Others pov towards Hàngwō :
The morning was supposed to be silent and peaceful. Instead, the air in front of the Hàngwō realm hummed with whispers. Today was the day Wùjī's father would display Wèi like a rare animal.
There were not only common people but representatives from many sects. The lower-class sects simmered with a silent, bitter disappointment. Just as always, Hàngwō had gotten ahead of them—poised to be honored by the Zhèng Shì clan. Again. They could feel their tongues growing thick with silent curses.
The common people's motive was singular: to see the System Tearstone once more, now weak and helpless, so they could curse him anew.
Second, to see what step the Hàngwō would take since they weren't sealing this dangerous yào. The display would take place within hours, before their journey west—toward the Zhèng Shì sect.
"If they keep rising at this speed with their core recovery business, our clan will be banished one day," a cultivator in red robes—the symbol of the Yèn Mù Sect—said dryly to his companion.
"But we have nothing to do. Lots of clan members have died by that unseen force named core eater..." a member from the Wàng Guǐ Sect muttered.
"Hàngwō sect is literally right below the gratitude of the Zhēn Shì clan. A very, very large place again…" another man from Yèn Mù breathed, rolling his eyes as if already weary of the thought.
"Shh! Are you all wishing for death?!" one from another sect hissed. "The Zhèng Shì guardians are here to observe, and you're questioning their judgment?"
The cultivators near-jumped when a cold gaze settled upon them. One guardian mouthed, clear as day: All reports will go to Shén Yuè Kùnsǔn. Then he smirked, enjoying the power he held over the junior cultivators.
They could read it in the movement of his lips. They shook their heads, faces pitiful.
Some of the Zhèng Shì guardians nodded in agreement. It was almost like a battle of wills in the air, fought with blackmail.
"Focus." The word came from behind them. The voice was gentle but sharp—likely a second-tier leader. The young guard's silent threats ceased.
"Right thing," one from the Wàng Guǐ Sect said, satisfied by their own situation. The others nodded, barely holding back smirks.
The one who had warned them shook his head, as if thinking—those guys never listen to me.
**
Back inside the Hàngwō Sect's inner chamber, Wùjī—who usually woke well before five a.m.—was still asleep beside Wèi Yīlíng. It was now a sharp seven. His body had grown heavy from the late-night intimacy and the blood feed.
Wèi slept in his arms as if he were finally learning what peaceful sleep meant. Sleeping like the dead.
But how could peace last longer today? When had it ever lasted long?
A cold, loud knock struck the door, followed by a climactic, sharp voice. "Hàng. Wàng. Wùjī! You're still asleep?! A simple task has made you forget who you are?!"
It was his father—Dàozǔ Hàng Wàng Huīxiě. Same violet eyes, but colder, closer to grey. His voice was impatient.
Wùjī's eyes flew open at the call. His hair was a little messy, his neck bore faint teeth marks, and his lips were pale from light blood loss. The first thing he felt was panic, sharp as the end of his life. His heart pounded. He was late. How could he have lost himself so much in such a simple thing? Or… had it not been simple at all?
He looked at the window. Nothing more was needed to know it was seven. Then he looked at Wèi, who was sleeping while drooling, making soft sounds with his mouth, rubbing his lips together like a bird. His large lashes cast soft shadows over his sharp cheekbones.
As an animalistic wild snake yào, he looked almost too adorable…
His hair… was it supposed to be like this, or had it become…? The thought whispered through Wùjī's mind. Then he shook his head as if he'd seen some kind of sin—or someone else in his place—before exhaling. Maybe it's not a big deal yet. I'm the one on the deadline.
He leaned close to Wèi's ear, his jaw tight. "Get up. Or your one-month blood supply is off," Wùjī whispered through his teeth. A final warning.
Wèi's eyes flew open. "No, you can't—" His sudden move made him bump heads with Wùjī, leaving a faint red mark on both their foreheads.
"Ah—Wèi's head hurts…" Wèi held his head, one eye closed as he looked at Wùjī with the other.
Wùjī hissed in light pain and stared at him with wide, raging eyes. First ruining the first impression for the day, and now breaking his head. His blood boiled, the heat clashing with the cold morning air.
"D…don't look at Wèi like you'll break Wèi's hips again…" Wèi said in a sleepy purr-hiss, his hand already moving to his throbbing hips.
"Dramatic snake," Wùjī huffed faintly and quickly got up, starting to dress himself in a presentable way.
"Sit here silently. I'll change you into a new robe after I'm done with Zhù fù," Wùjī said, his tone a little harsh and sleep-heavy.
Wèi blinked tightly, wrapping the blanket around himself, making a cocoon. "But Wèi can—"
"No, you can't. I'll do it, and that's final." Wùjī cut him off before he could finish.
Wèi groaned faintly and laid down again like a lazy cat. "Wèi will sleep more…" he mumbled into the blanket.
For a second, the space near the door felt unusually cold and blurred, as if Wùjī couldn't find himself in it. He slowly opened the door.
He saw his father wearing a dangerous expression. Wùjī's palms grew cold and pale.
"Good morning, son. Still can't get enough of the… so-called duty I gave you?" Huīxiě whispered. His voice held a dangerous edge of rage and mockery. His lips formed a dark smile, and his grayish-violet eyes held no warmth for him.
Wùjī swallowed hard behind his mask of composure. He was well-known for his sharp tongue, but he was nothing in front of his father. "Good morning, Zhù fù."
Huīxiě nodded once; he looked more like a teacher than a father speaking to his son. He walked into the corridor of the clan, expecting him to follow. Only a few members were there, fixing the tables for the grand guests.
Wùjī looked back into the room. He found Wèi sleeping again before he sealed it with his qì and followed.
His father stood near a wooden table with a heavy box. The sharp smell of the saddle wood and old fabric hit his senses. He could half-guess what it was.
His father turned sharply toward him. "Bred him?" he asked coldly.
Wùjī nodded once, eyes lowered, his eyelids feeling loose and heavy.
"How many rounds?" his father demanded again.
"Once, Zhù fù," Wùjī answered, struggling now to keep his voice steady. His father asking these things like this was profoundly uncomfortable.
"Why not more? The golden core apocalypse has recently risen another ten percent since last time. It's rising like the tide under our nose while we can't catch this thing yet…" His father spoke with dead seriousness, giving a habitual shake of his sleeve to adjust it.
Wùjī swallowed hard at the percentage. "His… some of his body parts are still weak. They cannot handle multiple rounds… and… perhaps one of his hip bones is broken, Zhù fù," Wùjī reasoned properly. He was not quite sure about telling him about the eggs or the cut issues.
He didn't know why, but he didn't feel like sharing this detail. Perhaps he was just hopelessly trying to be an actual Dàozǔ—something he hadn't been for years, thanks to the unfairness no one saw from behind the walls.
His father faintly rolled his eyes in light disappointment before speaking. "Take care of it properly. Make sure its eggs get fertile soon."
He sighed faintly before adding, "For now, get ready for today. Don't forget to dress him in this." He handed him a set of old-fashioned robes in white, with blood-red embroidery that represented submission and guilt for bad deeds, and the acceptance of all punishment without complaint.
"Yes, Zhù fù. As you say." Wùjī took the box. It felt extra heavy with the meaning it carried—the meaning that Wèi Yīlíng would soon wear. He bowed lightly. His violet sleeves fluttered.
"Hm. At sharp eight. I'm not patient when it comes to duty." His father said before turning on his heel and walking away.
Wùjī raised his head when his father disappeared from sight. He looked at the robe silently. Suddenly, he felt someone's gaze behind him—almost uneasy and colder than the cold morning.
Then a faint whisper—half strangely recognizable, half like a ghost: "Don't go near to him…"
Wùjī blinked without turning around yet. But his mind raced with a thousand questions.
His eyes slowly turned to the side before he sharply looked behind him. "Who is it?" he called. But there were only some normal clan members and the light violet-and-silver curtains fluttering.
"Is there anything wrong, Kùmsūn?" one of the members asked.
Wùjī shook his head once in dismissal. "Nothing. Keep working." His whisper felt heavy with the weight of his thoughts.
The members looked at each other before bowing and returning to their work.
I'm seeing things again, like before… He exhaled, closing his eyes as if trying to remind himself of something. His heavy steps in his grand violet boots echoed on the violet marble floor as he walked back toward Wèi's sealed room.
**
In the room, Wèi was already asleep again, like a sick baby bird.
Wùjī looked at him before bringing his hand under the blanket to check if he was completely empty or needed to be fed again. He felt the faint rumbling beneath the skin.
Wèi whimpered with a purr at the touch and opened one eye. He hissed faintly at the faint pain—probably from last night—and moved away from Wùjī's hand. He was hugging his blanket while sitting a bit farther away.
"Don't touch Wèi's stomach…" He hissed sleepily, mouth parted in a weak warning.
"Shh…" Wùjī hushed him, as if his ears hurt when Wèi talked too much, and just removed his blanket, holding him straight on the bed.
He could feel the yào was hungry. Besides, his father hadn't even mentioned breakfast. It looked like he was going to punish him without it, too. He thought these things as he suddenly cleaned Wèi's face, chest, stomach, edges, and lower body with a cold, damp towel, wiping away the dried release from the night before.
Wèi trembled faintly. His eyes widened as Wùjī pressed the cold fabric against his skin. His teeth rubbed together with a whimper as Wùjī removed the last pieces of his robe from his body.
His now silently sick-looking, long gray hair covered his chest and back.
Wùjī sensed the silent disappointment in Wèi's eyes, but he had already kept him wrapped around his finger with the blood deal.
Wùjī opened the wooden box he had brought with him while he could feel Wèi's eyes on him. His own familiar curiosity peeked to see what was inside. A single robe shouldn't feel like… two. Since Wèi was a prisoner, a single tool near to their hand to breed… why would two robes be needed here?
His eyes faintly widened just a little as he understood—it was something even he hadn't expected, and he had guessed half wrong.
Wèi shakily tilted his head and peeked at the box but froze when Wùjī's eyes snapped onto him. "Have I told you to peek?" he sounded a little gruff, seeming upset by the imperfection of the day.
Wèi quickly looked away, acting innocent—something he was always good at. "N… no… Wèi was just… looking at birds…" He looked outside the window while still trembling.
Wùjī kept his eyes on him a little longer. The way he acted made Wùjī remember how many methods he had used ten years ago just to identify him as a cursed-type yào.
His finger pressed a little harder on the paper he found in the box. He turned away from Wèi as he read it—
You'll wear the full old red one with the white embroidery… the yào will wear the old white one with blood-red embroidery.
No questions asked until I say so. It's also an 'order.'
What did this mean? Two robes? For himself, too? But why did he need to wear the submission symbol with him? He thought sharply .
Then turned sharply behind, his hair fanning out faintly. His sudden move made Wèi flinch, though he was already trembling from the cold. He had already pulled the blanket back around himself, his pale shoulders bearing the faint marks of love bites Wùjī had left.
Wùjī took a deep breath to collect himself before taking out both robes. There really were two, just as the paper said. The scent of them felt like a memory… his own, or someone else's? He didn't know.
But they had belonged to someone once—he could feel it. He looked at both: first the red one, then the white one. But since his father had ordered it, he had to wear it now.
After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. "Come here. We don't have much time." He pointed to the empty space on the bed after placing the robe he would dress him in beside it.
"No… Wèi needs more blood to move…" Wèi mumbled, holding his stomach, his weak eyes sharp with demand once more.
Wùjī wondered if he should give it to him. Last night, he had slept like the dead from the blood loss.
Maybe I haven't healed yet from the blow… he thought silently. He also remembered how weak the blood deal had left him.
"Not now—" he began to say, but saw Wèi had already bitten his wrist before he could finish. His eyes shut as a wave of weakness shot through his nerves.
His breath hitched faintly. The world seemed to tilt backward with him. His legs almost gave out completely as he sank to one knee. He pressed his hand against Wèi's face in a way that prevented him from biting but made it clear he was telling him to stop.
When he felt a little more stable, he looked up at him with a stormy expression that said—Couldn't you be a little patient?
He saw Wèi looking back at him with a question on his face, eyes half-lidded from the warmth of his hand, purring like an animal that was both confused and impatient. Something like a fast-paced—poh! poh! poh! poh!
He moved his faintly trembling hand away and grabbed a glass of water. His grip was tighter than it should be as he drank, not like it was water but like it was food—an "order" he hadn't received from his father.
He felt his cheeks burn again because of the way Wèi was looking at him, having likely noticed his sudden kneeling and the loud sound of his drinking. He never wanted to look weak in front of anyone.
"Are you… sick like Wèi too?" Wèi suddenly asked, one finger resting thoughtfully against his pale lips as he lowered himself a bit. His voice felt like a soft pillow made of feathers.
Wùjī blinked tightly at him, silent. Then he heavily placed the glass on the table beside him and stood up, almost fearing he might fall again. His heart pounded in his ears. Wèi's eyes were on his chest as if he could see it beating.
His next words came out harsh. "N… no. Mind your own business!" he hissed faintly. "Don't make me any later than I already am…" He grabbed the white-and-red robe again.
It's so sensitive I fear it'll tear from just a slightly harder pull… Wùjī thought bitterly. These robes weren't used in these times, yet he had to wear one alongside Wèi for a reason he couldn't even ask about—or perhaps it was part of the same trauma cycle.
Wèi tilted his head at him, looking curious and almost concerned. "Wèi is just trying to change—" Wèi mumbled hesitantly, not even finishing.
"Shh…" Wùjī hushed him again, as always, this time a little heavily. His eyes were sharp. He didn't know what to say to that statement. The infamous cursed yào was willing to change, and saying it to him—the one who had just fucked him last night, who had seen the rotten past he was hiding inside his body. What did this yào want?
He saw Wèi lower his head slightly in silence, his hair partly obscuring his face. Then he silently spread his hands a little to make it easier to slip into the robe, the blanket still covering his bare lower body.
"Hm…" Wùjī hummed faintly, almost satisfied, as he unlocked the chains from his body fully and slipped the white robe around him.
The fabric was almost the same color as his skin. Cold. Silent as him. Only the red embroidery made it look as if drops of blood had been artfully placed upon him—strangely beautiful.
Wùjī's hands worked easily with the fabric. Within five minutes, Wèi was dressed. Now only his hair remained.
"Stand up," he commanded, almost in a whisper.
Wèi stood up silently. Wùjī made the final adjustments to the dress—fastening the waist belt with its jade, fixing the lower hem.
Then his hand reached for the small silver crown studded with rubies, attached to a thin fabric veil. He gently tied up Wèi's hair, and then he was ready.
He tilted Wèi's face up with one finger to inspect his face and his work. Wèi's pupils were large and shiny in a heart-aching way—as if those eyes were speaking nothing but truth.
Something is missing… Wùjī thought. But he had used everything he needed. Still, he was addicted to perfection, so he would do his best here, too.
His eyes still on him, he reached down into his own robe. He took out a thin brush and a tiny wooden container. Gently, he took some crimson-red pigment from it and began to draw something around the corner of Wèi's right eye.
Wèi closed his eyes, his eyelids trembling faintly. A gentle silence settled between them.
When he was done, he stopped, putting the tools back into his robe as if they were something precious he had always kept with him.
"Open," he called.
Wèi opened his eyes and blinked, probably not understanding what had been done.
Wùjī went to the covered mirror and removed the cloth. Then they both looked into the mirror. Wùjī's eyes were on Wèi's, which he had decorated for extra perfection.
It was a red flower—a spider lily, tangled around his eyelid, masterfully done with a small half-moon.
Wèi's eyes went wide, and his cheeks flushed faintly red as he looked at Wùjī and then back at himself. He probably liked the design. Wùjī remembered how beauty-crazy Wèi had been from the start. The moment felt new, yet familiar in its own way.
"Flower…" Wèi whispered and raised a hand.
Wùjī caught his hand before he could touch it and shook his head—no. Wèi did as he was told.
Wùjī took his own red robe and went to the changing room. "I'll be back, too."
He walked away as if last night they hadn't been entangled at all. But then again, Wùjī had barely shown himself exposed, had filled him more than been filled himself.
He returned after a few minutes. He looked like a groom—and he knew it.
His hair was tied up with a similar but more elaborate crown, the veil pinned so it only faintly covered his eyes, leaving his face visible. His robe had the same waist jade as Wèi's. The half-moon symbol on his headband was now adorned with tiny spider lilies outlined in white at the corners.
Am I going to display the curse… or ourselves as a newly married couple like this? Wùjī wondered, eyes closing in faint distress, lips pressed into a thin line, his cold ears burning hotter than his palms.
He looked at Wèi when he let out a purr—he was half-sure it was one of surprise.
He saw Wèi's eyes go wide, as if he had seen something he hadn't expected on this morning after last night's brutal treatment. He seemed almost unable to breathe, one hand tightening over the fabric on his chest.
"Don't hold it so tight, or it'll tear in your hand," Wùjī warned, his head now spinning with worry for the dress. It wasn't just old—it was really, really expensive, originally tied to legends.
Wèi quickly let go of the robe and looked down at it as if hoping his nails hadn't made any holes, then let out a deep breath. But he froze when his stomach emitted a loud, hungry growl.
Wùjī looked at the table where the dragon fruit mixed with mint lay. He grabbed two slices—not only to feed Wèi, but to eat one himself.
Wèi shook his head shakily again and moved backward a bit.
"No excuses." He held Wèi's arm and pulled him closer.
Wèi whimpered as their bodies pressed together. Wùjī ate one slice himself first, then chewed another to force-feed him.
"N… no! Wèi will not eat this!" Wèi cried out again.
But it was no use. Wùjī fed him forcefully. The wound on Wùjī's lip from last night cracked open a bit again from Wèi's fangs, and a few drops of blood seeped into Wèi's mouth.
Wùjī felt Wèi swallow the fruit once his blood mixed with it. Wèi rubbed his lips afterward with a confused yet faintly satisfied purr.
Wùjī broke the contact, licking his lips to seal the wound. Thankfully, his head didn't spin again.
"We're both ready," Wùjī whispered.
Then he raised two fingers, summoning a violet lightning that transformed into a chain seal around both his and Wèi's wrists—so Wèi couldn't escape from him during the journey. Just in case.
He unsealed the door and pulled Wèi with him outside.
**
The outside of the clan buzzed with common people and small clan members, all waiting to see Wèi Yīlíng.
A group of Hàngwō members bowed to Wùjī as he stepped out with Wèi and boarded the cloud-ship—a vessel all major clans possessed for their Dàozǔ to travel. Each one had a different rank. Hàngwō's was first-rank, marked by a prow carved with three dragon heads.
Everyone gossiped more fervently as they saw both him and Wèi in matching embroidered robes of different colors—like two pieces of a puzzle forced together.
"Won't we have a round of applause for my dear son, who captured the infamous System Tearstone?" his father called to the crowd with a smirk that Wùjī could only see as mockery.
His mind raced, still trying to fathom the reason for these robes. He had thought he would wear his clan's ceremonial robes, the ones he had specially ordered alongside his father for today.
His father raised his eyebrows—a silent question about whether he had obtained something from the night before. Wùjī silently handed over the black jades formed from Wèi's tears. But he gave only two; he had found three and kept one for himself, for reasons he couldn't yet name.
The crowd clapped for his success. Wùjī bowed deeply to them, his hands moving in a circular, scripted gesture, his blood-red robe floating softly. "Do not thank me. Thank your Hàngwō Sect and its Dàozǔ, my Zhù fù, Hàng Wàng Huīxiě."
He rose silently while Wèi tried to sidle away from the crowd, standing partly behind him, his purring edged with anxiety.
The crowd cheered for his father. Huīxiě chuckled faintly, placing a hand on his son's shoulder, his voice venomously sweet, especially for Wùjī's ears alone. "Don't flatter me, son. I've done nothing but lead from my throne…"
His father's smile was as fake as painted peace and as sharp as a blade held behind the back.
Wùjī smiled faintly in return—polite and soulless, as if he were reciting lines. "I do not speak a lie, Zhù fù."
Wùjī's stepmother stepped forward with her young son, Wàng Wèi, who was looking at Wèi Yīlíng with wide, amazed eyes. Wùjī noticed the two of them eyeing each other like curious animals, blinking softly. He kept a bit distance from his step mother.
His father drew his wife to the edge of the ship, his smile turning charming—a look that never failed to captivate any woman he desired.
"I should mention, it was my new wife's idea to slowly fix this core apocalypse," his father added proudly.
"Before we begin our journey toward the Zhèng Shì clan," a major guardian from Zhèng Shì said, his voice cutting through the noise and drawing all attention. He spoke again when the crowd fell silent. "We all wish to hear from Dàozǔ Hàng Wàng Huīxiě a little more about their plan for the apocalypse—the plan they have devised alongside our own Dàozǔ."
Everyone waited, eyes fixed on them. Wùjī's father cleared his throat and glanced at Wùjī, who already knew what was required.
He nodded and pulled Wèi forward to stand before the crowd at the ship's rail. Wèi whimpered softly, his head lowered. Wùjī could feel the cold, panicked grip on his wrist through the chain.
The crowd's eyes were like needles, filled with hate aimed at Wèi Yīlíng.
Wùjī heard some of their comments clearly:
"Why are they still keeping that curse alive?!"
"He killed my son ten years ago!"
"He's nothing but waste!"
"He kills like an animal!"
Wùjī scanned the crowd silently without turning his head. His eyes searched for someone among the clan members—his younger twin brother, Sùji, who had been sent away to the fifth-rank Yìn Làn clan.
He found him in a corner among men in red and blue robes. The soft blue and silver of Sùji's attire stood out, pale and quiet. Their eyes met.
The young man's blue eyes locked onto his, his bluish-black hair fluttering in the wind. His gaze held a familiar longing—the wish to stand in Wùjī's place, to be first-ranked. Sùji nodded once with a faint smile, a silent good luck. His eyes held a comforting coldness that seemed to reach all the way up to the clouds.
Wùjī knew exactly how this place felt. He would have gladly traded places, to be lower somehow. He nodded back with a faint, almost weak smile that was off-script. For a moment, his brotherly care was clear in his violet eyes.
They both straightened as their father's voice echoed with authority.
"Our goal is to generate qì as fast as possible to heal broken cores," he began. "A special-grade yào-type curse is the best choice for this. They are hard to catch or use—since the first hundred years, they have almost disappeared suddenly. We suspect they have hidden away in their own domains. But we have found one."
His father gripped Wèi's neck roughly. Wèi cried out faintly, like a panicked bird, and looked at Wùjī with wide, teary eyes—a silent plea for help, or at least for him to make it stop. But Wùjī acted as though he hadn't noticed. He simply looked away, though he could still feel Wèi's gaze burning into him.
"This yào… was the vessel of the System Tearstone. Now, no evil spirit remains in him—it seems to have changed hosts long ago. But this weak yào can still be… recycled," his father declared. "We will breed it."
The crowd gasped dramatically, shocked that any human would undertake such a task.
Wùjī held his breath, hoping his father would not name who was to do the breeding. He breathed so slowly it felt as if one deep breath might remind his father of his role.
"The yào is still in the healing process… but your Hàngwō will not lose hope until we have returned your broken cores to you." His father finished and bowed.
The crowd broke into applause. The sound of their cheers echoed everywhere.
"Thank you very much for your statement, Dàozǔ Hàng Wàng Huīxiě," the major guardian said with a smile, joining in the applause. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, please clear the way and pray for our safe journey. Thank you."
Huīxiě nodded once and retreated into the ship's main cabin with his wife and Wàng Wèi, wiping his hand as though he had touched something filthy.
Wùjī exhaled and watched his father's hand thoughtfully. Do I sleep with dirt, then, if he cleans his hand after merely holding his neck?
He looked down once more at Sùji, who was being nudged by a member named Kansai to wave. Sùji refused at first, then hesitated before lifting his hand in a small, reluctant wave, his cheeks visibly red even from a distance.
Wùjī allowed himself another faint smile—a knowing one, slightly wider than before. He raised his own hand, not too high, not too low, and waved back slowly.
They are still the same as before… only I have changed. He lowered his hand.
He felt Wèi's gaze on him again—curious now, and perhaps a little sad, likely not just because of his earlier indifference. The curiosity, maybe, was because his keeper had just smiled in a way that wasn't part of the script.
Wùjī didn't answer the silent question. He simply pulled the chain, drawing Wèi toward the upper deck. "Come inside."
"Release the ships!" the guards of Hàngwō and Zhèng Shì shouted in unison.
The crowd parted into two sides—cultivators on one, common people on the other.
The ships released their clan-emblazoned silks, which caught the wind, billowing like sails ready for launch. The green flag of Zhèng Shì, bearing a golden leaf, flew beside the violet Hàngwō banner with its half-moon emblem.
A guqin resonated, infused with qì. The wings of the ship began to roll up and down like the wings of a great swan, powered by the qì and the guards working in the control room.
The two ships began to rise into the air, leaving the crowd behind. Their first destination: Cloud Mount Qīngdào, the territory of Clan Qīngyè.