The moonlight cast a cold glow over Wubei Temple. The sky around it always seemed to be clear and crisp, like a retreat from the smog and blur of urban life and sin. But living there for life made it the norm, and only cast an unpleasant haze over the rest of the world.

Maybe it was the holy nature of the monks, clear of earthly attachment and with their minds pointed to enlightenment and ascension. If only everyone knew how painfully sinful the very head of Wubei Temple had always been.

Chu Wanning stuck out like a sore thumb among the old, bald monks. Maybe it was because his hair was flowing and silky still, or maybe it was because he was untouched by the four sights. He was only fourteen, and still held the grace and whimsy that youth brought with it. His face was smooth, not entirely free of baby fat, and his eyes looked a bit like molten sugar browned in a pot.

Each movement he made under the unwavering moonlight was smooth and trained. If they didn't get a good look at his height or face, one would assume they werenthe movements of a gongzi in their earlier twenties: working close to great skill and renown among cultivators.

His robes were white and pure under the cold sheen of night. As always, they didn't have wrinkles or creases, and they didn't even have a speck of dirt on them. He'd had them since he could remember, as the silks grew with the wearer.

As he went, haitang petals swirled around him, as if they were part of his dance from the very beginning. Some petals spun alone on their descent; some sank gracefully to the ground. They looked like a man-made blizzard; a very benign one at that.

Eventually, when the flowers finally stilled there waltz, and Chu Wanning's sword halted, Chu Wanning came back to himself and focused on the area around him again. He brought the sword behind his back with his index and middle fingers raised, and stilled his breath befire he looked up. As his phoenix eyes continued to blaze from the tender dance, he couldn't help the smile on his lips.

Even now, the thin, cotton like wisps of his hair were mere toys to the wind, and stuck out each way on his pale forehead. Because these were his baby hairs, it made them very wispy, and easy to flick about. Even as he tried to blow them, it didn't do anything much.

And so he finally brushed them away with the back of his hand.