The southern horizon had never looked so festive.
For as long as living memory stretched across the mortal kingdoms and immortal sects of the Azure Cloud Realm, an assembly of cloud-faring vessels on such a huge scale would have signaled the total outbreak of a continent-shattering war. In hundreds of years past, sky-fleets moved like thunderous iron fortresses, bristling with giant crossbows of black cold-iron. It was flanked by escorts of flying sword formations, and with the oppressive, choking killing intent of ancient martial patriarchs ready to reduce entire mountain ranges to glowing melted rock waste.
Today, however, the sky looked like an open-air lantern festival held amidst the clouds.
From every cardinal direction, hundreds of spiritual barges, dragon-carved river ferries, painted pleasure yachts, and modest open-deck cedar skiffs were converging on the lower moorings of the Floating Mountain of Countless Spirits. Instead of heavy battle pennants stitched with bloodthirsty clan crests, the masts flew bright silk streamers in shades of saffron, apricot, and jade green. Instead of black iron cannons, the decks were piled high with woven willow baskets, lacquered food hampers, and clay jars wrapped in festive scarlet ribbons.
High above on the central palace terrace, Lin Xiao had returned to his preferred form—a round, pleasantly squishy azure slime roughly the size of a plump melon—resting comfortably on a silk cushion. Beside him, an oval water-mirror levitated in mid-air, fed by a gentle trickle of water-qi that projected a crystal-clear, panoramic view of the lower docking bays.
