The sound of the metal gate tumbling off the side of the mountain could be heard for miles. The cultivators raised their swords and watched in horror as two men stepped out from the darkness of the mountain prison.

In the arms of the man in black was a tender looking youth, clothed in bright red. The robes had long become dirtied and tattered. The youth’s wavy hair was unbound and strewn across his visage, just barely covering up the horrendous bruises around his neck and scattered across his face. The dried blood, matched with his crimson robes, brought out a nether worldly glow to his pale skin. His entire person looked as if he already had one foot through the gates of the Underworld yet, despite this, the eyes used to look upon the pitiful youth was nothing by hatred, mingling with terror and disgust.

“Sect Leader Fan,” a man stood at the front, his hand tightly gripping his sword until his knuckles turned white. His eyes burned with annoyance as his eyes flickered down to the limp body in the other’s arms. “It is always a pleasure to see you, however I do not remember inviting you to witness our sect’s embarrassment.”

The man being addressed showed an amicable smile. A sense of calmness enshrouded him despite the weapons pointed his way. This calmness caused the cultivators to fidget. The palms of their hands began to become sticky with sweat. It was difficult to forget what type of person he was just a few hundred years ago after all.

Fán Yì (凡意) let out a soft sigh and put on a lost expression. “Pardon my intrusion, Young Master Li. I heard a rumor about what was happening in your sect and, well, I have never been one to sit still when there is injustice afoot. You are still young, but you have also heard about what happened to those who wronged me in the past, have you not?”

The cultivators behind the man surnamed Li glanced at each other. Some shifted back while others gripped their swords tighter. The air seemed to tighten around their throats, making it hard to breathe and making it even more difficult to swallow. No one dared make any sudden movements.

“Forgive my rudeness, Sect Leader Fan,” the man surnamed Li bit out the title. “But this is a sect matter. Outsiders should mind their own business.”

“How could I be an outsider?” Fan Yi quirked an eyebrow, looking completely scandalized.

“If you aren’t an outsider than what are you?” a cultivator from somewhere in the crowd asked. “This is obviously a matter of our Drifting Clouds Mountain Sect! You didn’t only break through our array, but also want to steal our person?”

A scoff sounded from behind Fan Yi. “Is it our fault we broke through your array? You should ask yourselves why it was so easily crushed.”

The speaker scanned the crowd lazily and clicked his tongue. “And here I thought the righteous sects were all about propriety, rules, and manners. I didn’t realize that when the seniors were talking, a lowly junior disciple of the sect could butt in and talk. In such a rude manner, at that.”

“Who spoke just now?” the man surnamed Li turned his head and glanced into the crowd. Not a single person dared to look him in the eyes.

“Rude and cowardly,” the man provoked once more. “How unseemly.”

The man surnamed Li glared at the man behind Fan Yi. Instead of shrinking back, the man lifted his chin arrogantly and met Sect Leader Li’s gaze with a cock of his eyebrow.

The man could be described as a poisonous tyrant. His looks were horrifyingly handsome and his entire being carried an air of suppression. The man wore a stylized pauldron on one shoulder with a brown cape cascading down his back. His black hair was pulled back into a surprisingly neat topknot. His saber hung lazily from his belt, yet it still emitted a quiet hum, as if warning the surrounding cultivators that it was always ready at any moment’s notice.

“Xiewen,” after a long moment of tense silence, Fan Yi’s voice finally interjected. However, the tone he used was similar to a doting older brother scolding his younger brother with no real consequences. There was even a hint of pride.

“Oh,” Tiān Xièwén (天谢文) indolently lifted his gaze back towards the man surnamed Li. A suppressed smirk played at his lips as he spoke: “Sorry.”

Fan Yi cleared his throat. His grip on the limp body had not changed in the past few minutes. He still stood straight and tall; his gaze unchanging even despite the interruptions.

“Even if I am an outsider,” Fan Yi said, “How could you justify doing this to someone of your own sect? I hear there was no fair trial? Did you ever give him a chance to defend himself?”

“We saw it with our own eyes what he did,” the man surnamed Li spoke through clenched teeth. “With his Yù Lán Sword (玉兰剑), he drove it through Sect Leader Rong’s throat and thoroughly severed her head. Afterwards, not only did he not utter a word of explanation, he even directed his sword at us. His entire person obviously ready to flee—what else is there to question, Sect Leader Fan?”

“Is that so?” Fan Yi seemed unshaken. “Then, if you do not want him so much, I will take him.”

“On what grounds? He is a criminal and a traitor of our sect. We have the right to punish him. Any outsider the interferes shall be killed on the spot.”

At the words of the man surnamed Li, the sounds of swords being unsheathed sounded through the night sky. The flames danced against the blade, reflecting the hateful eyes and the deadly gleam of the swords.

“How could I be an outsider?” Fan Yi repeated his previous question.

“Then state your relations to him,” the man surnamed Li dared.

“Romantic,” Fan Yi said without a hint of hesitation.

The single word stunned the cultivators of Drifting Clouds Mountain Sect.

“One-sidedly, of course,” Fan Yi smiled. He looked down at the man in his arms and then tilted his head back at the man surnamed Li. “So, naturally, I cannot let you harm someone that I have already taken to be my person.”

“Preposterous! How could my shidi ever be involved with you!?”

“Lì Rán (利燃), he is no longer your shidi,” Fan Yi said. “Why can he not be with me?”

“You—”

Before Li Ran could begin his sentence, the sound of pained screams echoed through the mountain range. Li Ran turned around in alarm, only to find half of the cultivators had been cut down. A barely visible thin red string was wound tightly around their throats. A steady stream of blood began to form on the dirt ground.

Fan Yi let out a mischievous laugh. He took a step back, allowing Tian Xiewen to block an oncoming blow with the flat of his saber. His steps were light as he danced through the carnage, meeting with a smaller figure on the other side of the battle.

The handsome young man pulled his sword from the body of a righteous cultivator and rushed towards Fan Yi. “Shizun, are you okay?”

“Naturally,” Fan Yi nodded. He looked back at the ongoing battle and turned to the young man. “We will be leaving first then. Make sure to leave right after.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

“And, Sū Hán (苏寒)?”

“Yes, Shizun?” the young man turned back to Fan Yi.

“Remember, self-preservation is the most important,” Fan Yi said.

Su Han nodded. He turned and ran back into the battle as Fan Yi took to the skies on his long sword.