The Shen Yao capital was alive.
From the gates to the farthest alleys, the city pulsed with energy — a living tapestry of color, sound, and motion. Golden banners bearing the Shen Empire's emblem fluttered from rooftops, their silk catching the morning light like flames in the wind. Decorative lanterns in red and jade green swayed above the main avenues, and ornamental archways carved with dragons and phoenixes marked the crossroads.
It was the face of the strongest empire on all five continents — and it intended to be remembered.
In just three days, the once-in-fifteen-years Five Continents Tournament would begin. Already, the city brimmed with guests and competitors from every corner of the world. Merchants hawked delicacies from far-off kingdoms, storytellers recited tales of past champions to enthralled crowds, and performers juggled flaming blades beneath the gaze of richly dressed visitors.
The inns and hotels had long since filled to bursting; wealthy families and clans had bought up entire streets of residences to host their entourages. Those too late to find rooms now slept in lavishly decorated tents outside the city walls.
Betting houses ran without pause, their boards constantly updated with new odds. The most popular contenders were whispered about in every tea house, and wagers were exchanged in amounts that could buy small estates. Information brokers thrived — selling rumors of injuries, secret techniques, and the hidden training grounds of rival factions. Ticket sellers shouted themselves hoarse at the gates, offering prime seating to the highest bidder. Many bought them in bulk, not for themselves, but to resell at outrageous prices once the desperate latecomers arrived.
It was chaos.
It was commerce.
It was Shen Yao at its most alive.
In the center of the imperial palace, where the gardens were a world apart from the noise outside, a different kind of energy stirred.
Amid the scent of plum blossoms and the gentle ripple of koi ponds, Princess Shen Ruòxuě faced three of her personal female guards in a training match.
She moved like flowing water — graceful, unhurried — yet every step carried precision born from countless hours of discipline. Though she was only at the middle stage of the Elemental Baptism Realm, she matched and surpassed her opponents, two of whom had already reached the late stage.
The three guards fought with their elements and techniques, sweat beading their brows, yet Ruòxuě countered with nothing but pure hand-to-hand combat. No techniques. No elements.
Her snow-white hand shot forward in a strike that seemed gentle, almost delicate.
"Earth Armor!" one guard called softly, weaving her hands. A thin yet unyielding layer of earthen energy covered her body, bracing her for the incoming blow.
The princess's punch landed against the woman's shoulder.
A loud crack split the air.
The guard's scream followed an instant later. She staggered back, clutching her arm, pain twisting her features.
"Lightning Fist!" another guard cried, her fist blazing with condensed arcs of pale blue lightning. She darted forward, lightning crackling toward the princess's chest.
Ruòxuě tilted her head, letting the strike pass within a hair's breadth. In the same motion, she launched a counterattack at the third guard.
The woman's fingers blurred through a sequence of seals. "Earth Wall!"
The ground surged upward, forming a barrier of compacted stone between them.
This time, Ruòxuě's eyes narrowed. Lightning gathered around her hand she had finally used a technique lightning fist— not the faint sparks of her opponent's earlier attack, but a focused, searing power that made the air hum.
Her strike met the wall.
Stone shattered into fragments, dust bursting outward in a gritty wave.
Though the attack had lost more than half its strength, it still struck the guard's raised palms with devastating force.
Her scream tore through the garden as she fell to her knees, hands mangled and bloodied.
Ruòxuě's eyes widened. She immediately abandoned her advance, kneeling beside the injured woman. "Don't you ever use your bare hands to block me again," she said firmly, voice tinged with guilt. "I still can't fully control my strength — it's too dangerous."
Turning to the last guard, she ordered, "Go. Fetch the imperial doctor."
But the injured woman shook her head, grimacing through the pain. "Your Highness, I can walk there myself… please don't trouble yourself."
All three guards, even the injured ones, looked at her with deep respect and admiration.
Ruòxuě was about to insist when a quiet cough broke the moment.
They turned.
At the edge of the garden stood Emperor Shen Hóngtú, hands clasped behind his back. His presence seemed to still the air.
The princess and the guards bowed deeply.
"Leave us," the emperor said, his gaze never shifting from his daughter.
The guards obeyed at once, disappearing into the covered walkway.
Father and daughter stood facing one another. For a moment, neither spoke. The emperor's eyes softened — a rare thing — and a faint smile touched his lips as he shook his head. He could see she was still angry at him, yet he did not address it.
Instead, he spoke of the coming tournament.
"Ruòxuě… no matter what, you must take first place. Bring glory to our empire."
She nodded, but his gaze sharpened.
"I have faith in your strength — but do not underestimate your opponents. The powers behind them have spent years preparing for this. In the first round, hold back. Do not show your full strength unless it is truly necessary. If they see the extent of your abilities too soon, they will unite against you."
He turned away, the conversation over. "Remember my words."
As he left the garden, similar conversations were unfolding across the continent — sect leaders, clan heads, and royal families each giving their chosen champions their final instructions before the great competition began.
Far to the east, where clouds kissed the peaks of a mountain range older than memory, the Yōuxuán Sect prepared for departure.
At the base of the tallest mountain stood a grand gate of stone, its pillars carved with swirling clouds and beasts of legend. At its heart was a monumental slab inscribed with three bold characters: Yōuxuán Sect.
Above, the mountain's summit was lost in drifting mists. Here, the air shimmered faintly with spiritual energy. The landscape was both mystical and breathtaking — towering pines, crystal-clear streams, and terraces of flowers blooming in impossible colors.
At the peak, the mountain flattened into a wide, open plateau where an old man sat in serene stillness. His hair was white as snow, his beard long and flowing, his robe plain yet carrying the quiet weight of authority. Old Man Yōuxuán, founder of the sect, opened his eyes slowly.
Before him knelt six young disciples — four men and two women.
By his side stood a dignified woman with calm eyes and commanding presence: Yōuxuán Lan, his niece and the sect's current leader.
"You six will accompany me to Shen Yao," she said. "Your junior sister Shen Ruòxuě will represent her clan separately — she will not be part of your group. Remember where you come from, and what you represent. Do not bring shame to our sect's name."
Her voice was steady, carrying a quiet weight that made the young disciples bow their heads lower.
In unison, they replied, "We understand!"
Old Man Yōuxuán rose to his feet. He gave a single whistle.
A shadow fell across the plateau.
From the clouds descended a giant bird, its wingspan so vast that a hundred people could stand upon its back. Its feathers shimmered between deep blue and silver, and its eyes glowed faintly with intelligence.
The bird landed with a rush of wind, folding its wings neatly as the old man patted its neck.
He climbed onto its back, followed by Yōuxuán Lan, then the six disciples.
With a single beat of its wings, the bird launched skyward. The world below became a blur, the wind whipping past as the Yōuxuán Sect soared toward Shen Yao — toward the stage where the fates of the five continents would soon intertwine.