It was March, with spring mild and bright. Though the scenery of the northern lands could not compare to the delicate beauty of the south, its mountains were green and its rivers clear, mist curling through emerald growth. Viewed from high above, the mountains and earth beneath the sunlight seemed veiled in a faint, almost intangible gauze of green, brimming with life.
In such a season, riding the wind through the void, drinking wine and making merry with friends, was precisely the thing to do.
Thus, above the Three Northern Lakes, lofty cultivators and feather-robed adepts could often be seen gathering in groups of three or five, riding clouds or flying boats into the heights to admire the spring scenery, make acquaintances, and enjoy themselves.
Of course, the Three Northern Lakes had always been the foremost cultivation ground in this realm. Even spring outings often came with contests for prizes. Talisman duels and cloud-parting arts in particular were profound and wondrous, and combined with spectacular scenery to behold, they were exceptionally popular.
At this moment, roughly twenty li above the ground, within a relatively stable region of the astral winds, a three-story pavilion with eight corners and four pillars hung in midair. Wind chimes rang continuously. Its third floor, from roof tiles to eaves, was made entirely of crystal, transparent and unobstructed. Surrounded by railings, it received wind from all eight directions. Yet though astral winds howled outside, by the time they reached this place, they had become gentle breezes, exceedingly pleasant.
Several dozen figures occupied the pavilion. Some sat upright, some stood, some leaned upon the railings, and some held wine cups so entranced they forgot themselves. Every one of them held their breath and calmed their minds as they gazed up at the heavens.
About a hundred li