The sun was sinking low, painting the western sky in waves of burning crimson.

At the Night family’s martial arena, tension thickened like storm clouds. Blades gleamed, whispers fell silent; even those immersed in cultivation paused to watch—the spectacle promised to be worth it.

Ye Qingge stood between two towering stone lions, her gaze calm and detached as she regarded the proud, sharp-eyed Ye Qingqing before her.

So. Qin Lan had summoned her here—not to train, but to humiliate.

Yet since she had come, she had no intention of leaving meekly.

Without a word, Qingge stepped past her sister, heading toward the center of the training field. There stood a low-grade spirit treasure—the Qiankun Stone, pulsing faintly with celestial energy. It absorbed the essence of the sun and moon, making cultivation here twice as effective for half the effort.

To most, it was a sacred space.

To Ye Qingqing, Qingge’s indifference was an unforgivable insult.

“Ye Qingge!” she snapped, fury flashing in her almond eyes. “Get back where you belong. This isn’t a place for useless trash like you.”

Qingge halted mid-step, her back still turned. A faint, cold smile tugged at her lips as she slowly turned her head.

“Little sister,” she said softly, her tone honeyed with mockery, “you’ve been here long enough to know the rules of the arena, haven’t you? Any direct descendant may train here at any hour. It’s only the illegitimate ones who must leave before nightfall.”

She tilted her head toward the blood-red horizon, her lips curving faintly.

“And look—it’s nearly dark.”

Her smile was pure, innocent—almost.

The remark landed like a slap. Ye Qingqing’s fury blazed higher.

With a flash of movement, her Linghan Sword swept up, the air hissing around its edge as she leveled it between Qingge’s brows.

“The rules also say,” she hissed, “that anyone within the arena may freely spar. Sister—why don’t we test our skills?”

A sharp chill surged forth, slicing through the air.

Qingge’s expression remained unchanged; she opened her mouth to reply—but before she could, a cold voice drifted from outside the gate.

“Why has training stopped? Who’s slacking off?”

Heads turned.

Between the twin stone lions, two figures approached through drifting petals of peach blossom.

The first was a woman in deep violet robes, a spirit blade at her waist, every movement poised and steady. Her eyes were bright, her bearing commanding—this was Ye Yu, the Night family’s proud second young lady.

Beside her walked a man whose very presence drew every gaze. His white brocade robes glimmered faintly beneath the sunset; his face was like carved jade, refined and untouchable.

Beiyue Ming—the little prince of Beiyue Kingdom. The man who haunted the dreams of half the empire’s daughters.

A dozen attendants followed behind.

As soon as Ye Qingqing saw Ye Yu, unwillingness flickered in her eyes. But when her gaze shifted to Beiyue Ming, her expression melted—eyes bright, cheeks flushed.

“Qingqing,” Ye Yu said sharply, glancing between the sisters. “What’s going on here?”

Everyone in Beiyue knew: Ye Qingqing’s infatuation with the little prince was no secret. Likewise, everyone knew how much Beiyue Ming despised Ye Qingge.

Ye Yu had deliberately avoided the Windmoon Pavilion to prevent exactly this kind of awkward encounter. By all reason, Ye Qingge should never have been anywhere near the arena.

And yet… here she was.

Ye Yu’s lips curved into a cold, knowing smile. So that’s it.

The rumors spread instantly—soft voices rising and falling like wind over dry leaves.

“So shameless…”

“Just look at that face. If I were her, I’d have killed myself long ago.”

“Ugly and delusional—dreaming of toads eating swans.”

“Don’t forget, she even seduced the house steward. Disgusting.”

“And the Grand Elder’s not even home. If he were, she’d be skinned alive by now.”

Laughter. Spite. Whispered venom.

Every word reached Ye Qingge’s ears.