In the central hall of Ye Mansion, the air was thick with the earthy scent of agarwood, its wisps blending with the sweet thrill of triumph. The chamber exuded grandeur: crimson and gold tapestries adorned the walls, depicting dragons weaving through stormy skies, their threads gleaming under the flicker of bronze lanterns.
Middle-aged men in flowing hanfu robes reclined on silk cushions, their laughter resounding like thunder. The polished teak floor, its grain swirling like frozen rivers, echoed with the clink of porcelain cups and the rustle of sleeves.
"Hah! The Li Family has just fled Qingcheng like whipped dogs," one man crowed, his voice rich and oily as he swirled his red wine, its surface catching the light in a fleeting shimmer. "Scurried off with their tails between their legs—now we reign supreme!"
"Too right," another agreed, his head nodding like a buoy on rough seas, cheeks flushed with drink. "Our rise is a marvel, and it's all thanks to Nephew Ye Qiu's cunning and might."
"Not bad at all," a third added, his tone warm with near-worshipful reverence. "He's the backbone of our glory—a dragon among ants!"
The wave of praise washed over Ye Long, seated at the hall's head like a warlord surveying his conquests. His deep indigo robe clung to a frame honed by decades of cultivation, its silver trim glinting with each subtle movement. His presence radiated power, an unyielding aura that pressed against the senses, overshadowing the lesser men around him.
In Qingcheng, he was a titan, a Divine Spirit Realm master whose strength surpassed even Gu Mu, the kingdom's ancient priest whose blessings had guarded Fuguo for a millennium. Ye Long was no fading spark but a blazing fire in its prime, his presence warming the room. He basked in the flattery, his chest swelling as he let out a laugh that shook the incense smoke.
"Qiu'er is the pride of our clan," he declared, his voice rumbling with paternal pride. "Yet the pain of his absence cuts deep—two years away from home is far too long."
A man across the hall leaned forward, his sly grin sharp as a fox's, eyes glinting with mischief. "Brother, you fuss like an old hen clucking over her chicks! Nephew Ye Qiu is a qilin destined to carve his name into legend. His reputation will shake every holy land—I'd wager my last spirit stones on it!"
Ye Long roared with laughter, the sound bouncing off the tapestries as he waved a dismissive hand, though his eyes sparkled with pride. The hall pulsed with celebration—cups clashed in toasts, flutes trilled beneath the noise—as the Ye Family reveled in their triumph. Yet beyond the walls, a storm loomed, its shadow creeping closer with each breath.
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Qingcheng slumbered in the amber glow of dusk, its people soothed by the rhythm of daily tasks. The sky was a canvas of fading gold and deepening blue, streaked with wispy clouds drifting over the rooftops. Then, abruptly, the light dimmed, an eclipse stealing the sun's warmth. A low rumble vibrated through the cobblestones, and heads turned skyward.
The clouds parted like torn silk, revealing the Auric Celestial Skyspire—a colossal vessel of gold and obsidian descending with divine menace. Its hull shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its jagged edges lined with cannons that gleamed like a beast's fangs, their barrels charged with devastating potential. Its immense size blotted out the horizon, cloaking Qingcheng in a twilight of awe and fear. The city froze.
A vendor's basket slipped, persimmons spilling across the stones, their juice staining the ground like blood. A girl's phoenix-painted kite escaped her grasp, spiraling upward as her mother pulled her close, fingers gripping tightly. The air crackled with static, raising every hair. The Skyspire's engines roared, a bone-deep dirge that shattered windows and shook dust from rooftops.
Silence fell, heavy and oppressive, until a trembling voice broke it. A young cultivator clutched his head, his tone quivering with confusion and dread. "What… what is that?"
An elder beside him, face weathered like old leather, squinted upward, his breath catching. "A flying ship," he rasped, awe threading his hushed voice. "But this… it's beyond anything I know. I once saw Fuguo's royal vessel—a gleaming silver marvel. Beside this, it was a child's toy, forgotten in the dust. No king or sage would dare craft such a behemoth."
Murmurs surged through the crowd, a wave of fear and wonder—merchants clutching wares, mothers shielding children, guards tightening their hold on spears. No one had seen its equal, not in tales, histories, or the boldest dreams of ancient clans.
Then, a figure descended from the craft, a shadow against the Skyspire's golden light. He landed with a whisper of air, clad in menacing black plate armor etched with crimson runes that pulsed faintly, as if alive with unholy fire.
A full helm with a skull motif hid his face, its dark visor revealing only shadow. The armor clinked softly with each deliberate step, the wind snapping at his cloak like raven wings. Beneath the helm, his expression was hidden, but his dark, hollow eyes scanned the crowd with a hawk's detached curiosity.
The air grew heavy, a pulse of raw power rolling out like a thunderhead, pressing against chests and stealing breath. Gasps rippled through the crowd, eyes wide with awe and dread. This was no ordinary man—his aura matched, perhaps surpassed, Ye Long's Divine Spirit Realm presence.
"Is this Qingcheng?" His voice sliced through the stillness, sharp and resonant despite the helm, a blade cutting silk. It carried no warmth, only chilling authority.
An elderly townsman shuffled forward, his patched robes trembling with his knees. Hands clasped in a shaky bow, he dipped his head. "Y-yes, honored sir," he rasped, voice frail as dry leaves. "This is Qingcheng."
The stranger's helm tilted, the skull visage fixing on the old man. He flinched, sweat beading on his brow under the suffocating pressure, like facing a dragon's jaws. His pulse pounded in his ears.
"Where is the Ye Family located?" the cultivator pressed, his tone cold and precise, a spearpoint held steady.
The elder swallowed, dread coiling in his gut, but he pointed a trembling finger toward the city's heart. "At the town center, sir. The grand mansion—it belongs to them."
Without a sound, the armored figure surged upward, dissolving into a streak of shadow as he returned to the Skyspire. The gust of his departure tugged at cloaks and hair, leaving the crowd staggering. As his oppressive aura faded, a collective breath shuddered through them, tension snapping like a cut string.
Voices erupted in a chaotic flood.
"What's he want with the Ye Family?" a merchant fretted, clutching his ledger, fingers smudging ink. "Debts? A grudge? My shipments pass through their gates—am I next?"
"Here comes a slaughter," a washerwoman growled, her voice rough as gravel, hands twisting her damp cloth until it creaked. "That's no man—that's a calamity dressed in steel."
"Ye Long isn't one to bow easily," a guard barked, puffing his chest to steady himself, though his eyes flicked nervously skyward. "He's the town's shield, a Divine Spirit Realm master. This stranger? No chance."
A youth piped up, buzzing with awe, words spilling fast. "No chance? Did you feel that? He's a storm to Ye Long's breeze! And that armor—rune-etched, black as a grave, skull helm like a war god's crown? He's an enforcer for some big sect, no doubt about it!"
"An enforcer, you say?" a woman whispered, her bangles rattling as her voice quavered, eyes wide with terror. "Then who's his master? Not even the Fuguo Emperor Spoon commands a hound that fierce!"
A grizzled voice cut through, cold as a winter gale. "You're all chattering hens," the elder sneered, his rheumy eyes glinting with scorn as he glared at the Skyspire. "In Fuguo, a Divine Spirit's a spoiled deity—palaces, vassals, fools kissing their robes. This one? He's no lordling's pet. Whatever sent him here, it's a power we can't fathom—and it's hungry."
"What force could wield such power?" a boy whispered, his wide eyes reflecting the ship's golden gleam.
"No damn clue," the elder growled, his gaze fixed on the distant mansion. "But the Ye Family's in deep waters now—and it's going to sink."
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Above, in the opulent bridge of the Auric Celestial Skyspire, Qin Ting stood before a crystalline viewport, the ring still cradled in his hand. Beyond the glass, Qingcheng sprawled like a miniature village, its lights flickering against the deepening dusk.
The bridge was a blend of luxury and power—polished jade walls etched with glowing glyphs, a black crystal console humming with the ship's vast firepower. Cannons capable of razing mountains lay dormant beneath the hull, their barrels glinting through slits in the golden exterior.
Qin Ting's lips curved into a smile—slow, deliberate, cold as ice.
'Let's see how far the shadow of your lineage stretches, Ye Qiu,' he thought, his fingers tightening around the ring until it bit into his skin. 'Every bond broken, every life erased—your name will be a whisper on the wind, then nothing at all.'
Below, the city lay unaware, a lamb under the butcher's blade, and Qin Ting relished the weight of its fate in his grasp.