The midnight sky above the Floating Mountain was a dome of deep indigo velvet, dusted with countless shimmering stars that seemed close enough to touch.
Yet below the floating safe hall, three thousand feet beneath the cloud terraces, the mortal world was engulfed in a frozen nightmare. Arctic winds wailed through the pine gorges. He drove sheets of stinging sleet across the jagged rocks of the frontier basin. The howling gale rattled the lower crags of the floating island. But within the protective boundary of the safe hall’s ancient water array, the air remained calm and pure. He carried the faint, soothing perfume of blooming moon-orchids and warm pine sap.
At midnight sharp, the Sanctuary Bell tolled twelve ringing strokes.
Cast from ancient bronze and infused with Lin Xiao’s pure water-origin deep ring, the bell didn’t strike with the jarring, bone-shaking alarm of a castle under siege. Instead, it emitted twelve long, ringing chimes that rippled through the misty night like the sonorous call of a temple gong across a calm mountain lake. The sound washed over the terraced orchards, the steaming hot spring pavilions, and the lower dark rock cliffs. He carried no fear—only a clear call for purposeful, collective assembly.
