The rain had passed by morning, leaving the sky clean and silver-washed. Qing KunJue sat in Class Hall C-13, half-listening, half-watching Miss Gao's lecture unfold.
Behind her, diagrams of cultivation paths shimmered faintly in air-script. Most of the class scribbled furiously, but KunJue didn't need to. He wasn't here for rote theory. He was here because his father insisted on normalcy—for now.
Miss Gao's voice cut through the scribbling.
"Strength is not always a gift," she said plainly. "Some gens grant speed. Others might grant flame, ice, thunder, shadow. But the stronger the gen, the harder its path."
She turned, eyes glinting with rare seriousness.
"Mutative gens are especially difficult. Their power doesn't just expand—it resists. It pulls against the host. Cultivators with high-tier gens often find themselves trapped at the edge of a breakthrough, unable to move forward because their gen is too alive."
A beat of silence.
"And the Guardian Clans? You of the sacred bloodlines?" Her gaze landed—briefly, deliberately—on KunJue.
"You already know this. Your gens aren't tools. They're legacy—prideful, ancient, willful. The Azure Dragon… doesn't bow to its wielder."
She turned back to the script.
"That will be all."
Evening arrived as mist settled over DongNan's rooftops. KunJue stepped into the outer courtyard of the Qing estate, wind tugging lightly at his sleeves. His father waited beneath the moonshadow tree, arms crossed, his gaze focused on the open sky.
"You're late," Qing YunLan said.
"Class ran long."
A nod. Then YunLan turned fully. "No matter. We leave tonight."
KunJue blinked. "For what?"
"The Guardian Beasts Congress."
He stiffened slightly. "It's already begun?"
"It never begins. It simply continues. Come."
They moved through the spiraling garden path into the hangar, where Cloudvein awaited—white and gleaming, lined with subtle sigil etching along the wings. The family spiritjet hummed softly as they boarded.
Within moments, they were airborne.
The journey to ShanFei was long, but Cloudvein moved with practiced ease, soaring through storm-cloud and thermal current alike. KunJue sat by the window, watching the world shift beneath them.
Mountains gave way to valleys, then rivers of light—floating cities, carved plateaus, and finally… ShanFei.
Here, nature had been carved in negotiation with essence. Cities grew in rings, levitating roads curled between tower-trees, and glowing threads of energy ran through the air like veins.
More than that—ShanFei was home to the Spirit Humans.
KunJue saw them as they descended—tall figures walking skybridges, each marked by a glowing elemental seal on their forehead. Flame. Mist. Crystal. Wind. Their very presence hummed with pre-birth affinity.
"They awaken differently," YunLan said quietly beside him. "They don't wait for a gen to choose them. Their seal decides their path long before they first cultivate."
KunJue watched a pair sparring below—one manipulating wind with the flick of a hand, the other countering with stone vines snaking from the floor.
"Some fuse their elemental gift with a mutative gen," YunLan continued. "Those that succeed… become something else entirely."
KunJue nodded. He had read of them, but seeing them in motion brought the stories to life. In ShanFei, cultivation wasn't standardized—it was fluid, personal, dangerous.
"They also develop their own fighting styles," YunLan added. "Techniques passed through blood, or invented entirely. Not like our manuals."
KunJue narrowed his eyes. "Are we at a disadvantage?"
YunLan gave the ghost of a smile. "Only if we fail to adapt."
Cloudvein passed through a lightstorm veil and began to descend.
Below them, at the summit of the Stormcrest Mountains, floated the heart of the Guardian Beasts Congress.
A single platform—massive, circular, wide as a small city—suspended in the sky with no visible tether. It hovered high above the ground, cloaked in clouds. Four enormous towers stood upon it, spaced equidistantly, each exuding its own aura.
The Vermilion Bird Tower burned faintly at its crown, flames drifting upward like incense.
The White Tiger Tower shimmered with silver and ice, the air around it razor-sharp.
The Xuanwu Tower curled with mist and gravity, heavy and slow.
And finally, the Azure Dragon Tower—cyan lightning dancing silently around its spires.
This was the true heart of the Congress. Each tower belonged to a beast lineage, and each housed dozens—sometimes hundreds—of sub-clans, branch families, and regional delegations.
"There are other Azure Dragon clans?" KunJue asked as Cloudvein gently docked.
"Of course," YunLan said. "From Qinghai. From BeiHeng. Even the southern coast. The bloodline didn't begin in DongNan. We're one of many."
They disembarked onto the floating platform. Other delegations had already arrived—some stepping from bird-drawn spiritships, others descending on cloud-discs or folding bridges made from spiritruned wood.
No words were exchanged. Not here. The Congress was sacred space.
KunJue followed YunLan toward the Azure Dragon Tower. Its entrance loomed ahead, shaped like a dragon's mouth with lightning-carved stone lining the arch.
As they stepped closer, he felt it—the weight in the air. Not pressure from cultivation, but presence. The tower itself seemed alive, pulsing faintly with essence tuned to the dragon's breath.
They crossed the threshold.
Inside, a massive great hall unfolded before them. Pillars of coiled jade dragons rose into the heights, where the ceiling was an open dome showing the moon through an illusion of clear water. Blue spiritlight floated above their heads, illuminating long rows of stone seats, thrones, and council altars.
Other Azure Dragon clans were already seated—some dressed in sharp navy armor, others in robes patterned with scaled silk. Dozens of voices murmured in low, powerful tones.
KunJue looked around, silent.
YunLan spoke only once more.
"This… is where our legacy is shaped."