Grand Hall of Enlightenment (Daylight Mountain Sect)
In the heart of the Daylight Mountain Sect, where the heavens seemed to brush against the earth and the air was so dense with latent energy that it shimmered like a mirage, stood the Grand Hall of Enlightenment. This monument to the sect's boundless wealth and power was perched atop the tallest peak within a thousand miles, a place so majestic and unfathomably splendid that it seemed as if it were carved from the very dreams of deities. Adorned with jade pillars that pierced the skies and golden tiles that reflected the sun's eternal glory, it was here that the destinies of millions of cultivators were shaped by the whims of a select few.
On this day, the main hall teemed with the sect's core disciples, each a paragon of the path of cultivation, envied by millions. Yet among them stood a figure who regarded the opulent scene as merely a dim reflection of his own divine brilliance. This was Han Zhou, the embodiment of the sect's towering ambitions, standing apart from the crowd, draped in robes woven from the ethereal threads of the mythical mimic, a fabric more valuable than the combined wealth of many smaller sects. His mere presence was an affront to mediocrity. Indeed, if mediocrity could take human form, it would surely have vowed to obliterate no fewer than twelve generations of Han Zhou’s lineage. With each step he took, the air around him vibrated with silent acknowledgment of his unmatched talent, his every move the epitome of elegance and confidence.
As the disciples converged, their whispers dissolved into a respectful hush, the Sect Leader, San Chou, ascended the dais. His demeanor was as inscrutable as the endless void, his eyes deep with the obsession of one who teetered on the brink of immortality. Despite his detachment from worldly concerns, his gaze held a wisdom that offered a piercing insight into the ebb and flow of fate itself, leaving both mortals and those on the initial steps towards immortality deeply unsettled.
To this gathered crowd of disciples, San Chou presented a vision steeped in mystery and grandeur: a grand tournament, the likes of which the Xia Realm had not witnessed in over a thousand years, a pivotal event destined to intertwine with the very threads of heavenly fate itself. “This tournament,” he intoned, his voice echoing with the weight of unseen worlds, “is not merely a test of strength nor a display of skill. It is a confluence of destinies, a moment foretold by the celestial alignments, where the fabric of power will be unwoven and rewoven by the hands of the chosen.”
In the solemn silence that filled the Grand Hall, San Chou’s voice took on a mysterious, almost ethereal quality. "Disciples," he intoned his voice echoing with the weight of unseen might and majesty, "we stand at the cusp of an event foretold by the heavenly fate itself, an enigma wrapped within the veils of destiny. The grand tournament divined ten years ago approaches with unstoppable momentum is shrouded in the mists of the unknown. Not even the wisest and most powerful among us can predict where it will be held or who shall stand as our adversaries. Yet, it is clear that the heavens have decreed this moment as a pivot upon which the future of our sect—and indeed, the entire Xia Realm—shall turn."
He paused, allowing his words to resonate with the gathered disciples, their faces a tableau of rapt attention and dawning realization. "The intricacies of fate that weave through this tournament are beyond our current understanding. Yet, there is no denying that it bears a significance far greater than anything encountered in the past thousand years and indeed will be the most pivotal event in the next thousand. It is a mystery, a conundrum sent by the heavens themselves, and it is our burden to unravel it."
San Chou’s gaze swept across the room, a silent challenge to each disciple present. "Let there be no doubt: if we rise to meet this destiny, if we harness the full might of our cultivation and our spirits, the rewards will be beyond imagining. The riches and glory that will flow to our sect will be as vast as the stary night, transforming our future into one of unimaginable prosperity and wealth for."
His voice dropped to a whisper, yet it carried the undeniable force of a divine edict. "This is not merely a test of strength, wit, or skill, but a trial of our very souls against the wheel of fate itself. Prepare yourselves, for the path ahead is veiled in the shadows of cosmic designs, and only through the crucible of this mysterious tournament will our true destiny be revealed."
As the profound implications of San Chou's words permeated the hall, a palpable silence enveloped the crowd. It was in this moment of collective contemplation that Han Zhou, with a deliberate flourish of his sparkling robe, ensuring all eyes were transfixed upon him, allowed a self-assured smirk to grace his features. "If I were to claim second," he declared, his voice slicing through the hush like a finely honed blade, "then, no one under the heavens could dare claim first." His words, dripping with disdain, did not just mock the idea of his defeat; they boldly implied that there existed no one under the heavens even worthy of challenging him. San Chou sighed, the sound soft yet laden with an immeasurable depth, echoing subtly through the grand hall. His gaze, filled with an unfathomable mix of wisdom and concern, briefly met Han Zhou's, and then, unexpectedly, San Chou's lips curved into a knowing smile.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
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Han Zhou's Abode (Daylight Mountain Sect)
"Senior Brother Han Zhou!" echoed Nan Jou, his voice carrying the kind of desperation only known to an inner sect disciple of the Daylight Mountain Sect who has been left to marinate in the frigid embrace of nature. Yes, thirty minutes prior, Nan Jou would have quivered at the mere thought of raising his voice. But, as it turns out, turning into a human popsicle from the heavy snow and bitter wind that swept over Han Zhou's mountain abode has a way of shaving off the layers of respect and patience cultivated over the years.
There he stood, a shivering testament to perseverance, outside the majestic, and let's not forget, comfortably warm cultivation abode of Han Zhou. This wasn't just any routine visit; oh no, he was on a mission from the revered Sect Master San Chou himself, a mission that was apparently to be completed with 'posthaste'—a term that clearly meant something different to Han Zhou, as he had decided to leave Nan Jou out in the cold, quite literally.
"You get to meet the Son of Heaven himself!" his friends had said, envy dripping from their words. "You're so lucky!" they had exclaimed, as if he had won some grand prize. Oh, if only they knew the grand prize was a solo expedition into the depths of hypothermia. "Why couldn't it have been me who knocked over the sect master's jade statue?" they had lamented. Well, dear friends, be careful what you wish for, because what seemed like an opportunity to begin hugging a golden thigh to Nan Jou was quickly becoming a torturous lesson in the art of frostbite and ass freezing.
The irony of the situation was as biting as the wind against his exposed skin. Here he was, chosen for what should have been a moment of great personal honor, a chance to stand out, to redeem any past mishaps (like that unfortunate incident involving the sect master's favorite research statue). Instead, he found himself embarking on a spiritual journey of endurance, a trial by ice, all while pondering the profound question: At what point does one actually become part of the scenic winter landscape?
And this wasn't the worst part. As a respected cultivator at the seventh layer of the Foundation Establishment stage, the elements of nature had long ceased affecting Nan Jou. The worst thing was that Han Zhou's door was slightly ajar, and Nan Jou could clearly see Han Zhou cultivating the fine art of wine drinking. Of course, entering one's abode without their permission is tantamount to killing one's father; therefore, Nan Jou had to wait outside while the clearly very busy Han Zhou cultivated.
Meanwhile, inside the cultivation chamber, Han Zhou was savoring his third glass of a very generous gift (bribe) from a local demonic sect's treasure hall, contemplating his own superiority. "Ah, the burdens of brilliance," he sighed to himself, swirling the divine liquid in his glass, "to be so intellectually isolated from the low IQ masses." Yes, everyone except him was just so...ordinary, so painfully average, that it was a wonder he managed to get up in the morning.
Back outside, Nan Jou, now a human ice sculpture, was starting to reconsider his life choices. Thirty minutes had turned into thirty-one, an eternity in the realm of waiting for the self-proclaimed deity. But he dared not disturb the great Han Zhou's important business after all, this person is no matter who you ask in the great Xia realm the most powerful cultivating genius of the younger generation.
Finally, after selflessly dedicating himself to the noble art of wine tasting, Han Zhou, hero of the hour, deemed it appropriate to acknowledge the mere mortal waiting outside his sanctuary. "Greetings, Junior," he bestowed upon the shivering disciple, with the magnanimity of a king addressing a serf. "Sadly, I am far too engulfed in critical matters to dispense wisdom today. Best scurry off now," he declared, his voice dripping with the kind of regret one might feel when turning down an extra helping of dessert.
While trying to keep it professional after just enduring what felt like an eternity of suffering, Nan Jou quickly explained, "Senior Brother Han Zhou, the sect master urgently requests your presence in the Temple of Eternal Silence. He wishes to speak to you about the upcoming challenges the sect and the realm will face with the coming tournament."
"Why didn't you say so earlier, disciple? You are sabotaging the sect with this sloppy performance," Han Zhou chided, as if the delay was anyone's fault but his own. With all the speed and urgency, one might expect from a particularly relaxed sloth, he proceeded to extract a jade sword from his spatial ring—a sword that, until that moment, had been more a piece of stylish décor than an instrument of cultivation.
"Today is your lucky day, Junior Brother," Han Zhou announced with the grandeur of revealing one of the universe's profound mysteries. "This," he said, brandishing the item with a flourish, "is the only male sword ever crafted by the disciples of Fairy Heaven Peak and you are the one hundredth and forty seventh person to see it and live." With those enigmatic words, he took to the sky, leaving Nan Jou staring after him, utterly baffled and too stunned to process that Han Zhou was flying in the wrong direction.
"A sword is a sword, what's the difference between male and female?" Nan Jou couldn't help but wonder. But there went Han Zhou, soaring away, no doubt too engrossed in matters of great importance to bother with such trivial explanations.