Unparalleled Artist: Unlikely Hero
Following his father's murder, Wu Ling's mother returned to the life of a courtesan, disguising her young son as a girl to take refuge in the Bamboo Silk House, a women's only sect dedicated to the arts. Now, as his powers awaken, he'll find himself torn between protecting his family and the goals of powerful cultivators who see him as a means to an end. "Wu Ling, I've accepted a marriage proposal on your behalf," the bewitching Hall Master of the Bamboo Silk House declared. "When you enter the Inner Sect, you'll enter under the name 'Hua Qianhu', fiancee of a young lord of the Liang family." "Hall Master, that's impossible!" Wu Ling protested. "Even if you ignore my relationship with Meifeng, I might have dressed well enough to hide as a mortal woman but I could never..." "So you truly didn't realize what you were doing," the Hall Master said, a dark smile on her lips. "Little Ling, you're a natural-born Shapeshifter. I'll teach you what you need to know," she said, her features shifting until she looked like a mirror image of the stunned Wu Ling. "As long as you follow my arrangements and learn my techniques, it isn't impossible for you to reunite with Meifeng..." "But you should consider Young Lord Liang carefully," the Hall Master added. "His affection for you is genuine. Perhaps, one day, you'll even feel the same for him..."
The Power of History
When Jin Wuya stepped out onto the floor of the arena, she was momentarily overwhelmed by the intense assault on her senses. Above her, all around the circular arena, hundreds of spectators roared and cheered for the spectacle that was about to take place. The sound of enthusiastic voices, stomping feet, and the cacophony of shouted wagers was loud enough to be disorienting.
The arena itself smelled of dusty dry earth and sharp metallic blood. The masters of The Pit invested almost no effort in cleaning the arena between matches. A few mortal workers dashed out with bags of fresh sand and rakes to quickly smooth over the signs of the last fight but the fresh sand did nothing to mask the sharp acrid scent of blood-stained sand from previous matches. In fact, in some areas of the arena, the sand had been so repeatedly stained that it had taken on a dark crimson hue.