Dawn broke over the Shen Yao Capital, washing the city in hues of gold and crimson. The morning bells rang through the imperial district, their deep, resonant chimes rolling across rooftops and market streets like a call to arms.
The great Five Continents Tournament was now only two days away.
From the highest spires to the busiest alleyways, the city pulsed with anticipation. The scent of steamed buns, spiced tea, and grilled meats filled the air as vendors worked tirelessly from before sunrise. Carp streamers fluttered overhead alongside banners bearing the crests of foreign powers, each marking the presence of a visiting delegation.
The city gates had become rivers of color and steel.
Armored escorts marched in tight formation, guarding palanquins draped in rare silks and carriages inlaid with gemstones. The arrival of each faction drew murmurs from the crowd — a rare chance to glimpse the elites of the world.
From the Northern Continent, the Bai Clan entered first, their warriors clad in snow-white armor that glimmered like ice. Frost mist trailed from their boots as they passed, their faces stern and cold as their homeland, huang clan, luo tong empire
From the Western Continent, the Scorpion Blade Sect made their entrance. Black-veiled riders on sand-beasts the size of horses trotted in a silent, deadly procession. Curved scimitars gleamed in the early light, each one whispering of countless battles fought under scorching suns, the desert clan, the sand demons sect.
The Southern Continent announced itself with music — the Azure Tide Pavilion arrived aboard a floating jade platform drawn by twin sea serpents, their cultivators in flowing aquamarine robes, every step leaving ripples of water in the air, The Gu yue clan, the sword sect, the five elements combat sect the feng clan had all arrived.
And from the Eastern Continent, the Crimson Wing Clan soared overhead on enormous spirit eagles, their banners streaming like flames against the sky, the flying crane sect, the Su clan, the mystical pavilion and the majestic mist empire all arrived, these were the super powers of the eastern continent
The streets roared with excitement at each arrival. Children waved. Merchants whispered deals. Spies in plain clothes shadowed the visiting powers, already seeking weaknesses to exploit.
In the Imperial Palace, Emperor Shen Hóngtú stood before a large map in the Hall of Heaven's Mandate.
A cluster of ministers, generals, and elders from the imperial clan stood in a respectful arc behind him. At his side, General Shen Língxiāo reported the latest arrivals, his voice steady.
"All major factions save the Yōuxuán Sect have entered the capital, Your Majesty. Their vanguard scouts have already secured positions near the arena. Tensions between the Northern Frost delegation and the Western Desert envoys have flared twice, but no blood has been spilled — yet."
The emperor's eyes narrowed slightly, tracing the map where the foreign embassies had been marked.
"Keep them apart. The tournament arena is for competition, not settling old grudges. The last thing I want is a diplomatic crisis before the first match."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
A servant hurried in, kneeling.
"Your Majesty, scouts report a great shadow crossing the eastern horizon… a spirit beast of immense size is approaching the city at high speed."
The emperor's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"So… the Yōuxuán Sect finally arrives."
The midday sun blazed high, yet the light dimmed as a vast shadow swept over the Shen Yao Capital.
People looked up.
Gasps and cries rang out as the figure of a colossal bird emerged from the eastern skies — its wings spanning so wide that whole streets fell into shade. Each beat of those wings stirred the air into roaring gusts, rattling windows and sending flags snapping like war drums.
Its feathers shimmered like polished onyx, but when the sunlight caught them just right, streaks of deep azure danced across its form. Its talons were like curved blades of gold, each large enough to crush a carriage. Upon its back, a platform carved from ancient spiritwood held the passengers of the Yōuxuán Sect.
At the very front stood Old Man Yōuxuán himself, a figure of serene majesty. His long white hair fluttered in the wind, his deep eyes calm, yet carrying an unfathomable weight — the kind of presence that made even seasoned cultivators lower their gaze. Beside him stood Sect Leader Yōuxuán Lán, her sharp beauty softened by her tranquil poise, though the pressure in her aura warned she was not one to be crossed.
Six young cultivators stood behind them — the handpicked disciples to represent the sect in the tournament. Each radiated a distinct elemental aura, like stars in different constellations. They did not look around in awe like ordinary travelers; their gazes were steady, filled with the quiet pride of those who belonged to the strongest sect in all five continents.
The giant bird circled once above the city before descending toward the Imperial Palace. Its landing shook the flagstones of the Grand Plaza, though not a single feather strayed from its pristine form.
Rows of imperial guards, clad in gold and crimson, knelt in unison, their voices rising in a formal greeting:
"Welcome, honored guests of the Yōuxuán Sect!"
Emperor Shen Hóngtú himself descended the steps of the Hall of Heaven's Mandate to greet them. He wore his ceremonial robe — black as night with golden threadwork forming the image of a soaring dragon. His gaze met Old Man Yōuxuán's, and for a moment, two titanic auras brushed against one another in silent acknowledgment.
"It has been too long, Senior Yōuxuán," the emperor said, his voice deep yet carrying a rare note of respect. "Your presence honors my empire."
Old Man Yōuxuán smiled faintly. "And yours, mine. May this gathering bring glory to the Shen Empire… and to the martial world."
The formal greetings ended quickly. With a few practiced gestures, the emperor led Old Man Yōuxuán and Sect Leader Yōuxuán Lán into the Hall of Heaven's Mandate. The towering doors shut behind them, sealing away the noise of the plaza.
Inside, the air was cooler, scented faintly with sandalwood incense. Sunlight streamed through latticed windows, casting golden patterns over the polished jade floor.
The two great men sat across from one another — the emperor upon his dragon-carved throne, Old Man Yōuxuán upon a seat reserved only for the most honored guests.
No court officials were present. No scribes. Not even the imperial guards. The only others in the hall were Sect Leader Lán and General Shen Língxiāo, standing at silent attention like statues of steel.
The emperor spoke first.
"Senior Yōuxuán's arrival three days before the tournament — a courtesy I deeply appreciate. But I wonder… is it merely courtesy?"
Old Man Yōuxuán chuckled softly, his eyes half-lidded. "Courtesy… and foresight. The Five Continents Tournament is more than a stage for youth to display their brilliance. It is also the stage upon which empires and sects measure their strength."
A faint, knowing smile touched the emperor's lips. "Then we are of one mind."
Sect Leader Lán's gaze sharpened slightly. "Ruòxuě will compete, my main intention for coming was because she made me promise her that i will come"
"She will." Shen Hóngtú's voice carried the weight of unshakable certainty. "And she will not fail me.
For a moment, the silence stretched — not empty, but dense, as if the four in the room were measuring every word and every breath.
Old Man Yōuxuán eventually broke it. "There are those from the Eastern Sea Alliance, the Northern Snow Court, the Western Flame Empire… and the Southern Abyss Hall who have sent their prodigies. Some of them… will not play fair."
The emperor's expression cooled and made a contemptuous smile, though his tone remained level. "Let them try. My Shen Empire has never feared shadows in the dark."
Yōuxuán's eyes gleamed faintly. "Confidence is a blade, Your Majesty. Sharp… but dangerous when overdrawn."
At this, General Shen Língxiāo took a subtle step forward, his hand resting lightly against the hilt of his sword, though he spoke nothing
Sect Leader Lán broke the rising tension with a graceful bow.
"Our sect has no intention of crossing the Shen Empire's path. In fact… there may be opportunities to ensure mutual benefit, should events unfold as I suspect they will."
The emperor's gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat before turning back to Old Man Yōuxuán. "We shall see. For now, let us ensure that the opening ceremony proceeds without… incident."
Old Man Yōuxuán's faint smile returned. "Indeed. May the best… or perhaps the most cunning… emerge victorious."
Outside the sealed hall, rumors were already spreading through the capital like wildfire — whispers of alliances, of feuds rekindled, and of wagers not just on the battles in the arena, but on the political storm brewing behind them.
And somewhere in the heart of the bustling city, unseen eyes and ears worked tirelessly, ready to turn the smallest spark into an inferno.
Beyond the walls of the palace, the capital's brilliance hid the silent wars already being waged in shadowed rooms.
Southern Abyss Hall — Guest Manor, Shen Yao Capital
Inside a darkened hall draped with black and crimson silks, the Hall Master of the Southern Abyss Hall sat cross-legged upon an obsidian chair. His eyes were closed as though he were meditating, but his voice carried clearly to the six robed youths kneeling before him.
"In this tournament," he began, "victory is not won through pride alone. Use any method you deem necessary… so long as it does not violate the rules."
He tapped the armrest of his chair softly, each sound echoing like a measured heartbeat.
"We are not in our own waters here. The Shen Yao Empire and the other top powers of the central continent are too great to offend needlessly. Avoid unnecessary conflict… unless it serves your advancement."
The disciples bowed deeply. "We understand, Hall Master."
A faint smile crossed his lips. "Good. Win — and let the results speak for us.
Lu Clan — Eastern Wing Pavilion
Far from the city, in the Lu Clan's temporary residence, a different kind of meeting unfolded.
Lu Nui sat beside her older brother — the same man who had received her azure bird days ago. His cold smirk had not faded since.
"You've already given the rumor wings," he said, pouring himself wine. "By the time the tournament begins, half the continent will be whispering about Shen Hóngtú's 'flawless' lineage being flawed after all."
Lu Nui sipped her cup delicately. "Rumors are seeds. We'll water them during the tournament. A small… accident to a Shen Yao participant here and there will make the court look weak."
The two siblings clinked cups, the sound like a quiet omen.
Bàtiān Sect — Mountain Camp Outside the Capital
The Bàtiān Sect's temporary camp was a fortress of stone and steel tents, guarded by cultivators in heavy armor. At its center, the sect's leader, Bàtiān Zhàn, stood before twenty disciples.
His voice was calm, yet the quiet weight of command filled the air.
"This tournament is our stage. I expect each of you to fight without hesitation, and if your opponent is from Shen Yao… leave them with wounds that will remember you."
His gaze settled on a tall, broad-shouldered youth with sharp, hawk-like eyes.
"Ling Han."
The young man stepped forward, fist over heart. "Yes, Sect Master."
"You have been our hidden blade for many years — the trump card the world has yet to see. The sect places its faith in you. Do not bring shame to our name."
Ling Han bowed, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. "I will not disappoint."