Within the Fang Clan's seclusion forest. A contingent of fifty cultivators, clad in uniform armor bearing the dignified insignia of the Fang Clan, advanced toward the heart of the disturbance. Moving in perfect unison, their auras—ranging from late Foundation Establishment to early Gold Core—radiated power and discipline. Dispatched under direct orders from Fang Lee's mother, they were not adversaries but devoted members of the clan, tasked with investigating the disturbance and, if necessary, retrieving Fang Lee's body.
Upon reaching the locus of destruction, the leader—a battle-hardened cultivator with keen eyes—gestured for silence. From within his robes, he retrieved an ancient relic, its surface etched with intricate runes pulsing faintly with residual energy.
This artifact did not reverse time but instead reconstructed past events within the current moment, allowing them to witness echoes of what had transpired.
Holding the relic aloft, he channeled his Qi into it, activating its event-reconstruction properties. The chaotic remnants of the forest shimmered, and ethereal images materialized before their eyes.
The projection revealed a storm-wracked and fiery expanse, where towering pines had been reduced to charred husks beneath the wrath of heaven. Bolts of pure lightning Qi descended, intercepted mid-air by hundreds of flaming swords arranged in precise formations. The very heavens seemed to howl in defiance, their fractured bolts twisting unnaturally as if unwilling to let their target escape.
Amidst the storm, a blazing jade figure soared skyward, flames surging from its translucent body with otherworldly intensity. The leader's gaze sharpened.
"As we surmised, Young Master Fang Lee engaged in a tribulation here," he intoned. "The intensity suggests a significant breakthrough."
They watched as Fang Lee's swords split into disciplined formations, intercepting the relentless barrage. Each bolt scattered in dazzling arcs, yet the storm refused to relent. But before the lightning could pierce him, another wave of his Qi swords surged forth, forming an unyielding barrier against heaven's fury.
Then, the projection shifted. Lian Xue's burning jade form streaked through the storm like a celestial comet; she was destruction incarnate, a force of raw elemental fury racing toward the heart of the tribulation.
The leader's expression darkened. "The disruption to his abode's formation was not the work of an enemy but the direct consequence of his tribulation. Such devastation aligns with the power required for ascension."
Advancing the projection further, they witnessed Fang Lee, his aura now more refined, departing with Fang Xiu. Both appeared unscathed, their demeanors composed, their purpose clear.
"Young Master Fang Lee is unharmed," the leader reported, relief threading through his tone. "He has left alongside Fang Xiu."
With their primary concern alleviated, he gestured for the contingent to follow the residual energy trail left behind. Their movements were silent, their armor gleaming beneath the dappled moonlight filtering through the canopy. Each step was taken with the disciplined precision of those accustomed to both the physical and spiritual realms.
As they pressed forward, the scars of battle became increasingly evident. The air was thick with residual Qi, a testament to the immense forces unleashed. The leader's mind raced. Such a tribulation suggested a breakthrough of considerable magnitude—perhaps halfway through the Foundation Establishment stage. It was an achievement that would solidify Fang Lee's position within the clan, influencing the shifting tides of power.
The presence of Fang Xiu only deepened his thoughts. Her recent advancement to the middle stage of Foundation Establishment, paired with her growing closeness to Fang Lee, hinted at brewing alliances or rivalries within the younger generation. These subtle shifts in power could shape future missions, resource allocations, and even succession plans.
Yet, despite the leader's analytical musings, a deeper instinct warned him—this tribulation was not the end of something but the beginning.
The contingent moved forward, ever watchful, ever loyal to the Fang Clan.
Unseen by the advancing cultivators, a solitary crow perched atop a charred branch, its beady eyes gleaming with quiet intelligence. Black as ink, its feathers shimmered in the moonlight, exuding an eerie sense of awareness.
After a long moment, the bird took flight, its wings cutting through the night air with silent precision. A thin thread of invisible Qi extended from its body, transmitting everything it had witnessed to a distant location—one hidden within the heart of the Fang Clan's domain.
Beyond the bustling Fang Clan village and its myriad courtyards, a traditional dojo stood in quiet splendor. Its irimoya-style roof, adorned with sweeping ridge beams and elegant overhangs, reflected the harmony of martial and spiritual cultivation. Banners bearing the emblem of a lotus flower—symbolizing purity and mastery—fluttered in the night breeze, a silent testament to the dojo's legacy.
Within its grounds, mortals practiced martial arts in unison, their movements sharp and disciplined. Each wore Tang suits emblazoned with the lotus emblem, embodying the union of form and function. This dojo was more than a place of training—it was a bridge between the mundane and the mystical. Here, those with limited aptitude became loyal retainers, while those with potential were drawn into the clan's inner circle, strengthening its foundation for generations to come.
The crow's transmission passed unseen through the enclosing walls, slipping into the inner sanctum, where the air was thick with cultivated tranquility. Amidst carefully arranged flora and the soft trickle of a stone water feature, a woman sat in quiet meditation.
She was elegant and composed, yet her stillness belied a depth of strength. The sharpness of her gaze, when she finally opened her eyes, suggested nothing escaped her notice.
A faint smile touched her lips. "Since when has my disciple become so brazen as to neglect informing me of his breakthrough?" Her voice, though soft, carried the weight of quiet authority. "Hmm… Fang Meilin, go fetch your senior brother before that vixen drains him dry."
From the shadows, a young girl of sixteen or seventeen stepped forward, her striking resemblance to the woman revealing their shared bloodline. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and determination, tempered by unwavering respect.
"Yes, Master," she said with a bow.
The woman retrieved a finely crafted teleportation talisman from her sleeve. The runes upon its surface pulsed with faint energy as she handed it to Fang Meilin.
"Use this wisely. It will take you directly to him. Ensure his safety—and remind him of his obligations here."
Fang Meilin accepted the talisman with careful hands, understanding the gravity of her task. With a final bow, she stepped back, preparing to embark on her mission.
The night stretched on, silent and watchful, as the pieces on the board began to shift.