Wu Tan City was at its liveliest in the late afternoon.
The narrow streets near the central district filled with traders packing away their stalls, cultivators moving between guilds, and clansmen exchanging news beneath shaded awnings. The scent of cooked meat and medicinal herbs mingled in the air, accompanied by the low hum of conversation that never truly faded.
Xiao Yan walked through the city at an unhurried pace.
He wore the same plain robes as always, sleeves slightly loose, hair tied back simply. There was nothing about him that invited attention. To most passersby, he was just another clan youth running errands or enjoying a brief walk outside his compound.
That anonymity was useful.
He stopped briefly at a small teahouse near the eastern market. It was not an especially reputable establishment—too small to attract dignitaries, too clean to attract troublemakers. Merchants and minor cultivators favored it for precisely that reason.
Xiao Yan took a seat by the window.
He ordered tea.
Nothing else.
The owner recognized him faintly, offered polite service, and returned to the counter. Xiao Yan did not rush. He waited, gazing out at the street, watching the flow of people with quiet attentiveness.
Information moves faster than cultivators, he thought. Especially when it thinks it's gossip.
He did not eavesdrop openly. He simply listened to the rhythm of conversation around him.
"…heard the Nalan Clan's trade caravan is delayed again…"
"…Misty Cloud Sect's demands are getting stricter…"
"…that girl, Yanran, she's said to be talented, but sect life isn't gentle…"
Xiao Yan lifted his teacup slowly.
The Nalan Clan's name came up often in Wu Tan City these days. Their influence was undeniable, but influence invited scrutiny. And scrutiny, when guided carefully, could become pressure.
A pair of middle-aged men sat at the adjacent table, their voices low but unconcerned.
"…still, marriage alliances are tricky things," one of them said. "Especially when one side rises too fast."
The other chuckled. "You mean when one side rises and the other… doesn't?"
Xiao Yan's fingers tightened imperceptibly around the cup.
He did not look over.
He did not interrupt.
He waited.
"It's unfortunate," the first man continued. "The Xiao Clan isn't weak, but times change. The Misty Cloud Sect doesn't care for sentiment."
"Sentiment never mattered," the second replied. "Only balance."
Balance.
Xiao Yan took a slow sip of tea.
Good, he thought. That's the word they'll use.
When he finished, he paid and left without lingering.
Later that evening, Xiao Yan stopped by the clan's outer library.
It was a modest building, rarely visited except by those preparing for minor roles in clan administration. Most ambitious youths preferred cultivation halls or martial training grounds.
Xiao Yan chose a corner table and requested several volumes—regional histories, old alliance records, trade route summaries. The librarian looked surprised but complied.
Yao Chen's voice drifted out faintly as Xiao Yan opened the first book.
"You're circling the Nalan Clan," the old man observed.
Xiao Yan smiled faintly.
"Circling would imply intent," he said lightly. "I'm just… understanding the environment."
Yao Chen snorted. "You're not fooling me."
Xiao Yan turned a page calmly.
"Then don't be fooled," he replied. "Just watch."
The old man fell silent.
As Xiao Yan read, his attention was divided. His eyes scanned text, but his thoughts moved elsewhere—toward timing, toward intermediaries, toward the subtle way reputations formed and shifted without anyone noticing who had nudged them.
Yanran is young, he thought. Talented, but not hardened.Her elders will prioritize the sect.Her pride will resist pity, not reason.
That meant the approach had to be indirect.
No letters.
No demands.
No emotional appeals.
Only inevitability.
Two days later, Xiao Yan accompanied Xiao Zhan to the city's Alchemist Guild.
The visit was routine. The Xiao Clan maintained cordial relations with the guild, and Xiao Zhan needed to discuss supply contracts for medicinal ingredients.
Xiao Yan followed a step behind, carrying nothing, speaking little.
Inside the guild hall, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and burning flame. Apprentices moved briskly between rooms, their robes marked with faint scorch patterns.
An elderly alchemist greeted Xiao Zhan warmly.
"Clan Leader Xiao," he said, smiling. "It's been some time."
They exchanged pleasantries.
As they spoke, another group entered the hall.
Xiao Yan noticed them immediately.
The lead was a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and an authoritative bearing—Nalan Clan insignia stitched subtly into his sleeve. Two younger attendants followed, their expressions respectful but alert.
Xiao Zhan noticed as well.
The two clan leaders exchanged polite nods.
"Clan Leader Nalan," Xiao Zhan said evenly.
"Clan Leader Xiao," the man replied. "A pleasure."
They spoke briefly—nothing substantial, nothing revealing. The kind of conversation meant for witnesses.
Xiao Yan stood quietly behind his father.
He did not look directly at the Nalan elder.
Instead, he watched the attendants.
One of them—a young man not much older than himself—glanced over curiously. His gaze lingered on Xiao Yan for a moment, then moved away.
Xiao Yan felt the thread above the young man's head flicker faintly.
Messenger, he thought. Unimportant now. Useful later.
As the Nalans moved deeper into the guild, Xiao Yan leaned slightly closer to his father.
"Father," he said quietly, "the guild seems busy today."
Xiao Zhan nodded. "Yes. Several clans are negotiating."
Xiao Yan hesitated, then added, almost as an afterthought, "The Nalan Clan must feel a lot of pressure, with the Misty Cloud Sect involved."
Xiao Zhan glanced at him, surprised.
"That's… true," he admitted.
Xiao Yan lowered his gaze.
"I was just thinking," he said gently, "how difficult it must be to balance obligations."
Xiao Zhan did not reply immediately.
But the seed was planted.
That night, Xiao Yan returned to his room and sat by the window.
The city lights flickered faintly in the distance.
Yao Chen appeared, arms folded.
"You didn't say a word to them," the old man noted.
"I didn't need to," Xiao Yan replied. "Others will."
Yao Chen studied him.
"You're letting rumors work for you."
Xiao Yan smiled faintly.
"Rumors are just conclusions people reach on their own."
He paused.
"And people protect their own conclusions far more fiercely than facts."
Yao Chen laughed quietly.
"You really are troublesome."
Xiao Yan did not deny it.
Three days later, the first ripple returned.
A merchant affiliated with the Xiao Clan mentioned casually—too casually—that the clan had been reviewing old alliance agreements. A guild apprentice remarked, with no apparent malice, that long-standing engagements often became burdensome when one party joined a great sect.
None of it was dramatic.
None of it could be traced.
But by the time the words reached the Nalan Clan, they had taken on a life of their own.
That evening, in a quiet courtyard far from Wu Tan City, a young girl paused mid-cultivation.
Nalan Yanran opened her eyes slowly.
Her breathing steadied as she withdrew her Dou Qi, a faint frown forming between her brows.
She had overheard her elders earlier that day.
"…it's delicate…"
"…the Xiao Clan won't push…"
"…the sect might disapprove of unnecessary entanglements…"
She clenched her fists.
They're talking about the engagement again, she realized.
Not angrily.
Not accusingly.
But cautiously.
As though it were a problem waiting to surface.
Yanran rose to her feet and walked to the edge of the courtyard, staring out at the distant mountains where the Misty Cloud Sect stood shrouded in cloud.
She did not hate Xiao Yan.
She barely knew him.
But she hated the idea of being bound by something decided long before she could choose.
Back in Wu Tan City, Xiao Yan closed his window.
The ring on his finger pulsed faintly.
Yao Chen spoke softly.
"You've made them uneasy."
Xiao Yan nodded.
"Unease invites solutions."
"And what solution do you expect?" Yao Chen asked.
Xiao Yan smiled—warm, unassuming.
"One that lets everyone walk away with dignity," he said.
Inside, his thoughts were sharper.
And with me holding the quiet advantage.
The distance between two names had begun to stretch.
And soon, it would snap—without anyone ever seeing who had pulled.