The world was a canvas of ochre and dust. The sun, a hammer of white gold in a colorless sky, beat down on the cracked earth of the Dry Bone Road, raising mirages that danced like feverish spirits on the horizon. The only sound, apart from the wind's lament, was the rhythmic, heavy tread of two Earthen Scale Beasts, ox-sized creatures whose hides seemed carved from the desert rock itself. They pulled their cargo with an impassive strength; the occasional jingle of their silver harnesses was a lonely echo in the vast desolation.
The cargo was an affront to the landscape's austerity. A carriage of black sandalwood, polished to a deep, dark luster, glided over the dirt path with a logic-defying grace. Its wheels, reinforced with spiritual steel, barely kicked up any dust, and the crimson silk curtains covering the windows were embroidered with the emblem of a swirling cloud—the unmistakable symbol of the Silver Cloud Clan. Flanking the carriage, eight elite guards rode in silence. Their gray uniforms were covered in a fine layer of dust, but their posture was as rigid as the steel of their swords. They did not observe the landscape; they watched it, their gazes constantly sweeping the arid hills for threats they knew could materialize from nothing.
Inside the carriage, the world was different. The air smelled not of dust and heat, but of the fresh, sharp scent of Frozen Mountain Incense, a fragrance so expensive a single stick could feed a peasant family for a month. A soft rug of snow beast wool muffled the sound of the wheels, creating an oppressive cocoon of silence.
Seated across from each other, the two occupants were a study in contrasts. Both were young, with an aristocratic beauty and dressed in silks worth more than the carriage itself. Both radiated the unmistakable aura of power cultivated from birth.
Xiao Hong, at twenty-three, was the very picture of predatory elegance. Slender, with the long, pale fingers of a scholar, he held a white jade teacup, though he did not drink. His dark, sharp eyes watched the desert landscape through a gap in the curtain with an expression of profound disdain, as if the mere existence of such an imperfect world were a personal offense.
Opposite him, Xiao Jin, at twenty-five, was a contained storm. More stout than his younger brother, his energy was a physical presence in the small space, as dense and heavy as the air before a downpour. He could not sit still. His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on his knee, and his gaze wandered the carriage's interior, looking for something to break or a problem to solve through direct means.
The stillness finally became unbearable for him.
"Negotiating with the merchants from the Blacksteel Guild is like trying to teach a stone golem to dance," Jin complained, the sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt. "Greedy, foul-smelling rocks. We spent three days on fake smiles and bitter tea for a barely acceptable deal."
Sarcasm dripped from his words like venom.
"I don't know why Zian insists on these… 'trade agreements'," he retorted, stretching his legs until they nearly touched his brother's knees. "If he had let me take a dozen disciples from the Jade Ring, we would have 'persuaded' that guild to see things our way. Far more efficient than diplomacy. We would have gotten twice the ore for half the price, and they would have thanked us for the lesson in economics."
Hong finally looked away from the window and fixed his eyes on his brother. A glacial smile, devoid of all humor, touched his lips.
"Ah, yes. Our older brother's famous subtlety, and your even more subtle solution. Marvelous. Zian likely would have ended the deal with a veiled insult that would have cost us the southern trade routes for a decade. You would have provoked a guild war that would have bled us dry at a time when we can't afford a single scratch. Sometimes, Jin, I am astonished by your capacity to propose the most forceful and, simultaneously, the most foolish solution."
"Force is the only language these merchants understand," Jin insisted, his impatience turning to irritation. "They are parasites. The Silver Cloud Clan should not stoop to haggling with them. We should be dictating the terms."
"We should, yes," Hong conceded, and for a moment, the rivalry between them dissolved into a shared contempt for a common enemy. "But we cannot. And the reason we cannot is currently sitting in the clan's highest pavilion, probably drafting some useless edict about humility while our rivals sharpen their knives."
The mention of Zian—the firstborn, the heir—fell into the carriage's silence like a stone in a well. It was the one subject on which they always agreed. They both knew that, in the eyes of the Elders and tradition, Zian was the future Sect Master. And they both knew, with a certainty that ate at their souls, that it would be the end of the clan.
"The Elders are blind," Jin muttered, his voice a low rumble. "They only see his lineage, his power in the Spiritual Connection. They don't see his arrogance. They don't see that he treats allies like servants and servants like dust. A clan cannot survive without a foundation."
"Oh, they see it," Hong corrected with a quiet cruelty. "But Zian is the horse they bet on twenty years ago, and now they are too proud to admit their champion is a thoroughbred with the brains of a mule. To accept they were wrong would be to admit their own failure. And the Elders, my dear brother, hate to fail more than they love the clan. That is why they will keep polishing Zian's armor while the rest of the house collapses."
Jin leaned back, frustrated. The fist resting on his knee clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He was a cultivator of power, a warrior; these games of politics, these webs of whispers and fragile loyalties, sickened him. He believed in direct solutions. Hong, on the other hand, thrived in them. He understood that real power wasn't always the one that struck the hardest, but the one that knew where and when to strike.
"Speaking of surprises and failures," Hong said, changing the subject with calculated fluidity, "some interesting news reached me just before we left Ironrock City. A little bird told me our useless sister learned a new trick."
Jin's expression darkened. "You mean that farce at the assessment? Against Shi Teng? I heard the rumors. Pure luck. A parlor trick to impress fools. Shi Teng is a brute, but his power is real. Xiao Yue doesn't have a tenth of his strength."
"I agree it was a trick," Hong said thoughtfully. "But it wasn't luck. Luck is an isolated event. What Xiao Yue did was… precise. Too precise. A move that nullifies an opponent's power like that isn't luck. It's a technique. One we don't know. And that, dear brother, is concerning."
"What's concerning is that she carries our blood," Jin spat. "She's a disgrace. Always has been. Since we were children, hiding in corners, with that vacant stare…"
He paused, an idea beginning to form in his mind. His frown relaxed, replaced by an expression of cold deliberation. He looked at Hong as if he had just solved a particularly vexing equation.
"Although…" he began slowly, "perhaps we've been looking at the problem from the wrong perspective."
Hong raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden shift in his brother's tone. "What do you mean?"
"We've always seen her as a burden. An expense in the clan's ledgers. A constant reminder of… well, of herself," Jin said with a hint of disdain. "Her cultivation may be a lost cause, but her face… I'm told it has become… noteworthy."
Hong waited, his calculating mind already several moves ahead. He knew where this was going.
"In these times of weakness," Jin continued, his voice now that of a strategist presenting a simple, brutal plan, "a strong alliance is more valuable than a battalion of disciples. A marriage is the fastest and most solid way to forge one."
The proposal hung in the incense-scented air.
"And who do you propose we chain to this alliance?" Hong asked, though he already knew the answer.
"The Valley of the Silent Echo has been trying to expand its influence on the northern trade routes for years," Jin explained with pragmatic logic. "Their young master, Lian Ren, is said to be a prodigy, nearly on par with Zian, but without his insufferable arrogance. He is also known to have a weakness for beautiful faces. Yue's beauty could buy the loyalty our current strength can no longer command."
Hong stared at him for a long second, then let out a laugh. It wasn't a joyful sound, but a dry, sharp, contempt-filled noise.
"Brilliant," he repeated, tasting the word as if it were poison. "An idea so stunningly stupid could only come from someone who thinks exclusively with his muscles, brother. Using Xiao Yue? That uncontrollable variable? It's an insane plan!"
"Insane?" Jin growled, offended. "It's practical! It would secure our northern border and give us access to their spirit crystal mines!"
"It's diplomatic suicide!" Hong shot back, leaning forward, his voice now a sharp hiss. "Your plan would be excellent if we were marrying off a well-trained porcelain doll. But we are talking about Xiao Yue! Do you even know her? Have you spoken more than ten sentences to her in the last five years? None of us have! What do we know of what she thinks or what she's capable of? Nothing! What if, beneath that timid exterior, she hides a silver tongue capable of offending the Valley's matriarch? Can you imagine provoking a war because our little sister didn't like the tea she was served?"
Jin scowled. He hadn't considered that variable.
Hong continued, relentless. "Your alliance with the Valley of the Silent Echo would leave us vulnerable to the south. Do you think the Bloodleaf Sect would stand idly by? They're jackals! They would smell the distraction and stab us in the back before the wedding feast was over. And the Golden Carp Guild? Do you think they would help us? They answer only to gold, and right now, the clan's coffers are not as full as they once were!"
"They are calculated risks…" Jin tried to defend.
"They are idiocies!" Hong cut him off. "And that brings me to the most important point, the one your strength-obsessed brain seems to conveniently forget. To marry her off, to formalize an alliance of that level, you need Father's blessing and presence."
The name echoed in the carriage, and the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
"Do you really want to be the one," Hong continued, his voice now a dangerous whisper, "who goes to knock on the door of his seclusion? To interrupt his eternal mourning to ask him to officiate a wedding for the daughter he barely remembers, the one who looks most like her? Waking the sleeping dragon is a gamble not even Zian dares to make. And you want to do it for a fragile alliance with a clan of pretentious musicians."
Jin fell silent, defeated. Hong's logic was a wall of steel. Every point was a precise blow that dismantled his plan.
"No, brother," Hong concluded, leaning back again and regaining his composure. "Xiao Yue is a pawn, yes. But a pawn that is far too unpredictable and with a cost of activation that is far too high. It is better to leave her in her corner, gathering dust. It's safer for everyone."
The rest of the journey passed in a dense, hostile silence. The brief alliance against Zian had shattered, replaced by the raw reality of their own rivalry.
Finally, the carriage's rattle changed. The smooth glide over dirt was replaced by the rumble of stone. They had arrived.
Hong pushed aside the curtain. Golden Carp City spread out before them, a sea of curved roofs and bustling streets nestled in a fertile valley. From this height, one could see the mosaic of power that governed it. To the east, on the lower slopes of the same mountain they inhabited, the Silver Cloud Manor, their home, looked elegant but dangerously isolated. At the highest peak overlooking the entire valley, the austere, white Temple of the Unmoving Mountain seemed to watch over everything with a pious indifference. To the west, the obsidian and malachite towers of the Valley of the Silent Echo caught the sunlight, tall and thin as needles. In the lower districts, near the docks and the shadows, the aggressive red-tiled roofs of the Bloodleaf Sect's headquarters looked like an open wound on the city. And in the very center, a whirlwind of activity and wealth, was the market of the Golden Carp Guild—the true heart that pumped gold and power through the city's veins.
The carriage began its descent toward the imposing gates. Hong let the curtain fall, plunging the interior back into shadow.
"Welcome home, brother," he said with his characteristic acidity. "Back to the lion's den. Let's try not to be dinner this time."