Chapter 1#

Clouds Part, the Moon Appears#

Author’s note:

Melodrama unleashed, chasing a wife through hellfire.

Please read the synopsis carefully. If it makes you uncomfortable, don’t continue.

Also, thank you to all the readers who speculated wildly about my plot and settings — and thank you for your tireless one-star reviews and negative scores.

When Xiao Man raised his head, the moon had just risen above the clouds, spilling its bright radiance across the mountain wilderness.

The trees and rocks hidden beneath the veil of night became clear and distinct, yet the mist coiling around the rope bridge ahead had not dispersed — one glance showed only shifting shadows, the far end nowhere in sight.

He stopped walking. For a moment he gazed at the full moon overhead, exhaled softly, and let his eyes drop to the boundary marker beside the bridge.

It was a stone stele, bearing three characters — Xuěyì Fēng, Snow-Intent Peak — carved unmistakably with sword-qi, the strokes free and sweeping.

“Your Highness, one more step and you’ll have left Snow-Intent Peak. The Peak Master is about to emerge from seclusion. Do you really intend to leave now?” The sword-attendant following behind Xiao Man finally found his opening and voiced the question that had been weighing on him.

He had been assigned by the Peak Master to serve Xiao Man for three years already and had long since learned to read Xiao Man’s habits and temperament. Whenever the Peak Master entered seclusion, Xiao Man would always linger nearby, calculating the timing so he could make preparations just before the Master emerged. Yet this time, Xiao Man had shaken out his sleeves and walked away from the Hall of the Dao, wandering aimlessly around the peak — which left the attendant completely baffled.

Xiao Man offered no explanation. He stood still for a good while, then asked softly, “Where would one find the person who knows the Gushan Sword Formation best?”

The question came from nowhere, utterly unrelated to their present situation. Róng Yuǎn startled, then recovered and answered: “Why, at Gushan, naturally.”

“And where in the world is the best place to fight?” Xiao Man asked again.

This time Rong Yuan answered without hesitation: “Fighting — that would be sparring and exchanging blows. The finest techniques in all the world belong, naturally, to Gushan.”

Xiao Man gave a quiet “Mm.”

The answer was entirely expected. The person standing at his side was a Gushan disciple, and the place where he stood was Gushan itself.

Gushan’s Twelve Peaks — from here, half of the world’s prodigies and extraordinary talents had emerged. Its foundations ran deep, its heritage was rich, its library of cultivation methods was beyond count. The sect had stood for tens of thousands of years; no matter how the Xuantian Continent had risen and fallen, it remained planted in the Northern Reaches, immovable and towering — one of the supreme sects of the entire world.

Every Gushan disciple swelled with pride for their own sect, while cultivators from outside fought tooth and nail for the chance to enter.

Rong Yuan heard Xiao Man’s response, and his curiosity deepened. He couldn’t help asking: “Your Highness, why do you ask?”

“Turn back,” Xiao Man said instead — those two words, and then, his sleeve brushing the air, he lifted his foot and stepped onto the rope bridge.

“Ah?” Rong Yuan was startled. “Your Highness, the Peak Master will emerge from seclusion very soon. Won’t you stay on Snow-Intent Peak to wait for him?”

Xiao Man paid him no mind. The pale hem of his robes swept past the characters carved in the stele and turned and folded in the wind, vanishing into the distance in an instant.

Snow-Intent Peak — one of Gushan’s Twelve Peaks. Its master bore the name Yàn Wúshū, the youngest cultivator at the Taixuan Realm on the Xuantian Continent, the man known far and wide in the jianghu as the Líng Guāng Jūn — the Lord of Radiant Light. And, at the same time: Xiao Man’s cultivation partner.

Xiao Man was the last surviving bloodline of the Phoenix Clan. His entire kin had died before his birth; there was no one to shelter him. His spiritual awakening had come late, and he had drifted through a tumultuous mortal world, enduring countless humiliations.

It was Yan Wushu who had rescued him.

In those days, Xiao Man had been broken and ragged. Yan Wushu wore silver hair and dark robes — with a single stroke of his sword he shattered the darkness that had smothered Xiao Man, like a beam of light falling in.

Xiao Man had cherished feelings for Yan Wushu for a very long time.

In his nineteenth year, Xiao Man followed Yan Wushu back to Gushan, entered into a partnership with him, and withdrew from the world to live on Snow-Intent Peak. How many years had it been since then? How many years exactly…?

Time was so long he could barely recall. After all — he had died once already.

Before his death, a great war between the Dao and the Demon had erupted across the mortal world. Yan Wushu’s martial brother had suffered grave wounds during the subjugation of a demon and lay at death’s door; no medicine in the mortal world could save him. The only remedy was the Phoenix Origin Pellet as an elixir base.

There was only one Phoenix in all the world: Xiao Man.

Gushan had been courteous enough to send someone to ask whether Xiao Man was willing to offer his Origin Pellet.

But what was the Origin Pellet? Named for “origin,” it was the very root of a Phoenix’s cultivation. To lose it meant no possibility of recovery — for the rest of one’s life, one would be no different from a broken vessel, merely waiting to grow old and die.

Snow-Intent Peak bore a restriction array — set personally by Yan Wushu. By then, Yan Wushu was the undisputed foremost figure of the Dao cultivation world, and without his permission, those elders should never have been able to reach Xiao Man’s side.

Yet they had come. Their Dao robes fluttered; their long swords ran cold. They demanded that Xiao Man surrender the Origin Pellet.

Xiao Man refused. Pleasantries were exchanged, and then blades were drawn.

In those years, Xiao Man had devoted himself to the cultivation of Buddhist principles and was not proficient in combat. The men before him joined forces and attacked together with the Gushan Sword Formation — Xiao Man was no match for them at all. And Yan Wushu, his cultivation partner, looked on coldly, without a flicker of emotion.

What could he do to protect himself? Nothing.

What could he do to resist? Nothing.

In fury and despair, Xiao Man manifested his true form. He invoked the secret technique. He released the Phoenix True Flame.

Deep winter, snow cascading from the sky, heaven and earth blanketed in white. The Phoenix fire came howling — a savage, blinding red ran riot — and the forests covering Snow-Intent Peak were reduced to ash in an instant.

All the tender feelings woven across those years were fed to that single blaze. Together with the Phoenix, who had burned away every last drop of divine soul-force, they dissolved into smoke and dispersed into the void.

Xiao Man had truly died then — died on Gushan, died on Snow-Intent Peak, died with Yan Wushu’s silent permission — and not even a single bone was left behind. Yet perhaps the legend of the Phoenix’s nirvana was no legend at all. Or perhaps Heaven’s Dao took pity and showed mercy. After he closed his eyes… he woke up.

It was a rebirth.

Reborn more than a hundred years in the past. Yan Wushu had not yet become the revered foremost figure beneath the sky. Xiao Man was nothing more than a green young man just crossing the threshold of cultivation.

Reborn more than a hundred years in the past — all grievances not yet formed, all enmities not yet kindled. It was the hour when clouds part and the moon appears; a long wind rises through the night, dreamlike and strange. He still had the chance to rewrite that ending.

Past the boundary stele, the situation on Snow-Intent Peak was no longer visible. Xiao Man did not look back. His steps quickened, and by the time he descended from the bridge, he threw out a hand and grabbed the mountain rock beside the path to steady himself.

Pain swept up from the depths of his spirit-sea, dragging his thoughts into confusion and blurring his vision. He furrowed his brow, fumbled inside his sleeve for a vial of medicinal pills — but before he could take one, a mouthful of blood burst from his lips.

In the moonlight, blood scattered like fallen plum blossoms. Xiao Man’s figure swayed; his face was as pale and white as paper.

He needed no further examination to understand: the wound was in his spirit-soul, the price paid for forcibly elevating his cultivation realm through secret technique and releasing the Phoenix True Flame. The situation was worse than he had anticipated. The wisest course would be to find a quiet place and rest — but Xiao Man did not do that. He breathed in and out, regulating his qi until some measure of strength returned, then swallowed the pills, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and pressed on.

Gushan was vast. Each peak kept flying beasts for the use of lower-ranked disciples who could not yet ride sword or wind; they followed no fixed route, and would carry you wherever you wished for enough silver. Xiao Man found the nearest relay station, chose a great Roc-bird, swung himself onto its back, patted its head, and said: “To Cloud-Travel Peak.”

Xiao Man was a Phoenix; all the birds on Gushan were fond of him. The Roc-bird turned its head and nuzzled his palm, its eyes rolling, as though asking: Why would we go there?

It was common knowledge that Snow-Intent Peak and Cloud-Travel Peak were not merely far apart in location — their relationship was thoroughly hostile. Between the two peaks, there was nothing but conflict; there had never been any other form of contact.

“Go,” said Xiao Man, offering the Roc-bird no explanation, and gave a light tap to the back of its neck to urge it onward.

The Roc-bird spread its wings, however anxious it might feel.

Xiao Man’s journey to Cloud-Travel Peak was one of necessity.

On the Xuantian Continent, cultivation was divided into five great realms. He was now at the lowest — the Baoyu Realm, the Realm of Embracing Void — fragile and weak.

Those who had moved directly against him had used the Gushan Sword Formation. As Rong Yuan had said, the one who understood the Gushan Sword Formation best was, naturally, Gushan itself. And this place was one of the foremost great sects in the world — there was no reason not to use it to grow stronger. But Gushan’s rules were strict; to cultivate here, one must be a disciple of Gushan.

Xiao Man’s position right now was genuinely awkward. He was the last bloodline of the Phoenix Clan, the cultivation partner of the Lord of Radiant Light, Yan Wushu — and beyond that, he had nothing else to offer.

In other words: he was nobody in Gushan.

Having lived a second life, Xiao Man would not ask Yan Wushu for help. And since arriving at Gushan in Yan Wushu’s company, he had been living in seclusion on Snow-Intent Peak, rarely setting foot outside — he knew none of the other Peak Masters or elders. If he wanted to accomplish anything, there was only one option: Cloud-Travel Peak.

Everyone on Gushan knew — the Peak Master of Cloud-Travel Peak enjoyed making deals.

The Roc-bird flew through the darkness for nearly a quarter-hour before arriving at Cloud-Travel Peak. Xiao Man identified himself at the boundary of the formation array, and before long, the shimmering ripple of light dissolved. The flowered branches blocking the way parted left and right, revealing a winding stone path.

Xiao Man followed the path to the front of the Hall of the Dao, and found a man waiting — holding a feathered fan, swaying it gently, chuckling to himself as he stepped out: “My, my — it really is the Phoenix Highness. What a rare guest.”

This was Tán Wènzhōu, Peak Master of Cloud-Travel Peak. Xiao Man greeted him with a bow. “Peak Master Tan.”

Trees and flowers grew outside the Hall of the Dao; a stone table and stone stools stood in serene stillness. Moonlight poured down, the four directions tranquil and clear. Tan Wenzou walked over, swept back his sleeve, and sat down. He gestured to Xiao Man with a “please” — “Guests who travel from Snow-Intent Peak to Cloud-Travel Peak are rare enough, and courteous ones rarer still. I wonder, Highness — what brings you here tonight?”

Xiao Man had expected to face difficulties at Cloud-Travel Peak; to find Tan Wenzou treating him with reasonable courtesy was a pleasant surprise, and he did not beat around the bush. Once seated, he said plainly: “I wish to ask a favor of Peak Master Tan.”

“Oh?” Tan Wenzou raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest crossing his face.

“I wish to enter the Mirror-Bright Platform,” Xiao Man said, direct as a drawn bow.

The Mirror-Bright Platform, also called the Disciples’ Hall, stood on White Blossom Peak — it was where Gushan’s lower-ranked disciples went to study and cultivate. In using the word “enter,” Xiao Man made his intention abundantly clear. Tan Wenzou gave him an unobtrusive look up and down, then said:

“The Lord of Radiant Light may be young, but his gifts are exceptional. He has sampled every cultivation method on Gushan without exception. As his cultivation partner, Highness, if you wished to cultivate, surely you wouldn’t need to come to the Mirror-Bright Platform?”

“I am only asking whether Peak Master Tan will help, or will not.” Xiao Man declined to trade pleasantries. He extended his palm, turned it upward, and presented something to Tan Wenzou — “If the Peak Master agrees, this is my gift in thanks.”

Lying in his hand was a round bead, smooth as jade. A faint luminescence drifted across its surface, carrying a cold fragrance; caught in the moonlight, it looked like some treasure descended from the heavens.

Tan Wenzou recognized it at once, surprise flickering across his face. “An Ice Soul.”

“Peak Master Tan surely knows its origins,” Xiao Man said.

“A treasure of the Buddhist gate — priceless even at ten thousand in gold.” Tan Wenzou was moved to genuine admiration.

Xiao Man nodded.

The Ice Soul was among the finest of foundation-strengthening and essence-nurturing medicinal materials — it could help cultivators at the Taixuan Realm consolidate their cultivation base. Xiao Man had originally sought it from the Grand Zhaohua Temple specifically for Yan Wushu, intending to offer it as a gift when Yan Wushu emerged from seclusion, to help him ascend to the Great Perfection of the Taixuan Upper Realm.

But the Xiao Man of now was no longer the naïve, unknowing Phoenix of before. His heart had died. Naturally, he would not send precious things to Yan Wushu anymore.

Unexpectedly, Tan Wenzou’s expression showed reluctance: “Your Highness — our sect accepts disciples only once every ten years. First, the Question Dao Pearl tests for spiritual root, then three gates and two trials test the mind. Only by passing all of them may one enter the Mirror-Bright Platform.”

“Is the Peak Master worried my aptitude will fall short?” Xiao Man looked steadily into Tan Wenzou’s eyes and asked softly.

“That’s not what I mean.” Tan Wenzou shook his head. “Our sect’s rules are strict. There has never before been any precedent of sending someone to the Platform halfway through the cycle.”

Xiao Man knew this perfectly well — otherwise he would not have brought something so precious to ask for Tan Wenzou’s assistance.

Tan Wenzou fell silent.

The moon climbed toward its zenith; the night drew close to midnight. Then all at once, in the distance, a pillar of spirit-light blazed upward, scattering the layers of cloud in all directions.

Someone had broken through seclusion — a single sword shook the heavens — yet it did not shake Xiao Man at all. He held his posture, his gaze fixed on Tan Wenzou without a blink.

The man across from him glanced back and forth between Xiao Man and the sky behind him, visibly entertained, and smiled. “Though the Highness’s situation is unusual, you are still a person of Gushan. Allow me to send word — let me make an inquiry to White Blossom Peak.”

With that, he used his finger as a brush, wrote out a message-talisman, and with a flash of pale light it was gone into the night. In another moment a reply arrived; Tan Wenzou read it, then turned toward a nearby spot and said: “Xiao Shi — tea.”

From inside the Hall of the Dao, a sword-attendant who had been stifling yawns scrambled to his feet, found the tea leaves, fetched mountain spring water, and set a fire to brew.

Cultivators did not distinguish between day and night; White Blossom Peak’s reply came quickly. After reading it, Tan Wenzou asked Xiao Man a question: “Does Highness know what today is on White Blossom Peak?”

“I do not.” Xiao Man set down his teacup and answered honestly.

“A Day of Open Contest — that is to say, a competition gathering for lower-ranked disciples.”

“No wonder there’s been some noise.” Xiao Man cast a glance in the direction of White Blossom Peak, his expression thoughtful.

“White Blossom Peak says: as Highness has already reached the Baoyu Realm, your aptitude speaks for itself. If you can win in one-on-one combat, you will have earned the right to enter the Mirror-Bright Platform to cultivate.” Tan Wenzou smiled.

Xiao Man rose and gave his thanks.

Tan Wenzou summoned a flying sword. “Allow me to escort Highness part of the way.”

Riding a sword was far swifter than the sect’s flying beasts. White Blossom Peak came into sight in the blink of an eye; looking down from above, the contest seemed to be nearing its end — those still standing with sword in hand numbered only a few.

“What counts as winning?” Xiao Man observed carefully and asked.

“The last one ‘alive’ — that is the victor. This is a free-for-all: everyone other than yourself is an enemy.” Tan Wenzou turned his feathered fan, the edge of his crane-feather cloak trailing in the breeze. “Those still able to fight are the finest among their peers. Three of them have even reached the Upper Realm of Baoyu.”

He paused, then added: “Highness’s realm is beneath theirs, and your body is far from well. These disciples are fighting in full heat — their energy and spirit are at their peak. Forgive my candor, Highness — for you to overcome them would be extremely difficult. So the Ice Soul: wait until you succeed, and offer it to me then.”

The implication was that if Xiao Man lost, he would take nothing in payment.

“I thank the Peak Master for his kindness.” Xiao Man placed the Ice Soul in Tan Wenzou’s hand, his voice calm and resolute. “I will not lose.”

With that, he stepped off the flying sword. He reached back with one hand into the empty air — and drew out a long bow, silver-white as frost.

Cultivators in the Baoyu Realm had not yet mastered riding the wind or sword-flight — but Xiao Man was no ordinary person. He was of the winged clan; in childhood he had already learned to beat his wings and fly.

Xiao Man in his white robes — hem and sleeve catching the night wind, rising and falling — looked like nothing so much as a white bird in flight.

He did not wait to touch the ground before he moved. The moment he passed through the formation boundary spread across White Blossom Peak, he had already nocked an arrow to the bowstring.

Four people were still active among the rocks and forest — those three in the Upper Baoyu Realm were scattered in different spots, swords raised and held with care, hunting for one another’s whereabouts. The fourth had clearly decided to hide until the others settled their scores before emerging; his robes bore nothing but dust, not a single mark of injury, tucked behind a great boulder, a body-lightening talisman affixed to his feet.

That person’s position was very cleverly chosen. Xiao Man loosed an arrow toward the southeast — clean and decisive — and it landed at the man’s side.

The sound of an arrow striking its mark blended with the sound of his own landing in the same instant. Even without looking, anyone could tell the remaining two Upper Baoyu cultivators had been alerted. Gushan was a grand and ancient sect; those it recruited were chosen one in ten thousand. The ones still fighting at this moment could be called one in ten million. Xiao Man did not hesitate for a single breath — he loosed one arrow toward each of the remaining two directions.

He had devoted too many years to Buddhist cultivation; he was unaccustomed to killing, and untrained in combat — but that did not mean his archery was anything less than masterful. Only the flicker of flowing light through the void, then two dull sounds as two bodies hit the ground simultaneously.

One person remained. Xiao Man turned to look at him.

That person had rolled and come back to his feet in one motion, eyes curving upward in a smile, lips curving upward in a grin — he flashed Xiao Man a flattering, ingratiating smile: “Uh — how about you don’t shoot me? I know it won’t actually kill me, but it still really hurts.”

Xiao Man truly did not draw another arrow. He stepped forward, long bow held in one hand, raised it in a single swift motion — and brought it down squarely on that person’s head.

Thunk.

The person toppled straight back, raising a cloud of dust. His hand was still clutching a pellet of something. Xiao Man glanced down at it, then stepped around him and walked on.