The Morning After
The small hut was quiet, warmed by the dim glow of morning light filtering through bamboo cracks.
Mu Yanyue sat up slowly on the wooden bed, her long hair falling like a silk waterfall over her shoulders. Though her complexion was still pale, the darkness that once clung to her veins had completely vanished. Every breath she took was finally free of pain.
Her gaze lifted to Lin Xian, who stood near the open doorway.
He looked almost unreal in the morning light — snow-white hair drifting softly, his cold, distant face as calm as still water. A figure both mortal… and immortal
A quiet breath left her lips.
> "You cured me," she said, voice low yet steady.
"I… don't know how to repay this grace."
Lin Xian glanced back at her, expression gentle but unreadable.
> "You don't need to repay anything," he said.
"Our meeting was fated."
Something in his tone — soft, firm, unshakably certain — rippled through her like a bell struck in the heart.
Mu Yanyue froze.
Fated?
Why did that word make her chest tighten?
Her eyes lingered on him, looking at his features.
His hair like untouched snow…
His gaze deep yet distant…
His aura — cold like ice, with the bearing of a celestial
A strange familiarity washed over her.
She didn't know him.
She shouldn't feel anything.
And yet—
Why does he feel… close? Like someone I once knew? Someone important?
The sensation was so strong it almost hurt. A déjà vu that tugged at forgotten memories she never possessed.
Her lips parted.
> "Have we…" she whispered,
"met before?"
Lin Xian's expression didn't change, but a trace of cold light flickered in the depths of his eyes.
> "Not in a way you can remember," he said softly.
His voice carried something unspoken — not sorrow, not regret… something deeper.
Before she could question him further, he straightened slightly.
> "It's time for me to go."
"Your pursuers won't reach this place for now. The poison is fully purged. Rest… and regain your strength."
Her brows tightened, an unexpected sense of urgency rising within her.
> "Wait."
Her voice was quieter than she intended.
"How do I contact you next time? If… I need help?"
Lin Xian paused.
For a heartbeat, he simply looked at her — as though memorizing her expression, the uncertainty in her eyes, the fragile calm she forced upon herself.
Then he spoke gently.
> "If fate wills it,"
"we will meet again."
Before she could protest, before the ache in her chest could push her to say more, he turned away.
But just as he stepped into the light, his fingers twitched ever so slightly.
A thin strand of golden qi flowed silently across the air and sank into Mu Yanyue's dantian. She felt nothing, no pain, no disturbance… only a faint ripple in her spiritual sea.
A tether.
A silent promise.
A way for him to sense the moment she fell into danger again.
"Till we meet again YanYue" he smiled
Lin Xian walked until the mist swallowed his silhouette, and then he was gone.
The hut suddenly felt too quiet.
Mu Yanyue lowered her gaze, fingers curling over her chest.
An unexpected hollowness opened inside her — sharp, aching, impossible to explain.
> Why… does it feel like I've lost someone important?
She had no answer.
Only the echo of his presence, fading like mist under the rising sun.
-------------
It's morning in Azure Cloud City
The city gates stood tall against the morning light, their ancient stone still cool from the night. Guards yawned lazily, merchants pushed in with carts of produce, and cultivators drifted past in loose groups, their robes fluttering like banners in a waking kingdom.
And then—
He entered.
Lin Xian stepped through the gates without hurry.
A few days ago, he had left this city as a joke.
A cripple.
A young master with a shattered dantian and broken meridians—his name whispered with pity, mocked with open disdain.
Today—
His presence alone altered the air.
His footsteps were steady, measured. Each step carried quiet weight, as if the earth acknowledged him differently now. His body no longer seemed frail; beneath his robe was hidden strength, restrained yet undeniable. Spiritual energy flowed within him like a silent tide—calm on the surface, boundless beneath.
His face was tranquil, almost indifferent. No arrogance.
Only calmnedd.
His hair, once black as ink, had turned completely white—pure as winter snow under a cold sun. It fell past his shoulders in smooth strands, luminous against the dark fabric of his robe. Even his brows were white, giving him an otherworldly aura.
His complexion was pale, but not sickly—rather like polished jade.
Cold & Refined
Clad in a simple black robe with no family insignia, he looked like a lone immortal who had wandered into the mortal realm by mistake.
The moment he stepped into the main market street—
Azure Cloud Market was already alive.
Vendors shouted over one another, advertising fresh spirit herbs harvested at dawn. Butchers cleaved slabs of beast meat with heavy thuds. Silk merchants unfurled bolts of shimmering fabric that caught the sunlight like flowing water. The fragrance of steamed buns, roasted chestnuts, and medicinal incense mingled thickly in the air.
Children weaved between stalls, laughing.
Cultivators haggled over talismans.
Carriages rolled past, wheels grinding against stone.
It was busy. Chaotic but Vibrant.
And yet—
As Lin Xian walked forward, a subtle ripple passed through the crowd.
Conversations faltered.
Heads turned.
A basket of oranges slipped from a vendor's hands, rolling across the ground unnoticed.
A young woman near a jewelry stall froze mid-sentence, her fan lowering slowly.
"Who… is that young gentleman?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it spread like fire through dry grass.
"He's so handsome…"
"So cool…"
"Is he from another city?"
More eyes followed him.
His white hair shimmered under the morning sun like frost touched by light. His black robe swayed with quiet dignity. His expression did not shift, not even slightly, despite the attention gathering around him.
Another girl frowned, clutching her companion's sleeve.
"But… why is his hair completely white? He looks like… like some devil cultivator."
Before she could continue, a different girl clicked her tongue.
"What do you know? That's not devilish—that's mysterious."
"Yes! It makes him look even more extraordinary."
"But wait…" another voice cut in hesitantly. "Doesn't he look… a bit familiar?"
The group fell quiet for a second.
Familiar.
They looked again.
The sharp features.
The outline of his jaw.
The way he walked—upright, refined.
A girl's eyes widened.
"Doesn't he look like Young Master Lin Xian?"
Silence.
Then—
"That trash??"
The response came instantly, filled with disbelief.
"Impossible. He's the one with the broken dantian, right? The cripple everyone talks about?"
"How could he look like this?"
"The Lin family's disgrace?"
"No way. That person couldn't even circulate spiritual qi properly."
"That must be someone else. Probably a wandering genius from another sect."
The gossip swelled and overlapped.
"There's no inferiority in him at all…"
"If that was really Lin Xian… then…"
They trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.
Lin Xian walked straight through the center of the market street.
He heard every word.
Every whisper.
Every disbelief-filled laugh.
Every scoff from the past echoing faintly behind the present admiration.
Yet his expression did not change.
Their opinions were like dust drifting in sunlight—visible, weightless, meaningless.
His gaze remained forward, steady as still water.
The bustling market parted unconsciously before him, like a tide splitting around an unmoving stone.
The same city.
The same streets.
The same people.
But to Lin Xian—
It already felt like a different world.
And he was no longer the boy who had left it.
-----------
The Lin Clan estate stood like a sleeping beast beneath the morning sky.
High vermilion walls stretched endlessly on both sides, carved with protective arrays that shimmered faintly under sunlight. Stone lion statues guarded the main entrance, their expressions fierce and eternal.
Lin Xian walked toward the gates without slowing.
The two outer guards crossed their spears instantly.
"Stop there!"
The sharp scrape of metal rang out.
"State your name! One more step and we'll cut you down for trespassing the Lin Clan!"
Their voices were loud, confident—routine authority born from long habit.
Lin Xian stopped.
He lifted his gaze.
Just a glance.
No movement. No raised voice.
Only his eyes.
Cold.
A killing intent, subtle yet suffocating, spilled from him like invisible frost. It wasn't wild or chaotic—it was controlled. Refined. The kind born from standing atop mountains of corpses.
The temperature seemed to drop.
The guards' pupils shrank.
Their fingers tightened unconsciously around their spears. A bead of sweat slid down one man's temple. The other felt his heartbeat stumble, as if something vast and predatory had locked onto him.
For a split second—
They felt as though they were standing before a calamity wearing human skin.
Then Lin Xian spoke, voice calm and flat.
"Lin Xian."
The name fell lightly.
But it struck like thunder.
The guards blinked.
Lin… Xian?
That trash?
Their eyes widened as they examined him again—white hair like winter snow, pale refined features, aura steady and unfathomable.
Impossible.
The crippled young master they knew had hunched shoulders and hollow eyes.
This man stood like a drawn blade.
They swallowed hard, immediately withdrawing their spears.
"O-Open the gate!"
The heavy doors creaked inward.
Lin Xian walked past them without another glance.
Only after he disappeared inside did one guard exhale shakily.
"We need to inform Young Master Tian Hao… immediately."
—
The inner courtyard of the Lin Clan was broad and paved with polished stone. Disciples trained in the distance. Servants moved quietly along the corridors. Sunlight poured down from above, illuminating ancestral halls and carved pillars.
Lin Xian stepped into the center courtyard.
His black robe swayed lightly with each step.
Then—
A voice echoed lazily from the shaded corridor ahead.
"Well, well, well… look who's here."
From the shadows emerged Lin Tianhao.
He wore embroidered blue robes, his hair tied neatly with a jade crown. A smirk curved across his face, flanked by several followers who carried themselves with arrogant swagger.
"The Lin Clan's dog has returned."
The followers snickered.
Lin Xian didn't even look at him.
He kept walking.
That indifference hit harder than any insult.
Tianhao's smirk twitched.
Then his gaze fixed on Lin Xian's hair.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Wait…"
"What happened to your hair?"
"Why is it white?"
Lin Xian passed him as though he were air.
No answer.
No acknowledgment.
Tianhao's face darkened.
"Fine."
His voice rose sharply.
"From today onward, I'll call you White-Haired Dog!"
His followers burst into loud laughter.
"White dog!"
"Devil-haired trash!"
"Looks like he cultivated some demonic art!"
Lin Xian continued forward.
"Stop right there!"
Tianhao's voice cracked like a whip.
"Who gave you permission to walk past me?"
Lin Xian stopped.
He did not turn around.
The courtyard seemed to quiet instinctively.
His voice was calm, almost bored.
"Wherever I go, I don't need permission."
A faint pause.
"Especially from someone like you."
The words were light.
But they sliced cleanly.
Tianhao's face flushed red.
"You dog!"
"I'll teach you what insubordination means! And we'll settle the matter of you casting witchcraft on me that day!"
He waved his hand.
"Get him!"
The followers charged.
Boots pounded against stone.
Spiritual qi flared.
But—
Before they even reached him—
Lin Xian vanished.
Gone.
As if erased from existence.
The courtyard fell into stunned silence.
"Huh?!"
"Where did he go—"
A blur.
A sharp gust of wind.
Thud.
One follower's body folded mid-stride as a single kick landed against his chest. The impact was clean and precise. He flew sideways and collapsed unconscious before he even hit the ground fully.
Another disciple turned in panic—
Lin Xian was already there.
A fist drove into his abdomen.
No wasted motion.
No excess force.
Just enough.
The air exploded from the disciple's lungs. His eyes rolled back as he crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.
The remaining followers staggered backward in fear.
Too slow.
Lin Xian moved like a phantom slipping between breaths.
One step.
A palm strike.
Another body fell.
A pivot.
An elbow.
Another collapsed.
Each movement was fluid. Economical. Silent.
There was no roar of power, no dramatic flare of qi.
Just inevitability.
Within seconds—
The courtyard was littered with unconscious bodies.
Only Tianhao remained standing.
His confident smirk was gone.
His face had turned pale.
"What… are you?"
His voice trembled.
"Ghost? Demon?"
"You're not Lin Xian!"
Lin Xian stood a few paces away, expression unreadable.
"Who I am is not important."
He took one step forward.
"What matters is this warning."
His eyes locked onto Tianhao's.
Cold.
"If you harass me again…"
A faint killing intent surfaced—sharp and unmistakable.
"…that will be the day your head flies."
Before Tianhao could react—
Lin Xian disappeared again.
A flicker.
A distortion in the air.
Suddenly—
He was standing directly in front of him.
Tianhao's pupils shrank.
Too fast.
He couldn't even raise his guard.
A single punch struck his throat.
Not lethal.
But precise.
Tianhao's eyes bulged wide, hands clawing at empty air as sound refused to leave his mouth. The world tilted. His knees buckled.
He collapsed.
Unconscious.
Silence returned to the courtyard.
Dust settled slowly in the sunlight.
Lin Xian adjusted his sleeve calmly, as though nothing had occurred.
He stepped over Tianhao's fallen form and continued walking toward his residence like stroll
—
On a distant balcony overlooking the courtyard—
The First Elder of the Lin Clan stood quietly, hands clasped behind his back.
He had witnessed everything.
Every movement.
Every strike.
His old eyes gleamed with interest.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"Interesting…"
His gaze followed Lin Xian's retreating figure.
"It seems…"
"A storm is about to rise within the Lin Clan."