Guangui City lay at the southern tip of Lan Province. It was not large — a few hundred thousand souls, barely a fifth of Jiayuan City — but its setting made it famous. Mountains held it on three sides and a clear lake spread along the fourth. The air was mild, the scenery gentle, and the wealthy came to escape the summer heat. Rare fruits grew there that could be found nowhere else, and so the little city enjoyed a reputation far beyond its size.
West of Guangui rose Tailan Mountain, more than three thousand meters high, its summit veiled year-round in drifting mist. It was the fourth tallest peak in Lan Province. At its top stood Tailan Temple, a modest shrine whose lots and divinations were said to be unfailingly accurate. Officials and rich merchants climbed the long path each year to burn incense and pray for fortune, and their donations kept the temple's fires bright and its name renowned.
At the foot of the mountain, in a quiet grove off the pilgrim road, a man sat cross-legged beneath a great tree. In his hands an object pulsed with crimson light, rolling slowly against his dantian. Warmth spread through his meridians with each pass, chasing a deep, lingering chill.
Suddenly he shuddered and gave a stifled groan. The red light dimmed, revealing a flawless azure jade, pure as spring water, with threads of scarlet glowing faintly within. Anyone who saw it would know it was no common stone. The man lifted his head, sunlight dappling his ordinary, forgettable face. It was Han Li, who had vanished from Jiayuan City two months before.
He looked down at the stone and smiled with quiet relief.
Since obtaining this Warm-Sun Jade he had spent half a month drawing cold poison from his body, pressing the jade to his flesh day and night on the road and in lonely inns. Only today had the last wisp of venom been expelled. The process had been miserable — a sour, bone-deep itch as if ants crawled under his skin — and even now the memory made him shudder. Yet the jade was a true treasure: it could store spiritual qi and magnify his own meager power, making the purging far swifter. Without that discovery he would have needed ten more days.
Carefully he placed the jade in a small wooden box and tucked it inside his robe, against his chest. Then he rose, flexing stiff limbs, and let his mind drift back.
After settling his affairs in Jiayuan City he had gone to the Mo Estate, obtained from Yan Shi the full intelligence on Dominator's Villa and its master Ouyang Feitian, and ridden day and night on a horse the Mo family provided. In ten days he reached the villa. For several days he probed its routines, and at last chance came: Ouyang, alone, admiring the moon in a secluded pavilion. Han Li unleashed everything at once and, with a single sword talisman, severed the man's head before a cry could escape. The ease of it had unnerved him — he had checked the corpse's scars and birthmarks twice to be sure it was no decoy — and only then wrapped the head and rode hard back to Jiayuan.
Yan Shi verified the kill and told him the truth: Ouyang had mastered the supreme external art Tyrant Armor, his body tempered until even a blade that could cut iron like mud could not mark him. Han Li understood then. Ouyang had mistaken the sword light for a common hidden projectile and had not bothered to dodge, trusting his invulnerability. That arrogance had cost his life.
The exchange that followed was simple. Yan Shi brought out the Warm-Sun Jade for the antidote as promised. Han Li refused her urgent invitations to stay and left Jiayuan City that same day, turning south for Tailan Mountain.
Along the road his mind had churned with one question: how to approach the cultivators of Tailan Valley without inviting disaster? He knew nothing of their nature, righteous or demonic. To knock boldly would be to deliver himself like a dish to be eaten in one bite if they were evil.
So upon reaching Tailan Mountain he did not approach at all. He lodged in a nearby village and spent his days asking the elders for odd tales about the mountain. At last he heard something useful.
On the north side of Tailan there was a slope spoken of in lowered voices, perennially shrouded in dense white fog so thick one could not see one's hand. For the mountain to have mist was normal, but for one slope to be sealed in every season without clearing was unnatural. Bolder villagers had entered out of curiosity. Each time they lost all direction, wandering in whiteness, only to emerge inexplicably at the very spot where they had begun, as if the fog kindly turned them back. Since no harm came, more tried, again and again, until it seemed their persistence offended whatever dwelt inside. From some indefinite day onward, those who entered were no longer released at once, but trapped for two or three days, wandering hungry and weak before the mist finally let them out. After that few dared again, and in time the villagers simply left the white slope alone.
Han Li's heart leapt when he heard it. This mist-locked slope was almost certainly the place he sought — if not Tailan Valley itself, then assuredly the dwelling of cultivators. What pleased him more was its master's temperament: to merely turn intruders aside, then detain without killing, suggested restraint rather than bloodthirst. There might be room for cautious parley.
Even so he did not rush. He stayed in the grove, devoting himself to expelling the last cold poison so he would meet whatever lay beyond at his best, with every chance to flee if needed.
Now that task was done. He brushed leaves from his robe and set off for the village where he lodged, meaning to eat, rest, and on the morrow investigate the slope properly.
He had just entered the hamlet when he saw a youth of fifteen or sixteen in white robes at the entrance, gesturing animatedly to several villagers. At this moment any outsider was unlikely to be ordinary. Han Li narrowed his eyes and with a quiet thought cast Spirit Eye Art.
Faint spiritual light haloed the boy, only a shade dimmer than his own. A cultivator indeed.
As if sensing the gaze, the youth turned. His face lit up and he darted over, sleeves fluttering.
"Brother, you are bound for Tailan Valley as well? I am Wan Xiaoshan of the Wan family of Kuya Mountain! Shall we present ourselves together?" he called before his breath steadied, eyes bright.
Han Li saw him clearly now — clear brows, fair skin, the pampered look of a great family's young master.
"Of course we can," Han Li answered evenly. "But do you know where Tailan Valley is?"
The boy scratched his head, embarrassed. "My elders only said it lies north of Tailan Mountain, its gate sealed year-round by mist. For the rest I have no idea. I asked those villagers just now, but they didn't know either! You must know, Brother?"
Suppressing quiet amusement, Han Li asked, "Is this your first journey far from home, little brother?"
"You can tell?" Wan Xiaoshan flushed and nodded. "It is indeed my first time so far."
"Then follow me," Han Li said. Until now he had not been certain the strange slope was Tailan Valley, but the boy's words settled his last doubt. "I will take you there."
"Wonderful! Then I can finally see it properly!" the boy cheered, excitement washing away his nervousness.
Han Li smiled faintly as they set off together. From this guileless youth he might learn much about the cultivation world without revealing his own ignorance.
"What do you hope to see at Tailan Valley?" Han Li asked casually as they walked toward the slope he had already scouted.
"Oh, many things! I want to see the spells and secret arts of other families and sects, and to trade for things I have wanted," the boy answered without reserve.
Han Li made a soft sound of acknowledgment, but inwardly his thoughts tightened. From the boy's tone, many cultivators were now gathering at Tailan Valley. Some great event must be underway.
A faint unease stirred as he led the way forward, the white mist of the northern slope already showing faint beyond the trees.