Cheng Haoran’s father had been a cultivator of modest standing, one who never rose beyond the lower ranks of He Yu Zōng. His cultivation was steady, but unremarkable; his swordwork serviceable, yet never resplendent. In the annals of the sect, his name was barely remembered. So he bore within him a single dream, carried like a flame against the wind: that his only son might rise higher than he ever could.
From his earliest years, Haoran showed extraordinary promise. By five, his spiritual core had already awakened, gleaming with a power that few achieved in a lifetime. His father, though fearful of pushing too hard, trained him with fierce devotion, each day shaping him not only for survival but for glory.
When the day came to enter He Yu Zōng, Haoran's father accompanied him as far as the outer threshold allowed. There he paused, torn between hope and dread at the thought of his son facing the trials so young. Yet even as doubt gnawed at him, the radiance of Haoran's core was undeniable. The elders, recognizing the rarity of such a gift, made an exception: where others waited years before facing the trials, Haoran was allowed to step forward.
He passed.
Within He Yu Zōng, the path of a cultivator was arduous, carved with the intent to grind down the unworthy. Novice, apprentice, adept, disciple—each rank was a crucible of body, mind, and spirit.
Where some labored for decades, Haoran rose as though lifted on unseen currents. He carried himself with clarity, his blade like flowing ink upon parchment, fluid, exact, and full of grace. In sparring halls and training courts, elders watched in silence, knowing they were witnessing a rare star ascend.
The novice rank passed swiftly beneath his feet, for he had already formed the core that others bled years to achieve. In the apprentice stage, his swordplay deepened, marked by instinctive precision and a charisma that drew fellow students to his side. By the time he entered the adept rank, the true threshold of worth, he seemed less a boy being tested than a figure born already tempered.
It was here that Cheng Haoran imagined himself joining the Dragon Banner, the most coveted of He Yu Zōng’s divisions. To serve under its standard was the dream he had carried since boyhood, shared in whispers and oaths with Qiang Hui Fen, his closest companion. Yet fate twisted that cord when all the adept initiates were summoned to the Shi Yuan Dian for the blood covenant.
Beneath a solemn rite, the different banners claimed their own. Haoran never fully understood how the choice was made, only that the decision was final and unquestioned. All it took was a drop of his blood upon the Destiny Pearl, and he became a formal disciple of He Yu Zōng under the Vermilion Bird Banner.
Prestigious though it was, the sting of disappointment struck deep, for the Dragon Banner was not merely a rank, but a promise made between brothers. Haoran bowed with composure, though his heart smoldered. Hui Fen, though exalted in triumph, felt the sting of parting pierce his joy.
In their early years, Haoran and Hui Fen had been inseparable. They sparred until their arms trembled, studied side by side beneath lamplight, and pushed each other to limits neither could have reached alone. Where Haoran moved with instinct and raw brilliance, Hui Fen countered with patience and unyielding discipline.
Haoran was fire: swift, dazzling, and unpredictable. Hui Fen was stone: steady, unyielding, and carved with purpose. Together, they were brothers not by blood, but by shared sweat and unspoken trust.
But when the banners were taken, a hairline crack formed. Hui Fen bore the Dragon’s mantle, their childhood dream fulfilled, while Haoran stood beneath the Vermilion Bird’s wings.
At first, they fought against the distance. They still sparred, still trained, still exchanged quiet words as they once had. Time pressed upon them; the burdens of different banners carved new paths beneath their feet. Duties separated them, and the roles they now carried set them walking in opposite directions.
It was Haoran who resisted this parting with all his heart. He reached again and again, pulling Hui Fen into conversations, seeking shared moments, trying to keep the bond intact. But the more he reached, the more Hui Fen slipped further away.
Haoran noticed. He had long sensed the coldness in Hui Fen’s gaze, the silences where once laughter had lived. Though the world still saw them as He Yu Zōng’s twin prodigies, only Haoran truly understood how far apart they had drifted.
* * * * * *
The morning bell tolled, its low, resonant note trembling through the stone walls of He Yu Zōng. The sound carried across ridges and snow-laden terraces into the labyrinth of quiet resting chambers, a reminder that even in deep winter, the day demanded devotion.
Haoran, like many other disciples, rose at precisely four in the morning. The hour was set for Cheng Xin Yi, the Three Morning Rituals. With disciplined grace, he made his way to Suming Táng, the Grand Hall of Clarity, and settled cross-legged upon the polished floor. For an instant, the cold brushed his robes, sharp as a blade’s edge, before the hall’s energy repelled it.
The Suming Táng was a place of austere majesty. Its pale wooden floor stretched wide beneath an umbrella-like roof that sheltered disciples from snow without dimming the flow of heaven and earth. It was common ground for fully recognized disciples and elders alike, a hall of quiet authority. Novices, apprentices, and adepts were barred, left to their own chambers, their energies still unrefined for its harmony.
Haoran’s gaze swept across the gathering almost unconsciously. As ever, it found Hui Fen’s designated seat. He was present today. Seven days of silence had passed between them since their last meeting, marked by patrols beyond the sect’s borders. The memory of their last conversation, fragmented and distant, deepened the ache of separation.
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Disciples sat in a ring around the Destiny Pearl at the heart of the hall. As the first ritual began, Haoran inhaled deeply, drawing the waning moon's energy into his core. Faint yet pure, silver light descended upon the circles, threading through each disciple's body and filling their meridians with sharpened clarity. The chill of Làyuè heightened their awareness, tempering both mind and body.
At the sound of the gong, the second ritual commenced: the Offering to the Destiny Pearl. Spiritual energy poured outward as each disciple guided it toward the luminous treasure at the hall's center. Haoran felt his power swell before streaming from his body, joining the countless currents flowing across the polished floor into the Pearl. The ancient gem blazed with radiant light and answered with a deep hum that resonated through his chest.
More than a relic, the Destiny Pearl was the living heart of He Yu Zōng. Every disciple who offered a portion of their spiritual essence became bound to it, joining a lineage that stretched back through countless generations. Within the Pearl lingered the echoes of those who had come before, and with each new covenant, the chain between past and present grew unbroken.
The third and final ritual was meditation: the Harmonizing of Soul and Body. Haoran's breath grew deep and steady. The surface of his mind stilled like a lake beneath falling snow. Spiritual energy coursed gently through his meridians, aligning, smoothing, and refining them. The hall breathed as one—thousands in unison—yet within that shared stillness, each disciple entered a solitude wholly his own.
At the breaking of dawn, the bell tolled once more, bringing the rites to their close.
The Scion rose first, stepping forward with the solemnity his rank demanded, receiving the Destiny Pearl as custodian of the sect's living heart. The elders followed, leaving the hall with practiced grace. Then a chosen disciple lifted his voice in the Scriptures of Làyuè—a chant soft but unwavering, echoing in the bones of the hall:
The Frosted Resolve: endurance in hardship.
The Ice Lotus: purity and untainted clarity.
The Waning Moon: the release of the old and the preparation for renewal.
The disciples stirred from their stillness as the final echoes faded. Haoran lingered in quiet gratitude, not for the rituals themselves, but for the fleeting moments they allowed him to glimpse Hui Fen, even when they exchanged not a single word.
The herald's voice rang across the hall, crisp and commanding:
“Disciples of the Dragon Banner, attend the Council Hall.”
“Holders of the Vermilion Bird Banner, proceed to the Lotus Tower for ritual practice.”
“The Golden Pixiu Banner, proceed to the Hall of Mirrors.”
Red robes shifted like currents in a river, flowing together yet parting, the different banners marking not competition but destiny.
From a distance, Hui Fen rose with practiced elegance, giving Haoran a brief, cool nod—no words exchanged, only an acknowledgment of their shared history. Then he turned, the Dragon Banner’s crimson folding around him as he joined his fellow disciples.
Haoran stood a moment longer, watching the Vermilion Bird’s red gather at the southern doors. The Lotus Tower awaited them with its ritual fires, chants, and intricate dances of energy. He inhaled deeply, the cold air filling his lungs, the subtle warmth of the hall lingering at his back. The disappointment of missing the Dragon Banner had long since faded. Yet whenever the Cheng Xin Yi rites brought them together, the banners no longer felt like honors of the sect, but walls separating him from the one person he had chosen to call a brother.
Without a second thought, he broke away from his group. Haoran was the kind of person who didn’t stop trying—not in a nagging way, but with quiet insistence. He simply wasn’t ready to give up. Determined to bridge the growing distance, he made his way toward Hui Fen, masking the unease gnawing beneath his usual cheer. Calling out loudly would have been disorderly, but Haoran could move swiftly and still maintain grace.
“Hey, Hui Fen,” he called lightly.
Hui Fen turned and offered a polite smile, brief and measured. Haoran returned the smile, equally composed, but an awkward silence immediately settled between them.
Qiang Hui Fen wasn’t the type to initiate conversation, especially when he had duties to attend to. They stood for a moment, eyes meeting, before Haoran carefully moved to the point.
“Jinlin and the others are going night hunting after class,” he said.
Hui Fen responded with a slight shift of his gaze, already guessing what Haoran was about to ask.
“I’m going with them,” Haoran added.
He studied Hui Fen closely. The other often seemed cold to outsiders, but Haoran had grown up by his side; he had learned to read the quiet changes in Hui Fen’s gaze, the meanings hidden behind what he left unsaid.
At the mention of night hunting, Hui Fen’s eyes did not brighten. Only a faint movement of his brows accompanied the polite smile he gave.
Haoran pressed on, undeterred. “Come night hunting with us.”
Night hunting was more than a tradition. It was a rite of passage, a way for disciples to hone their instincts and grow together. It was how most spent their free time, a chance for training, companionship, and memories beyond the confines of the sect.
“Today is not a good day,” Hui Fen replied evenly. “I just returned, and Bifeng has already assigned me many tasks to complete.”
Haoran’s smile faltered.
He searched Hui Fen’s eyes, recalling the many times the other had made similar refusals whenever the conversation hinted at spending time together, always retreating behind the excuse of duty.
Haoran’s jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face before he could restrain it. “I understand. Another time, then.”
Hui Fen offered no response, knowing that the promised “another time” might never arrive.
Yet he did not turn away. He remained standing, the polite smile gone. A subtle shift colored his eyes with sadness, and Haoran caught it almost instantly.
Haoran sighed, wondering what the real problem was. Hui Fen seemed determined to pull away, inch by inch, leaving him unsure whether he was being pushed aside or simply left behind.
Was it something he had done? Or was Hui Fen carrying burdens he could not share?
Haoran did not know. And that, more than anything else, made his chest ache.