you have wisdom for giving up this disappointment of a man."

Wan Yu doesn't answer. Curious. He does have access to his vocal chords, after all.

"You may take him," Ye Xiyang says. "We bear him no grudge."

The three elders jump up, landing on the Sacrificial Altar. Two grab onto his chains, ready to break it, but suddenly they still.

The air shifted— an explosion, but silent—

A ragdoll body falls off the altar. A flash of silver flies from the sect leader hall. A sickening crack— blood splatters mid-air.

Wan Yu. He hovers mid-air impaled on his own sword for a sputtering second, before his qi controls Silvergrass no longer and they both fall.

Ye Xiyang pulls out his sword, slashes the air open, and jumps.