At Mirror Lake, within the Meng estate, in the study.
Meng Chuan had been training with his blade the entire day. Though his spirit remained sharp, his true qi was depleted and his body fatigued. Rest was necessary. As always, he came to the study to perform his daily ritual—painting.
A paperweight held down the rice paper, and beside it lay a fine palette filled with rich pigments of the highest quality.
Meng Chuan bent over the desk, wholly absorbed in his work.
From his earliest years, painting had been his passion. Perhaps it was because his mother excelled at it and had taught him. When he was three or four, he could sit for hours sketching without pause, forgetting meals, splattered in ink and colors, yet smiling with joy. His mother used to say, "My son's talent is unmatched. One day, he will be the finest painter under heaven, and his work worth a fortune."
Born into the Meng family, adored by his parents, he once knew no worries.
But at six years old… disaster struck. Tens of thousands perished, including his mother.
Sheltered by the desperate sacrifice of his parents, he escaped to the city of Dongning. Since then, he had devoted himself to cultivation. Yet still, every day, he set aside an hour to paint. In those moments, his exhaustion faded. It was as though he had returned to childhood, with his mother gently guiding his hand. His heart grew calm.
Now fifteen, he had been painting for more than a decade. He had studied under several masters and surpassed them all. His mother had been right—his gift for painting far outshone his talent for the blade.
But what use was it?
Could even the greatest painter slay a demon?
A hurried knock came at the study door.
"Hmm?" Meng Chuan frowned. "Strange. No one usually disturbs me while I paint."
He set aside his brush and opened the door. His father, Meng Dajiang, stood there. Normally cheerful, his expression was unusually grave.
"Chuan'er, come with me to the ancestral hall. Quickly," Meng Dajiang said.
"Yes, Father."
Meng Chuan followed at once. "Father, why have you been going to the ancestral hall so often these past few days?"
"It's nothing," Meng Dajiang replied curtly.
"Then what business do I have there now?" Meng Chuan asked. A junior like him only visited three to five times a year.
Meng Dajiang glanced at his son, then said, "It concerns your betrothal to Yun Qingping. The Yun and Meng families have agreed to dissolve the engagement."
"What?" Meng Chuan was startled. "Why so suddenly?"
"Are you reluctant?" his father asked, studying him.
"No." Meng Chuan shook his head. "I see her only once every few months. Our tempers clash. Ending it is no loss. It's a good thing."
At fifteen, he knew nothing of love. To him, Yun Qingping was merely a somewhat willful younger cousin-like figure. Nothing more.
"Good. That's the right way to see it," Meng Dajiang said. "The two families have agreed. When we arrive, you need only listen. Speak little."
"Yes, Father."

The Meng ancestral estate stood in the western quarter of Dongning City, sprawling in size and home to more than two thousand clansmen. From its southern gate to its northern hall stretched a mile along the central axis.
But the Meng family's true foundation lay in the countryside, where villages gathered into fortified hamlets to resist demon threats. Each fortress housed thousands, and entire clans lived together within. After a thousand years of growth, the Meng had three such fortresses, with more than ten thousand kin in total. Families of this scale were not rare in Dongning Prefecture.
What set the Meng apart was the presence of godfiends among them. That alone placed them among the five great godfiend clans of the prefecture.
"Elder."
"Elder."
As father and son entered, patrolling clansmen bowed respectfully to Meng Dajiang, addressing him by title.
Among the Meng, his strength ranked in the top three. Still young, with a slim chance of becoming a godfiend, he was the designated heir to the patriarch's seat.

Inside the reception hall, the air was tense.
On one side sat the Meng elders, their expressions dark. Opposite them were members of the Yun family, led by Yun Fuan, who rose with a smile.
"Brother Dajiang, you've come. You've brought the marriage contract?"
"I have," Meng Dajiang replied evenly.
"Good. The elders have no objections to annulling the engagement. You have none either, I trust?" Yun Fuan asked.
"Two families united is well if both are willing. If not, it's better to dissolve sooner than later. Here is the contract."
He produced a scroll from his robes and handed it over. Yun Fuan unrolled it, confirming the handwriting. It was indeed the original, signed by their ancestors.
"Yun Fuan, best tear it here, before us all," said a bald, gaunt elder of the Meng.
"Ha! Afraid I'll take it back and use it to force the marriage later?" Yun Fuan chuckled. "I'd never stoop to such shamelessness."
"Rip—" He tore the contract in two.
"There. You've seen it. Rest easy now." His gaze swept across the Meng elders before he turned to leave.
As he passed Meng Chuan, he paused, smiling thinly. "Nephew Meng, remember this well. From this day forth, you and my daughter Qingping are strangers."
"Yes. Strangers," Meng Chuan answered calmly.
Satisfied, Yun Fuan departed with his retinue.
Meng Dajiang frowned slightly. "Chuan'er, the matter is settled. Return home for now. I still have business here."
"Yes, Father." Meng Chuan bowed and withdrew.

The hall doors closed with a heavy thud. Candlelight flickered across the elders' faces.
"Intolerable! Intolerable!" the bald elder shouted, striking his cane against the floor.
"They pretend to consult us, but we had no choice. What would you have us do—force the union? If we pressed, the Yun patriarch would swat us like flies!" scoffed a dark-skinned elder.
"Letting go is better," said a scholarly one. "Forcing the young into marriage only breeds resentment. What we need is alliance, not enmity. Besides, this betrothal is nothing. What truly endangers us is Third Sister's injury." He turned to the stout patriarch at the head. "Patriarch, can she truly not be healed?"
The patriarch frowned. "She will return to Dongning in a few days. We will see then."
The elders fell silent, their faces grave.
The Meng clan's pillar was crumbling. If news spread, panic would sweep their ten thousand kin. For now, only the elders knew. Yet the other four great godfiend families had already caught wind, though none had dared speak openly. Even so, everyone knew: without a godfiend, the Meng would lose their standing.
Power and responsibility were inseparable.
In this world, from commoners to godfiends, none could shirk their duty.
Even mortals who reached the Marrow-Cleansing Realm, regardless of gender, were conscripted at twenty for five years of service. Barely half survived. Still, people strove to reach that level, for the weak had no worth—even the law denied them access to many professions. Such was the cruelty of survival.
As for godfiends, they were the backbone of humanity, waging war their whole lives. Even in retirement, they guarded their hometowns. A godfiend's rise brought glory to his clan. His death stripped it away.

By the time Meng Chuan returned home, dusk had fallen.
"Ah Chuan, come eat. When I heard you and Uncle Meng had gone to the ancestral hall, I thought you wouldn't return for supper." Liu Qiyue greeted him with a smile, eating porridge and flatbread.
He sat opposite her, a maid serving his bowl. Yet as he sipped, his thoughts drifted.
"You're unusually quiet. What happened?" Qiyue asked.
"Oh." He blinked, then said casually, "The Yun and Meng families agreed to dissolve my engagement with Yun Qingping."
"Dissolved?" Her eyes lit up.
"Yes. They tore the contract on the spot," he nodded.
She studied him. "Are you sad? You've been staring into your bowl."
"No," he shook his head quickly. "You know we never got along. She's pleased, and I'm relieved. It's good for both of us. Why should I be sad?"
"Then why the long face?" Qiyue pressed.
"It doesn't add up." His brows furrowed. "That marriage was arranged by our two ancestors themselves. At the very least, the Yun family should have sent their three elders. But only Yun Fuan came—the most insignificant of them. That's the first oddity.
"Second, our patriarch and elders were clearly displeased, yet not one of them spoke out. Since when have they been so patient?
"Third, Yun Fuan usually fawns before my father. Today he acted bold. Where did his confidence come from?
"And above all, such a betrothal would not be broken without cause. What reason could outweigh the word of our ancestors?"
Meng Chuan looked at her. "Either the Yuns have gained a mighty backer… or something is wrong with our Meng family."
Qiyue blinked, astonished. "I never thought you so perceptive."
He laughed. "Just guesses. Father must have his reasons for keeping silent."
"Well, for someone whose engagement was just canceled, you're smiling too much. Eat your bread," she teased.
"Bread it is." He tore into it with gusto.