THE SEED OF BEGINNING (2)

The tide of agony swept across every land like an enraged dragon torn apart mid-flight.

People wailed over what they had lost. The echoes of shattered dreams lingered for years, fading only as time thinned the grief and even the heavens seemed to run out of tears.

A new future awaited, but certainty remained distant.

The withered tree bloomed again, tender green leaves pushing through dead branches.

It gave people hope that joy could return, that brighter days might follow.

As the saying goes, life moves in cycles. Yet scars, lessons, and bruises remain etched in the heart.

Chirp.

Screech.

Birds and cicadas sang beneath the tree, petals drifting into a pond scattered with lotus seeds.

The air was calm, fragrant, almost peaceful, so peaceful that it concealed the truth buried beneath it.

A past soaked in pain, and the memory filled with screams.

Inside the Lotus Pavilion, a man lay upon a low bed carved from pale sandalwood. He wore a long silk robe of white, now wrinkled from restless movement.

He shuddered in his sleep.

His brows were tightly drawn, lips trembling as if he were fighting something unseen. Sweat beaded across his porcelain skin, sliding down his temples. His long black hair fanned across the pillow in disarray.

“…Wun Lan…”

The name escaped his lips in a broken whisper, heavy with grief making the air in the chamber felt suffocating.

Outside, measured foot steps echoed, and the doors to the pavilion opened softly.

A tall man stepped inside, his movements urgent but controlled.

He wore an elegant ancient hanfu embroidered with subtle cloud patterns, his long black hair tied neatly with a white ribbon.

When he saw the figure on the bed tossing in distress, his expression softened.

He crossed the room quickly and sat at the bedside, taking out a clean handkerchief to wipe the sweat from the sleeper’s brow.

“Aiya… such a stubborn heart,” he murmured gently.

“A-Xia… it’s alright now. Wake up, Cian Xia.”

He called the mans name several times, before, at last, Cian Xia jolted awake, gasping sharply for air.

His eyes were wide, unfocused, as if he had just escaped death itself. Then he saw the familiar face beside him.

“A-Chao…” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Chao Fei Gu, his childhood friend and sworn brother, offered him a steady smile.

Chao Fei was the current Sect Leader of the Ran Sect and a second-rank Immortal Master.

Though young for his position, he was known for his calm temperament and unwavering benevolence.

Under his leadership, the Ran Sect had become a pillar of righteousness among the Four Great Sects.

In this world, four major sects governed the balance of cultivation.

The Han Sect stood foremost, warriors of the desert mountains, famed for their spiritual swords and iron will. Only those with unshakable resolve could survive their trials.

The Gu Sect resided upon frozen peaks, wealthy and disciplined. They cultivated harmony with the elements, defending the weak and enforcing justice with measured strength.

The Ran Sect, where they now belonged, valued compassion and guidance. It was the only sect that openly accepted female disciples and believed forbidden arts led only to ruin. They cultivated not just power, but character.

And lastly, the Tao Sect, devoted to balance and healing. They followed the order of heaven and earth, accepting only those who sought peace above ambition.

Chao Fei gently brushed Cian Xia’s hair away from his damp forehead.

“Did he return to trouble your dreams again?” he asked quietly.

Cian Xia held his gaze for a long moment before sitting upright.

His breathing had steadied, but the shadow in his eyes remained.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

Chao Fei studied him, and gave a small chuckle, while he patted his shoulder.

“Today is the sect’s anniversary.”

Cian Xia paused.

“It’s that time again… Will the elders be accepting new disciples?”

“Yes,” Chao Fei replied without hesitation.

“They’ve already prepared.”

Cian Xia gave a faint nod.

“Ah. I see.”

Every year, the Ran Sect commemorated its founding by opening its gates to new disciples.

The elders would descend from the mountain, searching among villages and towns for those with spiritual roots strong enough to cultivate.

For the younger generation, it was a chance to change their fate. For the elders, it was a responsibility. But for Cian Xia…

It was simply another year without him. Without Wun Lan.

The air inside the room fell quiet once more, calm yet heavy with unspoken thoughts.

It did not take long before Chao Fie rose from the bed and walked toward the chair by the window.

He poured himself a cup of cold jasmine tea, the same tea Cian Xia had picked from his garden the day before, and resumed the conversation.

“Are you planning to accept a disciple this year?”

“No.” Cian Xia answered immediately, his brows knitting together, expression turned displeased.

“I don’t require one. I’m perfectly fine on my own,” he continued, his tone edged with bitterness and quiet stubbornness.

Chao Fie looked at him, and can't help but sighed, concern evident in his eyes.

“Alright. I apologize for asking,” he said gently.

“But A-Xia, it’s time to look toward the light… toward the future. You’ve locked yourself inside the darkness for far too long. You need to open your eyes and see the world again. I’m worried about you if this continues...”

He exhaled slowly, his voice growing heavier.

“A-Xia, in the past, I lost a sworn brother, family, and a trusted friend. I cannot afford to lose anyone else. I truly cannot endure it again.”

He forced a bitter smile, anxiety flickering across his face.

The atmosphere turned suffocating, once again.

Cian Xia subtly released a thread of spiritual energy to calm the tension in the room, and softly said,

“I understand what you’re saying. You don’t need to worry about me. I'm in control.”

He paused briefly, sighing as he met Chao Fie’s eyes.

“But regarding the discipleship… my decision will not change.” he firmly pressed.

“I would still rather have none.”