“Going somewhere, Sovereign?”
The voice was a silken blade, slicing through the brief silence. Kuang Mian’s hand, poised at the door latch, paused. She didn't turn immediately, her fingers still resting on the cool, polished wood as if considering whether to simply push through the imposing figure and walk away. The aura radiating from the Vice-Master pressed down on the floorboards, dense and familiar.
She finally turned, a faint, almost imperceptible curl of her lip the only sign of her true thoughts. His face was a mask of stark bone and severe angles, shadowed by the deep cowl of his midnight robes. Two eyes, like chips of ancient ice, bored into her. Xiang Wu had coveted her seat for decades, finally staging a revolt the moment she slashed the sect's medicinal stipends. How utterly predictable.
“Xiang Wu,” she stated, her voice as flat and unconcerned as if she were addressing a particularly persistent tradesman. “Still chasing after me like a lost puppy, I see. My apologies, I had assumed you’d inherited the throne by now. Have the Blood-Ash cult’s retirement benefits not improved? I seem to recall the previous leader’s ultimate reward was a sharp blade and a shallow grave.”
Xiang Wu’s icy composure fractured. A flicker of raw fury ignited in his eyes. “You speak of the cult as if it means nothing, usurper! You left us shattered, scattered, while you indulged in this pathetic masquerade as a disciple of the Crane Peak!” His gaze swept over the opulent chamber, lingering with undisguised contempt on the finely carved jade and gilded furnishings.
“Pathetic?” Kuang Mian raised a delicate eyebrow, a picture of aristocratic disdain. “My dear Xiang Wu, I am about to acquire ten million spirit stones. Tell me, what grand prize did your betrayal earn you? Another three years of hiding in damp caves, squabbling over meager rations while your underlings plot your own demise?”
His jaw tightened. “The cult demands your return. Your techniques are unmatched. With you at the helm, we will reclaim our former glory, seize the treasuries of the Crane Peak, and crush these self-proclaimed righteous fools beneath our heels!” He took a step further into the room, his hand reaching for the hilt of a curved, dark blade that hummed with foul intent.
Kuang Mian merely scoffed. “Glory? Is that what you call it? I call it a terrible business model. Constant risk, no reliable income, and the only 'retirement plan' involves being hunted by a thousand righteous disciples until you’re reduced to ash. No, thank you. I’m quite content with my current arrangement. Far more lucrative.” She gestured vaguely around the room. “As for the Crane Peak’s storehouses, I believe I am already handling those, thank you very much.”
“You would betray your own kind for these… these trinkets?” Xiang Wu’s voice was a low growl.
Kuang Mian’s eyes narrowed, a cold glint appearing in their depths. “My ‘kind’ tried to kill me because I dared to balance their ledgers. You want me to lead? Very well.” With a flick of her wrist, she produced a heavy, embroidered satchel from her spatial ring – the same satchel she’d filled with gold ingots and rare spirit jades from Elder Lin’s private vault just hours ago. She tossed it casually across the room. It landed with a dull thud at Xiang Wu’s feet, spilling a cascade of shimmering gold and jade.
“Consider that your severance package,” she said, completely deadpan. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a tax fleet to commandeer. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Before Xiang Wu could react, a furious shout echoed from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. “Bai Yulu! What in the Azure Heavens is happening here?”
Feng Zihuan burst into the room, his eyes blazing with protective fury. He skidded to a halt at the sight of Xiang Wu, his expression twisting into one of bewildered rage as he took in the shadowed figure and the spilled treasure. “You! How dare you accost my fiancée!”
Xiang Wu’s head snapped towards Feng Zihuan, a predatory glint entering his gaze. “The sect’s arrogant puppy. Good. A perfect sacrifice to announce the Sovereign’s return.” He lunged, his dark blade a blur of obsidian light.
Feng Zihuan roared, drawing his gleaming Azure-Phoenix Sword in a flash. “You will not lay a hand on her!”
As the two men clashed, a whirlwind of clashing steel and sparks, Kuang Mian completely ignored the dramatic spectacle. She simply stepped over the still-glowing gold and jade, heading towards the open door. Just outside, Patriarch Tuo Buyan, his ragged robes flapping, was already directing a team of hushed, hurried disciples. They were loading massive crates, each brimming with spirit stones, onto a magnificent skiff paneled in auric timber.
“Ah, Bai Yulu, my dear,” Tuo Buyan cackled, rubbing his hands together. “Right on time! The Ten-Million-Stone tax fleet. A glorious sight, wouldn’t you agree?”
Kuang Mian nodded, her eyes calculating the volume of spirit stones. “Indeed, Patriarch. A truly spectacular haul.” She watched with satisfaction as the last of the heavy crates was secured. The skiff’s silk rigging creaked, ready for flight. The melodramatic clang of steel and shouts of fury from her chamber provided the perfect cover.
“Now for the grand finale,” Kuang Mian murmured, her gaze drifting towards the sprawling gardens below, where elaborate, decorative fountains pulsed with channeled qi, designed to illuminate the courtyards with a gentle shimmer. They were, she knew, also critical nexus points for the peak’s defensive arrays.
With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a torrent of refined shadow-essence into the main conduits of the peak’s primary ornamental fountain system. The attendants below, accustomed to a steady trickle, had no defense against the spiked pressure. A blinding flash ripped across the terraced courtyards. Every basin ruptured at once, spewing shards of granite and pressurized mist in a thunderous blast that shook the rafters and knocked both swordsmen off balance.
The entire Crane Peak plunged into a stunned darkness, its defensive arrays sputtering and dying, its warning bells cracked by the concussive backlash. For a few precious seconds, the peak was blind, deaf, and utterly vulnerable.
“Perfect,” Kuang Mian said with a genuine, delighted smile. “Launch the skiff, Patriarch.”
Tuo Buyan let out a whoop of glee. “Full speed ahead, my dear! To a life of glorious leisure!”
The vessel groaned under the burden of ten million spirit stones before surging upward, carving an amber furrow across the night sky and leaving the crippled mountain behind. Below, the sounds of alarm and chaos slowly began to rise from the shattered gardens, but they were already fading behind them.
As the skiff soared higher, a figure suddenly detached itself from the distant, still-dueling forms on the peak. It was Feng Zihuan, abandoning his fight, his Azure-Phoenix Sword a silver streak as he launched himself into the air, burning his core to the absolute limit. He flew with a desperate, impossible speed, a man possessed by a single, all-consuming purpose.
He caught the very edge of the fleeing skiff, his boots skidding against the auric railing. He hauled his torso over the gunwale, chest heaving as he locked onto Kuang Mian. His gaze drifted past her to the stacks of crates and silver bullion.
He stared at her, then at the fortune, disbelief battling with a dawning, terrible realization in his soot-streaked face.
“Bai Yulu,” he gasped, his voice raw with emotion. “All this… all this chaos, all this… did you do it… for me?”