The morning mist still clung to the slopes of Qinshan, curling like pale smoke over the jade-green peaks. Sunlight slipped through the lattice windows of the Pavilion, scattering across scrolls, ink brushes, and half-read reports laid across a long wooden table.
Master Qin Jian sat quietly behind it, posture straight, his hands resting lightly on a folded parchment. Across the room, Master Mo Xiang stood by the open window, his gaze lost among drifting clouds.
"It has been four days since the Fengming incident," Mo Xiang said, breaking the stillness. His voice was calm, but the undertone was heavy. "The Feng clan has yet to recover. Rumor says Madam Yan nearly disowned her daughter before the whole Hall."
Qin Jian's eyes did not lift from the parchment.
"Mei'yin's choice was her own. Yet her defiance shook more than her family. The younger disciples are beginning to question the council's justice."
A faint smirk touched Mo Xiang's lips as he turned toward him.
"Perhaps they should. Justice built from anger and pride has never stood long. Mei'yin may have left her clan, but she planted a seed — one that makes people think."
Qin Jian's tone sharpened, though it remained steady.
"Thought without discipline leads to division, Mo Xiang. And division… leads to war."
The wind stirred through the open screens, carrying the faint chime of temple bells from below the mountain.
Mo Xiang folded his arms.
For a long moment, Qin Jian said nothing. The light caught in the silver of his hair as he leaned back slightly, eyes heavy with contemplation.
"You were there when she spoke," he said at last. "You heard her words — that death and suffering are no different… that forgiveness holds more weight than vengeance."
Mo Xiang inclined his head slowly.
"A dangerous belief in our world," he admitted, "but not a wrong one."
Qin Jian's gaze lingered on the parchment before him, voice low and measured.
"Dangerous ideas shape history more than blades ever could."
Mo Xiang gave a quiet, thoughtful hum.
"Or perhaps, she's trying to shape the history we refused to change."
The silence that followed was deep — not of disagreement, but of understanding neither wished to name aloud.
Finally, Qin Jian unfolded the parchment on the table.
"I've sent for a full record from Fengming Hall — testimonies, written accounts, every detail of that hearing. Until truth reaches this table, no order for Mei'yin's arrest will leave Qinshan."
"You're giving her a chance, then." Mo Xiang's smirk softened into something almost approving.
Qin Jian shook his head.
"Not her." He met Mo Xiang's gaze. "I'm giving truth a chance to speak… before judgment silences it."
The older man turned back to the open window, the sunlight glinting off his robes as his tone grew quiet again.
In the courtyard of the Qin residence, three figures sat beneath a flowering plum tree. Qin Yijun leaned lazily against the stone railing, half awake, while his younger brother Qin Yuxi sat properly on the bench, posture straight as ever. Beside them, Mo Yuming knelt gracefully, pouring tea into three small cups.
It had been several days since the incident in Fengming Hall — the day Mei'yin's voice echoed through the chamber, calm yet trembling with conviction.
"They're still talking about her," Yijun said finally, breaking the silence. "Every clan meeting, every tavern, every messenger's scroll — all filled with Mei'yin's name." He exhaled, crossing his arms. "They call her a traitor for defending the very people who killed her father."
Yuxi's fingers tightened briefly around his cup, though his face remained composed.
"Let them talk."
Yijun glanced sideways at him.
"You don't even want to defend her?"
"Defend?" Yuxi repeated, voice low. "You think words can erase what's already been said in that hall?"
Yuming, sensing the heaviness in his tone, handed him a fresh cup.
Qin Yuxi lifted his gaze toward the morning mist, eyes shadowed.
"Belief doesn't change what the world sees. They see only that she chose mercy over vengeance."
"Maybe that's what makes her stronger," Yuming replied quietly.
Yijun chuckled under his breath, trying to lighten the mood.
"You sound like Master Mo Xiang now."
Yuming rolled her eyes.
For a while, no one spoke. The silence between them was familiar — gentle, almost fragile.
Finally, Yuxi set down his cup.
"When she left the hall that day…" he murmured, "I wanted to stop her. But I knew she'd already made her choice."
"You still care," Yuming said. Not as a question, but as something obvious.
Yuxi didn't answer, and the quiet that followed said enough.
The breeze rustled through the plum branches above them. Petals fell softly onto the tea table — pale pink against dark stone.
Yijun sighed, stretching his arms.
"There goes our peaceful morning."
The morning light over Fengming Manor felt dimmer than usual, as if the heavens themselves hesitated to pierce the heavy air inside the main hall.
Madam Yan sat at the head of the table, still and regal. Feng Lingxi and Feng Xiao sat quietly to her right, while Bai Yujing, Xiao's husband, remained behind them, a silent observer. The weight of what had to be said seemed to hang over every breath.
When Feng Yangguang entered, all conversation died. He bowed lightly before taking his seat.
"You called for me, Mother."
Madam Yan's voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed a lingering exhaustion.
"Yes. The people have gathered their decision. They wish for you to take your father's place as patriarch — and to seal the new alliance through marriage."
Yangguang's jaw tightened.
"Marriage?"
Feng Xiaoyan inclined her head.
"The daughter of General Wu from Bai Clan. Her name is Wu Ziyi. Her family's loyalty to Fengming is unquestioned. The elders believe such a union will restore stability and trust."
Madam Yan added quietly,
"It would bring the military arm of our clan closer to the family line. A strong foundation for your future."
Yangguang didn't answer. His gaze dropped to the floor, a flicker of turmoil flashing in his eyes.
"Yang?" Feng Xiao noticed.
Yangguang's fingers curled into his sleeve. The silence stretched before he finally spoke, his voice low.
"I can't."
"What did you say?" Madam Yan's brows knit sharply.
He looked up, his expression breaking from calm to quiet defiance.
"I can't marry her. I won't."
The air froze. Lingxi straightened slightly, sensing the tremor beneath his words.
"Yangguang, this isn't about what you want. This is about what the people needs."
But Madam Yan's eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped — no longer soft, but cutting.
"Is it because of her?"
The room went utterly still.
Even Bai Yujing lifted his gaze. Feng Xiao's lips parted, a whisper barely escaping.
"Mother…"
Yangguang said nothing, but his silence was enough.
Madam Yan stood slowly.
"You would refuse your duty — for that woman? The very one whose hands are stained with your father's blood?"
His breath came uneven, but he said no more. There was nothing he could say that would not damn him further. His love for Ms. Ye was a wound that had already festered too deep.
Feng Lingxi's voice came soft but trembling.
" Yang ,even if you believe her innocent like what Mei'yin's doing, the world will not. You are heir to Fengming — your choices are no longer only yours."
Yangguang turned away, his voice quiet and bitter.
"Then perhaps I was never given a choice at all."
The silence that followed was heavy with shame, sorrow, and fear.
It was Bai Yujing who finally broke it.
He stepped forward calmly, bowing slightly to Madam Yan before speaking in his usual composed tone.
"Madam Yan, if I may speak — perhaps forcing Yangguang now will only make matters worse. The people's eyes are on you. If word spreads that the heir refuses his duty because of… old affections, the rumors will destroy what's left of your name."
Madam Yan's expression softened, if only slightly.
"And what do you suggest, Yujing?"
"Delay the marriage — not deny it," Yujing replied. "Let it appear as thoughtfulness, not rebellion. Give him time to fulfill his mourning rites first. Then, when the season turns, arrange the union with Wu Ziyi quietly — without public uproar."
Yangguang looked at his brother-in-law sharply.
"You're speaking as if I've already agreed."
Yujing met his gaze with quiet sympathy.
"I'm speaking as someone who understands how thin the line between love and ruin can be, Yangguang. The world won't wait for your heart to heal. But you can choose how it breaks."
His words hung in the air, steady as a blade balanced on its edge.
Madam Yan exhaled, her tone regaining its calm.
"I will grant this one delay. But when the time comes, Yangguang — you will stand before the altar beside Wu Ziyi. That is not a request."
Yangguang bowed stiffly.
"Yes, Mother."
But as he turned to leave, his thoughts were elsewhere — with a woman whose name no one dared speak aloud anymore.
Ms. Ye, the one accused of killing his father.
The one he still could not bring himself to condemn.
The forest behind Ye Residence was veiled in morning mist, each droplet glimmering faintly on the tips of bamboo and cypress leaves. Birds stirred in the branches, and the faint hum of a waterfall echoed from the ravine beyond.
Mei'yin walked along the moss-covered path, her hands clasped behind her back. The scent of dew and wild jasmine lingered in the air.
Beside her, Ms. Ye moved gracefully, her steps light but measured. Her long robe brushed the leaves, silver threads catching the light that streamed through the trees.
"You come here often," Ms. Ye remarked softly, her voice calm as the morning breeze. "Even before the sun rises."
Mei'yin looking up at the pale sky breaking through the canopy.
"It's quieter here. The residence feels… heavy these days. Too many eyes, too many questions."
Ms. Ye gave a quiet hum of understanding.
"Weight comes with knowing more than others. You'll learn to carry it — just as Dushen has."
"I doubt I'll ever be as calm as him," Mei'yin murmured, brushing her fingers along a vine. "He carries silence like a shield."
Ms. Ye smiled faintly. "And you? You carry silence like a wound."
Mei'yin paused, meeting her gaze. For a moment, neither spoke. The wind shifted through the branches, scattering light across their faces.
Then, from beyond the forest path, the rhythmic sound of hooves broke the stillness.
A young voice called out, steady but breathless —
"Ms. Ye! Miss Mei'yin!"
Shanying, the Ye family's swiftest messenger, emerged from between the trees. His cloak was dusted with dirt, his hair disheveled from travel. He dropped to one knee the moment he reached them.
"Forgive my intrusion — but the matter is urgent."
Ms. Ye's gaze sharpened, though her tone remained composed.
"Stand. Speak only once we are inside."
The air inside the study was still and cool. Scrolls were stacked neatly on one side of the room, and the faint smell of sandalwood drifted from a burning stick in the corner.
Ye Dushen sat at the head of the low table, posture straight, eyes unreadable. Across from him, Ms. Ye took her place, and Mei'yin settled quietly beside her.
Shanying bowed deeply before presenting the sealed scrolls and folded letters.
"Reports from the outer watch."
Ye Dushen's fingers tightened ever so slightly.
"Begin."
Shanying took a slow breath.
"First — the roads leading north have become unsafe. Two merchant convoys bound for our gates were ambushed. The banners they described bore no clan mark — only black. They disappeared before the second patrol could engage."
Ms. Ye's eyes narrowed. "Black banners again ? They've been sighted twice this month."
"Yes," Shanying replied. "Our scouts believe they may be organized — not mere thieves. Their movement patterns suggest they're avoiding the main clans' boundaries deliberately."
Ye Dushen nodded once, his gaze distant. "Continue."
"Second — from Fengming."
The room fell silent for a heartbeat. Mei'yin's breath caught slightly.
Shanying hesitated before lowering his voice.
"The council there grows divided. After the late patriarch's death, they've begun pushing for Feng Yangguang to take his father's seat. But…" He paused, glancing briefly at Mei'yin. "The discussion has not gone smoothly."
Ms. Ye leaned forward slightly. "Go on."
"Some elders oppose his ascension unless he strengthens their alliances. The talk of marriage has returned — this time to the general's daughter. But Yangguang… refused."
A flicker of surprise crossed Mei'yin's face, but she said nothing.
Shanying continued carefully.
" It stirred debate, but no final decision was made."
Silence filled the room. Only the faint crackle of the incense broke it.
Ye Dushen folded his arms.
Ms. Ye exhaled softly, though her gaze was calm.
"Every family has its storm. Ours will not escape it, either."
Shanying bowed again, pulling one final folded message from his sleeve.
"And lastly, our scouts near the western forest report unusual activity. Traces of talisman ash and charred soil — perhaps remnants of an old summoning site. No one claims responsibility."
Ye Dushen's eyes flickered, sharp.
"Seal the area. Double the night watch. No one moves beyond the third post without command."
"Yes, Master."
When Shanying left, silence returned. Mei'yin looked at the faint smoke curling toward the ceiling — her thoughts clouded like the incense itself.
"Fengming is unraveling," she said quietly. "And the world outside grows darker by the day."
Ms. Ye rose gracefully, brushing her robe's sleeve.
"Then we prepare," she said simply. "If the winds shift toward us, the Ye must stand before they reach our gates."
Ye Dushen nodded.
"We always do."
Mei'yin looked between them — the serenity of Ye Residence felt fragile now, like still water before the storm.
Outside, the wind stirred again, carrying the faint cry of a hawk. The forest that had seemed so peaceful an hour ago now whispered with uneaseMorning light filtered through the tall windows of Qinshan's Great Hall, scattering pale gold across the marble floor. The banners of the great clans swayed faintly above the dais — Qin, Mo, Bai — their sigils gleaming in the soft haze of incense smoke.
At the head table, Master Qin Jian sat with a rigid posture, his sharp eyes fixed on the messenger kneeling below. Beside him, Master Mo Xiang folded his hands, calm but attentive. Master Bai Yue stood at the far side, his expression unreadable, his presence quiet yet commanding.
"Speak," Qin Jian ordered, his tone cutting through the silence.
The messenger bowed low, sweat beading at his temple. "Master, our scouts returned before dawn. Reports say a band of riders bearing black banners without insignia have been sighted beyond the southern forest line. Their movement is precise, organized — yet they fly no clan mark."
Mo Xiang's gaze narrowed.
"No clan dares move without a mark unless they wish to hide something."
The messenger hesitated, then added:
"They were last seen near the old boundary that touches Ye territory. Their direction seems eastward — toward Fengming's outer posts."
Bai Yue turned his head slightly, his voice soft but clear.
"Then they are not of Fengming origin."
"No, Master Bai," the messenger replied quickly. "Fengming's own patrols have confirmed they were attacked too. They claim to have no knowledge of who commands these riders."
A quiet tension filled the hall.
Qin Jian leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping once on the armrest.
"An unknown force moving between clan borders… too calculated to be coincidence."
Mo Xiang's tone grew darker.
"And yet no message, no threat, no emblem. They want to be seen — but not known."
Bai Yue stepped closer to the map stretched on the table, his sleeve brushing lightly over its edges.
"If the sightings align here… and here…" he murmured, tracing a curved path. "Then they circle the four clans — closing in on the central plain."
Qin Jian frowned. "That land has been sealed since the last war."
"Sealed," Bai Yue said quietly, "but not forgotten."
Mo Xiang exchanged a glance with her.
"And if they mean to unseal it, then this peace we've held will not last."
Qin Jian's decision came swift and firm.
"Send riders to the borders. No public alarm — not yet. We observe first. If their numbers grow, we strike before they enter clan territory."
The messenger bowed deeply.
"Yes, Master."
Master Qin Jian's eyes followed the messenger as he bowed and retreated from the chamber, leaving behind only silence and the faint echo of his boots.
For a long moment, none of the three spoke. Then, Master Bai Yue broke the stillness, his voice sharp as steel drawn too fast.
"Black banners with no mark, attacking borders, moving through the forest paths…"
He turned toward the map, his gaze flicking to the southern region — the one that brushed close to Ye territory.
"Tell me, Masters — who else has the skill and the reason to move unseen between clans?"
Mo Xiang's brow furrowed. "Speak plainly, Bai Yue."
Bai Yue exhaled, folding his arms.
"You know who I mean. Feng Mei'yin."
The name struck like the drop of cold rain in the hall.
"She has vanished for months. Now armed groups rise without symbol — perhaps she no longer needs one."
Qin Jian's eyes narrowed. "You would accuse her of forming a private force?"
"I would accuse her of being capable of it," Bai Yue countered. "That girl has always been unpredictable. If she believes the clans betrayed her, why not build her own cause beneath the trees?"
The air tensed. Mo Xiang leaned forward, voice low but edged.
"Careful, Master Bai Yue. You speak of accusation, not evidence."
Bai Yue's tone sharpened.
"Then how else do you explain an army that appears after her exile — in the same regions she once commanded?"
"Enough," Qin Jian said firmly, his tone silencing the hall. "We do not condemn without proof."
Mo Xiang nodded in quiet agreement.
"And from what our reports show, these movements do not carry the pattern of revenge — they carry discipline, strategy. Someone older, more calculating."
Bai Yue's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His eyes, however, betrayed the stubborn fire of a man unwilling to be wrong.
Qin Jian rose, his robe whispering softly against the floor.
"Speculation will only divide us further. For now, we watch. If these riders continue their advance, we act together — not as divided clans, but as one realm."
Bai Yue's lips pressed into a thin line, but he inclined his head slightly.
"Very well… though I'll not turn my back if the truth points where I already suspect."
Mo Xiang's expression softened — almost pitying.
"You've been a Master long enough to know, Master Bai Yue… suspicion has ended more clans than war ever did."
The hall fell silent again. Outside, the wind stirred the banners, their edges whispering like old ghosts against the walls.
The sun hung high over Fengming Manor, casting a soft golden glow across banners of red and ivory.
It was the day of Feng Yangguang's wedding to Wu Ziyi — a union meant to restore harmony among the clans after seasons of silence and tension.
At the high seat sat Madam Yan, her expression calm yet distant, hands resting lightly on her lap. Beside her were her children — Feng Xiaoyan, graceful and composed; Feng Lingxi, sharp-eyed and reserved; and Yangguang, the groom himself, dressed in red and gold.
Despite the celebration, the air felt heavy.
Yangguang smiled, but his eyes did not. The weight of duty pressed upon his shoulders like armor. Every word of blessing from the guests sounded hollow, as though echoing through a distant hall.
At the long table, the Masters of the Four Clans sat together —Qin Jian , serene and observant; Mo Xiang, his eyes scanning every corner of the room; Bai Yu, lips thin with restrained impatience. His wife, Madam Su, whispered something in his ear, but his attention stayed on the Feng heir.
Behind them sat the younger generation — Qin Yijun, Qin Yuxi, Mo Yuming, Bai Yujing, Bai Chenxing, and Bai Linyan — their faces filled with curiosity and mild boredom.
Music drifted softly from the pavilion — strings and flutes intertwining in delicate harmony. Servants moved gracefully, refilling cups of jade wine and carrying trays of lotus cakes.
Feng Xiaoyan leaned toward her brother, whispering,
"You look as though you're being sentenced, not married."
Yangguang forced a weak laugh.
"Maybe both."
Even Feng Lingxi, usually reserved, cracked a faint smile.
Madam Yan's gaze lingered on her children — pride and worry blending silently in her eyes. For a brief moment, peace seemed possible again.
Until—
A single horn blast echoed from the outer walls.
Then another.
The sound grew — deep, ominous — cutting through the wedding music like a blade through silk.
The doors burst open. A guard stumbled inside, blood splattering the marble floor.
"Black banners—! They've breached the eastern gate!"
The hall fell into chaos.
Outside, black smoke rose like a storm, banners marked with a single obsidian crest — a coiled serpent — fluttering violently in the wind.
Warriors in dark armor poured through the courtyard, their faces hidden, their movements unnaturally synchronized.
Master Qin Jian rose instantly, hand striking the table.
"Defensive formations! Now!"
Master Mo Xiang stood beside him, calling to his sister,
"Yuming — take the young ones and stay behind me!"
Master Bai Yue's voice rang out sharply, filled with accusation:
"It's her! Mei'yin's doing — she built her own army in the shadows!"
Qin Yuxi turned to him sharply.
The Masters' spiritual energy flared across the hall, the air shimmering with their power.
The first wave of Black Banner soldiers crashed into the guards of Fengming. The clang of steel and the roar of energy filled the air.
Feng Lingxi leapt from her seat, her spiritual aura slicing through the smoke like a blade of silver wind.
Feng Xiaoyan drew her fan, channels of air spiraling into razor-edged currents.
Yangguang, torn from his bride's side, unsheathed his sword. His voice rang clear through the chaos:
"Form up! Protect the guests!"
But the attackers weren't ordinary mercenaries — their movement bore discipline, their power refined.
Mo Xiang frowned as he deflected a blow, recognizing the technique.
"This… this isn't bandit work. They've studied cultivation — our cultivation."
Mo Yuming,whispered,
"Then who are they?"
Before anyone could answer, the ground shook. A figure emerged among the flames — cloaked in black, their aura heavy and ancient.
Their voice carried through the battlefield:
"Today, the clans of wind, mind, art, and sound will pay for what they've buried in blood."
A ripple of black energy spread outward, swallowing the courtyard light.
Feng banners turned to ash.
The red wedding drapes turned black.