Liu Clan, Young Master Courtyard
The person is a man with long, dark hair tied up in a topknot with a hairpin. He has bangs that frame his face and a calm, slightly amused expression with a subtle smile.
He is dressed in specifically a flowing white robe with gray accents. The robe has a high collar and a complex design with geometric patterns on the shoulders and chest. He is wearing a black belt with three round, silver-colored medallions on it. His sleeves are wide and oversized.He was sitting in a courtyard.This courtyard have a ethereal beauty.
The courtyard stretched wide, built with the grace of wealth.
Smooth stone paths wound between carved lanterns,
their surfaces glowing faintly as the morning light touched them.
At the center, a maple tree rose in quiet splendor,
its broad canopy spilling crimson leaves like drifting silk.
Each leaf seemed to fall with purpose,
resting upon tiled ground or upon water's skin.
That water was a pond, round and clear,
its surface so pure it seemed a polished mirror.
Goldfish swam within, their tails fanning out like threads of brocade,
breaking the reflection of sky into ripples of light.
The pond's edge was lined with pale stones,
their curves softened by careful hands,
and a small wooden bridge arched over it,
where one could pause to watch the fish below.
In the distance, pavilions rose with painted beams,
their eaves curling like the wings of cranes.
Wind carried faint fragrance from hidden gardens—
plum, orchid, and chrysanthemum woven into the air.
Here, silence was not emptiness
but fullness—
the quiet dignity of a great house,
where even falling leaves seemed to bow.
---
The courtyard of the Liu Clan stretched wide, a place of wealth and silence.
Maple leaves drifted like falling embers,
landing on the polished stones and on the surface of the pond,
where goldfish swam in golden arcs beneath the bridge.
The sound of water was soft, like heaven breathing in slumber.
A young man walked there, robes trailing against the stone path.
His steps were unhurried, yet each one carried calculation.
His gaze was calm, but his fingers, clasped behind his back,
moved faintly—
as though tallying unseen accounts of the world.
In a low murmur, barely louder than the rustling leaves,
he spoke:
"It is almost time. My plan will begin soon.
This time, I will succeed."
He raised his voice slightly, calling,
"He Feng."
The air shifted, and from the shadow of the maple tree,
a figure emerged, clad in dark clothing.
The man bowed deeply, his voice reverent:
"Greeting, Young Master."
Qing Yao's eyes did not move from the pond.
"Tell me the news of Taixuan today."
He Feng straightened, his tone steady,
yet within his voice was the faint awe of one
who served not merely a master, but a mind
that could pull the strings of heaven and earth.
*"Lord, as you foretold, everything unfolds according to your design.
In the southeast, Demonic Ghost Sect has begun their assault upon the Central Region.
In the southwest, a righteous alliance has risen in answer,
gathering their banners to purge the demonic tide.
To the north, the Tian Dynasty now holds all of the Taixuan Northern Domain.
In the east, Heavenly Lotus Sect has ascended,
proving itself the unrivaled power of that land.
In the west, the Darkmist King—long thought crippled—
has fully recovered from his old injuries,
his ambition burning anew.
As for the Central Continent…
the nine great families have betrayed the emperor,
clashing among themselves for the empty throne.
Chaos spreads, but it is the chaos you predicted,
the chaos you wove.
None of them know—they all think themselves masters of their own fate,
yet each step they take follows the path you laid before them."*
Qing Yao's lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained cold.
"Good. Then send word to the Dark Assassins.
Tonight, the Tai Clan leader must die."
He Feng lowered his head,
"As you command, lord."
His form dissolved once more into shadow,
leaving only the whisper of silk in the air.
For a moment, the young master stood in silence.
His reflection in the pond trembled as a golden fish passed beneath.
"I move the world as I wish," he thought,
"yet Heaven itself does not stir.
Am I still too gentle?
Must I sow deeper hatred, ignite greater flames,
to provoke Heaven's will into action?
If it does not descend at the appointed hour…
all of this—every manipulation, every death—
will collapse into failure."
A voice broke his thoughts, gentle, melodic,
yet edged with something sharp:
"Qing Yao, why are you so anxious?
Has something happened?
If there is trouble, you should tell your sister.
You are my little brother—
how could I ever bear to see you troubled?"
The sound was soft as silk,
yet each word carried weight.
From behind, Liu Yi Meng appeared,
her robes flowing like white mist,
her beauty sharp as jade carved by a master's hand.
Her eyes seemed kind, yet within them hid a storm.
Qing Yao did not turn.
He clasped his hands behind his back more tightly,
masking the storm in his own heart.
"You need not concern yourself.
I was only thinking about this courtyard.
It is somewhat old…
Perhaps it is time to rebuild it."
His tone was casual, almost careless.
But within his mind, other words burned like fire:
"Sister… elder sister…
Or should I say rival?
Do you believe I do not know your true intent?
You covet the Clan Leader's seat.
Yet the elders favor me, not you.
So you wear the mask of kindness,
pretending to aid me while scheming behind the curtain.
But do not think yourself the only one who understands games of the mind.
If not for my design,
you would have been buried already beneath the weight of your own ambition.
I spared you,
only because I have another role for you to play—
that of my wife.
Fate cannot bind me with common morals.
Not even blood ties will stay my hand."
As he smiled faintly to himself,
Liu Yi Meng watched his back.
Her lips parted in a gentle curve,
but in her heart rose a voice of ice:
"Brother, your mask of righteousness deceives the elders,
but not me.
I know what you are.
You wish to make me your wife,
even though I am your sister.
That night—you forced me, and I cannot forget.
Do you think I will accept it?
Do you think I will submit?
I will bear the mask of patience,
but one day, when I stand as Clan Leader,
the revenge of that night will fall upon you.
Your calm, your schemes, your gentle smile—
they will all crumble beneath my blade."
She spoke aloud, her voice still gentle:
"Little brother, if you truly think the courtyard is old,
then allow me to oversee the rebuilding.
It would please me to take such burdens from you."
Qing Yao finally turned,
his eyes as still as the pond,
yet beneath them swam shadows deeper than goldfish could ever disturb.
"No, sister.
You need only rest.
There are other matters I will entrust to you in time.
For now… let me bear the weight."
Their gazes met—
one smiling, one serene.
Yet between those smiles lay danger,
two serpents coiled in the same den,
each waiting for the other to blink first.
And above it all,
the maple leaves drifted down without care,
painting the courtyard in red silence,
as though mocking the secret war of blood and desire
that brewed beneath their shade.