Chapter 1
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Chapter 1: Title
Fine snow swirled through the sky, blanketing the mountain ridges in winter’s harsh embrace.
The cold bit deeper than usual.
At the mountain’s summit, several mist-veiled towers stood watch. As dawn’s first light brushed the peaks, those within rose early.
"Senior brother, why assemble for training at this hour? I’m exhausted." The junior disciple at the formation’s rear yawned, eyes bleary.
"You joined yesterday, so you wouldn’t know. Today isn’t training—it’s Master Ye’s inauguration ceremony. Sister Ye… no, we address her as Master Ye now. She’s our sect’s second master after Elder Ning."
"That impressive? But if she’s a master, why call her ‘sister’? Is she our contemporary?"
"Exactly. Master Ye is merely twenty. Five years back at the Illusionary Battle Arena, she wrested the luminous pearl straight from Tao Zhi’s jaws. The beast submitted with a flick of its tail—a sight that won countless admirers…"
Their whispered praises grew bolder, shielded by distance from the central platform.
Ye Qingshang’s sharp ears caught every word.
But she pretended not to hear, for she was truly as drowsy as that young disciple.
A crowning ceremony was fine, but why must it be held at dawn?
It was barely the mao hour!
She’d previously hinted at her wishes, yet though her master indulged her in all else, this ceremony alone defied her desires.
Likely thrilled by his disciple’s achievement, Ning Jiwei radiated exceptional brightness today—the kind that instantly lifted spirits.
It nearly blinded Ye Qingshang.
She steadied herself, maintaining composure while receiving his teachings.
Her master was impeccable in every way, save for dwelling among clouds—so elevated by praise that he bound himself and others with rules. Thus his disciples must mirror him: either paragons or cunning talents, like her and her senior brother Mu Rongyan.
Mentioning "Mu Rongyan" made her head spin.
Everyone knew him as Elder Ning’s foremost disciple: graceful, courteous, and crucially, devastatingly handsome.
Had he claimed second place in looks, none would dare claim first.
Who wouldn’t be captivated? Ye Qingshang, being appearance-driven, was no exception.
Yet Mu Rongyan’s perfect propriety made his affections unreadable. Unwilling to court embarrassment, she pressed down those girlish feelings until they became a heavy lock, sealing her words.
The ceremony ended at chen hour. Ye Qingshang exited first, spine straight as fervent gazes trailed her.
A grand master naturally drew admirers.
In shadowed solitude, her lips curved before she glided into the main hall—the sect’s meditation sanctuary. After crowning, ten days of meditation awaited.
"Ah Shang." Qiu Huayi approached with a jade pot. "Drink? None during meditation."
Though same-sect but different-master, Qiu Huayi was her most trusted senior sister. Ever thoughtful, she’d considered post-meditation concerns… but the pot’s contents?
"Wine? Unlike you, I’ve no craving."
Still, Ye Qingshang accepted it. Years with Qiu Huayi had refined her palate.
"Why so bitter…?"
The lingering bitterness furrowed her brow.
"Bitter?" Qiu Huayi shook the pot. "This is premium wine. Mistaken taste?"
"Not possi—"
Footsteps interrupted. Backlit, yet unmistakable—the face engraved in her heart.
Mu Rongyan.
Ten days’ meditation felt like ten years with all these visitors.
"Senior brother," Qiu Huayi greeted first.
Peeking behind Qiu Huayi, Ye Qingshang began, "Seni—"
The "brother" died in her throat as Qiu Huayi raised an arm, shielding her completely.
Mu Rongyan intended to step forward but was stopped by Qiu Huayi, his expression turning uncharacteristically displeased. "Huayi, step aside."
"Senior brother, I beg you. Whatever you plan, spare A’shang."
Ye Qingshang felt completely confused. What was happening? Before she could process anything, a clear dragon’s roar pierced the air as a blade stabbed into her body. The man before her slowly collapsed.
Ye Qingshang: !!!
Shock shattered her usually calm composure. She tried to speak, but a metallic taste flooded her throat. Blood trickled from her lips before any words came. Weakness overwhelmed her, forcing her to half-kneel.
This signaled her spiritual power collapsing.
Even in her confusion, she understood she’d been betrayed. For the crowning ceremony, she’d neither eaten nor cultivated today. Only Qiu Huayi’s jug of wine could have caused this.
Ye Qingshang’s voice turned desolate. "Senior brother… why?"
How could a revered master like her meet this end? Just yesterday, they’d shared warm camaraderie.
Her fading words were severed by the long sword piercing her waist. Pain crawled through her limbs.
As her eyes closed, she glimpsed Mu Rongyan turning away guiltily. "I’m sorry…"
Those words ignited fury in her. Anger, disbelief, and bitter injustice surged—she wanted to drag him to death with her.
But she was powerless…
Ye Qingshang: Are you joking?! If you’re sorry, don’t kill me!
Damn!
*
"Senior sister! Senior sister!"
Urgent shouts finally snapped Ye Qingshang back to reality.
The caller was a new disciple. The Illusionary Battle Arena would soon open, and visiting sect members would arrive shortly. All participants needed to register early with applications to receive spiritual rings for entry—disciples of her sect included.
With senior brothers and sisters busy training and preparing, registration duty fell to new disciples.
The junior disciple expected an easy task. But at dusk, a fellow sect member appeared—a girl no older than fifteen. Something was wrong: she clutched her spiritual ring, frozen in place, her face blank but eyes blazing with killing intent.
The spiritual ring in her grip looked ready to shatter.
Cold sweat drenched the junior disciple. "Stop!" he cried. Heaven knew those rings were made of rare materials! Each bore its owner’s name and could not be replaced—priceless tokens for Illusionary Battle Arena participants!
If one broke at his registration desk, selling himself wouldn’t cover the cost!
Ye Qingshang released the ring. "My apologies."
She hadn’t meant to do it.
But the memory before her death overwhelmed her.
Who could stay calm after being betrayed by a sworn sister and stabbed by the one they loved?!
Luckily, heaven gave her another chance.
She’d awoken reborn at fifteen.
Five years remained before her death. Everything could still be changed.
This time, she’d rewrite her fate.
"Brother, who do you think will win first place in this competition?"
"Who else? Our young master, of course. His talent stands unmatched among all immortal sects—no peer could challenge him. Didn’t you hear? Before leaving our sect, the master personally taught him secret techniques…"
Whispers drifted to Ye Qingshang’s ears. She turned to look.
They were Yunshan Sect disciples. Claiming to be the world’s greatest sect, their identical light blue robes featured sprawling cloud patterns—living ink paintings of sky and clouds that stood out glaringly in any crowd. Impossible to miss.
Their so-called young master, Mu Huaiyun, bore a name suggesting heroic virtue. But Ye Qingshang knew better.
In her past life, after her rise to fame in the Illusionary Battle Arena, Mu Huaiyun had inexplicably fixated on besting her. He’d chase her into every competition, demanding duels. Even during her monster-hunting missions, he’d abandon his targets just to fight her.
Years later, when Sparrow Prison Tower shattered and unleashed its demons, they stood together as cultivation world leaders. At the critical moment, he withdrew his support, nearly getting her killed inside the tower.
Thus, Ye Qingshang’s judgment was clear: a hypocrite wearing virtue’s mask, with a heart narrower than silk thread.
A disgrace to righteousness.
She snorted coldly.
The sound reached the nearby Yunshan Sect disciples. Instant silence fell.
They’d been praising Mu Huaiyun as "peerless among his generation" when that scornful snort cut through—a slap to their faces.
Furious eyes sought the source: *Who dares?*
Ye Qingshang met their glare icily.
Their rage intensified. Arrogance before Yunshan Sect? Unheard of.
"Who *are* you?" they demanded, closing in.
Their leader scanned her dismissively. "A Frostbite Sect disciple? Your spiritual power’s pathetically weak—barely touched cultivation’s threshold. Does your sect even screen applicants? How’d trash like you get in?"
Ye Qingshang habitually concealed her spiritual power, inviting underestimation. Her master had advised this: avoid attracting deadly foes, and strike unexpectedly in true battles.
She hadn’t expected it to become ammunition against her.
"My foundation may pale before yours," she replied tonelessly, her phoenix eyes slanting with contempt. "But shouldn’t the ‘world’s greatest sect’ teach restraint? Heed your own doctrine: *‘No reckless words, no insolent behavior.’* Skip this Illusionary Battle Arena. Return home to cultivate your minds—lest you become as detestable as your precious young master."
Her final phrase hung like an unspoken insult: *You’re all dogs.*
The disciples snapped. They’d pummel first, ask questions later.
Ye Qingshang welcomed it—ready to crush them one by one.
As tension peaked, a figure descended from above. His sleeve flicked, erecting a barrier that hurled the Yunshan disciples backward. He raised a protective arm before her.
A low, resonant voice spoke overhead.
"Withdraw."
Cloud-patterned robes filled Ye Qingshang’s vision. Stunned, recognition dawned—followed by utter disbelief. Her composure shattered, eyes wide as if seeing a ghost.
