Chapter 3: Mist and Memories:
"Mist veils the past with tenderness,
But memory cuts through like a blade."
---
The morning after the banquet dawned shrouded in mist, delicate strands of fog curling around the tiled roofs of Lianfeng Sect like silk threads in a weaver's loom. Pale light filtered through the lotus leaves that blanketed the courtyards, their emerald sheen catching droplets of dew. From within the Lotus Fragrance Courtyard, the distant chime of a wind bell stirred as a breeze swept through the northern ridges.
Ling Zheming stood at the edge of a stone bridge, hands folded behind his back, robe sleeves fluttering in the breeze like the wings of a quiet heron. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes followed the ripples spreading across the water's surface—as if searching for something beneath.
Behind him, quiet footsteps approached.
"You're up early," said a familiar voice, its tone lighter than yesterday's sharpened sarcasm.
Ling Zheming didn't turn right away. "So are you."
Feng Tingshen stepped beside him, hands also clasped behind him, gazing into the water. "Couldn't sleep. Something about being surrounded by nosy disciples and scheming elders is hardly restful."
"You mean your own courtyard?" Ling Zheming replied coolly.
Feng Tingshen gave a dry chuckle. "Touché."
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the soft clinks of bamboo leaves in the breeze and the distant calls of early cultivators beginning their training.
Then, quieter: "There are eyes everywhere, Ling-gongzi. You should be careful."
Ling Zheming glanced at him. "I always am."
Feng Tingshen turned to meet his gaze fully. "Not careful enough, perhaps. That display last night—how you stood up for Wei Yehan. You made more than a few people curious. That kind of attention isn't always harmless."
Zheming's jaw tightened. "I didn't do it for attention."
"No. But others don't care why you did it—only that you did." He paused, voice lowering. "I'm just saying… if you want to protect someone, sometimes you have to do it quietly."
The words lingered in the air like incense smoke—faint, curling, not quite dissipating.
Ling Zheming turned back to the water, but his voice was calm, almost distant. "What do you know about protecting people, Feng Tingshen?"
Something flickered across Tingshen's face. A flash of something too quickly hidden.
"Enough to know it doesn't always look heroic."
---
Across the courtyard, the servants of Lianfeng Sect began to stir. Distant footsteps, the faint rustle of ceremonial banners being hung.
Only two days remained before the Spirit Assessment Ceremony. But something else hovered just beyond reach—something the mist hadn't revealed yet.
And above them, hidden behind a screen of flowering plum, an old man watched with narrowed eyes.
The same elder from the banquet.
His lips barely moved as he whispered, "So the dragon stirs in his sleep… and the phoenix carries his flame."
---
Meanwhile in another corner of Lotus Fragrance Courtyard...
Wei Yehan crouched atop a low garden wall, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he surveyed the unsuspecting disciples gathered near the lotus pond. A trio of them—fellow guests from minor sects—were earnestly discussing cultivation theory, blissfully unaware of the snowball-sized cluster of damp lotus petals Wei Yehan was carefully rolling between his palms.
"Are you really going to do it?" whispered a voice from the ground below. It was one of the Longling Pavilion juniors, eyes wide with horrified fascination.
Wei Yehan clicked his tongue. "This is for the crimes of preaching to me, Wei Yehan to behave myself. Hmph. Who does he think he is?"
With dramatic flourish, he flung the petal clump. It struck one of the disciples square on the shoulder. The poor soul yelped, stumbled back, and flailed into the pond with a splash.
"Splash."
"Hahaha."
Laughter exploded from the bushes where Yehan's co-conspirators were hiding. The victim emerged sputtering, dripping from head to toe in lotus-scented water, while Wei Yehan nimbly leapt down from the wall, feigning innocence with exaggerated grace.
"Ah, you fell in? How tragic," he said with mock concern. "Did the air offend you, or was it the philosophy lecture?"
"You—!" the drenched disciple began, face red with embarrassment, but his words died mid-sputter.
Because walking down the jade path at that precise moment—silent as the moon gliding through mist—was Feng Yusheng.
Clad in pale robes embroidered with silver cranes, he was the picture of Lianfeng dignity, every step measured, his gaze unreadable. He stopped just at the edge of the commotion, arms behind his back, and looked directly at Wei Yehan.
The courtyard froze.
Even the koi in the pond seemed to pause mid-swim.
Wei Yehan blinked. Then he smiled.
"Second young master Feng," he greeted, bowing dramatically, one hand over his heart. "What a pleasant surprise. Care for a morning swim?"
Feng Yusheng's gaze flicked to the soaked disciple, then back to Wei Yehan. "It seems you're already providing... swimming classes."
There was no sarcasm in his tone—just calm observation. Which somehow made it worse.
Wei Yehan straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "This fellow just said- he wishes he could swim in the lotus pond but didn't know how. Guess what? I just happened to be a pro- swimmer. In the entire Longling pavilion, if I said I'm the second best at swimming, no one dares to claim the first place." He lied blatantly in front of second young master Feng, others plastered forced smiles on their faces and nodded their heads. Though internally they cursed Wei Yehan.
"How can one be so shameless and so expert in lying."
Their lips twitched but they continued to maintain their posture.
"Haha. Don't worry, no cultivators were harmed in the making of this class."
Ignoring his nonsense Feng Yusheng walked closer, stopping just a step away. The difference between them was stark—Wei Yehan, all unruly charm and mischief; Feng Yusheng, still and refined like a sculpture come to life.
For a moment, their eyes locked.
Wei Yehan felt his breath caught in his throat. "Its over. Its over. He saw through me. I'm finished." Wei Yehan chanted in his mind. Fully prepared to defend himself when attacked.
Then—
Feng Yusheng reached out and gently plucked a crushed lotus petal from Wei Yehan's hair. His fingers brushed lightly against Yehan's forehead, cool and brief.
"A little too immersed in your role... as instructor, I think."
Wei Yehan froze. His breath caught. For a second, he forgot how to move.
The entire courtyard fell into stunned silence.
Feng Yusheng turned, walking away without another word, robes trailing behind him like clouds parting after a storm. A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips as he turned, his soft murmur lost to everyone but himself. "Tsk. What a troublemaker."
Wei Yehan stared after him, wide-eyed, one hand still raised to his hair.
"…Did he just—?"
The Longling junior beside him nodded slowly. "He did."
Wei Yehan exhaled in disbelief. "Oh no. I'm doomed."
---
A few feet away, a snort broke the silence.
Wei Yehan nearly jumped. He turned to find one of his junior disciples—Lan Mu, the youngest among the Longling Pavilion entourage—staring at him with wide, curious eyes.
"Shixiong…" Lan Mu hesitated, then blinked. "Did he just—did Feng Yusheng just—did you flirt with the second young master of Lianfeng Sect?"
"I did not," Wei Yehan denied quickly, swatting at the air like he could erase the moment. "That was not flirting. That was—he plucked a flower petal. Like—gardening."
Lan Mu looked at him, unimpressed. "He looked at you like he was studying calligraphy."
Wei Yehan groaned into his sleeves. "Lan Mu, you are forbidden from speaking for the next hour."
The younger disciple grinned. "You're blushing."
"I'm overheated from exertion!"
"You were sitting."
"Exactly. Emotionally exerting."
Wei Yehan sighed dramatically and began to walk off, trying not to step on the scattered flower petals at his feet.
As he passed a column, Ling Zheming emerged from the covered walkway with a raised brow. "Your voice travels," he said mildly. "I could hear you lamenting your doom from the bridge."
Wei Yehan did not stop walking. "Remind me to build a higher wall next time."
Ling Zheming fell in step beside him. "You met Feng Yusheng?"
Wei Yehan made a pained noise. "Briefly. He was dignified, graceful, handsome, polite, utterly perfect, and now I have no remaining brain cells."
Ling Zheming said nothing, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
After a beat, Wei Yehan added, almost mournfully, "He didn't even flinch when I had lotus mud on my cheek."
"You did?"
"I don't anymore."
"You're doomed," Ling Zheming said solemnly.
"I know," Wei Yehan groaned.
---
Later that afternoon...
A small crowd had gathered outside the Jade Crane Hall, where sect leaders were beginning to post the group assignments for the Spirit Assessment Ceremony. Disciples from various sects clustered around the notice board, murmuring among themselves, sleeves brushing and eyes narrowed as they read and recalculated.
Ling Zheming led the Longling juniors through the thinning crowd, his expression unreadable as always. Though he himself had completed his Spirit Assessment Ceremony years ago—awakening the Five-Clawed Golden Dragon Spirit at fifteen—his presence still turned heads.
Wei Yehan immediately perked up. "Oho. Bet you three spirit stones I'm paired with someone annoying."
"You're not allowed to gamble on official sect business."
"Tsk. Boring brother."
Zheming sighed and stepped forward.
---
Near the front of the crowd, Jian Qingzhou of the Yunjian Sect and Yue Chenxiao of Ziyue Pavilion were already reading the list together. Yue ChenXiao raised an eyebrow as he saw the approaching pair.
"Ling-gongzi, Wei-gongzi," Yue ChenXiao greeted with a slight bow. "You also brought your juniors to read the notification about the group assignment?"
"No. They came to watch the koi play in the pond," Jian Qingzhou stepped forward, sneering at his dear friend's nonsense.
After trashing his friend, he turned and greeted Ling Zheming and Wei Yehan. His gaze stopped at Wei Yehan and pointed his chin towards the list on the Jade board.
"You've been placed in Group Seven with us."
"Group Seven?" Wei Yehan leaned in and scanned the board. "Ah, of course. Look who's with us—Jiang Su from Xingjiang Sect, Xiang Yue of Wangxiang Sect… oh, and—"
He stopped.
Ling Zheming followed his gaze.
Feng Yusheng.
Assigned to Group Seven.
"Oh no," Wei Yehan whispered. "Oh yes," Jian Qingzhou corrected, tone perfectly bland.
Ling Zheming's brow lifted a fraction. "Coincidence?"
"In this world, coincidences are never so grand," Yue Chenxiao said quietly. "Only deliberate intent."
Each year, more than a hundred disciples from various sects and clans would participate in the Spirit Assessment Ceremony. Every major sect typically sent at least ten disciples, while minor sects only sent two or three. This year's numbers were no different.
For instance, Longling Pavilion brought fifteen disciples to the ceremony, and other major sects brought similar numbers. In contrast, smaller sects like Wangxiang and Xingjiang only sent two or three disciples each.
These hundred or so participants would be divided into groups of ten for the sake of organization during the assessment.
In previous years, one or two key disciples from each sect would be placed among ordinary disciples to maintain balance across the groups. However, this year, the dynamic had changed.
Almost all the key disciples from the major sects had been placed together in a single group—except for Shen Jinyan. Many couldn't help but sense something suspicious about the arrangement. Still, since the group assignments had already been posted on the Jade Crane Stone, even if they sensed foul play, they had no choice but to abide by the arrangement.
Noticing the shift in atmosphere, Jian Qingzhou swept his gaze across the group and said lightly, "Come to think of it, where are Young Master Feng and Second Young Master Feng? That Shen fellow isn't here either."
As if summoned, the Feng brothers appeared behind them.
"Why? Were you missing us already?" Feng Tingshen's languid voice drifted over from behind, laced with amusement. He arched a brow and cast a glance at Ling Zheming—only to find him staring at the Jade Crane Stone, where the group assignment notice had been posted.
Upon seeing the arrangement for Group Seven, he fell silent. His fingers curled slowly into a fist, eyes darkening like gathering storm clouds. His expression remained unreadable, veiled in shadow.
The air around him shifted subtly, drawing Ling Zheming's attention. Ling Zheming turned his head, his indifferent gaze meeting Feng Tingshen's unreadable eyes. In that silent exchange, something unspoken passed between them—intangible, heavy, and sharp as a blade. No one knew what was conveyed, but one thing was certain: it wasn't anything good.
A few disciples fell silent, sensing the sudden shift in air pressure—as if the mountain itself had paused to listen.
Feng Yusheng's gaze moved steadily over the list until it paused on Group Seven. Unlike his elder brother, his expression remained calm and unreadable, giving nothing away. No one could tell what he was thinking. Then, as if sensing a stare, he turned his head toward the source.
Wei Yehan, to his credit, tried to look anywhere else. He failed.
Feng Yusheng's gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then, softly, to no one in particular: "Group Seven… what an interesting combination."
---
Just beyond the crowd, hidden behind a paper screen, another figure watched with narrowed eyes.
Elder Qingxu, head of the internal affairs division of Lianfeng Sect, stood with his hands folded in his sleeves, speaking quietly to a shadowed attendant behind him.
"They're gathering well," he murmured. "Flame and frost. Sword and silence. All the seeds are falling into place."
A pause.
"But let's see how they burn."