On the summit of a hundred-meter-high peak in the Imperial Palace's Rear Mountain.
Sun En sat quietly on a three-meter-wide rock, his yellow Daoist robe stirring gently in the breeze, like an immortal beyond the mortal world.
Before him, a man stood with both hands behind his back, gazing up at the sky with an air of leisure.
He was tall and slender, with broad robes and flowing sleeves, his hair tied in a Daoist topknot. His blue robes fluttered in the fierce mountain winds, lending him the ethereal grace of an immortal about to ride the wind away.
Beside this blue-robed Daoist stood a somewhat younger Daoist in gray.
The gray-robed Daoist was as tall and thin as a bamboo pole for drying clothes, so light he seemed to weigh nothing. His face was withered and sallow, his topknot bound with a yellow kerchief. His eyes were narrow and long, and with the sharp light flashing in his gaze, they resembled two keen blades, truly chilling anyone who looked at him.
Yet now he bowed slightly, facing Sun En respectfully.
Three Daoists: one calm, one leisurely, and one respectful.
"Nothing major has happened these past few years, has it?" Sun En asked mildly.
"Master, the sect has been peaceful since you left. Though you were absent for these past decades, with the help of my two martial uncles, the Holy Cult has flourished. No one can shake its standing in Great Han," the gray-robed man replied respectfully.
Sun En said calmly, "Xun, how many times have I told you? Our Celestial Master Sect follows the ultimate principles of heaven and earth, and all our followers were born into suffering. We must not style ourselves the Holy Cult."
"Yes, Master. I was wrong," the gray-robed man said.
Just then, the