Chapter 003: The Banquet at the Eastern Pavilion

A pale golden mist drifted over the surface of the Bitter River. Not long after, a swarm of golden butterflies emerged, fluttering across the vast waters toward the Orchid Heart Pavilion.

From within the golden butterflies stepped a young woman in her prime, her features delicately enchanting and striking, bearing an exotic allure softened by a hint of girlish charm. The trailing gauze at the edges of her robe and skirt curled lightly, lending her both the grace of a butterfly and an air of spirited vitality. Because of her singular beauty and remarkable talents, she was known among mortals as the “Butterfly Fairy”—a title reserved solely for the Orchid Heart Pavilion’s last and most cherished disciple.

Within the study of the Orchid Heart Pavilion sat an elderly man. His white hair floated like silk, and his spirit was robust; his figure was slightly plump, his complexion ruddy, and the wrinkles on his face deepened his aura of wisdom. His gaze was keen, reflecting both parsimony and pride. He was robed entirely in white, echoing his hair, save for the fan in his hand, which shone a greenish-blue.

Soon, the young woman entered, bowed respectfully to the white-haired elder, and presented a butterfly-letter with utmost reverence.

“Master, this is the latest news from the northern slopes of Kunlun.”

The man she addressed as her master was none other than Master Wu Xiao, the Pavilion Lord of Orchid Heart. He held knowledge of all matters great and small under heaven; only the mysterious divine realms were beyond his full grasp. Thanks to his Dawn-Breaking Golden Butterfly art, no secrets could escape him.

In the eyes of the world, the Orchid Heart Pavilion was a place of omniscient mystery, yet few ever set foot within its walls to seek answers. Thus, many imagined its master as nothing more than a white-robed, white-haired elder with a blue fan.

Wu Xiao waved his blue fan, immediately reading the message within the butterfly-letter. A satisfied smile curled upon his lips.

“Ling’er, I have waited long for this day!” Wu Xiao gathered the letter and stroked his white beard. “They say the Tea Heart Pavilion is most strictly guarded. How did you send your spirit butterflies inside? Have the golden butterflies grown stronger again?”

“There was no need for golden butterflies,” Ling’er replied with a smile. “Isn’t there a Lotus Seed inside? The Lotus Seed is the red lotus you planted in the back garden, Master! She still has ties to the Orchid Heart Pavilion, so learning her news is no difficult task.”

“But didn’t the Red Lotus swear fealty to Lady Snow Ze?” Wu Xiao pondered, then laughed with satisfaction. “It seems Xiao Qinglian cast some spell on the Lotus Seed, never expecting it would benefit us instead.”

“Master, is there anything you need me to do?” Ling’er asked. She was once Princess Ling’er of the realm of Pingliang, a spirited girl fond of adventure, fated to become Wu Xiao’s disciple and to learn his arts.

In the mortal world, names were of great significance. In court, commoners rarely addressed officials by name; in the martial world, titles replaced names; and among the practitioners of the arcane, the revelation of one’s true name was forbidden. Thus, all who mingled in the mortal realm chose names or surnames—half real, half false. Ling’er, when in the central plains, called herself Qu Ling’er. As for Snow Ze, hers was the only name known to the Pavilion as the disciple from Tianshan.

Wu Xiao shook his head. “We need only observe and record.”

“Yes, Master.” Ling’er bowed to take her leave, but Wu Xiao stopped her.

“Don’t you have enough spirit butterflies at your command? Why must you always go in person? Why not stay and give your master a back massage?”

“Master, do you not understand my heart?” Ling’er replied with a bashful smile. “I’ve long heard that Snow Ze is no ordinary woman. I wish to see her with my own eyes!”

Ling’er’s curiosity about the world was boundless, and she never shied from hardship—qualities that made her the pride of the Pavilion.

“And where did you hear this? In what way is she extraordinary?”

“Where? The records here in the study tell all. As for her, in the martial world she is the daughter of the Kunlun Sect’s Head, the first among the male factions; in the divine realm, she is the most cherished disciple of the Celestial Lord of Tianshan; and she is also the only daughter of the former Celestial Maiden, now Celestial Master Qinglian. It would be strange if she were ordinary!”

“Oh? It seems you are not only curious but also diligent in your studies. I have underestimated you,” Wu Xiao replied, his gaze warm with a smile.

Ling’er, half-annoyed, half-helpless, pressed him further, “How have you underestimated me, Master?”

He laughed. “The mortals have their own interpretations of Lady Snow Ze, guessing her to be a beauty beyond compare, talented in both the civil and martial arts. I thought you, too, had heard the rumors and wished to see her for yourself.”

“Hmph, so Master still sees me as a child. I’m leaving! Let the spirit butterflies massage your back!” With that, Ling’er left the Pavilion.

Night descended quietly. To the north of Kunlun, lanterns bloomed in myriad colors, the air alive with celebration, for the Head had once again triumphed over rival sects. In the recent tournament, Yu Qianye and his disciples had claimed victory, securing Kunlun’s place as the foremost of the male factions.

Yu Qianye, the Head, was tall and striking, rare among those who combined martial prowess with keen strategy. In his youth, he was the object of much adoration, yet his loyal heart chose only Xiao Qinglian. In doing so, he earned the enmity of the current leading lady of the Western Sea Palace, the Celestial Musician.

To this day, a feud lingered between the Western Sea Palace and Kunlun, each vying for the title of greatest under heaven.

The joy of the Eastern Pavilion’s festivities spilled into every corner of the northern mountains; musicians played, dancers performed, and all were enraptured by the melodies and graceful movements.

Yu Qianye surveyed the harmonious scene before him, then took his seat, sweeping his dark robes behind him. Having just returned from handling affairs abroad, he now sought a moment of quiet. His gaze soon drifted to the elegant Xiao Qinglian beside him.

Though many years had passed since Xiao Qinglian entered the mortal world, adopting the customs and dress of Kunlun, her celestial bearing could not be concealed.

Whenever Yu Qianye recalled how Qinglian left Tianshan for him, he could not help but be moved, his love deepening. Meeting her eyes, he asked gently, “My dear, Snow Ze didn’t come again?”

“She did not. You know well she dislikes such festivities,” Qinglian replied, pouring him a cup of wine.

“Ah, it seems our daughter takes after you. Beautiful as a goddess, with a heart untouched by mortal desires—no wonder she shuns such gatherings. I say, let her do as she pleases.”

Though not always by Snow Ze’s side, Yu Qianye understood his daughter well and was open-minded about her ways.

“You know little of Tianshan. Though a divine realm of beauty, freedom there cannot compare to what we have here. If our daughter truly takes after me, she too must yearn for freedom.”

Qinglian frowned, unwilling to discuss the matter further. Yu Qianye, caught between wife and daughter, dared not press. In the martial world, he was renowned for his strength and resolve, but at home, he could not bear to upset either.

“There is sense in your words, my dear. Let us leave it to Snow Ze herself,” he said, though inwardly he worried: My wife is unwilling, yet my daughter insists on returning. What am I to do?

“She is barely come of age; do not spoil her. For now, she cannot have her way. Let us wait until this tribulation at Tianshan has passed.”

Yu Qianye nodded thoughtfully, signaling for tea. He poured with care, filling Qinglian’s cup with fragrant brew.

“My dear, you bear the burdens of the northern mountain. Allow yourself a cup of tea. It brings restful sleep and beauty—most fitting for one as radiant as you.”

“When did you learn to speak so sweetly?” Qinglian sipped the tea, then chided him, “You spend your days traversing the martial world. Do not let flattery become a habit.”

Yu Qianye chuckled, his hand trembling slightly as he refilled her cup. “If the taste is pleasing, have another.”

Their disciples, witnessing the couple’s loving rapport, could not help but smile with envy.

Elsewhere, in a quiet garden beyond the Eastern Pavilion’s banquet, two figures stood in conversation.

One, garbed in the attire of a Kunlun disciple, was reporting in hushed tones to his companion.

The other, though listening intently, seemed distant and melancholic, his demeanor starkly different from the Kunlun disciple’s. He wore simple silk garments, plain in color yet clearly of fine quality. His only adornments were a finely crafted ink-dyed folding fan and a jade pendant at his waist—tokens both elegant and distinguished, fitting for his bearing.

The jade was top-grade Hetian, marred by a small flaw, as though it were an ancestral relic. The folding fan was exquisite, its ink wash refined, its surface both beautiful and noble. He carried the air of a scholar-poet, yet showed no fear of sword or spell—a man whose modest exterior hid a depth of strength.

Looking closer, one saw in his face luminous eyes and even, white teeth; his brows were strong and his features handsome, yet there was nothing frivolous about him—rather, a somber gravity weighed on his expression, and his beauty was shadowed by sorrow. His gaze was gentle but tinged with gray, as though haunted by a lingering obsession he could not shake.

“Master, the Head has returned to the banquet. What troubles you?” the Kunlun disciple asked.

The man flicked open his fan, a sudden spark of light in his eyes, as if he had glimpsed something to delight him.

“I have just arrived. The Head is present, the banquet is grand—yet someone has slipped away,” he replied, his voice carrying the tone of a learned scholar, though deep and magnetic.

The Kunlun disciple looked toward the northern side gate, where a woman in red had departed—one of the Red Lotus’s maids, it seemed. Seeing she was alone, he replied in a low voice, “It is nothing. That is Miss’s attendant, Lotus Seed. She must be out on an errand.”

“Your Miss’s attendant?” The man smiled, reflecting: I have known the Kunlun Head for many years, yet not once have I seen that famed lady, nor heard her name. Kunlun Mountain and its sect are full of mysteries. My people are everywhere, and still I am uneasy.

“Indeed. Though Miss never keeps servants or guards, she allows this one woman by her side. Years ago, when Miss and Madam were traveling, they saved Lotus Seed from a fire, and so she has followed them ever since, out of gratitude.”

“That is a fine thing.”

“Yes, it benefits both. Miss treats her like a sister, and Lotus Seed is ever loyal. See—off on another errand now.”

Hearing this, the man closed his fan with a smile. “Let her go as she wishes, then.”