By ArkGodZ | DaoVerse Studio
The morning mist rolled down the mountains like a sacred veil, wrapping the Cloud Sky Sect in a mantle of stillness. The meditation bells had rung not long ago, but Jian Yu had been awake long before that.
Sitting on the edge of a cliff, the wind danced around his body, testing the limits of his focus. His long hair swayed gently, held loosely by a simple band. His eyes were closed, but his mind was far from peace.
Not today.
"Why do I keep hearing that voice?" he whispered to himself, a breath the wind quickly stole away.
There, between sky and stone, he meditated. But something writhed within him.
Memories. Muffled screams. A house in flames. A woman's cry. The laughter of drunken men. A boy who could do nothing but run.
He remembered the pain.
And the fury.
Years had passed since that night. And yet, silence was enough to bring it all back.
He had been found at the edge of death — or more precisely, Yuan had found him.
His body was there, but it wasn't the same. The marks didn't match. The veins pulsed with unfamiliar energy. When she approached, his eyes opened as if they had never been closed.
"You shouldn't be alive," she had said that day.
And Jian Yu had no answer. Only the name she gave him. A name spoken without hesitation, as if it had come from somewhere beyond reason.
"Jian Yu," she said, like reciting a forgotten poem.
Only later would he realize that was truly his name. But that morning, in that new body, it felt like... a beginning.
Since then, he had lived among the disciples of the Cloud Sky Sect, yet always apart. Watched. Monitored. As if the elders knew that what stirred inside him... was not just cultivation.
He opened his eyes. The mist still blanketed everything, but something within his chest had changed.
Since the night before — since that dream… or was it a memory? A place where the world bowed before him, where voices whispered he could claim everything. Love. Power. Soul. Body. A temple forged from desire — with him at its center.
"Another illusion..." he muttered, trying to banish the thought. But his dantian pulsed. The qi around him stirred. It was as if the world responded to something within him, not as a disciple... but as something forgotten.
"Jian Yu!"
The voice sliced through the fog like a blade. It was Yuan. Always impatient, always showing up at the wrong moment.
"They're looking for you — training session," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you just going to sit there like some tragic hero?"
He stood without replying. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to slow. Yuan narrowed her gaze.
"You're different today."
"We all are," he said. "We just don't notice it."
She chuckled, but there was a trace of unease.
"Careful what you hide behind those pretty words, Jian Yu. Someone might want to find out."
"And you? Will you try?"
"Maybe," she said, spinning on her heel. "If the mystery is worth the risk."
They walked together toward the training field. Disciples were already gathering around the instructors. The sky had begun to clear, revealing silk banners fluttering atop stone towers. The sound of bells merged with murmuring voices, creating a rhythm that lulled the soul.
Jian Yu looked around. Everything seemed the same. But something inside him whispered: Not for long.
When his name was called for the routine spar, he did not hesitate. He would face a disciple at the 5th stage. Nothing unusual. But as he stepped into the arena, the world fell silent.
The wind ceased.
Leaves froze mid-air.
The opponent's eyes lost color for a second.
Then... everything shattered.
Jian Yu raised his hand, and energy exploded.
It was no learned technique. No sect style. It was raw impulse — desire in its purest, most sensual, most consuming form. Heat surged across the arena. A whisper echoed in every ear. Many didn't understand it. Others... dropped to their knees, as if his presence alone demanded surrender.
His opponent trembled on the ground, unable to explain what he felt.
Silence followed. A silence louder than any roar.
From atop the pavilion stairs, ancient eyes watched. Elders. Guardians of tradition.
Jian Yu said nothing.
But within, a question formed:
Who am I… really?
And so, in that moment, the fate of the Cloud Sky Sect began to shift. Not through war. Not through invasion.
But through a single disciple who dared to desire.
And the heavens… answered.
End of Chapter.
Next Chapter: The Whisper Beyond the Mist
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