The crystalline eagle soared through the sky, its vast wings cutting through the wind with elegance. Yang Feng sat atop the creature, gazing down at the tiny village below, a place that now seemed so distant both in size and significance. From this height, the village looked no larger than a child's toy, with its winding paths and scattered homes shrinking into the vastness of the landscape. Yang Feng's eyes trailed over the familiar shapes of the houses, the trees lining the hills, and finally rested on the small hut he had called home for so long. A soft, melancholic sigh escaped him as the memories of his final moments there weighed heavy on his heart.
He hadn't seen his father before leaving. When he woke that morning, the house had been eerily silent, almost as though the life had been sucked out of it. No crackling fire, no soft snores from Bai Feng, no sounds of his father preparing breakfast as he often did. Instead, there was only an empty house, still and cold. Yang Feng had wandered around, calling for his father, but all he found was a white letter placed carefully on the worn wooden table.
Yang Feng closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the contents of the letter:
_"Yang Feng, I've gone out for a little while. Don't wait for me. Go ahead and visit Ming Ling. Take care of yourself."_
The letter had been brief, written in his father's rough but familiar handwriting. No farewell, no parting words of wisdom, not even a promise to return. It had been a hollow note, devoid of emotion, yet Yang Feng knew better. His father, the man who had raised him through hardship, the man who had shed tears upon hearing that his son was a Sun Ranker, had disappeared without a trace. Was it because he didn't want to say goodbye? Or perhaps...he didn't want Yang Feng to see him cry again?
A heavy ache settled in Yang Feng's chest as he wrestled with these thoughts. He had never fully understood his father—Bai Feng was a man of few words, one who carried his emotions like a burden too great to share. But Yang Feng had seen the tears in his father's eyes that day, the pride mixed with pain, as if Bai Feng had been holding back something all these years. Something that, perhaps, he wasn't ready to face now.
"Maybe he just couldn't bear to say goodbye," Yang Feng whispered to himself, trying to make sense of it all. "Maybe...he didn't want me to see him like that."
His gaze drifted toward Ming Ling, who sat calmly on the other side of the eagle, his robes fluttering lightly in the wind. The vice-principal of the Spiritual Academy appeared serene, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon ahead. Yet, even in his calmness, Yang Feng could sense an intensity in the man, as if he was deep in thought. Ming Ling's gaze shifted momentarily toward the small house on the hill, lingering on it for longer than Yang Feng expected.
Something about Ming Ling's look made Yang Feng pause. Did Ming Ling know something about his father that he didn't? There was a flash of curiosity in the spiritual master's eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by the usual air of authority that surrounded him. Ming Ling was always composed, always in control. But in that brief moment, Yang Feng could have sworn there had been something else—a flicker of uncertainty.
Ming Ling's thoughts were indeed occupied, though he kept them carefully guarded behind his calm facade. He couldn't shake the feeling he had experienced earlier, back when he first entered Yang Feng's home to test him. During the test, he had sensed something—a presence, an aura—within the house. It had been faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. And it had been familiar. Yet, the moment Ming Ling had tried to focus on it, the presence had slipped away like smoke, leaving behind only a lingering sense of unease.
It wasn't just any presence. No, this had been something more—something powerful, concealed but potent. And along with that power had come a strange, unsettling sensation: malice. It was as though whoever—or whatever—was inside the house had wanted to remain hidden, and not only that, but they had been capable of making even Ming Ling hesitate. That fact alone unnerved him. As a spiritual master of his rank, very few things could escape his senses.
He had felt this aura before, somewhere in the past. But where? Ming Ling's brow furrowed as he tried to place it. The memory danced just out of reach, teasing him with fragments of recognition, but never revealing itself fully. Could this presence be connected to Yang Feng's father? Or was it something else entirely?
Ming Ling's sharp eyes flickered back to Yang Feng, who sat in quiet contemplation. What role did this boy play in all of this? The child was certainly special—his Sun-ranked wolf spirit was proof of that. But there was something more, something buried deep within Yang Feng that even Ming Ling couldn't yet understand. He would have to watch the boy closely in the coming days, that much was clear. There were too many mysteries surrounding Yang Feng to ignore.
As these thoughts swirled through Ming Ling's mind, something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, far below in the village, he spotted a figure—a man cloaked in black, standing still as a statue at the edge of the village. The figure was facing them, his head tilted up toward the sky, as if watching their every move.
Ming Ling's heart skipped a beat. The man's aura was unlike anything he had sensed before. It was...cold, dangerous, and yet oddly familiar. Ming Ling's breath caught in his throat as he locked eyes with the cloaked figure. For a moment, time seemed to slow.
The man in the cloak didn't move, but the weight of his presence pressed against Ming Ling's spiritual senses like an overwhelming tide. Ming Ling's mind raced—who was this? And how had he managed to hide his presence so well? Even at Ming Ling's level, he couldn't fully grasp the nature of the stranger's aura. It was as though the man existed outside of the normal flow of spiritual energy, blending into the shadows of reality itself.
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, the cloaked figure vanished. One blink, and he was gone. The space where he had stood was now empty, as if he had never been there at all.
Ming Ling's eyes widened in shock. Despite his mastery, despite his experience, he hadn't even been able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. And that terrified him. Whoever that was, they were far beyond the power of ordinary spiritual masters.
Yang Feng noticed the change in Ming Ling's expression. The usually composed and unshakable vice-principal was visibly rattled, his gaze darting around the village below as if trying to find some trace of the figure.
"Master Ming?" Yang Feng asked cautiously, his voice cutting through the tension.
Ming Ling didn't respond at first, his mind still racing with questions. Who was that cloaked figure? What connection did he have to Yang Feng's village? And, more importantly, what did this mean for Yang Feng's future?
Finally, Ming Ling exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. His gaze softened, though the unease lingered in the back of his mind. He had to stay focused. Whatever mysteries lay ahead, they would reveal themselves in time.
"Nothing, Yang Feng," Ming Ling said, his voice steadying. "It's nothing. Let's keep moving. We have a long journey ahead."
But even as they soared higher into the sky, leaving the village far behind, Ming Ling couldn't shake the feeling that their path had just grown much more dangerous. The presence of that cloaked figure, the strange aura in Yang Feng's home... It all pointed to something greater, something hidden in the shadows of Yang Feng's past.
And whatever it was, Ming Ling knew they would have to face it soon.