Grandmaster of Heavenly Charm

As dusk deepened into night, the forest grew increasingly treacherous. Soon, torches would be necessary to navigate the shadowy paths. Wei Wuxian had been walking for some time, surprised by the scarcity of cultivators. He wondered if most of the clan members were still engaged in fruitless debates in Buddha's Foot Town, or if they had all retreated in frustration like the group he'd encountered earlier.

Suddenly, desperate cries for help pierced the silence.

"Someone, please!"

"Help us!"

The voices, both male and female, rang with genuine panic. In these wild mountains, such pleas often signaled the tricks of malevolent spirits luring unsuspecting victims. But Wei Wuxian's eyes lit up with excitement.

The more sinister, the better. He craved a true challenge!

Urging his donkey forward, he galloped towards the source of the commotion. As he approached, he spotted not spirits or demons, but the family of commoners he'd met earlier by the field. They were suspended high in a tree, ensnared by an enormous, shimmering golden net.

The middle-aged man, who had been patrolling the forest with his kin in hopes of finding prey, explained their predicament. They had stumbled into this trap, likely set by some wealthy cultivator. The net, though gossamer-thin, was crafted from materials of the highest quality. Once caught, even gods, demons, or spirits would struggle to break free without a superior magical weapon.

Seeing Wei Wuxian approach, the trapped family's hopes rose briefly, only to plummet upon recognizing the "madman" they'd encountered earlier. They doubted he could even comprehend their situation, let alone help.

Just as they were about to call out for him to fetch assistance, a lithe figure emerged from the shadows. A young man in pale, exquisitely embroidered robes gracefully entered the clearing. Despite his youth – he appeared no older than Lan Sizhui – he carried himself with an air of authority. A crimson mark adorned his forehead, and he was armed with a quiver of arrows, a longbow, and a dazzling golden sword. His chest bore an intricate white peony emblem, glimmering faintly in the darkness.

"Rich kid," Wei Wuxian mused silently.

This had to be a young master from the Jin clan of Lanling. Only they used the white peony as their emblem, likening themselves to the "king of flowers" and, by extension, the kings among cultivators. The cinnabar mark on his forehead symbolized their motto: "Illuminate wisdom, shine with brilliance."

The young Jin had nocked an arrow, ready to loose, but lowered his bow upon seeing humans caught in the net. His expression shifted from disappointment to irritation. "You fools again," he spat. "There are over four hundred spirit-trapping nets in these mountains, and you idiots have already ruined more than a dozen before we've caught a single beast!"

Wei Wuxian's thoughts lingered on the Jin clan's ostentatious display of wealth. One spirit-trapping net alone was worth a fortune, yet they had scattered hundreds throughout the forest. Such indiscriminate use of powerful artifacts was less about hunting and more about monopolizing the area, denying other cultivators any chance of success. No wonder the other cultivation sects had withdrawn – they knew better than to provoke such a prominent clan.

During his recent wanderings and eavesdropping in Buddha's Foot Town, Wei Wuxian had gleaned much about the current state of the cultivation world. The Jin clan had emerged victorious from the great upheaval a century ago, and now held sway over all other sects. Their clan leader was even honored with the title of "Chief Cultivator." Always known for their pride and love of luxury, the Jin's dominance had only amplified these traits. Their younger generation, in particular, had grown accustomed to unchecked arrogance. Lesser sects and common folk alike knew to suffer their insults in silence.

Thus, despite the young cultivator's callous words, the trapped family could only swallow their anger. The middle-aged man pleaded meekly, "Young Master Jin, please show mercy and release us."

But the youth, frustrated by his fruitless hunt, was in no mood for compassion. "You'll hang there until I'm done," he declared, crossing his arms. "At least this way you won't interfere with my hunt. Once I've captured the soul-devouring beast, I might remember to let you down."

A night suspended in these woods could prove fatal. If the mysterious creature rumored to stalk Dafan Mountain should appear while they were helpless... The round-faced girl who had offered Wei Wuxian an apple earlier began to sob in terror.

At the sound of her cries, Wei Wuxian's donkey – until now docile beneath him – suddenly sprang into action. With a discordant bray that aspired to heroism, it charged towards the young Jin cultivator. The unexpected movement nearly unseated Wei Wuxian, who barely managed to keep his grip on the reins.

The Jin youth, bow still in hand, smoothly redirected his aim towards the oncoming "steed." Not wishing to lose his unconventional mount so soon, Wei Wuxian struggled to rein in the overzealous animal.

As he fought with the donkey, the young cultivator's eyes fell upon Wei Wuxian. His expression morphed from shock to disgust. "It's you," he sneered. "I see being exiled back to your backwater home has driven you mad. How dare you show your face in public, looking like that!"

Wei Wuxian's eyebrows shot up. This reaction hinted at some connection he hadn't anticipated. Could it be... was Mo Xuanyu's father not some minor sect leader, but the infamous Jin Guangshan himself?!

Jin Guangshan, the previous leader of the Lanling Jin Clan, had been a man of... complicated reputation. Though cowed by his formidable wife, he had still managed to pursue affairs with everyone from noble ladies to common prostitutes. While he fathered numerous illegitimate children, only one – the current clan leader, Jin Guangyao – had been officially recognized. Even Jin Guangshan's death had been scandalous, the result of overexertion during a liaison with multiple women. The clan, desperate to save face, had claimed their patriarch succumbed to exhaustion from his duties.

If Mo Xuanyu was truly Jin Guangshan's son, it added a layer of complexity to Wei Wuxian's current situation. After all, Jin Guangshan had played a significant role in the siege of the Burial Mounds, second only to Jiang Cheng. The irony of Wei Wuxian now inhabiting the body of Jin Guangshan's cast-off son was not lost on him.

The young Jin, disgusted by Wei Wuxian's silent contemplation, snarled, "Get out of my sight! You sicken me, you degenerate."

Given the likely family connection, Mo Xuanyu might even outrank this arrogant youth. Wei Wuxian felt compelled to defend the body he now inhabited, if nothing else. "My, what a mouth on you," he drawled. "It's clear you were born noble, but raised in a barn."

Rage flashed in the young cultivator's eyes. He drew his sword with a metallic hiss. "What. Did. You. Say?"

The blade gleamed with golden light, marking it as a treasure beyond the means of most cultivation sects. Wei Wuxian felt a niggle of recognition, but dismissed it. He'd seen plenty of golden swords in his day. Instead, he fingered a small pouch at his waist – a makeshift "spirit trap" he'd cobbled together from scraps.

As the Jin youth brought his sword down in a vicious arc, Wei Wuxian deftly sidestepped. In one fluid motion, he withdrew a small paper talisman from the pouch and slapped it onto his attacker's back.

Though the young cultivator moved with impressive speed, Wei Wuxian's countless battles had honed his reflexes to a razor's edge. The Jin felt a numbing sensation spread across his back, followed by an overwhelming pressure. He collapsed face-first onto the ground, his sword clattering beside him. Try as he might, he couldn't rise. It felt as though a mountain was pressing down upon him.

In truth, the talisman had summoned a gluttonous ghost to perch on the youth's back. While such a minor spirit posed little threat to seasoned cultivators, it was more than enough to immobilize this fledgling Jin.

Wei Wuxian casually retrieved the fallen sword. With a single swing, he severed the spirit-trapping net above.

The trapped family tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap. Without a word of thanks, they scrambled to their feet and fled into the night. The round-faced girl hesitated, seemingly wanting to express her gratitude, but her elder pulled her along. They feared lingering would only invite further retribution from the humiliated Jin cultivator.

From his prone position, the young Jin sputtered with fury. "You... you deviant! So this is how far you've fallen. Unable to cultivate properly, you've resorted to these twisted techniques. You'd better watch yourself! Do you have any idea who's here today? I'll..."

Wei Wuxian clutched his chest in mock terror. "Oh my, how frightening!"

In truth, Wei Wuxian's unconventional cultivation method, while controversial, had always attracted those seeking a shortcut to power. It offered rapid results without the limitations of innate talent or spiritual energy. Many cultivators secretly dabbled in these techniques, despite the long-term risks to their spiritual foundations. The young Jin clearly assumed Mo Xuanyu had turned to this "dark path" after being cast out of the clan.

This misunderstanding suited Wei Wuxian perfectly. It would save him a great deal of unnecessary explanation.

The young man, face flushed with exertion and humiliation, struggled to rise from the ground. After several failed attempts, he snarled through gritted teeth, "If you don't back off, I'll tell my uncle. You'll be dead meat!"

Wei Wuxian cocked his head, curiosity piqued. "Your uncle? Why not your father? Who's this uncle of yours?"

Suddenly, a voice as cold as ice and sharp as steel cut through the air from behind:

"I am his uncle. Any last words?"

The sound of that voice sent a jolt through Wei Wuxian's body, blood rushing to his head before draining away entirely. Fortunately, his face was already pale, so the sudden change went unnoticed.

A young man in purple robes approached with measured steps. His sleeves billowed slightly, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. A silver bell hung at his waist, silent despite his movement.

This newcomer possessed a striking beauty, with fine brows and almond-shaped eyes. His gaze burned with intensity, carrying an implicit threat. He stopped ten paces from Wei Wuxian, his posture taut like a drawn bowstring, exuding an aura of arrogance and superiority.

The man in purple frowned. "Jin Ling, why have you taken so long? Did I need to come fetch you myself? Get up, you look pathetic!"

Shaking off his momentary stupor, Wei Wuxian quickly regained his composure. With a subtle gesture, he retracted the paper doll. Feeling the pressure on his back disappear, Jin Ling scrambled to his feet, snatching up his sword. He darted to his uncle's side, pointing accusingly at Wei Wuxian. "I'll break your legs for this!"

Standing together, the uncle and nephew bore a striking resemblance, almost like brothers. Jiang Cheng flicked his fingers, and the paper doll flew from Wei Wuxian's grasp into his own hand. His eyes flashed with murderous intent as he examined it. With a clench of his fist, the paper burst into flames, incinerating amidst the shrieks of the trapped spirit.

Jiang Cheng's voice dripped with venom. "Break his legs? Didn't I tell you? When you encounter such vile creatures, kill them outright and feed them to your dogs!"

Wei Wuxian, abandoning even his donkey, leapt backward. He had hoped that after so many years, Jiang Cheng's hatred might have dissipated. But it seemed to have only intensified, like a bitter wine aging into potent poison. Now, it appeared to extend to anyone who dared to practice cultivation methods similar to his own.

Emboldened by his uncle's support, Jin Ling lunged forward with renewed ferocity. Wei Wuxian's fingers dipped into his spirit-locking pouch, ready to counter. Suddenly, a flash of blue light streaked through the air, clashing with Jin Ling's sword and instantly dispersing its golden glow.

The disparity in power between the wielders was evident. Wei Wuxian, caught off-guard by the unexpected intervention, stumbled and fell face-first at a pair of pristine white boots. After a moment of stunned silence, he slowly raised his head.

The first thing he saw was a translucent, icy-blue sword blade of legendary repute.

Among the great clans, this sword was infamous. Wei Wuxian had experienced its power countless times, both as an ally and an adversary. The hilt was forged from pure silver, treated with secret techniques. The blade itself was incredibly thin yet indestructible, radiating a bone-chilling aura. Despite its ethereal appearance, it was deceptively heavy – an ordinary person could scarcely lift it.

This was "Bichen" – to avoid dust.

The sword reversed and slid back into its sheath with a crisp ring. At the same time, Jiang Cheng's voice carried from afar: "Well, well. If it isn't the second young master of the Lan clan."

The white boots stepped around Wei Wuxian, unhurried, taking three paces forward. As Wei Wuxian rose to his feet, their gazes met briefly in passing.

The newcomer was bathed in moonlight, a seven-stringed zither strapped to his back. The instrument was narrower than most, its body a soft, lustrous black.

This man wore a cloud-patterned forehead ribbon, his skin fair and features exquisitely handsome, as if carved from jade. His eyes were an incredibly pale shade, almost glassy, lending his gaze an air of detachment. His expression was frosty, bordering on rigid solemnity. Even upon seeing Wei Wuxian's absurd countenance, he remained impassive.

From head to toe, he was the picture of immaculate perfection, not a single hair out of place. Despite this, four words sprang unbidden to Wei Wuxian's mind:

"Mourning clothes and hemp!"

Indeed, he looked as though he were in mourning. No matter how much praise was heaped upon the Gusu Lan sect's uniform as the most beautiful in the cultivation world, or how Lan Wangji was lauded as an unparalleled beauty seen once in a century, it couldn't overcome the fact that his face bore the expression of a man who had just lost his wife.

Talk about bad luck and old enemies crossing paths. When it rains, it pours.

Lan Wangji stood silently before Jiang Cheng, his gaze unwavering. Though Jiang Cheng was considered exceptionally handsome, standing face-to-face with Lan Wangji made him appear somewhat lacking, a touch too volatile. He raised an eyebrow and said, "The famed Hanguang-Jun, true to his reputation of 'appearing wherever chaos reigns.' What brings you to these remote mountains today?"

Cultivators of their status typically disdained to deal with low-level evil spirits, but Lan Wangji was an exception. He never discriminated in his night-hunts, never refusing to help simply because a spirit or monster wasn't fierce enough to boost his reputation. If someone asked for aid, he would come – this had been his way since youth. Thus, "appearing wherever chaos reigns" was both a description of Hanguang-Jun's night-hunting habits and a praise of his character. Jiang Cheng's tone, however, was far from respectful.

The disciples accompanying Lan Wangji bristled at the slight. Lan Jingyi, known for his directness, retorted, "Isn't Sect Leader Jiang here as well?"

Jiang Cheng's voice turned glacial. "Tch. When elders are speaking, what right do you have to interject? Is this how the self-proclaimed most courteous sect of Gusu Lan teaches its disciples?"

Lan Wangji, seemingly uninterested in engaging with Jiang Cheng, glanced at Lan Sizhui. Understanding the silent command, Sizhui stepped forward to address Jin Ling, allowing the juniors to converse. "Young Master Jin, night-hunts have always been about fair competition between sects. By littering the mountain with traps, you've made it nearly impossible for other cultivators to move freely without fear of being caught. Isn't this a violation of night-hunting etiquette?"

Jin Ling's cold demeanor mirrored his uncle's perfectly. "If they're stupid enough to fall into my traps, that's their problem. We can discuss this after I've caught my prey."

Lan Wangji's brow furrowed slightly. As Jin Ling attempted to speak again, he suddenly found himself unable to open his mouth or make a sound. Panic flickered across his face. Jiang Cheng, noticing Jin Ling's lips sealed as if glued shut, felt his temper flare. What little civility he had maintained evaporated. "Lan Wangji! What's the meaning of this? Jin Ling is not yours to discipline. Release him at once!"

This silencing spell was a Lan clan technique used to punish misbehaving disciples. Wei Wuxian had fallen victim to it numerous times. Though not particularly complex, only members of the Lan clan knew how to undo it. Attempting to speak while under its effects would result in either torn, bleeding lips or days of hoarseness. The spell forced silence and self-reflection until the punishment duration ended.

Lan Sizhui spoke up, "Sect Leader Jiang, please don't be angry. As long as he doesn't try to force the spell, it will dissipate on its own after the time it takes an incense stick to burn."

Before Jiang Cheng could respond, a cultivator in Jiang sect colors came running from the forest, calling out, "Sect Leader!" Upon seeing Lan Wangji, he hesitated. Jiang Cheng sneered, "Well? What bad news have you come to report now?"

The disciple lowered his voice, "A short while ago, a blue sword destroyed all of the spirit-binding nets you had set up."

Jiang Cheng shot Lan Wangji a venomous glare, his displeasure plainly visible. "How many were destroyed?"

The disciple responded timidly, "...All of them..."

Over four hundred nets!

Jiang Cheng's fury reached a boiling point.

He hadn't anticipated such an inauspicious turn of events. He had come to support Jin Ling, who at nearly fifteen was ready to make his debut and compete with other young cultivators. Jiang Cheng had carefully selected the hunting grounds of Mount Dafan, spreading nets and intimidating other sects' disciples to clear the way for Jin Ling to claim the first prize. The cost of over four hundred spirit-binding nets, while steep, was insignificant to the Yunmeng Jiang sect. But the destruction of the nets was a minor issue compared to the loss of face. Lan Wangji's actions had stoked a fire of resentment in Jiang Cheng's heart, growing hotter by the moment. His eyes narrowed as he absently fingered the ring on his right index finger.

It was a dangerous gesture.

Everyone knew that ring was a formidable and lethal magical artifact. When the Jiang sect leader began to touch it, it meant he harbored killing intent.