Earlier:

Chen Yang, Young Master of the Framed Sun Sect sat in the most important part of the Sect’s compound, staring out at the immense form of the Dueling Peaks. It was shrouded in mist, made indistinct by the rain, yet still retained its unbelievable majesty. One mountain, cleaved in two, and between the peaks, the Earthly Arena. At its peak was the Thunder of the Earth—a titanic gong that, when it was light out, looked like a miniature sun itself.

Yang listened to the light drizzle of rain that ran off the roof of the pavilion and breathed deeply, staring at the mountain like his ancestors had. This pavilion had been built so as to provide the perfect view of the mountain. Nothing obstructed the view, and when the sun set, if one sat upon this bench, they would be able to see the sun slide perfectly down the gap in the mountains, before being eclipsed by the Thunder of the Earth.

The Dueling Peaks was a place of combat, a place where one could test their skills. But more than that, as all had learned, it was a place of unity. It was built to celebrate their ancestors coming together as one people.

That had been what had inspired Yang’s ancestor, more than anything. A new dawn, framed by a wonder they had all created together, a monument to their enduring unity and peace.

But his original manor had been on the other side of the mountain, to watch the sunrise. During the Great Ruination, the manor had been moved, from the sunrise to the sunset. And the sparkling light of the dawn turned to the deep reds of embers. The meaning had been lost; instead of what the view represented, their cultivation had been turned into the view itself.

And so the light of the new dawn turned into a dim halo of fire. A caged blaze, rather than unbound potential. Which was fitting, Yang supposed, when his Honoured Ancestor had seen them fall so far.

Their history was not as shocking as others’ had been. Their progenitor had been pretty much the exact man their Sect had expected. Chen Xan had been a poet without equal—at first a government official, and later promoted to Chief Poet for Lord Xiaoshi. They still had quite a lot of his writings that had been preserved, including the secret ones. Their progenitor was not only a glorious wordsmith, but also an aficionado of, well, quite frankly childish poems about bodily functions.

Poems that he used to read to Lord Xiaoshi, who found them hilarious, as they saw numerous times in their Sect’s memory crystal.

For the Framed Sun Sect, there was little shift needed; only the revelation that their power was less fire and more light-aspected. Their ancestor had used a brush in his arts, painting light directly onto the world like a canvas. What he wrote came to life in a spill of Auric Ink, his will made manifest.

So far only Yang had managed to draw even a single line of shimmering gold, and it had sent him to his knees, drained. Yet out of all his Sect, he was the furthest along.

During the Qi anomaly over the winter, a wall in the basement of a forgotten storage room had suddenly broken open, and within they had found one of Honoured Ancestor Xan’s brushes. The handle was as long as Yang, and as thick around as his torso. None of them had yet touched the artifact. Even now, it had some of his Qi left.

Yang often wondered if their ancestor would be proud of what they were doing now, with the Azure Alliance.

He sighed at his wandering mind. He was distracted. And he was distracted for one simple reason.

Master Rou approached.

That was the word that resounded all throughout the sects of the Azure Hills, and that was the word that had all the sects on edge, preparing, just in case they were given the honour of hosting Master Rou. As soon as he hit the Grass Sea, every sect made their last minute checks.

Cai Xiulan only knew that he was sure to visit the Hermetic Iron Sect and the Grand Ravine Sect. All others were uncertain, dictated only by his whims.

Yang questioned that the man would even visit them, despite or perhaps because of their closeness to the Dueling Peaks. He would probably bypass them entirely, thinking there was no point in making a separate stop.

Yet as soon as Yang thought that… there was a pulse. A flare of Qi in the Profound Realm, high in the sky. At once, the entire Sect came alive. Everyone who had been waiting and meditating practically rushed out into the rain to stare up at the heavens.

The clouds churned, and the sky broke open.

There, a dragon descended.

================================

“We humbly thank your Master for the great respect he has shown us, and bid him welcome to our home; let no door be barred to him, and let none obstruct his path,” the Sect Master of the Framed Sun Sect completed the traditional words, bowing before the dragon.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Yang could only stare at the regal beast… before his eyes drifted upwards again to stare at the perfect circle carved into the clouds. The sun shone through, illuminating the Sect in a halo of light.

His only thought was that this was not how he envisioned the dragon.

Chen Yang had the distinct privilege to be friends with Image Master Yun Ren and his younger brother, Gou Ren. It was they who had sparked his newfound passion. They had fought together during the incident at the Dueling Peaks against the Shrouded Mountain Sect, and now he quite regularly had drinks with Gou Ren. Despite not having the skill of the Image Master, Gou Ren was a dab hand and they both did enjoy speaking of recording images. Hells, Yang had even been promoted off those drinks, which had led to a conversation with the Grand Marshal. Chen Yang was now the official “Historian of the Dueling Peaks Restoration”, which meant that his work in recording images would now be immortalized for future generations.

But that was besides the point. All that meant was that Chen Yang had seen many a recording shared by Yun Ren of the dragon smiling, or washing the dishes, or lazing about and gorging himself. Those recordings, accompanied by Tigu, Yin, and even Gou Ren’s own tales of the “lazy, gluttonous fish”, led him to assume something… lesser than this.

He was not expecting the sheer majesty of seeing a dragon in person. Lord Wa Shi was mighty, and well beyond Chen Yang. Hells, Wa Shi was stronger than Chen Yang’s father, Chen Tai, the Sect Master.

Yang mentally kicked himself. Of course Wa Shi was mighty. He was a dragon, and who had ever heard of a weak dragon? On top of that, he was Master Rou’s. Everything the man had a hand in was gold. Two years ago, Chen Yang would have said he was equal in cultivation to the Image Master and Gou Ren.

Now both of them were his superior. It was a bit vexing… but it was also pointless to get angry, because Master Rou and his disciples were the reason Yang was also growing stronger and had been able to see the glory of his ancestors.

Wa Shi considered their Sect Master’s words, then nodded. He tilted his head to the side, as if listening to something.

“My Master approaches, then, to partake of your hospitality,” Wa Shi declared. “He shall arrive shortly.”

Earlier:

Chen Yang, Young Master of the Framed Sun Sect sat in the most important part of the Sect’s compound, staring out at the immense form of the Dueling Peaks. It was shrouded in mist, made indistinct by the rain, yet still retained its unbelievable majesty. One mountain, cleaved in two, and between the peaks, the Earthly Arena. At its peak was the Thunder of the Earth—a titanic gong that, when it was light out, looked like a miniature sun itself.

Yang listened to the light drizzle of rain that ran off the roof of the pavilion and breathed deeply, staring at the mountain like his ancestors had. This pavilion had been built so as to provide the perfect view of the mountain. Nothing obstructed the view, and when the sun set, if one sat upon this bench, they would be able to see the sun slide perfectly down the gap in the mountains, before being eclipsed by the Thunder of the Earth.

The Dueling Peaks was a place of combat, a place where one could test their skills. But more than that, as all had learned, it was a place of unity. It was built to celebrate their ancestors coming together as one people.

That had been what had inspired Yang’s ancestor, more than anything. A new dawn, framed by a wonder they had all created together, a monument to their enduring unity and peace.

But his original manor had been on the other side of the mountain, to watch the sunrise. During the Great Ruination, the manor had been moved, from the sunrise to the sunset. And the sparkling light of the dawn turned to the deep reds of embers. The meaning had been lost; instead of what the view represented, their cultivation had been turned into the view itself.

And so the light of the new dawn turned into a dim halo of fire. A caged blaze, rather than unbound potential. Which was fitting, Yang supposed, when his Honoured Ancestor had seen them fall so far.

Their history was not as shocking as others’ had been. Their progenitor had been pretty much the exact man their Sect had expected. Chen Xan had been a poet without equal—at first a government official, and later promoted to Chief Poet for Lord Xiaoshi. They still had quite a lot of his writings that had been preserved, including the secret ones. Their progenitor was not only a glorious wordsmith, but also an aficionado of, well, quite frankly childish poems about bodily functions.

Poems that he used to read to Lord Xiaoshi, who found them hilarious, as they saw numerous times in their Sect’s memory crystal.

For the Framed Sun Sect, there was little shift needed; only the revelation that their power was less fire and more light-aspected. Their ancestor had used a brush in his arts, painting light directly onto the world like a canvas. What he wrote came to life in a spill of Auric Ink, his will made manifest.

So far only Yang had managed to draw even a single line of shimmering gold, and it had sent him to his knees, drained. Yet out of all his Sect, he was the furthest along.

During the Qi anomaly over the winter, a wall in the basement of a forgotten storage room had suddenly broken open, and within they had found one of Honoured Ancestor Xan’s brushes. The handle was as long as Yang, and as thick around as his torso. None of them had yet touched the artifact. Even now, it had some of his Qi left.

Yang often wondered if their ancestor would be proud of what they were doing now, with the Azure Alliance.

He sighed at his wandering mind. He was distracted. And he was distracted for one simple reason.

Master Rou approached.

That was the word that resounded all throughout the sects of the Azure Hills, and that was the word that had all the sects on edge, preparing, just in case they were given the honour of hosting Master Rou. As soon as he hit the Grass Sea, every sect made their last minute checks.

Cai Xiulan only knew that he was sure to visit the Hermetic Iron Sect and the Grand Ravine Sect. All others were uncertain, dictated only by his whims.

Yang questioned that the man would even visit them, despite or perhaps because of their closeness to the Dueling Peaks. He would probably bypass them entirely, thinking there was no point in making a separate stop.

Yet as soon as Yang thought that… there was a pulse. A flare of Qi in the Profound Realm, high in the sky. At once, the entire Sect came alive. Everyone who had been waiting and meditating practically rushed out into the rain to stare up at the heavens.

The clouds churned, and the sky broke open.

There, a dragon descended.

================================

“We humbly thank your Master for the great respect he has shown us, and bid him welcome to our home; let no door be barred to him, and let none obstruct his path,” the Sect Master of the Framed Sun Sect completed the traditional words, bowing before the dragon.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Yang could only stare at the regal beast… before his eyes drifted upwards again to stare at the perfect circle carved into the clouds. The sun shone through, illuminating the Sect in a halo of light.

His only thought was that this was not how he envisioned the dragon.

Chen Yang had the distinct privilege to be friends with Image Master Yun Ren and his younger brother, Gou Ren. It was they who had sparked his newfound passion. They had fought together during the incident at the Dueling Peaks against the Shrouded Mountain Sect, and now he quite regularly had drinks with Gou Ren. Despite not having the skill of the Image Master, Gou Ren was a dab hand and they both did enjoy speaking of recording images. Hells, Yang had even been promoted off those drinks, which had led to a conversation with the Grand Marshal. Chen Yang was now the official “Historian of the Dueling Peaks Restoration”, which meant that his work in recording images would now be immortalized for future generations.

But that was besides the point. All that meant was that Chen Yang had seen many a recording shared by Yun Ren of the dragon smiling, or washing the dishes, or lazing about and gorging himself. Those recordings, accompanied by Tigu, Yin, and even Gou Ren’s own tales of the “lazy, gluttonous fish”, led him to assume something… lesser than this.

He was not expecting the sheer majesty of seeing a dragon in person. Lord Wa Shi was mighty, and well beyond Chen Yang. Hells, Wa Shi was stronger than Chen Yang’s father, Chen Tai, the Sect Master.

Yang mentally kicked himself. Of course Wa Shi was mighty. He was a dragon, and who had ever heard of a weak dragon? On top of that, he was Master Rou’s. Everything the man had a hand in was gold. Two years ago, Chen Yang would have said he was equal in cultivation to the Image Master and Gou Ren.

Now both of them were his superior. It was a bit vexing… but it was also pointless to get angry, because Master Rou and his disciples were the reason Yang was also growing stronger and had been able to see the glory of his ancestors.

Wa Shi considered their Sect Master’s words, then nodded. He tilted his head to the side, as if listening to something.

“My Master approaches, then, to partake of your hospitality,” Wa Shi declared. “He shall arrive shortly.”