The Alliance of Heaven's Pillars was a rather large event; it happened once every 50 years, regardless of how many times the leader of each pillar changed hands, as blood relations held little in the way of one's name. An old tradition that would never be broken for any reason, war or peace be damned. Even if war was the reason this meeting started.
You see, long ago, during the Era of Shattered Realms, the martial world was torn apart by feuding sects, vengeful clans, and petty disciples. The Era dragged on for many years, and many lives were lost regardless of their strength. Amidst the bloodshed, the Eight Pillars of Dao realized that if they didn't stop fighting, they'd all be torn apart by the darkness they had learned to gain the upper hand. In the face of either dying or worse, losing face, the leaders had to come to a standstill. So, after several failed assassination attempts and one slightly accidental marriage mid-fight between two rival junior disciples, they agreed to hold a neutral meeting.
Thus, the Alliance was formed. The conference is hosted atop sacred peaks or remote floating islands, where each pillar resides. This year, the conference is to be held at the Sky-Slicing Ridge, and all grandmasters and sect leaders are expected to attend—no excuses.
Unfortunately, the Sky-Slicing Ridge tends to hold the worst results of every conference.
The jagged stone spine jitters and cuts into the clouds. Sky-Slicing Ridge resembles a blade that pierces the heavens or an ancient sword forgotten by the gods. The ridge stretches high above the clouds, the paths that run and lead are barely wide enough for two travelers to pass shoulder to shoulder, though only the disciples that live on the hill dare to do so, most guests walk in single file out of reverence… or fear.
The constant howling winds rarely help calm this fear; every step that leads closer to the top, the winds turn as sharp as knives. When the air gets thin, their skin will tingle with the laced spiritual energy carrying whispers of ancient duels, unspeakable secrets, and the qi flows just a little faster. As it is, though there is always a price, those unworthy find their footing uncertain. The only vegetation that made its way into the rocks were pines, scarred by lightning and time, giving the illusion of black pines that twist against the sky.
Every step along the ridge feels ritualistic, every gust of wind is a test of balance, ego, and enlightenment. When every sect leaders stand at the summit, it's said the heavens themselves grow quiet, not out of awe but to listen for the first insult.
However, the disdain for the conferences held here where not just the dangerous terrain but the grandmaster himself. One of the original eight pillars that hadn't lost his title once since the Alliance started all those years ago, though it always seemed to be in the comfort of his own 'home' that his ambitions were left to roam wild.
General Bai Feng, or more commonly known as the Doctor of Flesh and Flow. A cultivation history that not many are allowed to understand, a secret healing technique. This is thought to be the only reason the general has not only managed to cultivate immortality but managed to survive the war.
Except for one story, the battle of Redmist Valley. A horrible battle that still stains the ground it was fought on, ten thousand cultivators clashing under a sky that had been burned and blackened by talismans, or the gods had a terrible time watching the war continue. There were no banners. Only breathing. No generals. Only Hate. Not for a moment. Any time a sword shattered, the ones who took off running from the battle left the others in the fight, parting to allow them to flee from the horrors.
Cultivators moved like gods, but kept their humanity.
On the second day, the clouds turned black and never moved again. On the third, the Qi of the land began to rot, polluted by endless resentment. It seemed to start retaliating, making those who were still standing grow sick, but they didn't stop. Some laughed. Some screamed. Some whispered things into the fog that started to form. It never seemed to stop ruining the land as they went. Until one day at the end of the week, someone joined the battle for a different purpose. Healing those who tried to attack them, the grandmaster, Bai Feng.
According to the historical logs, the Sects went by different names; however, the Flowing Cores sect didn't seem to have been created yet. But it was called the start, the only sect that now stands as healers. Rules etched into their home as well as their souls.
Yan Chen was the head disciple of the Flowing Core, not one to listen to the stories of the younger and more curious disciples, his footsteps didn't falter as he passed them whispering about such. His robes were perfect. His hair was tied in the style of a bun, red rope with two gold coins hanging from it: no-nonsense, no flair, tightly bound. In one hand, he carried a box containing ceremonial incense, stones, and other necessary things for the conference. The only sound disturbing the silence was his fast, precise, and furious footsteps.
The door to the great hall had symbols surrounding the door, carved from the stone itself, each one shaped differently to represent the great sects that attend the Alliance of Heavenly Pillars. One resembles a lotus in bloom, another a coiled dragon, a third a broken sword. In the center is the Heaven's Fang Platform.
He paused at the Pavilion steps. Took a breath.
Then he kicked the door open.
"Grandmaster! Get up!"
The door slammed against the wall with the same force as Yan Chen's tolerance, who is constantly questioning his job, which is not to babysit his master. He stepped inside, prepared to meet resistance. He was not disappointed.
The regal grandmaster was snoring upon his throne in a way that must have been the reason for his back pain. One sandal was missing, balancing on his toe, an unfinished talisman stuck to his face, and a steamed bun balancing on his stomach. His robe, if it could be called that, was an inner layer of meditation silks worn backwards and dyed faintly red from what Yan Chen prayed was tea. Which was sadly no different than any other morning.
He had already pulled the silk curtains fully open with practiced ease, but he couldn't help but grimace at the room sometimes. Luckily, he could easily pick up the scattered items and wipe off the spilled ink from the wood, picking up the forgotten books at the foot of the man's bed, Advanced Blood Circulation Arrays: Vol. 9, a good read… If you weren't the one who wrote it. There were actual patents here, and the grand hall looked like many things, but the nicest idea that filled the disciple's head was a forgotten stable. He placed his box down.
"Forgive my rudeness, grandmaster."
The disciple gives a small bow before grabbing Bai Feng's leg and pulling him off the throne. Knowing from previous experiences that trying to talk to him or even shaking him never worked. And very easily ignoring the gasps from the juniors who tried to wake him first. And pulling the talisman that was stuck to his face.
The grandmaster jolted and cursed as he blinked up at his disciple.
"You look like a sage," Bai Feng muttered dreamily. "A very judgmental Sage."
"Flattery has never been your strong suit. And I am very much judging you,"
The disciple did little more than place his hands on his hips, looking down at the Grandmaster with smugness in his eyes. Who, in turn, couldn't help but glare, a small glare with no heat, but it could be a glare, at his head disciple as he raised his head. Hair sticking up in different directions, small strands of white poking out from the dark red that almost looked black. His eyes finally opened, the ashy amber colour barely seen, they were dull and half lifted. As he slowly pulled his body up into a sitting position.
"Several students were late to today's class," Yan Chen moved around the grandmaster as Bai Feng grumbled to himself at the sight, waving a hand to try to shoo the other away.
"How interesting, but… punishing is your job."
Yan Chen's eye twitches
With the patience of someone who had once removed cursed needles from this very man's laundry basket, the head disciple somehow managed to keep a smile on his face before pulling up his sleeves and grabbing the waving arm. The other should have learned by now how futile complaints were. He pulls the older one up from under his arm, ignoring how the other drops his weight so he doesn't have to. Also, used to this as well, forcing him to his feet without too much of a hassle.
"That would be incorrect, as the grandmaster, it is your job. But that is not the main issue. The main issue is the rearranged talismans, mirrors, and the illusion barriers across the main walkways."
Yan Chen rarely backed down for many things; personally, he'd compare him to a dog, but he's as stubborn as an ox at times. And as strong as one sometimes, barely flinching as the other tried to escape his hold, dragging the older along.
"Our Laoshi knows nothing about that, right?"
Bai Feng grumbled as he went to his own feet, freeing himself and straightening out his robes. Patting them a few times before looking down, confused, and seeing the state of his clothes. Huffing to straighten his hair, which didn't work in the slightest, and for a man who doesn't care about his appearance on the best of days, only serves to make him look suspicious. It didn't help when he used his free hand to point towards the curtain of beads that led to the hallway of his actual room.
"Conference, robes, divider. Normal?"
"Get ready before I decide your punishment," Yan Chen answered rather dully, with the answer of an easy threat on his lips. Bai Feng nodded easily, rushing towards the curtain, his sleeve getting caught and almost tripping over his feet thanks to the beads he demanded be there instead of a door.
His only response during this little session was a dragged-out, tired, and maybe teasing "Yes, Gongzi."
Yan Xiu exhaled slowly, counted to four, and picked up the box.
Getting at least a small area of the hall ready for the conference before he pauses. Apparently, just having to remember how… much of a pain his grandmaster could be. Yelling through the curtain.
"The ones without the spontaneous glyphs stitched into your hems!"
Bai Feng could be heard cursing and knocking into things, acting scandalised. As he whined.
"But those are the only ones that still have personality !!!"
"You are not using one of those to fake an injury to get out of the conference! It didn't work last year, and if we lose face again-"
"Fine! fine!"
Finally, Bai Feng emerged, somehow radiant in white and light red robes edged in gold thread. His hair was pinned properly, the talismans invisible, for now, and his hands clasped behind his back in the classic style of wandering sages. He looked exactly like what the world expected from a Grandmaster.
The effect was immediately ruined when a broom was thrown his way, and he struggled to clasp it.
"Clean up your mess, Grandmaster."
Bai Feng wisely chose not to answer and started sweeping everything into a pile. Maybe once or twice, he would try to call the attention of a junior, but he learnt quickly that he didn't like getting hit in the back of his head enough to continue that idea.
Outside, a crane mounts a railing on the edge of the courtyard, watching disciples rush about, hanging things, or just generally preparing. Yan Chen wiped some sweat from his forehead as the great hall looked halfway decent. Bai Feng huffed and coughed as he inhaled some of the incense he had just lit and placed.
Yan Chen let out a sigh, resting on the window that showed over a cliff, trying to see under the clouds.
"This is going to go terribly," he muttered.
"Then it shall be memorable," Bai Feng replied.
He grabbed a wrapped dumpling off a passing tray with two fingers and stuffed it in his mouth. Very much ignoring the annoyed look, the disciple holding the tray shot him before he continued walking. Yan Chen looked at him.
"It better not!"
The crane took flight.