Echoes of the Three Dragons

The moon hung low over Spirit Moon Sect, casting a silver glow that softened the sharp edges of the mountain peaks. Wei Xiao walked with purpose, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone paths. The crisp night air carried the scent of pine, mingled with the faint hum of spiritual energy that permeated the sect grounds.

The path to Elder Shen Ming’s chambers was quiet, save for the rustling leaves in the wind. Wei Xiao’s mind raced with questions. Master Shen Ming had summoned him immediately after the day’s lecture—a rare occurrence. While the elder’s teachings were always profound, this was different. Urgent.

He knocked lightly at the wooden door, and a voice beckoned him inside.

The chamber was modest but serene, illuminated by the flickering light of candles that danced in glass lanterns. Shen Ming sat cross-legged on a raised platform, his silver hair catching the glow. He gestured for Wei Xiao to sit, his expression calm but carrying a weight that Wei Xiao could not ignore.

“You’ve done well, Wei Xiao,” Shen Ming began, his voice steady. “But I summoned you here not to praise you, but to prepare you. The path ahead will demand more than talent and determination.”

Wei Xiao bowed his head slightly. “I am ready to listen, Master.”

Shen Ming regarded him for a moment, then leaned forward, his tone growing grave. “For three decades, the Spirit Moon Sect has been in decline. Once, we were revered among the greatest sects of the land, our techniques a beacon for cultivators far and wide. Now…” He paused, his voice tinged with quiet frustration. “Now we are barely a shadow of what we once were.”

Wei Xiao stayed silent, sensing that his master was not finished.

“The Crimson Celestial Dynasty,” Shen Ming continued, “has always maintained its power through balance. On one side, the four great clans: the Azure Dragon, Vermilion Bird, Black Tortoise, and White Tiger. Their bloodlines run deep, their territories vast. But even their strength is checked by the dynasty, which relies on us—on the sects—to maintain equilibrium.”

Wei Xiao furrowed his brows, recalling lessons he had overheard during his time in Broken Creek Village. The clans were untouchable forces, their influence almost absolute. Yet the dynasty, with its myriad sects, ensured no single power could dominate unchecked.

Shen Ming’s voice pulled him back. “The sects were not just founded to teach cultivation. They are the dynasty’s training grounds for the royal guard—the elite force that ensures the dynasty’s grip on power remains unchallenged. Each sect’s performance in the National Sects Tournament determines its value to the dynasty. And it is within this framework that we operate.”

Wei Xiao’s gaze sharpened. The tournament—he had heard whispers among the disciples, but no one had spoken of its true significance.

“The tournament,” Shen Ming explained, his eyes narrowing, “is a test of a sect’s ability to cultivate talent. Only disciples between the first and fifth stages of Core Formation, under the age of twenty-three, are allowed to participate. Why? Because the Core Formation realm is the foundation of all future potential. A cultivator who falters here will struggle in higher realms. The tournament shows the world—and the dynasty—which sects are worthy of support.”

Wei Xiao’s chest tightened. He could feel the weight of those words pressing down on him.

“For thirty years,” Shen Ming said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “no disciple from the Spirit Moon Sect has managed to place in the top four of the tournament. Each seat in the tournament’s finals reflects not just skill but the honor of the sect that trained them. Seats are allocated for future tournaments based on the previous results—strong sects gain more representation, while weaker ones, like ours, are left with fewer chances.”

Shen Ming sighed, his expression darkening. “Our rivals like the Blazing Sun Sect and the Eternal Void Temple rise, while we are mocked, dismissed as relics of a fading past. Our diminished presence in the tournament mirrors our dwindling influence in the realm. To reclaim our honor, we must not only participate but ascend. We need champions.”

He paused, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at Wei Xiao. “There was a time when the Spirit Moon Sect stood untouchable. We three—Sect Master Qiu Liang, Elder Jiang Li, and I—were known as the Three Dragons of the Spirit Moon Sect. Together, we carried this sect on our backs, pushing it to heights unseen in its history.”

Wei Xiao listened intently, the weight of history in Shen Ming’s words.

“We fought in countless battles, represented the sect in national tournaments, and defended its honor when others dared to question it. Each of us excelled in our own right—Qiu Liang with his mastery of strategy, Jiang Li with his unparalleled command of spiritual harmonies, and myself, with my cultivation techniques that fused body and spirit.”

His gaze sharpened. “But time has passed, and our glory faded. Now, it is not us but you, Ying Mei, and Zhen Fang who must carry the mantle. If we fail again in six months, the dynasty will strip us of our autonomy. The Spirit Moon Sect will be absorbed into a larger sect, our teachings dissolved, and our identity erased. But if we succeed—if we place in the top three—we will not only restore our name but also earn direct patronage from the Crimson Celestial Dynasty. Resources, treasures, and influence beyond what we have seen in decades.”

Wei Xiao’s stomach churned at the high stakes. To fail was to vanish. To win was to ascend.

“You and your fellow disciples—Qiu Ning, Qiu Shen, Zhen Fang, Ying Mei, and perhaps others yet untested—are our hope,” Shen Ming said. “Together, you can turn the tide. But it will not be easy.”

Wei Xiao nodded, his resolve hardening. “I will not let the Spirit Moon Sect fall, Master. If there is a way for me to stand among our representatives, I will achieve it.”

Shen Ming’s gaze softened, and he nodded. “Then prepare, Wei Xiao. The path to Core Formation is not one of raw strength alone. It requires control, clarity, and resilience. The trials ahead will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

Wei Xiao left the chambers, his thoughts racing as he descended the stone steps that wound through the sect grounds. The cold night air nipped at his skin, but he barely felt it. The stakes of the tournament loomed large in his mind.

He passed a cluster of younger disciples, their laughter echoing softly in the night. They were oblivious to the burden their elders carried, the weight of a legacy teetering on the edge of ruin. Wei Xiao envied their innocence but knew he could not share it.

As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Ying Mei, her silvery hair gleaming under the moonlight. Her sharp eyes narrowed slightly before softening as she saw his face.

“Wei Xiao,” she said, her voice cool yet carrying a note of curiosity. “You look troubled.”

“I spoke with Master Shen Ming,” he replied, his tone steady despite the weight of the conversation he had just left. “About the tournament.”

Ying Mei’s expression remained unreadable, though her sharp gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual. “The burden of our sect weighs heavily on all of us. But we are not without strength.”

Wei Xiao studied her, the enigmatic cultivator who had quickly risen to prominence within the sect. Her composure seemed unshakable, a sharp contrast to the turmoil within his own thoughts. Before he could respond, she spoke again, her words laced with a teasing edge.

“Have you already lost the confidence you had when we first met?” she asked, her voice dipping into mock surprise. “I recall someone standing before me with all the audacity in the world, saying he was here to be forged. Or was that just empty bravado?”

Her words struck a nerve—not in anger, but in memory. Wei Xiao allowed a faint smirk to curve his lips, recalling their first encounter. “Proving comes with doing,” he echoed, the same words he had spoken then, though his voice now carried a tempered resolve. “And I intend to prove it.”

Ying Mei’s lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile playing on her face. “Good. Then don’t falter now.”

She turned as if to leave, but after a step, she glanced back, her expression regaining its characteristic superiority. “After all, it would be a shame if someone else got to defeat you before I had the chance.”

Her tone was calm, almost offhand, but it carried an unmistakable challenge. Before Wei Xiao could respond, she walked away, her silvery hair catching the moonlight with each step.

He stood there, watching her retreating figure, a mix of irritation and admiration stirring within him. It was clear to him—beneath her overbearing demeanor, she had been trying to motivate him, reminding him of his goal while igniting the spark of competition between them.

Wei Xiao took a deep breath, his thoughts settling. The path ahead would be arduous, but as always, Ying Mei had found a way to ensure he kept his focus sharp. He wasn’t about to let her—or anyone else—look down on him.

The next morning, the Spirit Moon Sect buzzed with activity. Shen Ming’s Direct disciples—Wei Xiao, Qiu Ning, Qiu Shen assembled at the training grounds., Zhen Fang went out on a journey to train his combat capabilities and Ying Mei continues her vigorous training to reach the Core Foundation realm— Their journey had begun, the weight of the sect’s legacy pressing down on their shoulders. But with it came the promise of redemption, of glory, and of a future worth fighting for.

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