As the sun surrendered its golden reign to the twilight shadows of Mount Tianlan, the Grand Hall of Verdant Cloud Sect thrummed with barely contained tension. What should have been a celebration of diplomatic unity had transformed into something far more treacherous—a stage where one misstep could shatter the delicate peace between realms.
Whispers fluttered between silk sleeves and teacups like restless spirits.
"Did you truly see it? The prince's robes, soaked through with common mud?"
"Who would possess such audacity to offend His Highness?"
"They say the earth covered him so completely that even his expression was hidden—yet still, he appeared as a jade immortal emerging from primordial chaos."
"That little disciple fled like a startled rabbit afterward..."
These murmured conversations died abruptly as the great doors groaned open with the weight of destiny.
When Hua Ling stepped across the threshold, the very air seemed to crystallize around him.
Gone was every trace of his earlier humiliation. He moved with the fluid grace of moonlight spilling across still water, his presence commanding absolute silence from even the most talkative elders. His almond-shaped eyes—long, narrow, and devastatingly beautiful—held depths that promised both salvation and destruction. Those obsidian pools reflected nothing yet seemed to see everything, like mirrors to a soul that had witnessed too much, too young.
His robes, now pristine and unmarked, shimmered with subtle demonic patterns that caught the lantern light like captured starfire. Silver threads wove through midnight silk, creating constellations that spoke of power beyond mortal comprehension. His hair, black as the space between stars, was bound with a single crimson cord that seemed to burn against the darkness.
Every step he took toward his seat at the head table resonated with quiet authority. His beauty was not the soft kind that inspired poetry—it was the sharp, dangerous beauty of a blade hidden in silk, of winter moonlight that could freeze unwary hearts with a single glance.
*Do they not realize how fragile this peace truly is?* he thought, settling into his chair with predatory grace. *One crack, and their entire world collapses.*
The assembled cultivators barely dared to breathe.
"He appears... displeased," someone whispered behind a trembling fan.
"Perhaps he heard our earlier discussions."
"Everyone, silence your breathing."
At the elders' table, Tang Meilin sipped her tea with deliberate nonchalance, though her eyes sparkled with dangerous amusement. "Such a waste, that lovely countenance bearing such cold fury. Though I must confess, the muddy version possessed a certain... rustic charm."
Shen Yao, ever the provocateur, leaned toward a cluster of junior sisters with theatrical concern. "Look how murderous he appears. I do wonder who might have earned such deadly attention~"
"Senior Brother Shen," Lan Xueyao muttered as she passed, carrying a tray of wine cups, "perhaps you should flirt with someone who actually desires your company for once."
Meanwhile, Master Zhou Yuanzhen sat hunched over his wine, shoulders tense with barely concealed anxiety. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to drag his wayward disciple back by the ear and hide him somewhere safe.
---
Deep in the shadowed groves beyond the sect grounds, Chen Xinyu knelt in the damp earth like a condemned man before his executioner.
"Rou Rou," he pleaded, clutching at her robes with desperate fingers, "I'm begging you—don't tell Master about my hiding spot! He'll beat me with that cursed bamboo rod until I'm nothing but regret and bruises!"
Lu Rourou stood over him with arms crossed, her expression cycling between amusement and calculation. "Should I call out 'Master Zhou~!' or 'Sect Leader Jiang~!'? Which do you think sounds more terrifying?"
"Neither!" Xinyu's voice cracked with panic. "I'll call you Senior Sister! I'll polish your sword for three months! I'll even gather spiritual herbs for your cultivation!"
She snorted, tilting her head with mock consideration. "You think my sword will forgive such insults so easily?" Then her expression shifted to pure mischief. "However... I might be persuaded to show mercy. Under one condition."
"Anything! Name it!"
"That jade ornament you promised last week. And perhaps a silk purse to match."
Xinyu's face crumpled. "It's... it's in my room. I don't have it with me."
"Don't you carry a qiankun pouch?"
"I... may have forgotten it this morning. I was rather preoccupied with... preparing earthen surprises for demon princes."
Rourou doubled over with laughter. "You absolute fool!"
A shadow fell across them both.
"Xinyu."
The voice cut through the night air like winter wind through summer silk. Xinyu's blood turned to ice as he slowly turned to find Yan Zheng standing behind them, tall and imposing as a mountain peak, his expression unreadable as still water.
"Shixiong... I can explain—"
Yan Zheng's hand closed around his wrist with gentle but implacable strength. "Save your explanations. You're coming with me."
"Just one more chance, please—"
"You're in deeper trouble than you comprehend, Xiao Yu," Yan said, his calm tone somehow more ominous than any shout. "Apologize sincerely and don't argue."
"Should I simply lie down and await my demise?"
"...That might improve your odds of survival."
Rourou pouted as they departed. "There goes my silk purse money..."
---
The banquet hall fell into absolute silence as Yan Zheng guided his trembling junior brother through the great doors. Every eye turned toward them like flowers following the sun—some curious, some pitying, many simply waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Master Zhou rose immediately, but Sect Leader Jiang raised one hand in a gesture that brooked no argument. Zhou's scowl deepened, but he settled back into his seat with visible reluctance.
Meanwhile, Hua Ling remained perfectly still, his thoughts as turbulent as a storm-tossed sea beneath his serene exterior. *So, little beast, you finally return to face the consequences of your mischief.*
As Rourou trailed behind the procession, she barely managed three steps across the threshold before—
"Lu Rourou."
Tang Meilin's voice sliced through the air like silk-wrapped steel. She sat at her table, fanning herself with languid grace, but her eyes held the promise of retribution.
Rourou approached her master's side with reluctant steps, settling beside Lan Xueyao with the expression of someone walking toward their own execution.
"Where, precisely, have you been?" Tang Meilin's fan snapped shut with a sound like breaking bones before she used it to deliver a sharp tap to her disciple's head.
"Master~" Rourou whined, rubbing the spot tenderly. "I was merely conducting harmless business..."
Meanwhile, all attention had turned to the young man being escorted toward the center of the hall. Chen Xinyu's legs trembled like autumn leaves in a hurricane, his heart hammering against his ribs with such violence he feared it might simply burst from his chest.
Then he felt it—that gaze.
The Demon Prince's attention settled upon him like a physical weight, calm and silent and absolutely terrifying in its intensity.
Xinyu's knees gave out entirely. He collapsed to the polished floor in the center of the hall, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Against every instinct screaming at him to keep his eyes down, he dared to glance upward.
Their gazes met and locked.
The prince's face revealed nothing—it might have been carved from the finest jade by master artisans, so perfect and emotionless was his expression. But his eyes... those winter-dark eyes held depths that spoke of power beyond mortal understanding, of judgment that could reshape destinies with a word.
Xinyu couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. Couldn't even think coherently.
*I'm going to die,* ran through his mind like a prayer. *He's going to transform me into a toad. Or perhaps combustible fireworks. Or both simultaneously.*
The silence stretched until it became a living thing, heavy and expectant. Even the soft clink of porcelain had ceased. The entire assembly waited, balanced on the edge of catastrophe.
Someone whispered, barely audible, "That's the one who...?"
Lan Xueyao pulled Rourou closer, her voice tight with worry. "Why isn't he saying anything? Is silence worse than anger?"
Shen Yao sipped his wine with theatrical calm. "I give him three minutes before something dramatic occurs."
Hua Ling tilted his head slightly, the motion as graceful as a hunting cat considering its prey, and continued his silent observation.
Chen Xinyu remained kneeling, head bowed low, trembling beneath the weight of that terrible, beautiful gaze. His knees ached against the cold stone, but physical discomfort paled beside the storm of dread building in his chest.
"Chen Xinyu." Sect Leader Jiang's voice finally broke the suffocating quiet.
Xinyu flinched, his voice emerging as barely a whisper. "Y-Yes, Sect Leader..."
He dared not lift his head. His thoughts spiraled into incoherent panic: *Please don't increase the punishment count... please, merciful heavens, I'm far too young and handsome to die in such circumstances...*
Sect Leader Jiang's tone remained measured, but carried the weight of final judgment. "Since you are Master Zhou's disciple... he shall determine your punishment."
A collective intake of breath rippled through the assembled cultivators.
Master Zhou's eyes widened slightly. Despite his earlier fury, his heart held no true malice toward his mischievous but fundamentally good-natured disciple. He sighed, preparing to announce something appropriately stern but not truly severe.
"I will impose—"
"I believe," a voice like winter silk cut through his words, "that I am the one who suffered this offense."
The hall went deathly still.
Hua Ling's soft words echoed in the sudden vacuum of sound, each syllable falling like drops of liquid starlight into an endless void.
"Should not the wronged party decide the appropriate recompense?"
Mouths opened in shock. Fans snapped shut. Teacups froze halfway to lips.
Tang Meilin's eyes glittered with dangerous interest. "How bold... to speak over the Sect Leader in his own hall."
Shen Yao raised an eyebrow, murmuring to Lan Xueyao, "As I predicted. He's finished." Lan Xueyao pointedly ignored him.
Rourou sighed dramatically, already composing mental funeral arrangements. "Two minutes until he becomes a wandering spirit. Rest in eternal peace, Yu-ge." She began muttering protective prayers under her breath.
Even Lan Xueyao stared in horror. "Did he truly just challenge the Sect Leader's authority?"
Yan Zheng's usual stoic composure cracked slightly, his brow furrowing with genuine concern as he glanced at his junior brother.
Master Zhou, despite his earlier desire to throttle Xinyu personally, now felt unease creeping up his spine. The demon prince's words carried implications that extended far beyond simple disciplinary measures.
Xinyu's head remained bowed, but his entire body tensed as those chilling words echoed in his mind. *"I am the one who suffered this offense."*
*This is my end,* he thought with strange clarity. *Perhaps he'll merely cripple me instead of killing me outright. I could manage with one functional leg, couldn't I?*
His face went pale as rice paper.
*Merciful heavens, at least grant me one final taste of osmanthus cakes before I perish...*
The demon prince's voice returned, each word precisely measured and deadly as poisoned silk.
"Sect Leader... permit me to decide this matter personally."
Jiang Wensheng, maintaining his composure through decades of diplomatic training, inclined his head with careful neutrality. "Very well, Your Highness. What punishment do you deem appropriate for this transgression?"