The Azure Scaled Court no longer resembled the grand and imposing palace it had once been. Cracks ran like veins across the marble walls, splintering outward from the center of impact where power had clashed without restraint. Fragments of stone and carved pillars lay scattered across the floor, some reduced to dust, others broken into jagged remnants that reflected the dim, flickering light. The air itself felt heavy, saturated with the residue of overwhelming force, as though the very space had yet to recover from what had just transpired.
Jiang Yunxian stood amidst the ruin, his figure still upright, but not as steady as before. A sudden wave of dizziness struck him without warning, sharp and disorienting. His vision blurred at the edges, and he staggered back a few uneven steps before managing to steady himself. One hand rose instinctively to his head, pressing against his temple as if he could physically hold his thoughts together.
He closed his eyes and forced his breathing into a slow, controlled rhythm, grounding himself in the familiar cadence of inhale and exhale. The chaos around him faded slightly as he focused inward. But when he finally opened his eyes again, what greeted him was not what he expected.
The woman he knew not as 'Lianhua' was kneeling before him.
She knelt with both knees pressed firmly against the fractured stone floor, her head bowed low, her posture one of complete submission. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke again, softer this time, almost reverent. "Shifu… Master…"
Jiang Yunxian blinked, confusion immediately clouding his features. His brows furrowed slightly as he stared at her, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The last thing he could clearly remember was struggling against the barrier, desperate to reach Rong Qi. He remembered the urgency, the frustration, the rising anger—but nothing beyond that point came back to him.
And yet here she was, the same woman who had moments ago tried to tear him apart, now kneeling before him as though he were the center of her world.
Why?
What had happened?
"Aiya… don't do this," he said after a moment, his voice returning to its usual careless tone, though a faint strain lingered beneath it. "We were just fighting like cat and rat a moment ago. What is with all these honorifics?"
That familiar nonchalance returned to him as naturally as breathing. The lightness in his voice, the almost teasing dismissal of seriousness, that was the Jiang Yunxian they all knew. The same man who drifted through life with wine in hand and no regard for titles or responsibilities. The same man Rong Qi trusted without question. The same man Xing Yue had come to understand, despite his many contradictions.
At the entrance of the shattered court, Xing Yue stood still, her figure framed by the broken archway. Blood trickled faintly from the corner of her lips, a stark contrast against her pale complexion. Beside her stood Cui Wulei, clad in crimson, her expression unreadable but her presence as sharp and dangerous as ever.
Xing Yue did not move. She simply stared at Jiang Yunxian. Her mind was no longer in the present moment. Fragments of memory surged forward, unbidden and relentless. The words of the future spirit echoed in her thoughts. The mention of a friend in seclusion. The forgotten truths of a war that had shaken the realms long ago. Pieces that once seemed distant and unrelated now began to align with terrifying clarity.
"Was this the reason?" she wondered silently. "Was this why?"
Her thoughts were interrupted by Jiang Yunxian's voice as he turned toward her, a crooked smile forming on his lips. "Aiya, what happened to you? Why are you standing there like a rejected stone the builders refused to use as a cornerstone?"
Despite everything, Xing Yue found herself smiling faintly. She shook her head gently, pushing her thoughts aside for the moment. "Let us go," she said. "I am sure your sect elders won't be very pleased if their troublesome disciple disappears for good."
Jiang Yunxian scoffed lightly. "More like they are burning incense in celebration," he replied. "But I suppose I still have to go back."
He took a step forward, intending to leave the ruined court behind, but before he could take another, Lianhua—no, the woman before him—reached out and stopped him.
"Master, where are you going?" she asked, her voice filled with confusion and urgency. "Should you not return to your territory?"
"Territory?" Jiang Yunxian echoed, his confusion deepening.
She nodded earnestly, her eyes lifting to meet his with unwavering certainty. "You rule the world. With your power, you can split the heavens themselves. Why are you living as a mere disciple?"
The question caught him completely off guard. For a moment, he simply stared at her, as though trying to determine whether she was serious or simply mad.
"I am sorry… who are you?" he asked at last.
The atmosphere shifted subtly. Even Xing Yue could tell now that something was deeply wrong. This was not the Lianhua they had encountered before. The demeanor, the reverence, the certainty—it was all too different.
The woman straightened slightly, as if remembering herself. "Forgive my manners," she said calmly. "I am Ru WuNing, your third disciple."
As soon as the words left her lips, the illusion shattered.
The face she had worn tore away like fragile parchment, dissolving into nothingness. In its place emerged her true appearance—striking, refined, and undeniably beautiful. Her skin was smooth and pale like porcelain, her features delicate yet commanding. Kohl lined her eyes, giving them a sharp, captivating depth, and a small mole rested near the corner of her right eye, adding an almost intentional imperfection to her otherwise flawless form.
Her presence radiated elegance, yet beneath it lingered a strength that had already proven itself in battle. It was difficult to reconcile such beauty with the ferocity she had displayed moments ago.
Xing Yue could not help but notice it. Even in the midst of confusion, she silently acknowledged it.
"Master," Ru WuNing continued, stepping closer to Jiang Yunxian and holding onto him with a familiarity that suggested years of devotion, "your first and second disciples are waiting for you. They have waited for decades."
Jiang Yunxian blinked, his mind struggling to process the information. "I… I have disciples?"
"Mn," she nodded. "Mahua and Lu'an have been awaiting your return for a very long time."
The words felt distant to him, as though they belonged to someone else entirely. He tried to piece everything together, to search his memory for anything that could explain this, but his thoughts refused to align. The dizziness returned, heavier this time, accompanied by a deep nausea that made the world tilt beneath his feet.
Perhaps it was the lingering effect of the power he had just released. Perhaps it was something buried deeper within him, something not yet ready to surface.
Whatever the cause, it overwhelmed him.
His vision darkened, his body swayed, and before he could steady himself again, everything gave way.
Jiang Yunxian had collapsed.
___
Far beyond the reach of ordinary paths, past the rolling hills that dissolved into jagged mountain spines, there existed a place where the world itself seemed to hesitate. Snow lay thick upon the ground, untouched and eternal, stretching into the distance like a silent ocean of white. Shadows moved where no light should have cast them, bending and folding as though they possessed a will of their own. At times, the air shimmered faintly, giving birth to mirages that looked almost real—half-formed structures, fleeting silhouettes, memories that did not belong to the present. It was a place where imagination and reality overlapped, where even the wind seemed uncertain of its direction.
Amidst this uncanny expanse stood a palace.
It was vast and imposing, yet strangely forgotten, as though time itself had chosen to abandon it. Its towering gates remained closed, its walls untouched by decay yet devoid of life. No lanterns burned along its corridors, no servants moved through its halls, and no sound escaped from within. It had not been lit for decades, perhaps even longer, and yet it endured—silent, watchful, and waiting.
Inside, the darkness was absolute. It was not merely the absence of light, but something deeper, something that pressed against the senses. And yet, within that darkness, two figures lived as though it were their natural domain.
One of them leaned lazily against a carved pillar, his posture relaxed, almost careless. His eyes were narrow, shaped like those of a fox, sharp and perceptive even in their half-lidded state. His ears, slightly pointed like those of an elf, gave him an otherworldly appearance that was both beautiful and unsettling. There was something about him that suggested danger, not in an obvious way, but in the quiet, knowing stillness that surrounded him.
The other figure appeared much younger—no more than five or six years old at first glance. His small frame and soft features carried the innocence of a child, but the illusion ended there. His eyes, when open, held a depth far beyond his appearance, a weight of years that could not be concealed. To judge him by his form alone would have been a grave mistake.
The fox-eyed man was idly flipping through a scroll, one he had clearly read countless times before. The parchment was worn at the edges, the ink slightly faded, yet he continued reading it as though it were the only thing tethering him to the passing of time.
The childlike figure lay sprawled nearby, half-asleep, shifting occasionally as though caught between dreams and wakefulness.
What was most unsettling about them was not their appearance, but their comfort. The palace was drenched in darkness, yet they moved within it effortlessly, seeing as clearly as one would under the brightest daylight. It was as if the darkness itself welcomed them, wrapped around them like a familiar cloak.
Perhaps they had lived in such conditions for centuries. Perhaps they were beings born of the night itself. Whatever the truth, this place belonged to them as much as they belonged to it.
At the grand entrance of the palace hung a bell.
It was enormous, far larger than any ordinary bell, suspended in midair without any visible support. No chains, no beams, no structure held it in place. It simply existed, as though the world had decided it should remain there. Despite the constant wind that swept across the snowy expanse, the bell never moved. It did not sway, did not tremble, and most importantly, it never rang.
It had been silent for decades.
Inside the palace, the childlike figure stirred and slowly pushed himself upright, rubbing his eyes in mild irritation. His voice broke the silence, soft but clear. "Er ge… when is she going to come back?"
The fox-eyed man did not immediately look up from his scroll. "Soon," he replied calmly. "She will be back soon."
His tone carried a certainty that did not quite match the passage of time, but he said it anyway, as though repeating a truth he had long decided to believe.
Lu'an pouted slightly, his small face scrunching with dissatisfaction. "It has been so long that I stopped counting," he muttered. "That bell has not rung once. Is she really going to find him?"
Mahua finally lowered the scroll, letting it rest against his knee. He exhaled softly, the sound echoing faintly in the vast emptiness of the hall. "Nope," he said simply.
Lu'an blinked, startled by the bluntness of the answer.
Mahua stretched lazily before continuing, his voice carrying a quiet weight. "Whether he is found or not… that bell knows."
Lu'an turned his gaze toward the entrance, toward the silent, unmoving bell that had watched over them for so long. A faint unease stirred within him. "But the bell has not…"
"That is why it is called The Bell," Mahua interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "If she finds him, it will ring. It does not lie."
Lu'an fell silent, his eyes lingering on the bell. The stillness of it felt heavier now, as though it held secrets too vast to comprehend.
He sighed softly, his shoulders drooping. It had been so long that time itself had lost meaning. Since the end of the great war, everything had changed. Their master had vanished without a trace, hiding so completely that even they could not find him.
A thought crept into his mind, dark and unwelcome. Could it be that…
He shook his head quickly, dismissing it before it could take root.
No. That was impossible.
Just as he was about to lie back down and surrender once more to restless sleep, something happened.
The bell rang.
It was a single, soft sound—"grim"—so faint that it could have been mistaken for imagination. Yet it carried through the silence with unmistakable clarity, slicing through decades of stillness like a blade.
Both of them froze.
The sound lingered in the air, echoing faintly, as though the world itself was acknowledging it.
Before either of them could speak, something even more impossible occurred.
The torches lining the palace walls flickered.
For decades, they had remained dark, lifeless, as though they had forgotten what it meant to burn. But now, one by one, flames sprang to life. Small at first, hesitant, then growing stronger, casting light into corners that had long been consumed by shadow.
The darkness retreated.
The palace, silent and forgotten for so long, awakened.
Lu'an's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the flames dancing along the walls. Mahua slowly rose to his feet, his usual laziness gone, replaced by something far more serious.
The bell had rung. Which meant only one thing.
After decades of silence, after years of waiting, after a war that had reshaped everything…
Their master had been found.