The vast doors of the alchemy hall swung open as Feng Yueru pulled Haotian inside. The interior glowed with the heat of dozens of great cauldrons, flames dancing blue and white beneath intricate formations. The scent of herbs filled the air — bitter roots, fragrant flowers, and metallic tangs of minerals blending into a heady haze.
Disciples and elders alike turned as one. Their gazes widened when they saw Yueru leading the golden-eyed stranger inside so casually. Murmurs spread quickly.
"Senior Sister Yueru again…"
"She brought him here?"
"Even the Sect Master watches who enters these halls—what is she thinking?"
Yueru ignored the whispers, tugging Haotian closer to the central platform where a row of master alchemists were at work.
Haotian paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. The formations engraved beneath each cauldron pulsed with steady rhythm, balancing flame and chi flow. He inclined his head faintly. "Not bad. Stable refinement lines. Their foundations are firm."
Yueru blinked, surprised. "You mean… you're actually impressed?"
Haotian did not answer immediately, instead walking toward a cauldron where one of the senior alchemists was completing a refinement. The flames dimmed, and the elder lifted the lid carefully. A wave of rich medicinal fragrance spread across the hall.
"Two… medium-grade chi restoration pills," the alchemist declared, his voice steady. He plucked them from the cauldron with a jade spoon and placed them on a porcelain dish.
Applause rose from the watching disciples.
But beside them, Yueru's lips parted in shock. "Only… two?"
The surrounding elders frowned slightly at her reaction, exchanging glances. Yet they were startled again when the golden-eyed stranger spoke, his tone calm but carrying weight.
"Two pills. Both medium grade," Haotian said slowly, eyes steady on the dish. "Efficient enough… but far too wasteful."
The words fell like stones into a still pond. The disciples stopped whispering. The master alchemist's hands froze above the cauldron, his brows furrowing.
From the side, one of the elders whispered under his breath: "Wasteful? That was a successful batch. No less than what our standards demand."
Yet Yueru turned her wide eyes toward Haotian, remembering the serpent soup he had made for her, the effortless way he handled herbs without hesitation. If he thought this was wasteful…
The silence in the alchemy hall thickened, all eyes drawn to him.
The alchemy hall was tense with expectation. Elders and disciples watched Haotian, their brows furrowed, whispers sharp.
"You speak like a novice," one elder muttered. "Burn, gather, merge, form… everyone here knows this."
"Arrogance," another scoffed.
Haotian's gaze didn't waver. His tone remained calm, almost detached.
"Why burn, when burning destroys? When fire devours half the spirit of the herb? That is not refinement. That is loss."
The words stilled the hall. The master alchemist frowned, but his hand trembled faintly.
Haotian lifted his palm. A collection of herbs rose into the air, suspended as if held by invisible threads of chi.
"Watch."
The herbs shimmered. Then, without flame, without smoke, their husks crumbled into gray dust. From them drifted pure strands of glowing essence, coaxed gently free, weaving together above Haotian's hand.
Gasps echoed.
"No fire…"
"He—he's extracting directly—"
"That's impossible!"
Yet the essences did not resist. They did not clash. They spun together seamlessly, forming a single radiant sphere that pulsed with quiet perfection.
Haotian's other hand moved in sharp seals. The great sphere split, fragmenting into countless smaller globes of light. Each orb harmonized with the next, no discord, no wasted strands.
"This is what you call merging," he said softly. "Not by force. By balance."
The orbs spun faster, shrinking, compressing, condensing. The fragrance thickened until the air itself hummed with medicinal qi. Then, one after another, the orbs solidified into pills, raining down onto jade trays with the crystalline chime of jade bells.
The sound did not stop.
Tray after tray filled, disciples scrambling to catch them. The fragrance rolled like thunder, saturating the entire hall.
When at last the light dimmed, the trays were overflowing.
"Eight hundred… and thirty-four," Haotian said simply, his voice steady. He did not boast, did not smile. He simply stated the number.
The silence was suffocating.
The master alchemist staggered forward, staring at the jade trays, his lips trembling. "Eight hundred… one batch… even a Sovereign-tier pill master…" He shook his head violently. "Impossible…"
Disciples gaped, some nearly falling to their knees.
Beside him, Feng Yueru's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with awe. "Eight hundred… in one batch…"
Haotian lowered his hand, dusting his robes as if he had done nothing of note. His golden eyes swept the hall.
"This," he said calmly, "is still only burning, gathering, merging, and forming. The same foundation you all know. But without waste."
The hall erupted into chaos, disciples shouting, elders pale, the master alchemist clutching his chest as if struck.
And Haotian, quiet as ever, simply returned to stillness.
The alchemy hall was silent but for the faint clatter of jade trays, each overflowing with perfectly round, radiant pills. The fragrance was so thick it felt like standing inside a sea of medicine, every breath brimming with vitality.
Disciples gawked, elders stared pale-faced, and the master alchemist nearly collapsed where he stood.
Haotian lowered his hand as though nothing unusual had occurred. "Eight hundred and thirty-four. All high grade."
The silence stretched—until Feng Yueru suddenly squeaked out, louder than she intended:
"That's more pills than the entire hall makes in a year!"
Every head swiveled toward her. Her face turned crimson, but she stamped her foot defiantly. "What? It's true! You all saw it!"
Her words broke the tension like lightning cracking through a storm. Some disciples nodded frantically, others muttered, but no one could deny it. The scale of what had just occurred was undeniable.
Haotian only sighed softly, shaking his head. "Too noisy."
Moments later, the Hall of Tempests doors slammed open. A shaken elder rushed inside, falling to his knees before the Sect Master and Madame.
"Report!" Feng Tianzhao barked, lightning sparking from his throne.
The elder bowed so low his forehead struck stone. "Sect Master, Sect Madame… the guest Haotian has just refined a batch of chi restoration pills. In one attempt… eight hundred and thirty-four pills. All flawless. All high grade."
The thunder outside roared in answer.
Yun Xiran's hand tightened on her seat, her calm façade flickering. "Eight hundred… from a single batch?"
"Yes!" the elder stammered. "Even the Sovereign-tier pill masters cannot… it is beyond comprehension. The disciples are already whispering, the hall in uproar."
The Sect Master rose to his feet, his storm aura boiling. His voice rumbled like the heavens themselves:
"First he shatters space and time. Now he overturns the very laws of alchemy. This boy… is a calamity wrapped in mortal skin."
Yun Xiran's gaze sharpened, her voice low but cutting. "No. Not a calamity. A storm. One we cannot cage. One we must learn to ride… or be destroyed by."
Their eyes met in the charged silence, thunder echoing through the mountain halls.
The alchemy hall still buzzed like a disturbed hive long after Haotian and Feng Yueru stepped back into the storm-lit paths. Disciples whispered furiously in his wake, voices overlapping.
"Eight hundred pills—"
"All high grade—"
"He called it wasteful—!"
Yueru practically skipped beside him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide with excitement. Every few steps she looked up at him as though he might vanish if she blinked.
Their path wound toward the lower cliffs, where the roar of flames and ringing of metal grew louder. Soon the gates of the forging hall loomed before them, heat spilling out in shimmering waves.
Inside, blacksmiths worked over roaring furnaces, sparks flying with every hammer strike. The scent of molten ore and burning coal hung thick in the air.
And then the shouting began.
"Impossible!"
"How—how could he—"
"Look at the blade!"
The crowd of disciples and elders parted in disbelief, and there in the center stood Haotian, golden eyes calm, a long dao sword gleaming in his hand. Its edge shimmered as though woven from both steel and light, runes etched seamlessly into the blade's surface.
Yueru's breath caught. "You… you forged this?"
Haotian rested the sword lightly across his palm, his voice steady, almost instructional.
"Alchemy begins with essence, to form shape. Forging begins with form, to draw out essence. Two paths. One Dao."
He ran his fingers along the blade. The dao sword thrummed in answer, a resonance so pure the entire hall quivered.
"This sword was not hammered into submission. It was nurtured into balance. Just as with pills, waste is weakness. Harmony is strength."
The elders gaped openly. Blacksmiths who had labored their entire lives on the forge felt their knees weaken.
Feng Yueru stood frozen, her face pale from the heat yet flushed scarlet from something far more dangerous. Her heart hammered in her chest, her voice escaping in a trembling whisper.
"Alchemy… forging… you make it sound like breathing."
Haotian only sheathed the dao sword, setting it onto its rack without flourish. His calm expression didn't change.
But Yueru's did. Her lips parted, her eyes wide, and then she pressed her hands against her chest as if to still the storm within her.
"Haotian…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the forge.
"I think I'm falling in love."
The forge blazed brighter behind her, as though the flames themselves agreed.
The forging hall had already been roaring with disbelief — blacksmiths and disciples alike crying out at the sight of the dao sword Haotian forged as though it were born of the heavens themselves. But Feng Yueru's next words silenced the hall so thoroughly that even the flames seemed to hold their breath.
"Haotian…" she whispered, her face burning, her voice trembling.
"I think I'm falling in love."
The words rang through the air, echoing over the clang of hammers, the crackle of flames. Every disciple froze, eyes wide.
"She… she said it out loud?""Senior Sister Yueru… in front of everyone?!""With… him?!"
Whispers exploded instantly, rippling like wildfire across the hall.
Haotian, however, only smiled faintly. He mistook the trembling sincerity in her eyes for something else entirely — admiration for the blade, not the man.
He turned the dao sword in his hand, the gleaming runes catching the forge-light, and gently held it out to her.
"This sword is yours," he said simply. Then, with his other hand, he tapped the flat of the blade. His voice lowered, almost like a blessing. "She belongs to you. And you belong to her."
The dao sword shimmered, glowing softly as a clear tone rang from its edge. The sound cut through the hall like a bell of destiny, unmistakably marking its acceptance of her as its master.
Yueru gasped, staring at the sword as the resonance wrapped around her. She looked up at Haotian, words caught in her throat.
"You…" She blinked rapidly, her face aflame, unable to explain whether her heart raced because of the sword — or the man who had given it to her.
But Haotian only smiled again, silent. He said nothing more.
With the dao sword cradled in her hands, Yueru followed as he walked calmly out of the forging hall.
Behind them, the disciples erupted in chaos.
"She confessed to him—!""No, no, he gave her the blade—""Which is it?! The heir of Azure Tempest Hall and the stranger with golden eyes…!"
The rumors spread like lightning, but Haotian's calm back and Yueru's flustered steps disappeared into the storm outside, leaving the hall in uproar.
The forge doors closed behind them, muffling the clamor of gossip still echoing inside. The air outside was cooler, laced with mist that drifted down the storm peaks. Haotian walked steadily, golden eyes calm, hands clasped behind his back.
Feng Yueru followed a few steps behind, clutching the dao sword to her chest. Her cheeks were flushed red, her heart pounding wildly. Every step felt unsteady.
She glanced at him again and again, lips parting as if to speak, only to bite down on the words.
Does he know? Does he understand? No… he thought I meant the sword…
Her fingers brushed the blade's runes, the resonance still humming softly through her body. The bond was real — but it wasn't the bond she truly longed for.
Her voice finally broke the silence, faint and trembling. "Senior Brother… thank you. For giving me this…"
Haotian only nodded. "It accepted you. That is enough."
He continued walking, his calmness like stone against the tempest inside her chest. She lowered her gaze, torn between relief and frustration.
Why does he always stay so far…?
Meanwhile, in the Hall of Tempests, the Sovereigns of Azure Tempest Hall sat in silence as a trio of elders knelt before them, their faces pale.
One finally stammered, "Sect Master… Sect Madame… troubling news."
Feng Tianzhao's storm aura flared immediately. "Speak."
The elder swallowed hard. "In the forging hall… Feng Yueru openly declared she was… in love with the guest."
The words cracked like thunder. Yun Xiran's teacup shattered in her hand, porcelain shards scattering across the jade table.
Tianzhao rose, lightning crackling across his frame, his face dark as stormclouds. "She—she said this before the disciples?!"
The elder bowed lower, trembling. "Yes, Sect Master. In front of dozens. And then… he gave her a sword. A dao sword he himself forged. It resonated with her instantly. The hall is already in chaos."
The storm raged outside, echoing the Sovereign's fury. Yun Xiran pressed her lips tight, but even she could not hide the sharp edge in her voice.
"A confession. A bond forged before witnesses. The disciples will whisper until the rumor grows wings. If we do nothing, the Hall itself will think…"
Her voice trailed off, eyes narrowing.
Tianzhao's fists clenched, thunder splitting the night. "That boy… He toys with alchemy, overturns forging, bends reality — and now he dares entangle my daughter!"
The storm roared above the hall as the Sovereigns weighed what to do.
The storm outside the Hall of Tempests rumbled as the messenger's words settled like thunderbolts. Feng Tianzhao's aura seethed, lightning crawling across the pillars of the chamber. "That boy—he dares let my daughter confess before the disciples? This is a disgrace—"
"Enough."
Yun Xiran's voice cut clean through the storm. She exhaled slowly, waving her hand to dismiss the messenger. The elder scrambled away, relieved to escape the pressure.
The Sect Madame turned to her husband, her expression calm but weary, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Tianzhao… what did you expect?"
Her eyes lowered, thoughtful. "You know what happened the night of the serpent. He took her virtue to save her life. Now she clings to him. Call it shame if you wish, but to her it is fated."
Tianzhao pinched the bridge of his nose, his storm aura flickering unsteadily. "Fated, you say… tch. You mean to tell me I must simply accept this? That our daughter—our heir—gives her heart to a man whose origins we still cannot unravel?"
Xiran's gaze softened, though steel still laced her tone. "You saw him. He shattered space and time. He turned a single batch of herbs into hundreds of flawless pills. He forged a dao sword that resonated instantly with her soul. Tell me, Tianzhao… who else could she have fallen for?"
The Sect Master froze, his hand dropping slowly from his face. His jaw tightened, lightning crackling across his frame, then fading.
The truth gnawed at him: every word she spoke was undeniable.
"If this bond grows," Xiran continued, her eyes narrowing with calculation, "then what you call disgrace may instead become fortune. That youth may yet become… our son-in-law."
Tianzhao's storm aura dimmed at last, though his face was still grim. He muttered under his breath, "…Outstanding, perhaps. But no storm is ever so easily trusted."
Yet even as he spoke, his eyes flickered with a thought he dared not voice: If this truly is fate, then our daughter's heart may have already chosen the only man strong enough to claim it.
The storm peaks were quiet after the blaze of the forging hall, but Feng Yueru was anything but. She trailed Haotian down the misty paths, her dao sword clutched tightly to her chest. Every step she took seemed to echo louder in her own ears, her heartbeat refusing to calm.
She kept sneaking glances at him. His calm golden eyes, his steady pace, the way he walked as though the storm itself parted for him. He hadn't even reacted to her words in the hall — or worse, he had mistaken them for her feelings about the sword.
Her cheeks burned. Idiot… it wasn't the sword…
Yet she followed him anyway, as though bound by invisible threads.
Then, just as they reached a quiet fork in the mountain road, two disciples in storm-blue robes hurried toward them. They dropped into hurried bows.
"Honored Guest Haotian. Senior Sister Yueru."
Haotian paused, his gaze settling on them. "What is it?"
The lead disciple glanced nervously between them before speaking. "The Sect Master and Sect Madame summon you both to the Hall of Tempests at once."
Yueru blinked. "Both of us?"
"Yes." The disciple bowed deeper. "We were instructed to escort you immediately."
The mountain wind whistled faintly, carrying the weight of thunder across the peaks.
Haotian's expression did not change, though his golden eyes sharpened slightly. "Very well."
Beside him, Yueru tightened her grip on the sword, her pulse quickening all over again. Mother… Father… they already know.
As the storm rolled above, the two of them followed the disciples up the winding path toward the Sect Master's hall, side by side — one calm and unreadable, the other flustered and uncertain of what awaited them.
The Hall of Tempests glowed with an austere brilliance. Lightning veins ran through the marble pillars, thunder rumbling faintly overhead, the storm outside resonating with the will of its masters.
Feng Tianzhao, Sect Master of Azure Tempest Hall, sat upon his throne of storm-etched stone. His presence was heavy, crackling like a coiled tempest. Beside him, Sect Madame Yun Xiran sat poised, her expression calm yet sharp, eyes like blades peering through mist.
At the center of the hall, Haotian stood with hands folded behind his back, golden eyes steady and unreadable. Feng Yueru stood beside him, clutching her new dao sword, her face flushed but her chin raised in defiance.
The silence stretched, heavy as thunder. Then Tianzhao's voice broke it, rumbling deep as the storm above.
"Yueru. In front of the forging hall, before disciples and elders alike, you confessed your feelings." His gaze darkened. "Explain yourself."
Yueru flinched but did not lower her head. "I—I spoke the truth. Haotian saved me, and…" She gripped the sword tighter, her knuckles white. "…and I won't pretend otherwise."
The hall trembled with Tianzhao's barely restrained chi. But before he could answer, Yun Xiran's calm voice slid across the room like a blade through silk.
"Then perhaps we should hear from him." Her eyes fixed on Haotian. "You stand here as our guest. You overturned our alchemy, reshaped our forging, and now hold the heart of our daughter. Tell us — what are your intentions?"
Every elder present leaned forward. Disciples along the edges of the chamber held their breath.
Yueru's face burned crimson, her heart pounding. Mother…!
Haotian, however, did not waver. His gaze met theirs evenly, his tone calm, unhurried.
"My intentions are simple." His words echoed through the storm-lit chamber. "To prepare for what is coming. The demons will not stop at the seal. Sovereigns, sects, empires — all will be tested. That is why I remain in this world. Not for sentiment, not for gain."
The storm outside rumbled louder, as though the heavens themselves listened.
Then Haotian turned his head slightly, glancing at Yueru. His voice softened, but only a fraction.
"As for your daughter… I have taken responsibility once before. I will not deny what has already happened. But my path is not one that bends for the sake of affection. If she follows, she follows into storms and blood."
The words struck like lightning.
Yueru's heart leapt and sank at once — joy that he acknowledged her, fear at the warning in his voice.
Tianzhao's aura surged, lightning screaming down the pillars. "You dare speak so lightly of my daughter—"
"Enough." Yun Xiran raised a hand, her eyes never leaving Haotian. She studied him for a long, silent moment.
"…You speak truth. Perhaps harsher than I wished for Yueru to hear. But truth nonetheless."
The Sect Master's storm faltered, the hall trembling with suppressed tension.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Yun Xiran leaned back in her seat, her lips curling faintly. "Very well, Haotian. You will remain our guest… but from this day forward, your shadow lies over the Azure Tempest Hall. Whatever storms you carry, we will see them with our own eyes."
The chamber fell silent again, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone present.