Night settled over the Celestial Veil Sect like a heavy cloak, quiet and pristine on the surface. The aftermath of the Moon Harmony Festival still lingered in the air—the fading scent of incense, the last drifting lanterns, laughter echoing faintly from disciples who had not yet slept. But beneath that warmth, the darkness stirred.
And in the shadows, Feng Lan moved like a predator, silent but not invisible.
He had arrived on the mountain under an innocent pretext: a "lost traveler," separated from his sect's delegation after the gathering. At least, that was the excuse he fed the outer disciples guarding the lower paths. His voice was soft, polite, almost pitiable. His beauty drew sympathy; his humble tone drew trust. They allowed him shelter, unaware of the lie staining his every word.
But Feng Lan was not wandering aimlessly.
He walked with purpose.
He took in everything—the placement of lanterns, the routes patrolling disciples took, the subtle spiritual ripples indicating barrier layers. Celestial Veil was famed for its defenses, but nothing was unbreakable.
And nothing was beyond the attention of Mo Qing.
The thought of him made Feng Lan's breath hitch, an involuntary smile curling at the corner of his lips. Their meeting at the sect gathering felt like destiny—a dark star colliding with a blazing moon. Mo Qing's words, soft as silk and sharp as poison, still echoed in his ears.
"You want power… don't you?"
Feng Lan had answered yes before he even fully understood the question.
"Then stay close to me, Lan. I will carve a world for us."
No one had ever spoken to him like that—with intimacy and ambition woven into a single breath. It had set a fire in him, one he had been chasing ever since.
Tonight was a test—not of Celestial Veil, but of his own usefulness to Mo Qing.
If he failed, Mo Qing wouldn't cast him aside. No, that would be mercy. Mo Qing would smile, touch his cheek, whisper something sweet… and let a blade slide between his ribs.
Feng Lan shivered—half fear, half desire.
He reached the inner barrier entrance. A shimmering layer of qi brushed against his fingertips, humming with ancient seals. The Celestial Veil's protective shield was legendary, designed not just to keep intruders out, but also to sense malicious intent.
Feng Lan exhaled slowly.
Then he smiled.
"Oh? How beautiful," he whispered.
He brushed his fingers across the barrier again—this time sending a thin sliver of his own qi through it. A dangerous act. If done carelessly, alarms would ring across the sect, and elders would flood the scene.
But Feng Lan's qi was refined, elegant, almost seductive. It blended in, sliding along the barrier's surface like a lover's whisper.
The barrier pulsed faintly.
He stepped closer.
Every barrier had weaknesses—not cracks, but pressure points where spiritual flow gathered unevenly. Feng Lan traced the currents with the precision of someone long accustomed to breaking what should not be broken.
His voice lowered, almost reverent.
"Show me…"
A second pulse shivered across the surface. Right above the western stone lion, a small ripple gleamed—barely visible. A minor point, insignificant to most. But a weakness nonetheless.
Feng Lan's lips curved in delight.
Mo Qing will be pleased.
A rustle of robes behind him made him freeze.
He straightened instantly, smile slipping into place like a mask as an inner disciple approached, lantern in hand.
"Senior brother? It's late, you shouldn't be here alone."
Feng Lan bowed slightly, eyes lowering. "Ah… forgive me. I couldn't sleep after the festival. Your sect's barrier is beautiful—I have never seen one woven with such intricacy. I wandered too close while admiring it."
The disciple relaxed, embarrassed by his own suspicion. "Ah—no worries. You're a guest, after all. But the barrier can be dangerous. Please don't touch it carelessly."
"Of course." Feng Lan dipped his head. "Thank you for your warning."
As the disciple led him away, Feng Lan walked politely, quietly, every gesture gentle.
But as soon as the lanternlight turned a corner and darkness swallowed him again, his eyes sharpened.
That ripple.
That weakness.
He would remember it perfectly.
He had learned enough tonight.
Now, it was time to report.
Far from the festival grounds, deep in the forest near the mountain base, the trees grew dense and twisted. Moonlight barely touched the ground here, as if even nature hesitated to disturb the growing shadow that lingered between the roots.
Mo Qing stood alone.
He didn't pace. He didn't fidget. He simply existed—still and dangerous, like a statue carved from night. His black robes blended into the surroundings, only the pale glow of his eyes cutting through the darkness.
When Feng Lan emerged from the shadows, Mo Qing didn't move.
He didn't need to.
"You took your time," Mo Qing murmured.
His voice was soft—too soft. Feng Lan felt something tighten in his chest. He lowered himself to one knee without hesitation.
"Forgive me. The barrier was more complex than expected."
Mo Qing tilted his head slightly. "And?"
Feng Lan lifted his gaze.
"I found a flaw."
Silence.
Then, the faintest smile broke across Mo Qing's lips.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Beautiful, yes—but in the way a blade glitters before drawing blood.
"Tell me."
Feng Lan described the pulsation, the uneven spiritual current, the exact location. Mo Qing listened in complete stillness, not even his breathing audible. When Feng Lan finished, Mo Qing stepped forward.
He touched Feng Lan's chin gently, lifting his face.
"You've done well."
Heat shot through Feng Lan's veins. His heart hammered painfully. He wanted—no, needed—that praise more than anything.
"Mo Qing…" he breathed.
But Mo Qing's smile turned sharper.
"And yet," he whispered, thumb brushing over Feng Lan's lower lip, "this is only the beginning. If you want to remain by my side, you must become more than a lovesick dog following me through the dark."
Feng Lan's breath hitched.
He felt the sting in the words.
He felt the cruelty.
He felt the manipulation.
And still, his pulse quickened with desire.
"Yes," he whispered hoarsely. "I will do anything."
Mo Qing's eyes gleamed. "I know."
He stepped back, letting the cold air rush between them again.
"The Celestial Veil's secret has remained hidden for centuries. But now…" His voice dripped with anticipation. "We have the first thread."
Feng Lan lowered his head, not in defeat but devotion.
"Tell me what you need next."
Mo Qing turned away, cloak rustling like the wings of a dark bird. "Patience, Lan. For now, we watch. We wait. Chaos grows best when planted quietly."
His gaze lifted toward the peak where lanterns still flickered faintly.
"Let them enjoy their festivals and sweet little romances. Let them believe the world is gentle."
A smile curled his lips—cold, poisonous, beautiful.
"When we strike, it will be when their guard is lowest."
Feng Lan swallowed, both thrilled and terrified.
"Yes… Mo Qing."
Above them, a lone lantern drifted down from the mountain peak—a stray, its light flickering softly.
Mo Qing lifted a hand.
Without touching it, he extinguished it.
Darkness swallowed the last spark of light.
And in that moment, the mountain felt suddenly colder.