Far to the south of the Central Plains, where the earth begins to buckle and rise toward the heavens, stood the great Heavenly Mountain. Its peak was an icy needle, a jagged spire of frost and stone that soared with a lonely arrogance above any other in the southern lands. It was a place of radical contrast. While the lowlands at its base baked beneath a perpetual, sweltering heat that shimmered off the yellow dust, a refreshing, almost lethal coolness perpetually embraced this towering summit.
The mountain's slopes were a breathtaking tapestry of ancient green, dense with growth that had seen dynasties rise and fall. Massive pines and gnarled oaks, their bark like the skin of dragons, formed a verdant canopy so thick it swallowed the sunlight. Below, thick, intertwining bushes carpeted the forest floor in a chaotic mesh of thorns and leaves. A crisp breeze, carrying the sharp scent of pine needles and the heavy aroma of damp earth, whispered through the trees like the breath of a sleeping god. Even in the heart of mid-autumn, this breeze possessed a chilling edge, ensuring that the early hours of the day were not merely cold, but invigoratingly, painfully freezing.
A thick, spectral fog still swirled around the mountaintops, a restless white sea that made it impossible for even the keenest eye to see anything beyond twenty feet. It was a landscape of ghosts. Despite this obscured vision, hundreds of martial artists—men and women who had traveled thousands of miles—still gathered on the peak of Heavenly Mountain every seven years. They stood in the mist, shivering in their silks and furs, all for a single, desperate chance to gather a Heavenly Flower.
According to ancient texts, scrawled in ink that had long since faded, legend holds that the Heavenly Flowers are a miracle of celestial alignment. They bloom only once every seven years, their petals unfurling in a synchronized rhythm that defies nature. Their beauty was matched only by their rarity; they could be picked only within the first hour of blooming.
The price of the harvest was absolute. Once the first flower was plucked from the bush, a silent death sentence was passed upon the rest. The other buds would begin to wither and turn to grey ash, and the entire bush's root system would die within the time it takes to burn a single stick of incense. The earth would then remain barren for another seven years, waiting for a new Heavenly Bush to grow and bloom once more.
The allure of the flower was not merely its beauty. It was believed to possess the power to cure any disease and, more importantly to the warriors gathered here, it could significantly enhance the internal energy—the qi—of those who practiced martial arts. A single petal could save a life; a whole flower could elevate a warrior to a new realm of power. Thus, countless martial artists flocked here every seven years, their hearts heavy with the hope of gathering as many Heavenly Flowers as they could. To some, they were medicine; to others, they were currency to be traded for rare manuals, forbidden skills, or invaluable secrets.
Martial artists from dozens of different sects stood on the edge of a small cliff, fifty feet of empty air separating them from the sacred bushes. Their gazes were locked, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons, unwilling to back down even an inch. They waited impatiently, the silence broken only by the whistling wind. Though many waited eagerly, a deep, sobering understanding settled in their hearts: within the range of the Seven Mountains, very few martial artists could truly hope to defeat the skilled cultivators who called these frozen peaks home.
"Ai-ya," Chief Wang of the Snow Sect grumbled, his voice a low rasp as he shook his head. He adjusted his heavy, fur-lined cloak, his breath hitching in the cold. "There are so many skillful martial artists from the Seven Mountains here this year." He glanced at the other chiefs nearby, a wry, bitter smile playing on his lips. "I'm sure more than half of these Heavenly Flowers will be theirs. Right, Chief Yin?"
Chief Yin, an elder of the Iron Crane Sect, returned the smile, though a hint of weary resignation clouded his eyes. "Right now, we're simply counting on our luck, Wang. I'm not sure when I'll have another opportunity like this." He let out a long, shuddering sigh, a faint chuckle escaping him as he leaned on his staff. "This year, I'm already seventy-one. My time in the Martial World is drawing to a close."
"There's a saying: the older you are, the wiser you get," a voice cut through the murmurs, sharp as a razor.
The crowd parted as Li Meng sauntered toward the gathered masters. He moved with a lazy, predatory grace, a smirk etched onto his face. He looked at the elders not with respect, but with a cold, mocking amusement.
"There's also a saying: but for some, the older they are, the stupider they get."
Whispers immediately erupted among the martial artists like a wildfire in dry grass.
"Sunset Valley?"
"Why is Sunset Valley here? They were supposed to be in seclusion!"
"The vultures have arrived to pick the bones," one man hissed.
"Don't say that," Li Ran warned, stepping forward to stand beside his brother. His voice was deeper, more measured, but his hand stayed firm on the hilt of his blade.
"Li Ran," Chief Wang's voice hardened, the air around him seeming to drop several degrees. "Sunset Valley is not welcome here. You need to take your people back, otherwise—"
"Otherwise, what?" Li Meng's smirk widened, his eyes dancing with a dangerous, challenging light.
"Otherwise, today we will chase you out!" a young disciple of the Snow Sect boldly declared, stepping forward. He was young, his face flushed with a mix of fear and bravado.
Li Meng didn't flinch. His gaze sharpened, becoming unwavering and predatory as it settled on the boy. "If you think you can chase us out, then step forward and let's see who chases whom out of this life."
"Ah Meng," Li Ran interjected, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Don't speak so harshly to them. We are guests of the mountain."
"Elder Brother," Li Ming scoffed, shaking his head in disdain. "Why respect them when they don't even respect us? They're afraid of us because they know we are superior to them in skill and numbers! Let them bark like dogs."
"Skill?" Xu Jing Seng, a senior brother of the Jin Diao Sect, scoffed. A sneer twisted his features.
Li Meng's eyes narrowed into slits. "You scoff because you think Sunset Valley has no skill?" He began to step forward, his boots crunching on the frozen earth, closing the distance between himself and Xu Jing Seng until they were nearly chest-to-chest.
Xu Jing Seng held his ground, his hand tightening on his heavy broadsword. "More or less skill, we shall wait and see when the petals open."
A few yards away, the Tang Family stood in a disciplined circle. They were famous for their subtlety and their secrets, and today they were an island of calm in a sea of aggression.
"Xiang Elder Brother," Tang Mei murmured, her voice a tiny tremor in the cold. Her small hand reached out, tugging gently on Xiang Lilong's left sleeve.
Xiang Lilong, who stood calmly with the Tang family, turned to look at her. A gentle, reassuring smile graced his lips. "Xiao-mei, don't worry about what they are saying or doing. We are only here to gather experience. If anything needs to be done, Master will let us know."
Tang Mei looked up at him with a worried expression, her eyes wide and searching. "Xiang Elder Brother, will they fight? Why can't they settle this with peaceful talk?"
Xiang Lilong smiled sadly, reaching out to gently tap Tang Mei's forehead. "Silly girl, peaceful talks are only for innocent children like you. In the Martial World, there's no such thing as peaceful talk. Whoever has better fighting skill, that person has the final say. Might is the only language spoken on this peak."
Tang Mei smiled innocently at him, her worries momentarily forgotten under his gentle touch. "Xiang Elder Brother, do you want to roam the Martial World with me one day?"
Xiang Lilong looked out at the bloody conflict brewing and simply shook his head, a soft, melancholy smile still on his face. He knew the world was too sharp for a heart as soft as hers.
"I also don't understand why the Tang family is always here every seven years," Lu Li stated, stepping toward the Tang patriarch. He looked directly at Tang Kong, his voice tinged with suspicion. "I mean, don't you all already have so many Heavenly Flowers in your possession? Your coffers are overflowing with them."
Tang Kong simply smiled, a picture of grandfatherly patience. "Chief Lu, as everyone knows, we are here only to get the Heavenly Flowers that no one wants. The stragglers, the small ones. Our coming doesn't affect the outcome of your victory."
Lu Fong, standing nearby, rolled his eyes at the diplomatic answer. "I was just wondering... what kind of medicine does the Tang family produce with the leftover Heavenly Flowers? Or is it a poison that you hide from the rest of us?"
Tang Lei, the Young Master of the Tang Village, slowly walked forward. He moved with a fluid, silent step, passing his juniors until he stood beside Tang Kong. He looked at Lu Fong, his expression as cool as the mountain mist. "Chief Lu, you should already know that whatever the Tang family does with the unwanted Heavenly Flowers has nothing to do with you. Our business is our own."
Lu Fong smiled, a sly, oily glint in his eyes. "Oh, it's the Young Master of the Tang family. Young Master Tang, I was just curious. But if you can't tell me, I understand the rules of the Martial World quite well." He slowly backed away, merging into the crowd of other martial artists, his eyes still lingering on the Tangs.
Tang Mei saw Tang Lei and smiled brightly, running up to him. "Cousin Brother! You have finally arrived."
"Senior Martial Brother," the other disciples greeted in unison, bowing their heads as the sun finally climbed to its peak.
Just as the sun rose directly above their heads, the mist seemed to vanish in a heartbeat, burned away by the midday light. The martial artists stared at each other, the reality of the moment crashing down. They had less than one hour.
The martial artists began to move, a frantic, desperate surge toward the edge of the cliff. They immediately clashed, the sound of steel on steel ringing out like a chorus of bells. They were testing each other's strength, a brutal dance to see who would be the first to cross the gap and pick a Heavenly Flower.
Xu Jing Seng rolled his eyes at the fools fighting not too far away. He waited, making no movement himself, as he observed that the people of Sunset Valley and the Tang Family were still standing like statues, observing the fight with cold, calculating eyes.
Tang Kong looked at the blood beginning to stain the snow, then back at his disciples. "We wait until everyone is done fighting, and then we pick the unwanted Heavenly Flowers. There is no need for unnecessary blood."
"Understood, Master," his disciples replied in unison.
Seeing that the martial artists had come very close to the edge of the cliff, some attempted to fly—leaping across the chasm with incredible Qinggong—to the other side where twenty bushes of Heavenly Flowers stood in full, radiant bloom.
Li Meng looked at Li Ran, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "Elder Brother, Aunty needs at least three Heavenly Flowers for her cultivation."
Li Ran asked, "So, what do you want to do?"
Li Meng's gaze swept around. "It seems like those martial artists from the Seven Mountains aren't doing anything. They're waiting for us to tire each other out. I'm going in."
Li Ran grabbed onto Li Meng's right arm, his grip firm. "You be careful. The air is treacherous today."
Li Meng didn't wait. He ascended over the first line of fighting martial artists, his body a blur of crimson. He headed toward the group closest to the edge, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard in a single, fluid motion. He unleashed a deadly ray—a concentrated arc of internal energy—toward the martial artists who stood in his path, clearing a bloody trail through the crowd.
Tang Lei saw the chaos. He saw that many people behind the lines were being injured, unaware that they were being targeted by Li Meng's indiscriminate strikes. This sense of injustice always bothered him the most. He flew forward, his white robes snapping in the wind, heading straight toward Li Meng. He flashed his shiny white sword, the blade reflecting the midday sun, and drove it straight at the Sunset Valley scion.
Seeing the incoming sword, Li Meng raised his own. The blades met with a jarring, ringing clang that shook the nearby trees. The sheer force of the impact sent Li Meng skidding back several yards, his boots cutting deep rifts in the dirt. When he stopped, he looked down. A distinct fissure marred the edge of his weapon.
Li Meng smirked, his eyes locked on the handsome young man. "I didn't know the esteemed Young Master of Tang Village possessed such talent. Come, have a duel with me. If you win, the first flower I gather will be yours as a token of affection," Li Meng purred, his smile predatory and mocking.
Tang Lei didn't take the teasing to heart. He looked at Li Meng, motionless, and said, "I'm only here for the unwanted flowers. I have no quarrel with you."
Li Meng stepped forward. "Then why did the Young Master of Tang Village come forward to fight with me?"
"It's because you are too ruthless by attacking others from behind," Tang Lei replied, his voice firm and resonant.
Li Meng threw back his head and laughed, a mocking, jagged sound. "I didn't know that the Young Master of the Tang Village could be so righteous! A saint among sinners!" He raised his sword, a challenge burning in his eyes. "Come and have a fair duel with me."
Tang Lei didn't answer with words. He simply sheathed his sword back into the scabbard he held in his left hand. "No need," he said, turning his back to walk toward the people of Tang Village.
Angry at Tang Lei's dismissive attitude, Li Meng flew forward, his sword aimed directly at Tang Lei's exposed back.
Seeing the sword closing in, Xiang Lilong jumped forward with a roar, his own blade knocking Li Meng's sword away. In that moment of distraction, Tang Lei quickly spun around, his movement a blur. He struck Li Meng squarely on the chest with his palm—a strike of pure internal power—causing Li Meng to stagger backward, gasping.
Li Meng smiled, even as blood began to escape from the corner of his mouth. He spat the crimson liquid onto the white ground. "You're not as good as I thought you would be, Young Master," he rasped, wiping his chin.
One of the martial artists fighting nearby saw the opening. He saw that Tang Lei and Xiang Lilong had the upper hand over the injured Li Meng. He broke away from his own duel and aimed a cowardly strike at Li Meng, who was still reeling. The martial artist swung his sword, making a deep, jagged gash on Li Meng's upper left arm.
Li Meng stared down at his arm. Dark, purplish blood began to ooze from the wound. "You used poison?" he demanded, his voice tight and strained.
The martial artist looked at Li Meng proudly, his chest heaving. "With people like you, using poison is the most suitable method. A devil deserves a devil's end."
Just as the martial artist finished speaking, a dark shadow flew past him—so fast it was barely a flicker in the air. The man stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening, and then he dropped dead, his throat opened by a microscopic cut. The dark shadow continued flying over the cliff, landing with impossible grace on the other side. She quickly picked five Heavenly Flowers.
"Oh, someone picked some flowers!" a person shouted, pointing.
The martial artists froze. They stared at the figure wearing midnight-black robes. As the woman turned around, they were surprised to see that the person who had claimed the first prize was none other than the Young Lady of Sunset Valley, Li Bai Feng.
"Who is that?"
"A young lady... alone?"
"That is Li Bai Feng," Xu Jing Seng stated, his eyes wide with a terror he couldn't hide.
A junior of the Jin Diao Sect asked, "Senior Martial Brother, who is this Li Bai Feng?"
Xu Jing Seng replied, his voice trembling, "She has another name: the Black Widow of Sunset Valley."
"The Black Widow of Sunset Valley, is she?" the disciples exclaimed in unison. The collective gasp echoed across the peak, a sound of dread and recognition settling over them like a shroud.