Chapter One: The Drunk Disciple and the Falling Star
The night was drunk on moonlight.
Silver spilled over the Azure Wind Mountains, turning rivers into mirrors and stones into ghosts. A flute echoed somewhere far off—soft, slurred, and terribly off-key.
Atop a small bamboo pavilion, a man lay half-asleep with an empty gourd clutched to his chest. His robes were wrinkled, his hair half-tied with a twig, and his face wore the lazy expression of someone who believed that all of heaven's problems could be solved by ignoring them.
"...Ah, the stars are out again," he mumbled, squinting at the sky. "They look like lanterns for drunk immortals."
A small, glowing feather floated beside him, its ember-like light pulsing gently.
"You're supposed to be cultivating," the feather said in a voice of old irritation. "Not drinking yourself into idiocy."
"Cultivating?" The man—Jiang Yunxian—turned his head with a grin. "I'm cultivating inner peace, obviously. No distractions, no pressure. Pure serenity."
"You call that serenity? You fell asleep during the sect's morning meditation again."
"That was strategic napping."
The feather flickered dangerously, as if about to combust. "Do you even remember what day it is?"
"Of course," Yunxian said, taking a swig of the empty gourd before frowning at it in betrayal. "...Wait, what day is it again?"
"The Inner Disciple Selection!"
At that, Yunxian sat up so fast the gourd rolled down the pavilion steps. He blinked toward the distant mountain peaks, where the great bell of the Azure Wind Sect had just begun to toll.
"Already? Ah, no wonder the heavens look nervous tonight."
"You'll lose your position," the feather hissed. "Do you know how many spirit stones you owe the kitchen hall?"
"Enough to feed a small sect," Yunxian admitted cheerfully. "But don't worry. I have a plan."
"You always have a plan. It always involves running away."
"Correction: creative retreat."
Before the feather could argue, the sky rumbled.
Clouds that had been drifting peacefully began to churn, darkening until the stars disappeared. A streak of light tore across the heavens—a meteor, blazing crimson. It split the sky with such brilliance that even the mountain spirits stirred.
The sect bells faltered mid-ring. Every disciple, elder, and beast paused as the star arced downward… straight toward the Azure Wind Mountain.
"...You didn't," the feather said flatly.
"I didn't what?"
"Summon another heavenly disaster."
"Me? Never." Yunxian stood, squinting at the fiery trail. "Although, it does look rather friendly. Maybe it's bringing wine."
The meteor struck the valley beyond the sect gates with a deafening boom. Wind howled through the peaks, snapping banners and shattering formations. A shockwave rippled through the sect grounds, knocking cultivators off balance.
Somewhere, an elder shouted, "Protect the spirit veins!"
Yunxian blinked, hair tousled by the wind. "Hm. My timing's impeccable as always."
"Impeccably cursed," muttered the feather. "That thing fell from the Heavens. Do you feel the aura?"
Now that it mentioned it, Yunxian did.
The world suddenly felt heavier. The air carried a faint hum, like the whisper of divine runes brushing against mortal soil. Beneath it all was a pulse—soft, sorrowful, ancient.
He felt it resonate with something deep inside his chest.
A flicker of pain shot through him, gone in a breath, but it left a single whisper behind.
The careless one shall overturn fate.
Yunxian blinked. "Who said that?"
The feather hovered uneasily. "No one. You're drunk."
"Drunk people don't hear the heavens talk," Yunxian said, then reconsidered. "Well, not usually."
He rubbed the jade pendant hanging around his neck—the one thing he'd worn since being found as a child. The engraving glowed faintly now, the same hue as the fallen star.
He chuckled under his breath. "Maybe it's a sign."
"A sign of your impending death," the feather muttered. "Don't even think of going there."
But Yunxian was already walking down the mountain path, humming a tune so lazy it almost made the night forget its fear.
Behind him, the sect bells began to toll again—warning, urgent, echoing through the mountains.
Below, smoke rose where the star had fallen. The ground still trembled, and cultivators were already gathering in panic.
Yet Jiang Yunxian only smiled, stepping barefoot through the grass as if he were walking toward a festival instead of calamity.
"Relax," he said, to no one in particular. "Maybe fate just tripped and fell. Happens to the best of us."
And as he vanished into the mist, the heavens above flickered—one of the stars dimming, as though the sky itself had realized something terrible.
The Careless Immortal had begun to move again.