Night descended upon Azure Tempest City like a slow, sorrowful song.
Rain fell in steady rhythm, drumming softly on the tiled rooftops, trickling down gutters that whispered to the darkened streets below. Lanterns swayed from their poles, the flame within each trembling like a heartbeat, scattering shards of gold across the wet cobblestones. The world shimmered—damp, glimmering, half-awake.
And through that fragile calm… a shadow moved.
---
High above the streets, Tiān Lán walked the spine of the rooftops, his every step soundless against the rainfall. The faint halo of frost that surrounded him rippled with quiet power, scattering droplets in midair. Beneath his feet, Guardian threads shimmered faintly—silver lines weaving through the mist, connecting to the spirits that circled the skies.
The fox spirit darted between alleys, tails glowing with ghostly light, scanning the darkness for movement.
The dragon spirit, wings cloaked in clouds, hovered above the city's spires, eyes glowing faintly with lightning's reflection.
The night air was cool and sharp.
Each breath Tiān Lán drew carried the scent of rain, incense, and faraway smoke.
But beneath that—something else.
A lingering wrongness. A trace of killing intent, faint but deliberate, hidden under the city's pulse.
> "The Shadow Fang…" Tiān Lán murmured to himself, his tone low, like distant thunder.
"They won't forget today. Nor will I."
Lightning flared briefly on the horizon, reflecting in his storm-blue eyes.
For that fleeting instant, his silhouette became a shard of the heavens—untouchable, eternal, and cold.
---
Down below, tucked between two crumbling walls, a teahouse flickered with dim light. Its wooden sign creaked in the wind, the calligraphy for "Peaceful Fragrance" faded and chipped.
Inside, a single lantern hung above an empty room. The air smelled faintly of old tea leaves and rain-damp wood.
An old man sat waiting, shoulders hunched, face carved by time and scars. His hands trembled slightly as he poured tea into two cracked cups.
When Tiān Lán entered, the door barely made a sound. Yet the old man flinched.
"You've come," the man rasped, his voice carrying both reverence and fear. "The city sleeps uneasily tonight. Whispers ride the rain. I have… what you seek."
Tiān Lán said nothing, but the rain dripping from his cloak sounded louder in the silence than any words could. He sat opposite the man, movements smooth, deliberate. Guardian's threads shimmered faintly in the room—watching, listening.
The old man reached into his robe, pulling out a worn map. Its edges were frayed, stained with tea and blood, but faint spiritual markings glowed along the parchment—sigils only visible to those who could perceive the flow of qi.
"These are the nests," the man said, his tone hushed. "The webs spun in secret. Sects, merchants, wandering cultivators—all tied to the Shadow Fang's will. They hide beneath layers of false names, shifting alliances. Their whispers reach from the inner city to the far mountains."
He pointed with a shaking finger.
"Here… and here… the lieutenants gather. One of them—'Lord Jinhai'—commands assassins from his manor by the river. Ruthless. Paranoid. He sleeps with a blade beneath his pillow."
Tiān Lán's gaze moved across the map, his eyes gleaming faintly with light. Guardian's threads extended from his fingertips, tracing each location in the air, etching them into glowing sigils that hovered above the parchment.
> "Names. Faces. Intentions."
His voice was calm, but it carried the quiet gravity of judgment.
"I will not strike without understanding. But when I do—none will rise again."
The old man bowed deeply, trembling. "You walk a road few survive, Master Tiān. The shadows you chase… they watch you in return."
Tiān Lán stood, rainwater sliding from his cloak in thin rivulets.
> "Then let them watch," he said softly. "For every gaze they turn upon me, I will return it with tenfold clarity."
He vanished into the night as the lantern flickered once—and died.
---
The outskirts of Azure Tempest were drowned in mist.
There, beyond the last streetlight, a lone manor loomed—a structure of dark stone and sharp eaves, guarded by talismans that pulsed faintly in the rain. Inside, faint laughter echoed, mingling with the clinking of cups and the low hum of drunken conversation.
Lord Jinhai, the Shadow Fang lieutenant, reclined in his chair, a half-finished scroll of spirit contracts beside him. His guards stood at the corners—alert, but weary from the storm.
The rain intensified, thunder rumbling across the horizon.
And then—silence.
Every candle flickered.
The sound of rain vanished.
Only the faint hum of qi remained.
Jinhai frowned. "Did you hear that?"
The guards turned. Nothing.
Then one of them collapsed—without a sound. His body hit the floor, eyes wide, unmarked, yet lifeless. Another turned, drawing his blade, but found only mist where his master had sat.
A whisper glided through the air, soft, unhurried.
> "You led the knives that hunted me."
Jinhai spun, eyes wild. "Who's there?!"
The shadows behind him stirred.
From within them stepped Tiān Lán, his presence silent, yet crushing. Rainwater glimmered along his sleeves, each droplet freezing midair before vanishing. Guardian threads pulsed faintly around him, weaving across the room like strings of fate.
He raised a single hand. The threads responded.
In an instant, Jinhai's limbs locked—qi sealed, body immobile. The chair beneath him cracked under the sudden surge of suppressed power.
> "You will answer," Tiān Lán said, voice calm, yet edged with storm.
"Not with lies, but with fear."
Jinhai tried to speak, but Guardian's filaments tightened. His vision blurred.
He saw eyes—storm-blue, endless, reflecting every sin he had ever committed.
He understood then: this was not vengeance. This was judgment.
Moments later, the rain returned.
When it did, the manor was silent.
Tiān Lán stepped back into the night, the moonlight tracing his silhouette as frost gathered along the cobblestones. No blade had been drawn. No scream had escaped. Yet every guard who saw his face that night would whisper of it until their dying day.
> "He moved like a spirit… and the rain bowed before him."
---
Far from the city's chaos, atop the misty cliffs overlooking Azure Tempest, Yue Qingling stood waiting beneath a crimson umbrella. Her robes shimmered faintly in the starlight, each thread woven with quiet power.
Tiān Lán landed beside her, the air around him still charged with unspent energy. The storm lingered, reluctant to leave his presence.
"You've begun," she said softly. "But vengeance cannot be finished in a single night. It festers. It spreads. And if you are not careful, it consumes."
Her gaze turned toward the city below—its countless lanterns flickering like souls adrift in darkness. "The Shadow Fang will strike back. They will send hunters, spies, even allies disguised as friends. Patience, Tiān Lán. You must strike not from rage… but from inevitability."
He stood silent for a long moment. Then, his eyes lifted to the horizon.
The rain reflected in them like shards of glass.
> "They move through shadows," he said. "But I was born from silence.
Let them come.
Every trap they weave, I will see.
Every dagger they raise, I will break.
And when their arrogance blinds them… I will end them all."
The wind howled between the peaks, carrying his words into the storm.
Somewhere below, the city's heart trembled.
Somewhere far away, a bell tolled—soft, ominous, as if the heavens themselves were listening.
Above them, lightning cracked once—white and merciless—illuminating Tiān Lán's face.
In that instant, the legend of the Mountain Phantom was no longer rumor.
It was destiny.