Wait…
Feng's heart raced as a possibility dawned, tied to that legend.
"Exactly what you're thinking," the emperor said, reading his thoughts.
"Moreover, this was the site, ten thousand years ago, of the previous dynasty's founding battle, the last recorded clash of immortals and gods."
Feng's throat went dry, his words deliberate. His heart pounded.
Ten thousand years ago, the fading embers of the Immortal Era, the last sighting of true dragons, that battle haunted cultivators' dreams, a lost era they yearned to witness. Its location was a mystery, speculated to be in the western deserts, eastern immortal isles, or northern ice rifts. Yet, it was here, in the heart of Bright Flower's capital, where countless lived unaware.
"Your Majesty, why tell me this?" Feng asked, licking dry lips, steadying his mind.
"It's no great secret," the emperor said casually. "It was exposed to those who cared to know over thirty years ago." He didn't elaborate.
Feng looked at the emperor, now in his forties, his face tinged with nostalgia. As a child, he hadn't witnessed it, but he'd seen boundless magic and earth-shaking power in the sky, and a bloodied, solitary figure facing his father, the founding emperor, from afar. And that roar, etched in his memory, trembling the mountains and rivers: "Ming Jiang! You betrayed me!"
The memory stopped.
A shadow passed over the emperor's eyes. How that unnameable figure was suppressed by his father, the founding emperor, needed no words.
"Feng Wei," the emperor said after a long silence. "I tell you this to ask: will you aid me?"
Feng hesitated, bowing respectfully, silent. Help the emperor? They shared no bond, and he had no desire to wade into this mess.
Noticing his reluctance, the emperor pointed to the snow-draped peak behind the palace. "Your matters with Qing, I won't interfere."
Qing…
The name stirred Feng's mind, clouding it. Why had he come to the palace today? Perhaps even he didn't know.
But he wanted to see Qing.
Her ethereal beauty, radiant as moonlight. Her white robes, pristine as snow, standing atop misty peaks. Those eyes, like the heavens' bright moon, serene as autumn waters, imbued with celestial grace, aloof yet calm. A single glance could haunt a lifetime.
Lost in thought, Feng grew entranced.
The emperor, seeing his dazed state, stepped forward, patted his shoulder, and said, "I only consent. Whether it succeeds depends on your fate."
"Tch, tch, tch…" Feng stammered, a mix of guilt and resolve. "I'll do my utmost."
Whether he meant aiding the emperor or pursuing Qing was unclear, but his words sealed his agreement.
"Go see her," the emperor said with a smile, seeing Feng's lovestruck look, reminiscent of his own youth: ardent, yearning for eternal love with a beautiful girl.
But time spares no one, grinding all to dust. The emperor's gaze chilled, irritation flickering in his eyes.
"I have matters to attend. I'll take my leave."
Lost in his own turmoil, Feng didn't notice the emperor's shift in tone. He bowed, watching him return to the palace for state affairs.
After a long pause, Feng steeled himself and stepped toward the snow-covered peak.
Should he call her Princess? Immortal Maiden? Miss Qing? Or Qing… too forward?
Perhaps Qing Immortal would do.
He sighed wistfully. Since their last meeting at the assembly, Qing had seemed to avoid him, leaving no trace.
Feng had much to say to her. How had she been? How was her cultivation? Any intriguing encounters? His thoughts brimmed.
His pace quickened, mind racing.
"Hey, hey!" a voice called, unnoticed in his distraction.
"Ouch!"
Snapped back, Feng felt a collision and heard a girl's pained cry. A crisp crack sounded from her delicate ankle, her silver teeth clenched, suppressing a scream.
He looked closely. A girl in a purple palace gown, stunningly beautiful, sat on the ground, clutching her foot, looking at him with aggrieved eyes.
"Li, Princess!" Feng exclaimed, helping her up. "My apologies, I was lost in thought."
"Feng, really…" Li muttered, wincing as pain pulsed through her ankle.
She'd heard Feng was meeting her father and, thrilled, had snuck over to surprise him. Instead, she got a shock herself.
It hurt… Li's brows furrowed.
"Princess Li, I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Feng said, lifting her, apologizing profusely.
Her soft, smooth hand stirred his heart. Her skin, dazzlingly fair, gleamed, her lotus-like arms and swan-like neck faintly visible, her delicate collarbone alluring. Her face, lightly made up, bore subtle eyeliner, her lips red and tempting, a faint scent of rouge and her natural fragrance weaving into his senses, intoxicating.
Girls transform, he thought. Not long ago, Li was a child; now, she was breathtaking, a budding flower with a youthful allure, already captivating.
Li had grown so beautiful, no longer a mere girl but a young woman.
His heart stirred, but he averted his gaze. No, she's Qing's sister. How could I think such things?
Yet…
As Li adjusted her skirt, brushing off dust, oblivious to his conflict, Feng chastised himself. Li's just a girl!
His gaze softened, like a brother's affection. "Are you alright?"
It hurts…
Li wanted to pout but stopped. She couldn't always act childish, lest Feng see her as a kid forever. Brushing off the pain, she said brightly, "I'm fine, I'm tough. This won't hurt me."
"Why are you here, Princess?" Feng asked, puzzled. This wasn't the path to the rear mountain.
"That's not important!" Li deflected, blinking at him. Her cheeks flushed, and she lowered her voice, soft as a mosquito's hum. "But you, Feng… why are you in the palace?"
To see me?
Her heart raced, the pain in her ankle easing.
"I…" Feng's eyes drifted to the snow-clad peak, unfocused.
How should he answer?
He paused, then said vaguely, "Business."
"Oh," Li replied, disappointed.
"But… don't you notice anything different about me today?" She twirled, lifting her skirt, her fair face beaming, her doe-like eyes sparkling with hope.
"Uh!" Feng swallowed. Her light makeup lent a mature air, and her ornate gown blended innocence with allure, stirring him.
He averted his gaze, a pang of guilt hitting as he glanced at the peak. "The skirt… it's lovely."
"And? And?" she pressed, her clear eyes glowing with expectation.
She's stunning today…
He wanted to say it, but the thought of Qing's serene gaze made him falter. He looked away, feigning ignorance. "The dress, too, is nice."
"Oh," Li said, crestfallen, but rallied. "Feng, know any fun spots in the palace? Some are amazing… or come to my chambers! I'll treat you to snacks."
Her voice, like a lark's, lifted his spirits. He nearly agreed, but Qing's deep, silent eyes flashed in his mind.
No, no! I came to see Qing.
He couldn't linger, lest he stay and indulge Li's playfulness.
"Sorry," he said softly, heavy with regret.
Li froze, panic rising, but she pressed on brightly. "Ever heard of a circus? They're so fun…"
"I…" Feng began, a sharp pain in his chest. Qing's piercing, lonely gaze steeled him, and he cut Li off mid-sentence.
"I'm here… to find your sister."
"Is… that so?" Li's heart soured, a lump rising, her eyes stinging, chest tight. She lowered her head, breathing deeply, and forced cheer. "Then… we can go see it another day, right?"
A breeze passed. When she looked up, Feng was striding toward the rear palace, as if fearing regret.
"Feng…" She reached out, vision blurring, unable to catch his fading figure. She grasped at nothing.
A faint, apologetic echo lingered. "I'm sorry…"
Her arm fell limply.
After a while, her maid, Hana, approached cautiously. "Princess, the preparations in the palace… shall we use them?"
"Discard them," Li said, her voice bleak, tinged with quiet loss.
"Hana."
"Yes, milady," Hana replied timidly.
"I'm tired."
"I'll prepare for your rest."
"I want to clear my mind."
"I'll arrange it…"
"Alone."
"But…"
"That's an order."
"Yes, milady."
Li limped, pain shooting through her ankle. But it paled against the ache in her heart.
The snow-draped mountain lay pristine, a clean path inviting Feng forward.
"Li… how is she?" he muttered, regretting his haste. He should've stayed, ensured she was unharmed.
But, already here, he couldn't turn back. Bracing himself, he ascended.
Each step brought a weightless tension, a nervous flutter. This meeting with Qing felt pivotal, as if it would shape or shatter something forever.
With unease and trepidation, he climbed.
Soon, a palace emerged, shielded by an array. Serene and refined, it nestled in the mountain, a hidden gem wreathed in mist, a mortal paradise.
The array repelled snow, keeping the palace pristine. The jade plaque reading "Pity Moon Residence" glowed, sustaining the barrier.
Stepping inside, the array's power blocked the cold, warming the grounds like spring, free of ice or snow.
The palace doors stood open, both welcoming and forbidding.
Suppressing his racing heart, Feng entered.
Before reaching the main hall, he saw an ancient, frail man sweeping with a broom, meticulous, as if no speck of dust could be tolerated. No maids or servants stirred, only this lone sweeper, drawing Feng's gaze.
The man was decrepit, his white hair sparse, clinging to his scalp. His wrinkled face, marred by age spots, sagged: a collapsed nose, withered lips, and meek eyes. Though his features were once proper, age rendered them grotesque.
His frame was skeletal, thick winter robes failing to hide his gauntness. Stooped, as if humbled by years, he barely lifted his head. His oversized trousers, ill-fitting, made his legs seem twig-like, almost comical.
Dressed as a servant, he toiled.
"Why would Qing keep such a decrepit old eunuch to tend this place?" Feng wondered.
In the inner palace, save the emperor, no true man existed. The imperial guard, though male, stayed at the outer walls, barred from the inner palace on pain of clan execution. Only eunuchs served here.
But Feng couldn't fathom that this frail, coffin-bound figure was no eunuch, but a man, virile and robust beneath his guise. His manhood, even unaroused, matched Feng's at full vigor; aroused, it dwarfed him twofold.
Only Qing knew this man's true state, a secret shared with no other. None could guess why she kept this withered, wretched man near: a man so base beside her celestial grace, their worlds apart, bound in a scandalous, silent pact.
Sensing Feng's stare, the old man glanced up, his cloudy eyes flickering with scrutiny or fear before retreating under Feng's sharp gaze.
Perplexed, Feng shook his head, dismissing the man, and stepped into the main hall.
A sudden, chilling killing intent flashed behind him, as if to rend him to ash. Startled, he spun around.
Nothing. Only the meek old man, sweeping silently.
"Those who'd kill me could line up from here to the East Sea," Feng scoffed, blaming some grudge over stance, treasure, or his charm.
Straightening, he strode into the hall with purpose.
A faint glow shimmered, and atop the hall sat a maiden in white, her long hair cascading, poised with elegance.
It was her, the one who haunted his thoughts.
Her face, fair as snow, glowed like jade, each curve flawless, defying critique. Her beauty was perfection incarnate, unmarred by cosmetics, as if rouge would profane her. She dimmed the heavens, outshone the sun and moon, and could sway empires.
Her form was divine, as if crafted by cosmic might. Her chest, demure at a glance, soared proudly; her hips, seated, were taut yet youthful, not overly lush but enticingly curved. Her neck, graceful as a crane's, led to a frame neither thin nor plump, proportioned to perfection, a marvel of creation.
Her aura was transcendent, ethereal, like an immortal atop the heavens or a fleeting mortal mirage, untouchable. Her eyes, calm as still water, cold as the moon, mirrored a tranquil night's pool or the celestial lunar orb: timeless, indifferent, yet pure, a crystal mirror reflecting souls, radiant and unforgettable.
Feng froze, breathless, loath to disturb this divine vision.
This was the Immortal Maiden.
This was Qing.
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