The council hall of the Misty Cloud Sect was quiet, though not with calm. The elders gathered in their usual semi-circle, robes rustling softly as they shifted in their seats. Faint traces of incense smoke curled toward the high, arched ceiling, carrying the scent of sandalwood and herbs. It was meant to calm, to focus, yet the conversation inside could hardly be called peaceful.
One elder, hands folded neatly on the table, spoke first. "It has been far too long since the Xiao Clan was challenged directly. One wonders why they have been allowed to persist."
A murmur rose, some nodding, some frowning. Another elder replied, "To strike now… it is not simple. The Xiao Clan is not what it was. Their young master, Xiao Yan, has grown in influence. They have allies—powerful families, merchants, even alchemists who look to them for guidance. A misstep could cost more than any immediate gain."
Silence followed. Even as they debated, each elder's gaze flickered over the other, searching for unspoken doubts. The matter of the clan itself, its rising strength, was serious—but the figure who had drawn the most ire was not Xiao Yan, but the boy who had repeatedly defied them all: Xiao Chen.
"He has made a mockery of our orders, our plans," a third elder said. "Each time he steps into the city, our disciples falter, our authority weakens. He disrupts everything we have worked to establish."
From the corner of the room, a figure shifted, dark robes brushing against the floor. Silent and unobtrusive, he listened, absorbing the nuances, the hesitations, the fears. He offered no opinion, but each pause, each sharp word from the elders shaped the invisible strategy he would later pursue.
The discussion turned, inexorably, to the boy himself. "And Nalan Yanran—do not forget," the master of the girl spoke, her voice calm but firm. "The injuries he caused her were severe. Even with our techniques, she has not healed fully. One cannot ignore such cruelty, such calculation."
Others leaned in, their voices lowering, acknowledging the weight of her words. "He poisons his own family," one said, almost a whisper. "He cannot be reasoned with. He already considers us hostile."
The council's conversation twisted, careful not to appear overreaching, but each word carried the underlying truth: Xiao Chen's growth was monstrous, and the threat he represented was as much a matter of the mind as of cultivation.
Meanwhile, outside the walls of the Xiao Clan's estate, Xiao Yan moved silently. His path was deliberate, guided by knowledge shared only with Yao Lao. The target was the next divine flame: the Blue Flame of the Azure Peak. Unlike the Green Lotus Core Flame, which he had obtained early, this one required precise timing and careful negotiation.
He did not know it, but the unseen movements within the Misty Cloud Sect and rival families were already beginning to shape the world around him. Every subtle offer of alliance, every whispered rumor, was designed to isolate him, to test his readiness. The elders debated openly, but the seeds of manipulation were planted quietly, in corners where no one would see.
Even among the more pragmatic members, thoughts of god blood surfaced. It was a delicate subject, barely mentioned, yet the desire was unmistakable. Families spoke in low tones of its value, of how it could secure power or prestige. The Xiao Clan's potential access to it—either through influence, allies, or alchemy—had many whispering, weighing the possibility of gaining it before the clan could consolidate its hold.
Hours passed in discussion, weaving between caution, ambition, and strategy. No final decision was reached. Action, the elders agreed, would come later. For now, they waited, allowing the pieces to move as they would, observing the subtle ripples caused by a single, extraordinary family.
And beyond the hall, beyond the watchful eyes of elders and rivals, both Xiao Chen and Xiao Yan pursued their own paths. One built strength in the shadows, testing limits few could imagine; the other sought a flame whose power could tip the scales in ways even the most calculating elders could not yet perceive. Both were being watched, both were being weighed, and the invisible hands of the world had only begun to pull at the threads of fate.