Lord Aerion, nearing his fourth decade, possessed temples kissed with silver, framing a face both noble and stern. Beneath brows like honed steel resided eyes, twin pools reflecting the cold, distant light of stars. He cut a handsome figure, draped in a tunic of azure silk, which spoke of both wealth and authority. An air of command clung to him, a silent decree of power.

Before him, upon a polished table, lay spread a parchment map, its intricate lines charting kingdoms and borders. Lost in thought, Aerion’s gaze lingered upon the map, as if seeking answers etched within its ancient folds. Only after a long while did he lift his eyes.

The hour was late, and the moon, a silver coin in the inky sky, bathed the world in its ethereal glow. Aerion rose from his seat and strode to the edge of the grand hall, gazing out at the moonlit lands. A sigh, heavy with unspoken burdens, escaped his lips.

“I wonder if Father also watches this sky at this hour…” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the whisper of the wind.

A cloak of velvet softness was draped across his shoulders. Aerion raised a hand, pressing it gently upon the embroidered ermine at his shoulder. “Still awake, then?” he asked, a subtle warmth softening his features.

From the shadows emerged a woman, Qingyi. Though years had graced her visage, her beauty remained undimmed, replaced instead by a mature allure. A tenderness shone within her eyes as she regarded Aerion.

“The night air is sharp, my lord. You should rest,” she said softly.

Aerion clasped her hand in his, his gaze fixed upon the luminous orb above. “Qingyi,” he began, his voice hushed, “what do you think Father does at this hour?”

A delicate blush rose upon Qingyi’s cheeks. Though years of companionship had bound them together, and she had long ago confessed to him the pact made with her sire, their bond was more than mere duty. Still, the lingering affections she bore for Aerion brought a maidenly flush to her face.

“He is *your* father, remember?” Qingyi gently corrected.

Aerion chuckled, holding her hand tighter. “My father is also your father,” he declared.

A wave of sweetness washed over Qingyi’s heart. Following his gaze to the moon-drenched heavens, she whispered, “He likely sleeps now.”

A strange light flickered in Aerion’s eyes. He shook his head. “I feel it. He watches me.”

Meanwhile, in Qishui City, within the ancestral manor, Lord Wang Lin withdrew his gaze from the distant sky. He settled beneath the boughs of an ancient tree within the courtyard, listening to the rustling song of the autumn wind through its leaves. Occasionally, a solitary leaf would drift down, twirling before his eyes in its final descent.

These fallen leaves, in the end, always returned to the earth beneath the tree, like wandering sons returning, weary and worn, to the embrace of their kin.

Time flowed on, as imperceptibly as the falling leaves, and five more years turned in the great wheel of fate.

The Heavenly Path Sect’s influence had grown vast, encompassing three great empires and permeating the entire world of Ranyun. Had it continued thus, perhaps no great upheaval would have occurred. However, on the third day of the year, the Dishan Empire experienced a sudden and violent shift. The Emperor, driven by forces unknown, turned against the Heavenly Path Sect, unleashing his armies in a ruthless campaign of eradication.

This sudden betrayal was like a cup of water cast into a boiling pot, plunging the mortal realm of Ranyun into chaos and igniting a storm of unrest.

The Heavenly Path Sect retaliated with swift and merciless efficiency. Within half a month, they had seized control of Dishan’s military might without drawing a single drop of blood. Six or seven out of every ten of Dishan’s officials had secretly become disciples of the Heavenly Path.

This lightning-fast coup, lasting less than a month, echoed like a thunderclap, leaving all who heard of it stunned and shaken by the Heavenly Path’s power.

The Great Qin and Chenyun Empires, wary of reprisal, chose not to act rashly. Instead, they sent envoys to the Heavenly Path, seeking treaties of peace and promising eternal non-aggression.

The Dishan Empire was no more, replaced by a vast, new dominion known as the Heavenly Empire.

In the Heavenly Empire’s capital city, Wang Ping, now adorned in the raiment of a Dragon Emperor, stood high above the teeming masses, gazing out upon the world. Beside him stood Qingyi, a silent and unwavering presence.

The subjects of the newly-forged Heavenly Empire gazed up at their ruler, a figure they could never truly fathom. It was as if nothing in this world could truly capture his attention, as if ascending to this lofty position was merely a means to prove something to a distant, unseen audience.

Wang Ping’s gaze pierced through the sky above his dominion, looking to far, distant places.

The events within the Dishan Empire had drawn the attention of the cultivators scattered across Ranyun, who had begun to subtly influence the mortal conflicts.

Lord Wang Lin’s life, meanwhile, remained serene and undisturbed. His face bore the marks of deeper age. It was now the fifth year of the Heavenly Empire’s reign.

The Great Qin and Chenyun Empires, breaking their sworn oaths, launched a joint invasion against the Heavenly Empire.

Wang Lin paid little heed to these events. He continued to frequent the local tavern, listening to the whispers and rumors of the warring empires, silently sipping his wine, never uttering a word.

The former tavern boy, now having saved money and borrowed from relatives, had bought the inn and become the proprietor. The new waiter knew Wang Lin well, and always brought him the same food and drink.

“You’re getting on in years, old sir,” the tavern boy said kindly, setting down the plate. “Perhaps you should drink less.”

Wang Lin offered a small smile and nodded. “Just one jug today,” he said.

The tavern boy smiled back and went to serve the other customers. When he had a moment, he leaned on the counter and sighed, looking at Wang Lin. “That old Master Wang is a lonely man, so old and no family around him.”

Behind the counter, the tavern owner stopped tallying the figures on his abacus and muttered, “His son left home years ago, never to be seen again.”

Wang Lin took a sip from his wine jug, looking out the window, and remained like that for a full day.

As dusk fell, a servant from the manor came to fetch him. They worried the old man would fall, especially when drunk.

Bathed in moonlight, Wang Lin returned home with the servant, into a large, dark, empty house.

After dismissing the servant, Wang Lin sat on a chair in the courtyard, looking at the sky and mumbling, “Time flies. Ping’er must be forty-seven now… perhaps he’s figured something out…”

The war between the three empires continued, with cultivators becoming ever more entangled, but things quickly changed when the Heavenly Empire’s Emperor led his forces into battle.

Before him, even the most seasoned cultivators faltered and fell. One by one, those who meddled in the affairs of mortals retreated from the world of men.

Yet, the quiet withdrawal was not solely due to the presence of Wang Ping. The simultaneous edict issued by the houses of Zhao, Ran, and Sun played no small part in the unraveling.

Within the grand army’s encampment, in a tent woven with golden thread, Wang Ping sat in a place of honor. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his advisors and rose, stepping out into the crisp air. His gaze drifted over the ranks of soldiers, settling upon the distant peaks of the Qilian Mountains.

Wang Ping appeared aged, silver threading through his once dark hair. Ascending to the position of Sage-King amongst mortals had brought him little joy. The weight of endless duties bore down on him, leaving him weary in spirit.

He found himself longing for the nineteen years of his youth, for the simple days of his childhood in a remote mountain village.

Lost in contemplation, he gazed at the Qilian Mountains. Qing Yi emerged from the tent, standing beside him, her voice a soft whisper, “You once spoke of that place, said it held the memories of your childhood. Shall we journey there?”

Time had etched its passage upon Qing Yi as well, yet her eyes held a gentle fondness as she regarded Wang Ping. He sighed, a low rumble in his chest. “Let us go then…”

A pair of guards fell into step behind them as Wang Ping and Qing Yi set off towards the Qilian Mountains. With each stride, Wang Ping’s eyes scanned the surroundings, a blend of unfamiliarity and a stirring sense of recognition within him.

Soon, he saw the wisps of smoke rising in the distance – the village of Fallen Moon, visible at last.

Their approach did not go unnoticed. Perhaps due to the soldiers trailing behind, a chorus of fierce barking erupted from the village. In these troubled times, the villagers of Fallen Moon were ever vigilant. The barking stirred them from their sleep, and they emerged from their homes, clutching farming tools and torches, their eyes fixed upon the approaching soldiers and the two figures in plain dress.

Wang Ping offered no greeting to the villagers, but searched their faces, finding none that he recognized.

A bitter smile touched his lips. So many years had flown by, and even those once familiar were now strangers, transformed by the relentless march of time.

And besides, nearly thirty years had passed; who knew how many had already been claimed by the cycle of rebirth, lost forever?

“Let us go to the back hills. Grandfather Sun rests there.”

Qing Yi sighed softly and walked forward alongside Wang Ping. Hesitantly, the villagers parted, creating a narrow passage for them to pass.

Then, a voice, frail and uncertain, called out in the quiet, “Wang Ping…?”

Wang Ping froze, turning to face the crowd. His eyes fell upon a middle-aged woman, her face etched with the passage of time, yet in her features, he saw the girl who had once uttered the words “I hate you.”

Meanwhile, far beyond, in the star-strewn expanse of the heavens, the celestial fiend, Tan Lang, hurtled toward the world veiled in moonlit clouds – the star of Yunxia. As he neared, Tan Lang’s nostrils flared, a peculiar light gleaming in his eyes.

“Hardly had I set foot in the northern domain of Luo Tian when a feeling washed over me – a feeling that a treasure lay hidden nearby. I follow its scent, and lo, my instincts were correct. This planet’s outer shroud is thick, undoubtedly concealing the treasure’s radiance.”

“And yet, there’s something strange about this world…”

Tan Lang stared, his eyes locked upon Yunxia, and hesitated for a moment before proceeding. He was notorious for never leaving a place where treasure might be found, for possessing an almost terrifying instinct for the presence of riches.

As he drew closer, his heart hammered in his chest, his gaze growing ever more fervent.

“This feeling… it only comes when I’m near the most potent of treasures, such as that ancient cauldron I once claimed. Could this world hold something of equal power?” Excitement bloomed in Tan Lang’s eyes, eclipsing all other thoughts.

With a guttural cry, he flung open his storage pouch. The black cauldron, massive and ominous, shot forth and hovered before him, clearing a path through the swirling mists. Tan Lang followed closely behind.

“I’ll see what wonders you hide, little star!” Tan Lang licked his lips in anticipation.