The first rays of sunlight crested over the distant peaks of the 归墟山脉 (Guī Xū Shānmài), spilling golden light over the temple’s ancient stonework. The once somber gray courtyard now glowed with soft warmth, its long shadows stretching lazily across the timeworn path. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and the earthy aroma of moss clinging to the temple walls.

  The temple porch remained still except for the gentle swaying of a hammock strung brazenly between two weathered pillars. A garish thing, bright and flamboyant, far removed from the muted tones of the temple. It clashed against the sacred silence of the morning, a foreign splash of color amid years of solitude.

  Within the hammock, Zhen Wei reclined in false slumber. His long white hair cascaded over the woven fabric, rising and falling ever so slightly with each feigned breath. His hands, crossed lazily over his stomach, shifted just enough to tilt the ornate fan resting between his fingers. The so-called “Sleeping Immortal” was, of course, not asleep at all. Gods did not need sleep.

  No, Zhen Wei was simply enjoying the moment. Through the narrowest of slits between his lashes, he observed Mo Chen as the man stepped onto the porch, his expression caught between reluctant acceptance and deep-seated exasperation.

  Mo Chen’s gaze landed on the hammock with visible regret. He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his temples, as if trying to recall the precise moment he had lost control of the situation.

  “How did I let him stay?”

  He had insisted that the guest remain outside, unwilling to allow his quiet sanctuary to be fully disturbed. Yet somehow, in the ever-weaving dance of words and gestures that Zhen Wei excelled in, the man had convinced him otherwise. The fan’s subtle spell had helped, of course, an insidious little thing that made resistance seem exhausting.

  Mo Chen sighed, stepping past the still-reclining Zhen Wei and into the courtyard, where the sun pooled in golden patches between the temple eaves. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp morning air, the lingering chill of night chased away by the warmth of dawn.

  His body, hardened by years of training, carried its own stiffness. He arched his back, stretching the tension from his limbs. The movement was purely habit, but it felt good.

  Zhen Wei, still in his hammock, continued his silent observations. Mo Chen looked different in the light. Less like the hardened warrior who carried the weight of a ruined past and more like a man on the verge of waking up from a long, self-imposed slumber.

  Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

  A warm breeze swept through the courtyard, rustling through the cracks in the temple stone, stirring something that had been lifeless for years.

  Mo Chen caught a flicker of motion from the corner of his eye. His gaze shifted toward the ancient tree, a gnarled, twisted thing standing against the temple walls, its bark brittle and cracked from age. It had been dead for as long as he had lived here, a symbol of the stillness that had settled over this place.

  But now, tiny green buds had begun to emerge.

  The sight held him still. Life, where there had been none.

  He stepped forward, eyes tracing the delicate leaves unfurling in the wind. It was strange, too strange.

  Behind him, the rustling of fabric signaled another presence stepping onto the porch.

  Xu Lian emerged, stretching her arms over her head before dropping them with a satisfied sigh. She felt better than she had in weeks. Well-rested, clear-headed. No strange dreams, no burdens weighing on her mind. Just the crisp morning air, the scent of old wood and stone, and the gentle hum of peace lingering in the quiet.

  Her eyes fell on Zhen Wei’s outlandish hammock first, then to Mo Chen standing in the courtyard, his gaze locked onto something beyond her line of sight. A contemplative expression softened his usually unreadable features.

  Xu Lian smiled.

  The morning breeze ruffled the hem of her dress, sweeping a few loose strands of hair across her face. She brushed them aside absently, turning her attention fully to the scene before her.

  Something about this moment felt strangely significant.

  Even Zhen Wei, for all his usual theatrics, remained still. Watching. Waiting.

  The wind carried with it the scent of something unfamiliar. Something ancient. Something coming.

  And somewhere, far beyond mortal sight, a celestial creature had begun its descent.

  The air shifted.

  A stillness settled over the temple, subtle but undeniable. Even the morning breeze, warm and light, seemed to still for just a moment.

  Mo Chen’s fingers twitched at his side. A presence approached.

  Without hesitation, he unsheathed Beidou, the sword’s polished blade catching the morning light as he readied himself to strike. The presence did not feel demonic, but it did feel else. Unfamiliar. Unusually powerful.

  A quiet pressure settled over the temple, something that whispered of forces beyond the ordinary.

  Zhen Wei let out a low chuckle from his hammock.

  “Oh, put that thing away, Mo Chen,” he drawled, flicking open his fan with an exaggerated flourish. “Must you greet everything with a blade? The Sword of the Seven Stars, forged under the watchful gaze of the Northern Lords, is hardly needed for a mere bird.”

  Mo Chen’s eyes flickered toward him, a sliver of suspicion creeping in.

  The Sword of the Seven Stars.

  A name not spoken often, one reserved for ancient scripts, celestial prophecies, and the most devout of Daoist scholars. The sword of cosmic judgment, aligned with the stars of Beidou itself, wielded by those who stand at the balance of fate.

  Few would know its true name. Fewer still would speak of it with such offhanded ease.

  Mo Chen ignored him, his grip steady. His gaze remained fixed on the massive eagle descending toward them, its vast wings casting a long shadow over the courtyard.

  A mere bird? Hardly.

  The eagle swooped down in a sharp, soundless arc, its wings catching the golden light of dawn. Not an ordinary bird. It was large, far too large, its feathers streaked with a peculiar silver sheen, its talons glinting like polished steel.

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  It landed with a sharp cry on one of the stone pillars, its intelligent golden eyes scanning the three of them.

  Mo Chen’s expression darkened. This wasn’t just any wandering beast. It was trained. Purposeful.

  The eagle cocked its head, then extended one leg, where a tightly bound scroll rested against its talon. The wax seal that held it shut was unfamiliar, not celestial, nor demonic but something else. A personal insignia, perhaps?

  Zhen Wei grinned as though he had expected this.

  “Ah, a message already? And here I thought I could enjoy my morning in peace,” he mused, hopping down from his hammock with the ease of someone who had absolutely expected this interruption.

  Mo Chen’s eyes narrowed. “Is this yours?”

  Zhen Wei plucked the scroll from the eagle’s grasp with practiced ease. “Mine? Not quite. But let’s just say… I have a few well-placed acquaintances.” He winked, giving the eagle a playful flick on its beak before the bird ruffled its feathers, looking vaguely annoyed.

  Xu Lian, standing nearby, gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

  The eagle, no, not an eagle, the magnificent creature before her was something else entirely. She had never seen anything like it. Its vast wings shimmered in the morning light, the faintest traces of gold and silver dancing along its plumage like rippling water. Its talons, sharp as a masterfully honed blade, clutched the stone pillar with effortless grace, exuding an aura of quiet authority.

  A spirit beast. A divine creature.

  Her fingers curled against the fabric of her robes, heart thudding with a thrill she could barely contain.

  It was beautiful.

  Too beautiful not to touch.

  Without a second thought, she stepped forward, hand lifting instinctively toward the bird’s shimmering plumage.

  Mo Chen stiffened. “Xu Lian!”

  But before he could stop her, the Fènghuáng shifted. Not in alarm, nor in offense, simply… moved.

  A slight tilt of its body, the smallest turn of its head, and suddenly her outstretched fingers met nothing but air.

  Xu Lian blinked, her hand still hovering uselessly mid-motion.

  The Fènghuáng did not flee, nor strike. It merely regarded her in that same steady, unreadable way as if it had already known she would try.

  Zhen Wei snickered behind his fan. “My dear girl, do you often try to pet celestial creatures? Or is today a special occasion?”

  Mo Chen let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Xu Lian, for once in your life, think before you act.”

  She barely heard them.

  The great bird turned its head toward her, emerald green eyes locking onto hers for the briefest of moments. A weight pressed against her chest, not heavy, but vast, ancient, knowing. It was as if the creature saw through her, into her very soul, measuring something she didn’t yet understand.

  The moment passed in a blink, and the Fènghuáng, if that’s truly what it was… ruffled its feathers, waiting.

  Xu Lian exhaled, only now realizing she had been holding her breath.

  She barely noticed Mo Chen and Zhen Wei’s exchange; all she could think was, If a creature like this exists, what else has been hidden from me all my life?

  Xu Lian turned to Zhen Wei. “Who sent it?”

  Zhen Wei unfurled the scroll, scanning the contents in silence. For the briefest of moments, his smile faltered.

  The flicker was so quick, so minute, that Xu Lian might have missed it entirely had she not been watching him closely.

  But Mo Chen saw it too.

  Whatever was written there, Zhen Wei wasn’t expecting it.

  The expression passed in an instant, his easygoing grin returning as he tapped the scroll against his palm. “Well, it seems fate has chosen to be particularly demanding this morning.”

  Mo Chen crossed his arms. “Speak plainly.”

  Zhen Wei exhaled, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “Willow’s Rest,” he said at last. “A small village tucked away in the mountains. Nowhere particularly special. Certainly not anywhere you’d know.”

  He twirled the scroll between his fingers.

  “And yet, that is precisely where we need to go.”

  And with that, the Fènghuáng shifted, its long tail feathers trailing in a slow, fluid arc behind it, shimmering like molten gold in the morning light. Then, without warning, it unfurled its vast wings.

  The motion was impossibly smooth, a single, effortless sweep that sent a powerful gust spiraling through the courtyard.

  Xu Lian staggered back as the wind whipped around them, swirling up loose petals and dust, sending the edges of her robe fluttering wildly. Mo Chen’s long sleeves snapped in the sudden gale, his dark hair rippling in the rush of air. Even Zhen Wei had to tilt his head slightly as his fan threatened to fly from his grasp.

  The temple’s ancient trees trembled as the Fènghuáng’s wings caught the sky, their iridescent feathers refracting light in waves of gold, crimson, and sapphire.

  Then, in one magnificent motion, the Fènghuáng launched upward.

  The ground trembled faintly as its talons released their hold on the stone pillar, the sheer force of its ascent leaving swirling spirals of displaced air in its wake. Its massive form cut through the sky like a streak of living fire, its emerald eyes flashing once, sharp, and knowing, before it vanished into the boundless blue.

  The wind lingered for a moment, rustling through the grass, sending the last traces of dust spiraling into the heavens.

  Xu Lian exhaled shakily.

  The world suddenly felt... too quiet.

  Mo Chen let his hand drop from Beidou’s hilt, his expression unreadable.

  Zhen Wei flicked his fan open, tapping it against his chin as he surveyed the sky where the Fènghuáng had disappeared.

  “Well,” he mused, voice laced with something far too knowing, “that was dramatic.”

  Mo Chen remained still, his eyes lingering on the sealed message in Zhen Wei’s grasp.

  Something about this didn’t sit right.

  He looked back at Zhen Wei, watching the way the man remained too casual.

  The way he smiled too easily.

  Zhen Wei met his gaze, unreadable.

  “Well, my friends?” He spread his arms as if he had all the time in the world. “Shall we take a little detour?”

  The wind had settled, but the weight of the Fènghuáng’s departure still lingered. The three of them stood in its absence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, until Xu Lian broke the silence.

  “Well,” she said brightly, brushing stray dust from her sleeves, “that was incredible. When do we leave?”

  Mo Chen turned to her with the same expression one might give a reckless child about to run headfirst into a pit of vipers. “We’re not leaving.”

  Xu Lian blinked. “What?”

  “I said, we’re not leaving.” Mo Chen’s arms crossed, his voice firm, final. “I don’t see why a giant bird’s morning visit means we need to abandon the temple and charge off into the unknown.”

  Xu Lian gaped at him. “Are you serious? Did we just witness the same thing?” She gestured wildly to the empty sky where the Fènghuáng had vanished. “That was a sign, Mo Chen. A celestial sign. This…” she pointed to the pillar where the creature had perched “was fate knocking on our door and practically dragging us toward Willow’s Rest. How can you not see that?”

  Mo Chen exhaled slowly through his nose. “Fate,” he muttered, as if the word itself left a bitter taste.

  Zhen Wei, who had been observing their exchange with thinly veiled amusement, took a lazy step forward, folding his arms behind his back. “Ah, fate. A tricky thing, isn’t it? You can try to ignore it, run from it, even sneer at it but in the end, it always finds a way.”

  Mo Chen shot him a glare. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

  “I do love a good tale unfolding before my eyes,” Zhen Wei admitted, flicking open his fan. “And I must say, my dear friend, resisting fate is one of my favorite tragedies to watch play out.”

  Xu Lian huffed. “It’s not just about fate. It’s about trust.” She turned fully to Mo Chen, her expression open, earnest. “I know you don’t trust Zhen Wei yet, but do you trust me?”

  Mo Chen hesitated.

  The answer was obvious of course he did. But trust had always been a double-edged blade, one that had carved its wounds into his past more times than he could count.

  Xu Lian pressed forward. “You keep telling me that cultivation is about growth. About strengthening our will. Well, how are we supposed to grow if we just sit here, ignoring literal celestial omens?”

  Mo Chen’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Cultivation is also about caution.”

  Zhen Wei clicked his tongue. “Ah, yes. Caution. The great Mo Chen, master of retreat.”

  Mo Chen’s gaze snapped toward him.

  “Careful,” he warned, voice dangerously low.

  Zhen Wei simply smiled, unshaken