Over a hundred thousand years ago, the universe consisted of one unify realm; The Cloud Realm.
Ruled by The Grand Emperor, the strongest and the wisest man of the realm. Under his reign, the Cloud Realm flourished, an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity. No wars marred its lands, no famine plagued its people, and no soul knew the burden of lack.
But peace is fragile, and all that is perfect is destined to be destroyed.
The Grand Emperor's own son—The Emperor of All Living Souls—rose in defiance. Driven by ambition or perhaps a deeper, darker force, he turned against his father.
The rebellion sparked a celestial war that shattered the very foundations of the Cloud Realm.
The Emperor of All Living Souls, once the beloved son of the Grand Emperor, raised an army from the most unexpected places—the trusted officials and ordinary citizens he had quietly recruited and molded into his loyal soldiers.
The war was fierce and devastating, spreading destruction to every corner of the realm. Lives were lost in every battle, leaving the lands filled with grief and despair. Yet, the people knew little of the reason behind Hao Jin's rebellion—the one they had once admired as the Emperor of All Living Souls.
What they did know was clear and painful: Hao Jin, the man they had once trusted as a bringer of peace and prosperity, had become the cause of their suffering.
The ruin of their homeland and the deaths of their loved ones were all tied to the very person they had believed would one day follow in his father's footsteps as the realm's protector.
In the end, the once-peaceful realm was torn apart in the wake of a final, ferocious battle. From this great rupture emerged new realms, each with its own unique nature and inhabitants: the Shadow Realm, the Water Realm, the Realm of Promises, the Realm of Hatred, and the Realm of Love.
The Cloud Realm, fractured yet standing strong, chose to rename itself the Cloud Palace—a title meant to distinguish it from the splintered worlds that had been born from its former glory.
Despite its new name, the Cloud Palace remains as breathtaking as ever, though it has lost the vibrant hues that once adorned its skies. Now, its beauty lies in its purity, cloaked in shades of white and soft, muted tones that give off a serene, peaceful charm.
The Cloud Palace is an ethereal kingdom, a realm where floating islands of clouds drift gently with the wind, their movements slow and graceful. Some areas gleam with a pristine white pureness, while others glow faintly in pastel shades that shift like whispers of forgotten colors.
When sunlight pierces the misty skies, transparent rainbow bridges appear, arching elegantly to connect the scattered islands that are heavily guarded by the celestial guard.
There are also cascading waterfalls of condensed mist tumble down from the upper clouds, disappearing into an endless void below, adding a sense of divine beauty and wonder to the dreamlike realm.
Despite his betrayal, the unbreakable bond of blood lingered—a shadow that could not be erased.
Just a year after the final war, a prophecy shows itself to The Grand Emperor; The Emperor of All Living Souls will reveal himself where the perfect dish is created.
The Grand Emperor, burdened by a prophecy that spoke of the Emperor of All Living Souls' inevitable return, could not rest. To this end, the Cloud Palace devised a ritual shrouded in both tradition and tragedy: a centennial cooking competition known as The Chef's Trial.
For 100,000 years, the Chef's Trial has been held. Across 100 tournaments, no victor has risen, and no perfect dish—the one that could fulfill the prophecy—has ever graced the judges' table. Yet, the cycle continues, a pursuit of an impossible ideal, leaving behind a legacy of broken dreams, lost souls, and unnamed graves.
Now, as the 101st Chef's Trial draws near, a quiet unease spreads across the six realms, carried on the lips of those who dare to speak of it.
Rumors of change, of something unfamiliar and extraordinary, weave through conversations like an unseen thread, tugging at the edges of people's thoughts. It feels like the calm before a storm.
In the bustling streets of the Water Realm, merchants trade rumors alongside their wares, speaking of competitors unlike any seen before. In the Shadow Realm, a quiet unease brews, its denizens sensing a shift in the winds that carry only faint traces of their darkened past. Even in the Cloud Palace, where the Trial was born, the skies feel heavier, charged with an anticipation that neither time nor tradition can explain.
The question lingers on every tongue: will the 101st trial be yet another chapter in a tale of failure—or will it mark the dawn of a new era?
On a dimly lit street in the Shadow Realm, Noxlings—humanoid souls native to this realm—gather in a bustling alley, their presence casting flickering silhouettes on the streets and walls.
Tonight marks the Festival of Whispered Shadows, the most sacred and one of the most anticipated events of the year in the Shadow Realm. Held on the longest night of the year, the festival is a time for Noxlings to honor their ancestors and share secrets with the shadows, trusting that their whispered confessions will be carried to the afterlife.
The streets are alive with activity, bustling with Noxlings of all ages—elders reminiscing, children darting between shadowy stalls, and families walking together beneath the faint glow of Glowlights. Every attendee is draped in black garments from head to toe, a solemn yet celebratory uniform that cloaks them.
To outsiders, the scene might appear somber, perhaps even eerie, but for the Noxlings, it is a sight of pure joy and celebration.
Darkness, after all, is their oldest and dearest companion, a friend who cradles their secrets and shields their truths. For the Noxlings, tonight is not gloomy—it is a celebration of their bond with the shadows.
"Shadow-fried noodles, steaming hot! A bite to chase away the night!" called a young man from his modest stall. Dressed in a simple black cloak, he looked every bit the humble vendor. Yet, his striking features and white, almost luminous skin stood out sharply against the darkness of his attire, drawing curious glances from passersby.
Nearby, a group of little girls craned their necks, giggling as they whispered among themselves. One finally mustered the courage to call out, "You're shining! Like a glowlight!"
Chen Jiawei, the target of this innocent admiration, let out a warm laugh. Leaning forward, he stretched out a hand to ruffle the girl's hair. "Thank you, cutie," he said with an easy smile, "Noodles?" he would still offer.