The moon, having risen to its zenith, gradually sank into the dark night.
Wang Cang Hai awoke at the sound of the third watch. His sleep had been restless; the person he wished to dream of did not appear. Instead, his dreams were consumed by a heavy, oppressive blackness. In them, Wang Cang Hai walked an endless, winding road, exhausted yet unable to see the end.
Waking up brought a surprising sense of relief.
He rose, draped an outer robe over his shoulders, and glanced out the window. The night was as cool and still as water.
Wang Cang Hai didn’t summon a servant to light a lamp. Instead, he picked up the candlestick from his desk and slowly made his way out of the bedroom.
In the eastern courtyard of the Wang Manor, there was a natural spring—something Wang Cang Hai had discovered at the age of fifteen using a deep well-drilling tool he invented himself. The spring fed into a small pond, beside which stood the largest and tallest Tai Hu stone in all of the Da Yong Kingdom. It was so massive that it could hardly be called a Tai Hu stone anymore; it was more like an artificial mountain or stone peak. At the age of twenty-seven, Wang Cang Hai carved the words “Wang Bai” (“Looking at the White”) onto the stone, his brushwork powerful yet flowing, as though imbued with unforgettable love and hate.
The courtyard was bathed in exquisite moonlight, which shimmered across the rippling surface of the pond. Wang Cang Hai blew out the candle, set it aside, and leapt effortlessly onto the peak of the “Wang Bai” stone, his movements as graceful as a sea swallow in flight.
Looking up, he saw a bright moon in a sparse sky. Among the scattered stars, two shone particularly brightly with a bluish hue—the Tian Yue and Er De Xing stars. To their west, another faint star appeared, its pure white light soft yet distinct.
Wang Cang Hai suddenly smiled. His face, naturally striking and peerless, often carried a cold, sharp expression that made him seem aloof. But in this rare moment of warmth, his smile was as gentle as a spring breeze brushing against willow branches—unfortunately, no one was there to witness it.
“The Qilin Star has appeared alongside Tian Yue and Er De Xing. The Qilin will soon descend upon the world,” Wang Cang Hai murmured to himself. “The Qilin Star is a peaceful guardian. Its arrival should bring prosperity and blessings. But why does it come accompanied by a meteor shower?”
It was as if the stars themselves heard his words. The once-quiet night sky began to tremble. At first, one or two meteors streaked across the heavens, but soon dozens, hundreds followed in succession, their fiery trails painting the sky in an overwhelming display of brilliance.
Faced with this once-in-a-millennium celestial wonder, Wang Cang Hai’s smile faded.
“Four spirits clash with the earth, meteors shatter the clouds. Is this a divine decree or divine punishment?”
Most of the meteors fell toward the northeastern part of the Da Yong Kingdom, where the Tian Chi Lake atop Wang Bai Mountain was located. Perched on this frigid snow-capped peak was an opulent palace shrouded in clouds and mist: the Cloud Palace of the Summit. According to local myths, the palace was built 13,000 years ago by Yun Hua, the elder sister of the Jade Emperor, when she descended from the heavens to live among mortals. Yun Hua had fallen in love with a mortal named Yang, and the two spent sixty years together in the palace. After Yang’s natural death, Yun Hua returned to the heavenly realm, leaving the Cloud Palace abandoned for ten thousand years.
It was said that anyone standing by Tian Chi Lake could see the reflection of the Cloud Palace in the water—a vision ethereal and dreamlike, offering a glimpse of its breathtaking beauty. However, no mortal, no matter how determined, could truly approach it. The palace, like an illusion, seemed to float above the layered clouds—forever beyond reach.
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