At first light, the five companions fanned out across Huangshan's back ridges, spades in hand, hunting the legendary "divine clay" Cui Shensi had described. But the mountain's labyrinth of gullies and talus slopes offered endless cover—none knew where to begin. They dug in random patches, earth tumbling as if mocking their efforts.
None worked more feverishly than Zhao Ye. Bound by his life-debt to Xu Yi Fei, he would have gladly traded his body to save his friend's soul. Yet the harder he strained, the more elusive the clay became. At last, his eyes burned, arms aching. His spade struck something hard with a clear ping that echoed off the rock walls. Zhao Ye straightened and saw no one within sight—only jagged cliffs and scattered pines.
He knelt and cleared the loosened soil to reveal a small iron ring set in the ground, attached to a black iron lid. Fear gripped him: might this seal some demon? He re-covered it and moved on.
An hour later, weary, he paused atop a boulder. Restless curiosity drove him back. He uncovered the ring once more and lifted the lid—unleashing a curling shaft of pale mist. What began as frail wisp thickened into roiling cloud. In moments, visibility vanished; nearby peaks faded into a white sea.
Zhao Ye stumbled to his feet, heart pounding, and bolted to the summit of Five Elders Peak. There, he found the others equally breathless—dust-smudged, faces pale with shock.
"Where did this fog come from?" Qi Ziegler grinned, breathing hard.
Lan Xuan laughed softly: "Not a bad view—our own cloud sea."
They gazed over the boundless mist, so vast it felt as if the entire world lay beneath them, each mountaintop a lonely isle afloat.
"Beautiful," Jiang Hui murmured—only to catch sight of a lone boat drifting across the sea of vapor. Onboard sat a dignified Daoist, robes billowing, sword at his back.
"Who opened the Cloud Aperture?" the Daoist's voice boomed. "Own up!"
Zhao Ye stepped forward and admitted his mistake. The Daoist's stern gaze softened.
"Since it's here, ride with me," he declared. "I am Master Yu. Call me Yu Shanren."
Though the little skiff looked too small, the Daoist beckoned them aboard. In moments, what seemed a cramped vessel held all seven comfortably. With two gentle strokes of his oars, Master Yu guided them into the living mist.
Beneath swirling clouds and whispering pines, he led them to secret groves and hidden valleys—landscapes untouched by any other soul, where the air smelled of moss and ancient stone.
After a time, Master Yu pointed ahead. "My nieces arrive."
True to his word, two figures streaked through the mists and alighted beside him—the graceful Ling Shuang and the radiant Sheng Xue, disciples of the Celestial Nymph Palace on Divine Maiden Peak. Each bore a gift: two lustrous tail-feathers of the crested crane.
Ling Shuang smiled: "We tracked the nesting site for three days—these are the choicest plumes."
Master Yu's eyes gleamed as he received them. They, in turn, asked about the elusive Crimson Snow Sword—last of the Four Elemental Blades.
"Wind, Frost, and Rain Swords rest with me," Master Yu explained, "Crimson Snow was lost with my ill-fated student Zhu Feixue, slain atop Lotus Peak. Her lover slew himself afterward—so the blade slipped back into these mountains, awaiting its rightful heir."
Sheng Xue's gaze sharpened. "Then we must pursue it."
The little boat—now a great eagle—soared off, carrying them above the cloud-sea until it settled before a sheer cliff face. There, a fissure revealed itself: a yawning cavern mouth dripping with jade-green mist.
At the entrance, four pillars of carved stone stood—each etched with occult symbols. Sheng Xue tightened her cloak. "This seal must guard some spirit. We cannot intrude lightly."
Master Yu nodded. "Only she who wields the blade may claim it. None else should enter."
A murmur of protest rose, but Master Yu merely waved. With a rustle of wings, the eagle returned and transformed into the familiar skiff. He produced from its depths a miraculous robe stitched from countless feathers of myriad birds—a legendary Cloak of Living Plumes.
He handed it to Sheng Xue. "Wear this: its spirit will guard you. Enter alone, commune with the sword by heart and will. Tame it as you would a steed."
Sheng Xue hesitated—then, steeling herself, donned the robe and slipped inside the misty maw.
Lin-Yu Ye called after her: "I go as well!"
Master Yu's face darkened: "Foolish boy—you would gamble your life for shuttle-blood debt? This cave holds spirits beyond your ken."
Yet Zhao Ye, heart alight with fierce devotion, could not be turned. Bolting forward, he seized Sheng Xue's hand and plunged into darkness.
Master Yu exhaled: "Heedless child…"