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Three Days Later — Azure Radiance Sect Outer Gate
The morning mist rolled down the mountainside like silk unspooling from the heavens. Beneath it, the sect’s flagstones glistened with dew, reflecting the crimson banners that fluttered lazily overhead. Disciples in travel robes murmured prayers to ancestors and patted their pouches of spirit stones for luck.
At the center of this orderly bustle stood Shen Xun, arms crossed, face calm, eyes narrowed slightly in that permanent expression of polite disapproval that had made half the junior disciples fall in love with him and the other half vow to avoid him forever.
He had been standing there for thirty minutes.
He Yan was — predictably — late.
The escort disciples had already loaded the supply carts, the spirit beasts harnessed, the formation arrays checked twice. The Twin Peaks Exchange wasn’t just another inter-sect trial — it was the most prestigious dual-discipline tournament in the Northern Territories, where martial cultivators and alchemists competed together. It was, in essence, both battle and experiment.
Shen Xun had no problem with that.
He had a problem with He Yan.
The problem, specifically, was that He Yan was brilliant, infuriating, and capable of turning any environment — laboratory, battlefield, or public road — into the scene of an unclassifiable phenomenon that Shen Xun would then have to explain to the elders.
He was halfway through deciding how much longer was polite to wait before fetching him by force when the eastern gate shimmered — not opened, shimmered — and a plume of pale smoke rolled out, followed by a coughing, disheveled He Yan.
“Apologies!” the alchemist said, eyes watering as Snowball peeked from his sleeve. “My teleportation talisman appears to have… undercooked.”
“You tried to teleport to the gate?” Shen Xun said flatly. “It’s a ten-minute walk.”
“Yes,” He Yan said, brushing ash from his robe. “But why walk when one can risk disintegration?”
Shen Xun inhaled through his nose. “One can risk less, He-shidi.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He Yan’s smile was infuriating — bright, careless, hiding exhaustion beneath amusement. Shen Xun noticed the shadows under his eyes; he’d clearly spent the night preparing elixirs. His hands smelled faintly of burned resin and lotus pollen.
“Did you sleep at all?” Shen Xun asked before he could stop himself.
He Yan blinked. “Define sleep.”
“That answers my question.”
“Well, I took a brief nap while waiting for the pills to stabilize,” He Yan said cheerfully. “Though I dreamed the furnace was chasing me again.”
“It’s not a dream if it happened twice,” Shen Xun muttered.
He Yan grinned wider. “I knew you’d miss it.”
Before Shen Xun could formulate a response, Elder Yao appeared, his cane thumping once on the flagstones. “Both of you—listen well.” His sharp gaze shifted between them like a falcon judging prey. “At Twin Peaks, you’ll represent Azure Radiance in front of six major sects. The rules are simple: each pair faces three trials — Creation, Combat, and Concord. Fail one, you lose points. Fail two, you forfeit. Fail three…” He paused meaningfully. “You bring shame upon me.”
He Yan bowed deeply. “Elder, I would never bring shame—”
“You brought fireworks,” Elder Yao interrupted. “Twice.”
“Artistic innovation, Elder.”
“Call it that again and I’ll make you refine chamber pots.”
He Yan closed his mouth.
Elder Yao turned to Shen Xun. “And you—don’t kill him before the tournament starts.”
“I will try,” Shen Xun said, with the grave courtesy of a general accepting an impossible order.
Elder Yao sighed like a man who’d lived too long. “May the heavens pity me.”
On the Road to Twin Peaks
The caravan wound through narrow mountain paths, banners fluttering, spirit beasts snorting clouds of steam. The air was crisp and full of pine. Shen Xun walked ahead, leading his mount; He Yan rode his, humming quietly as Snowball perched atop the saddle like a furry crown.
They had been traveling in companionable silence for almost ten minutes before He Yan broke it, because He Yan was physically incapable of letting silence win.
“Senior Brother,” he said, “have you noticed that when we travel together, things… happen?”
“Yes,” Shen Xun said, eyes forward.
“Good things,” He Yan added quickly.
Shen Xun gave him a sidelong glance. “You call being chased by a sentient furnace a good thing?”
“It built character.”
“It nearly built your tomb.”
He Yan smiled, watching sunlight slant through the trees. “Still, we’re alive. Isn’t that what counts?”
“Low standards, He-shidi.”
“Efficient expectations,” He Yan corrected.
Shen Xun huffed softly — not quite a laugh, but close. And He Yan, ever attuned to the smallest shifts in that carefully controlled demeanor, felt a spark of triumph.
Noon, halfway down the valley road
They stopped to rest by a clear stream. Shen Xun knelt by the water, filling his canteen. His reflection — dark hair tied back, pale skin, expression unreadable — rippled in the current. He moved with the unconscious precision of someone who’d trained his body to silence.
Behind him, He Yan crouched, fishing a bottle out of his sleeve. “Here,” he said, offering a vial of pale blue liquid. “Spirit-purified water, infused with frost lotus. Keeps qi circulation steady during long travel.”
Shen Xun hesitated. “You made this?”
“I did,” He Yan said. “Tastes slightly like regret, but works perfectly.”
That earned a small sound — amusement, quickly smothered. Shen Xun accepted the vial and sipped. The taste was… crisp, oddly sweet.
He raised a brow. “Regret?”
“Regret is sweet,” He Yan said, chin propped on his knees. “You didn’t know?”
Shen Xun capped the bottle. “You talk too much.”
“Only when you don’t.”
Their eyes met again — and this time, neither looked away. The wind lifted the edges of their robes, carrying the faint scent of lotus and steel. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried.
He Yan felt the invisible thread between them tighten, a faint pull he’d learned to ignore but never could. Every moment near Shen Xun felt like standing too close to lightning — not yet struck, but aware that when it did, he wouldn’t move aside.
Then Snowball sneezed into the silence.
Both looked down. The ferret blinked up, offended by its own sneeze.
“Tian bless this creature,” He Yan muttered, rubbing its tiny head. “It saves me from dying of awkwardness.”
“You exaggerate,” Shen Xun said, but the corners of his mouth curved — an expression as rare as spirit-grade ore.
He Yan stared for half a heartbeat too long. The sun caught in Shen Xun’s lashes, gold on black, and He Yan’s heart tripped over itself.
He forced a smile. “We should move. Or the others will think we’re eloping.”
“Perish the thought,” Shen Xun said dryly, but his ears betrayed him again — faintly red.
Nightfall — Twin Peaks Valley
By the time the mountains came into view, the air had turned cold and thin, humming with residual spiritual pressure. Twin Peaks wasn’t just a location — it was a legend. Two mountains split by a deep chasm, connected by a suspended bridge of energy that glowed with shifting light. Beneath the bridge, a sea of mist swirled endlessly, filled with echoes of ancient beasts.
He Yan gazed up, eyes wide. “Beautiful.”
“Dangerous,” Shen Xun said, scanning the horizon.
“Sometimes they’re the same thing.”
At the gate, disciples from six sects were already gathering — colors flashing, banners raised, qi flaring subtly as each group sized up the competition. Azure Radiance’s arrival drew polite bows, curious stares, and one or two poorly concealed smirks from rival sects.
He Yan whispered, “They’re underestimating us.”
“They’re underestimating you,” Shen Xun murmured back. “I encourage it.”
“Why?”
“It’s easier to strike when they think you’re harmless.”
He Yan grinned. “Then I shall be adorably harmless.”
“Try believably harmless.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
They followed an attendant to their assigned quarters — a pair of adjacent rooms overlooking the mist valley. The walls shimmered faintly with protective runes. In the courtyard below, a massive stone stele bore the words:
“Three Trials of Unity — Mind, Body, and Heart.”
He Yan squinted at it. “Heart?”
Shen Xun frowned. “That wasn’t in the briefing.”
“No,” He Yan said slowly, eyes alight with curiosity. “It wasn’t.”
Snowball climbed onto his shoulder, tail twitching as if sensing the same thing He Yan did — that something in this tournament was not quite as it appeared.
And as night fell over Twin Peaks, the air grew heavy, thick with unseen qi currents. Somewhere beneath the mist, an ancient mechanism stirred.
Later That Night — He Yan’s Quarters
He Yan sat cross-legged on the floor, grinding herbs by lamplight. Outside, faint sounds drifted — crickets, footsteps, the low hum of wards. His fingers moved automatically, mind elsewhere.
“Three trials,” he murmured. “Mind, Body, Heart. But why change the order? Why add ‘heart’?”
Snowball, half-asleep on the pillow, yawned. “Chk?”
“Yes, yes, I’m overthinking,” He Yan said. “But doesn’t it feel like someone wants to test more than skill?”
A knock broke his thoughts. He opened the door to find Shen Xun, still in uniform, hair slightly disheveled, sword in hand.
“Can’t sleep?” He Yan asked.
“Something’s wrong with the barrier near the bridge,” Shen Xun said. “I’m going to inspect it. You shouldn’t go alone.”
He Yan blinked. “You came to… invite me?”
“I came to make sure you don’t cause another explosion while I’m gone.”
“Oh, how protective of you.”
Shen Xun’s expression didn’t change, but his ears betrayed him yet again. “Are you coming or not?”
“Of course,” He Yan said, grabbing his cloak. “You might need someone brave-handed.”
Shen Xun sighed. “Heavens preserve me.”
Together, they stepped into the mist.
And as the bridge’s light rippled beneath their feet, unseen forces awakened deep within the chasm — something that whispered of trials not just of skill and strength, but of feeling.
Because between alchemy and swordsmanship, between rivalry and longing, the first true test at Twin Peaks… had already begun.
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