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Qing Yun Mountain, A Sect in Turmoil
In the northern reaches of Ice Heaven Continent, an endless mountain range stretched beyond sight, brimming with dense spiritual energy. Exotic spirit birds and beasts roamed, emerald streams wove through poetic valleys, and ancient trees flourished in verdant splendor.
Atop cloud-shrouded peaks, majestic palaces clung to cliffs, a vision of paradise to mortals. At the heart of this range loomed a colossal mountain, vast and awe-inspiring, dwarfing humans to mere specks.
This was Qing Yun Mountain, home to the Seventh-Grade Qing Yun Sect's headquarters.
An ancient grand hall crowned the summit, its aura so oppressive that low-tier cultivators could only gaze in reverence. Qing Yun Sect, famed for its sword cultivators, held a slight edge over peers, their chivalrous deeds earning renown across thousands of miles.
Within a palace nestled beside Qing Yun Mountain, two elders meditated as always, surrounded by neatly arranged wooden tablets stacked in tiers from low to high. Each tablet bore a name and title within Qing Yun Sect, infused with a wisp of its owner's soul. Should the owner perish, the tablet would shatter.
The lowest tier held names of outer disciples, the second inner disciples, the third protectors and outer elders, the fourth elite and direct disciples, and the fifth inner elders—pivotal figures of the sect. Higher tiers held fewer tablets, until the topmost bore only two jade tablets, etched with golden characters like soaring dragons: Sect Master Gu Fei Tian and Grand Elder Gu Dun Di, the sect's supreme authorities.
The meditating elders, sect protectors, guarded these tablets. Qing Yun Sect disciples were no idlers; they ventured across the world in groups, tempering themselves, seeking resources, and bolstering strength. Many fell to beasts or rival cultivators, their deaths prompting thorough sect investigations.
Crack! Crack!
Two sharp sounds jolted the protectors awake. Exchanging glances, they thought, "Which outer disciple fell to a beast this time?"
Outer disciples, often new and weak, died frequently—a trivial matter. Still, duty-bound, the protectors scanned the tablets.
"Strange," one muttered. Their Nascent Soul divine sense, no trifling matter, swept the first tier in moments, finding no shattered tablets.
Their faces grew grave. Sensing trouble, they checked the second tier—inner disciples, the sect's vital talents, worthy of nurturing. Yet, no losses there either.
Their expressions darkened. Abandoning tier-by-tier checks, they unleashed their divine sense across the palace.
Suddenly, their hearts clenched, faces paling drastically. Rubbing their eyes, pinching their cheeks, they prayed it was a dream.
But reality was cruel.
Two shattered tablets lay on the fourth and fifth tiers: Direct Disciple Gu Fei Hua and Sixth Elder Gu You.
Gulp.
The protectors exchanged horrified glances, swallowing hard to steady themselves. Both Gu Fei Hua and Gu You outranked them significantly. Their simultaneous deaths spelled catastrophe.
"Sound the drum," one rasped.
The other nodded shakily, vanishing from the palace.
Atop the grand hall stood a massive drum, inscribed with the character "Summon" (Triệu). The Sect-Wide Summon Drum was struck only for dire crises, compelling all within Qing Yun Sect's range to gather at Qing Yun Mountain's heart. No matter one's status, seclusion, or mission, attendance was mandatory, or face cultivation crippling and expulsion.
Since the sect's founding, the drum had sounded only a handful of times.
The protector faced the drum, pressure crushing him, but he gritted his teeth. Channeling spiritual energy, he struck with his hand as a mallet.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The thunderous echoes reverberated endlessly.
Countless cultivators snapped their heads up, faces paling. Before they could react, terrifying auras erupted—Nascent Soul and Spirit Transformation pressures blanketing thousands of miles.
Sword-bearing cultivators soared, faces grim, converging on Qing Yun Mountain's heart. Low-tier disciples, regaining their senses, surged forward with all their spiritual energy.
In an instant, Qing Yun Sect descended into chaos, a storm of panic and urgency.
Ping An City, A Family's Joy
On Ping An City's bustling main street, Lan An strolled with five women—Mu Zi Yin, Liu Shi Qin, Bai Su Mei, Li Zhu Luan, and little Liu Meng Meng. With celestial energy tempering their bodies, Bai Su Mei and Li Zhu Luan had grasped their Earth-Grade movement and combat techniques, Star Wander Step and Bamboo Leaf Soft Palm, though not yet fully mastered. They'd emerged from seclusion, radiant.
Seeing their joyful faces, Lan An felt a pang of guilt. He'd spent too little time nurturing their bonds, rarely indulging in simple joys like shopping. Though cultivators, they deserved more of his attention, and he vowed to make amends.
Despite Duo Bao Pavilion's dominance, street stalls thrived, creating a lively atmosphere. Adventurers returning from forests or ruins sold herbs or mysterious items, unwilling to accept Duo Bao Pavilion's prices, setting up their own booths.
"Honored guests, a moment!" a middle-aged painter called, halting Lan An's group.
"What's the matter, Uncle?" Lan An asked curiously.
The painter scratched his nose, chuckling sheepishly. "Your ladies and miss are breathtaking, like celestials, and you, sir, are dashing. I'd love to paint a portrait for you all, free of charge, if I may keep a copy for display."
Liu Shi Qin blushed, flustered by being called a "lady," implying she was Lan An's wife.
Lan An saw through the painter's intent—using their beauty to advertise his art. Glancing at the women, he noted their eager eyes. The painter's displayed works were skilled, so he smiled, "I agree, and I'll pay handsomely. But paint seven copies—one for each of us."
"Done!" the painter beamed, arranging them.
Lan An sat on a wooden throne, exuding authority, with Liu Meng Meng perched playfully in his lap and Little Lion lazing on his shoulder. Mu Zi Yin, Liu Shi Qin, Bai Su Mei, and Li Zhu Luan stood behind, smiling, a picture of familial harmony.
The painter nodded, satisfied, and began sketching.
Their scene drew a crowd, the women's beauty and Lan An's fame from defeating the Cao Clan—coupled with Liu Clan's city unification—keeping onlookers respectful.
After an hour, the painter finished, eyes gleaming at his seven collective portraits. The man was heroic, the women celestial, the pet exotic—his finest work.
Lan An took a copy, nodding approvingly. While not fully capturing the women's aura, it was seven or eight parts perfect. "Thank you," he said, handing over a pouch of spirit stones to the Foundation Establishment painter, who accepted gratefully.
Distributing the paintings, Lan An smiled, "One for each. We'll need more later—our family portrait's missing a few."
The women cherished their copies, admiring them. Li Zhu Luan caught his meaning, pouting, "Who else? Confess!"
The others glanced over, except Bai Su Mei, who gently held his hand, unconcerned by his other women.
"Four more, you'll meet them someday," Lan An grinned, recalling Ruo Xue, Hong Lian, Qing Ni, and Meng Ying—each a peerless beauty.
"Four?" Mu Zi Yin and Liu Shi Qin gaped.
"You're seventeen with such a lively harem?" Li Zhu Luan whined.
"Fate's work, what can I do?" Lan An shrugged.
The women rolled their eyes, ignoring him.
"Brother, I'll marry you when I grow up!" Liu Meng Meng piped up, her childish voice stunning them.
Lan An nearly tripped, his wives smirking.
"Why, Meng Meng?" he asked, half-laughing, half-crying.
Twirling her braid, she giggled, "To stay with the sisters! I love them!"
Lan An's face darkened, this little imp!
Giggle.
The women laughed, teasing him as they walked, drawing every eye.
"Young Master, hold on," Jin Ni's voice echoed in his mind.
"What is it, Jin Ni?" Lan An asked.
"Look left," she urged.
He turned, spotting a crowded stall run by a white-bearded elder, displaying stones of various sizes.
"Let's check it out," Lan An said, leading the women over.
Liu Shi Qin explained, "This is Stone Betting, an ancient practice. Relics from bygone eras fossilize into these stones, hiding treasures, resources, or junk. Even Void Refinement cultivators can't see inside without breaking them."
Lan An's group nodded, intrigued. The elder sold each stone at a fixed price, buyers choosing blindly, their finds—treasure or trash—unrelated to the seller. A gamble of luck.
"Young Master, I can see inside those stones," Jin Ni whispered, making Lan An's heart leap.
He urged the women closer to the stall.
"Interested in Stone Betting?" the elder asked.
The crowd parted, many hesitant about the risky game.
Lan An didn't reply, observing a youth at the stall. The youth picked two stones, smashing them under curious gazes.
The first stone revealed a broken wooden comb, prompting sighs and mocking glances. Unfazed, he cracked the second, revealing a brown herb radiating potent Earth spiritual energy.
"Earth Spirit Herb?" onlookers gasped, envious.
The youth, an Earth spiritual root cultivator, smiled, ignoring offers to buy the herb, and left.
The elder sighed, regretting the sale had he known the stone's contents. But Stone Betting was pure chance.
"How much?" Lan An asked, grinning.
"Ten High-Grade Spirit Stones per stone," the elder replied.
"No problem. Ladies, want to try your luck?" Lan An offered, encouraging fun.
"I'm first!" Li Zhu Luan exclaimed, tossing ten stones to the elder, grabbing a fist-sized rock.
Without hesitation, she smashed it, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
As the stone shattered…