It was a morning made of dreams — the kind where sky and earth melted into a haze of silver light, and the breeze carried the scent of blooming immortality.
High above the mortal realm, beyond the veil of clouds and mortal comprehension, the Celestial Realm stretched like an endless kingdom of starlight and jade. Temples floated on drifting lotus petals. Sky lanterns hung from sunbeams. Entire forests grew from clouds and mountains coiled with dragons slumbered in silence.
And nestled between the Eastern Wind Pavilion and the Mirror Lake of Reincarnation… was Peach Blossom Sect.
A place unlike any other.
It was said to be the most chaotic corner of the heavens — a training ground for lesser immortals, spirit beasts, and celestial hopefuls. And that morning, as the dew sparkled on the petals of its eternal spring, a very peculiar sound echoed through the air:
"AAAAAAAHHHHH—!"
A scream.
A thud.
Then… petals flew everywhere.
From the top of the tallest cherry tree — one that had bloomed nonstop for the last 3,000 years — a girl crashed straight into the reflecting pond, limbs flailing and robes soaking, until she came up gasping with a koi fish on her head.
"Ugh!" she sputtered, flinging the fish aside and coughing. "Why does that spell always misfire?"
Her name was Lian Qiao, and she was chaos wrapped in silk.
Seventeen hundred years old in immortal time — barely twenty in mortal count — she looked every bit the unruly celestial she was: long raven-black hair tied in a loose braid, pink outer robes embroidered with peaches and clouds, and a silver ribbon tied carelessly around her waist. She had honey-gold eyes, full of mischief and curiosity, and a mole just under her right eye that danced when she smiled — which was often.
"Qiao'er," called a voice from a nearby cloud-bench, "how many times must we tell you not to attempt spatial leaps while drinking tea?"
Qiao blinked.
Then slowly turned to see her Master, a white-haired celestial in plum-colored robes, floating lazily while sipping from a gourd of peach wine.
"Master Bai!" she coughed. "You said if I didn't practice, I'd never pass the next tribulation!"
"I also said not to multitask with dumplings in your mouth." He sighed. "And don't call me Master Bai. I'm far too handsome to be anyone's 'master.'"
Qiao groaned and floated out of the pond, water dripping from her sleeves, her bun half-loose and two hairpins missing. As she dried her hands on her robes (which were now several shades darker than before), a giggling breeze swirled around her ankles.
She looked up at the sky — endless and pale — and whispered, "I'm going to be someone one day."
A beat.
Then the heavens rumbled.
Not a loud rumble. A low, ancient one — like a beast turning over in its sleep. Qiao stiffened. Master Bai sat upright. In the distance, the temple bells began to chime, even though no wind had passed them.
"...That can't be good," Qiao muttered.
Suddenly, the koi in the pond all leapt out at once — a sign of spiritual imbalance.
And high above the sect, a ripple cracked through the sky like a line of shattered glass.
A divine summons.
One that hadn't rung in ten thousand years.
Far away, in the Eastern Sky — where mortals dared not dream and no immortals tread without permission — a dark-robed figure stood alone at the edge of an obsidian cliff, looking up at the rippling heavens.
His back was ramrod straight. His black robes were trimmed in gold, swirling around his boots like storm clouds. A jade crest glinted on his shoulder — the mark of the Heavenly Order, long forgotten. His long hair flowed down his back like a waterfall of ink, tied only by a thread of silver moonlight.
His face was like carved ice. High cheekbones. Pale lips. Eyes the color of a dying storm.
This was Mo Yujin — the Immortal of War. The man who had never fallen.
He had not spoken in a thousand years. Not since the last war. Not since the prophecy was sealed.
And now… the heavens were calling him again.
But fate was impatient.
Because just as Mo Yujin turned to retreat into the shadows of his realm — a girl plummeted from the sky.
Right into his sacred grounds.
Landing, rather ungracefully, on top of a phoenix statue.
And groaned, "Not again…"