The Shanghai summer sun draped languidly over the Shi family gardens, gilding porcelain teacups in honeyed light. Zhao Rui reclined in a bamboo chair, steam from his Spirit Immortal Tea curling around features schooled to indifference. Across the stone table, Yun Fang's crimson nails tapped an impatient rhythm against celadon porcelain.
"You truly intend to ignore the storm you've stirred?" Her voice carried the edge of a dagger sheathed in silk. "Half the cultivation world tears itself apart seeking Hua Yang's slayer, while the other half forges lies to claim the title."
A sparrow alighted on Zhao Rui's shoulder, unperturbed by the faint dragon-scale patterns shimmering beneath his collar. "Let them posture," he murmured, watching tea leaves spiral like falling stars. "Fame attracts more blades than favors."
Shi Shen's chuckle rumbled from beneath his snow-white beard. "Wisdom beyond years. When the tallest bamboo grows beyond the grove..."
"...the first storm splinters it," came a voice like grinding tectonic plates. Master Xuanling materialized amidst chrysanthemum blooms, his patched daoist robes reeking of sulfur and star-metal. "Though I'd wager our friend here is no fragile shoot."
Garden of Whispers
The sparrow fled as teacups rattled. Shi Shen and Yun Fang rose as one, their chairs scraping stone - the former's bow deep with reverence, the latter's barely concealing thrill.
"To what do we owe this honor?" Shi Shen's voice held the tremor of a man confronting legend.
Xuanling dismissed formalities with a wave that scattered plum blossoms. "Your resident stormbringer." His coal-black eyes pinned Zhao Rui. "Li Lingfeng requests audience."
Silence descended heavier than celestial iron. Somewhere beyond the garden walls, Shanghai's traffic hum faded into non-existence.
Yun Fang's teacup shattered. "The... Sword Saint of Shu?" Her usual composure cracked like jade dropped on marble. "The Paramount cultivator wishes to..."
"Drink tea and discuss the weather, perhaps." Xuanling produced a gourd from his sleeve, downing liquor that reeked of molten gold. "Or more likely, measure the blade that felled Hua Yang against his own."
Zhao Rui's fingers stilled on his cup. Five months prior, the memory still pulsed fresh - Hua Yang's hybrid flesh dissolving beneath Nine Heavens Thunder Lance strikes, the stench of corrupted golden cores burning nasal passages. Now, echoes of that battle had reached ears perched atop humanity's cultivation peak.
Web of Jade and Lightning
Shi Shen recovered first, the diplomat overriding the awestruck cultivator. "This is... unprecedented honor. The Sword Saint hasn't received visitors since..."
"Since he beheaded the Blood Sea Patriarch at Yellow Dragon Pass," Xuanling finished, belching celestial fire. "Two centuries, three months, fourteen days. Not that the old grudge-holder counts."
Yun Fang's fan fluttered like a caged phoenix. "But why Zhao Rui? However impressive his feat..."
"However?" Xuanling's barked laughter startled nesting cranes into flight. "Girl, your pet stormcaster just shattered the cultivation world's hierarchy! Hua Yang ranked fifth among living legends. Now a nameless wanderer claims that seat?" His gourd pointed at Zhao Rui like an accusation. "Li Lingfeng either welcomes a new pillar... or removes an irregular stone."
The Spirit Immortal Tea cooled forgotten as shadows lengthened. Somewhere in the compound's depths, containment arrays hummed - Dun Che's closed-door cultivation emitting waves of primordial energy that made songbirds molt prematurely.
Dragon's Dilemma
Zhao Rui rose, his shadow stretching tiger-striped patterns across peony beds. "And if I decline this... invitation?"
Xuanling's grin revealed teeth filed to serpentine points. "Then the Sword Saint's curiosity becomes suspicion. And Li Lingfeng's suspicions..." He drew a calloused finger across his throat, the gesture spraying droplets of immortal wine that etched smoking craters in stone.
Yun Fang's fan snapped shut. "You can't mean..."
"The Paramount Four uphold balance through ruthless calculus." Shi Shen's aged hands trembled around his beard. "An unaligned force capable of slaying Hua Yang... either incorporated or eradicated."
Silence resurged, thick with the scent of impending monsoon. Somewhere beyond mortal perception, thunderheads gathered over Sichuan's sacred peaks.
Epoch's Turning
It was Dun Che's roar that shattered the stalemate. The ground trembled as the fox demon burst through courtyard walls, his fur crackling with unstable energy and his remaining eye blazing gold. "Brother! I've... Oh." His muzzle wrinkled at the tableau. "Are we killing someone?"
Xuanling's appraisal swept the transformed demon. "Tribulation aura stabilized. Half a vial of Dragon King's Golden Blood consumed. Impressive." His gourd extended toward Dun Che. "Drink?"
As the fox demon warily accepted, Zhao Rui's gaze lifted to southwestern skies. Somewhere beyond the smog and skyscrapers, Shu's sword-shaped peaks pierced clouds - and with them, the weight of inevitability.
"We leave at dawn," he stated, the Ten Thousand Laws Tome materializing at his belt. Its pages flickered with new sigils - crossed swords above a mountain range, bleeding ink like prophecy.
Yun Fang's protest died unspoken beneath the tome's baleful glow. Even Xuanling's perpetual smirk faded as golden light etched Zhao Rui's silhouette against descending twilight - part man, part living scripture, wholly beyond mortal constraints.
As night fell over Shanghai, containment arrays flared to life around the Shi compound. The world beyond would never know how two figures vanished at first light - one cloaked in crackling sigils, the other trailing foxfire and laughter - nor how their absence presaged earthquakes in cultivation's highest echelons.