Chapter 146: Faceless Mask- Layout Of The Azure Peaks

Night had surrendered today, the stars fading into a sky so blue it seemed to mock the snow-draped vastness of the Azure Peaks. The sun blazed high, a fierce orb casting golden light across the jagged cliffs, yet the summits remained defiant—crowned in ice, their frost shimmering like a celestial vow unbroken by summer's fleeting warmth. Jiang Feng stood at the edge of Sung's ledge, the wind tugging at his robes, sharp and alive with the scent of pine and frozen stone. Below, the mountain range sprawled in untamed grandeur, a labyrinth of peaks and chasms that dwarfed even the wild depths of the Obsidian Woodlands he'd once roamed.

In his hand, he turned the Faceless Mask, its surface a dull gray, unremarkable until the light caught its faint, shifting sheen—an artifact humming with quiet power. He'd pried it from the dead impostor's face, its purpose clear the moment his essence energy brushed against it: a tool to shroud one's visage, to weave a disguise as seamless as the wind itself. Not a full transformation, but a subtle shift in appearance—enough to blur the lines of his identity and dull the wildfire of his fame that had scorched through markets and taverns alike.

He pressed the mask to his face, its cool weight settling against his skin. A ripple coursed through him, qi threading into his features like a painter's delicate stroke. His jaw softened, his cheekbones lifted ever so slightly, and his eyes—those storm-gray orbs—took on a warmer hazel, less piercing, more ordinary. He ran a hand through his hair, now streaked with hints of chestnut, and glanced at his reflection in a shard of polished steel from the forge. Familiar, yet not. A shadow of himself, close enough to feel natural, distant enough to slip through the net of recognition. "Good enough," he murmured.

The Azure Peaks was a new unknown to him, their secrets a pull he could no longer resist. Caution had chained him to Sung's shop too long, but with the mask, he could walk their paths unseen—at least for now. He slung a plain cloak over his shoulders, its hem frayed from use and stepped onto the narrow trail winding down from the ledge. The wind howled past, flinging snow into fleeting spirals, and he drew his hood low, his breath misting in the crisp air.

The descent was a dance with the mountain itself—steep stone steps carved into the cliffside, some wide enough for two, others barely a foothold, slick with ice. His boots found purchase with each careful step, the rugged expanse unfolding before him. Towns clung to the peaks like stubborn moss, their rooftops of slate and timber perched on ledges or nestled into hollows. Stairways zigzagged between them, some flanked by railings of twisted iron, others dangling over abysses that swallowed the eye in mist. Figures moved in the distance—hunters hauling pelts, traders bent under packs, cultivators gliding with the grace of the wind they'd tamed. This was a land sculpted by nature's hand and hardened by the will of those who dared to claim it.

Jiang Feng's path led him to a broader plateau, where the trail widened into a bustling thoroughfare. Stone dwellings lined the way, their windows aglow with lantern light, smoke curling from chimneys to mingle with the ever-present snow. A market sprawled ahead, its stalls vibrant with furs, herbs, and gleaming trinkets—goods from the lowlands, their prices steep as the cliffs themselves. He wove through the crowd, his hazel eyes scanning faces weathered by cold and time until a weathered sign caught his gaze: *Drifting Cloud Tavern*. Its wooden frame sagged under the weight of years, but the hum of voices within promised warmth and, perhaps, answers.

"This should be a nice place to start" Jiang Feng murmured. He had never been to a place like this, and though he knew what to exact, it was still his first time.

He pushed through the heavy door, the scent of spiced broth and charred wood greeting him as he stepped inside. The tavern was a cavern of noise and life-long tables crowded with patrons, their laughter and arguments blending into a rough symphony. A fire roared in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across walls adorned with hunting trophies and faded tapestries. Jiang Feng found a seat near the back, its wooden bench scarred from countless drinkers, and ordered a bowl of steaming noodle soup from a harried serving girl. As he waited, he let his ears sift through the din, catching fragments of talk—trade routes clogged by storms, a missing caravan, whispers of a sect's rising star.

"You're new here, aren't you?" The voice broke his reverie, gravelly yet warm, like a stone smoothed by a river's flow. Jiang Feng glanced up to find a man settling across from him, uninvited but not unwelcome. He was broad-shouldered, his face creased with lines that spoke of both laughter and hardship, his hair a wild tangle of black shot through with silver. A heavy fur cloak hung from his frame, and a curved saber rested against the table, its hilt worn from use.

"Passing through," Jiang Feng replied, keeping his tone light, his hazel eyes steady. "The Peaks are a maze to a stranger's feet."

The man chuckled, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest. "Aye, they'll swallow you whole if you don't know their ways. Name's Huo Tan—hunter by trade, drinker by habit." He raised a clay cup, its contents sloshing amber, and took a hearty gulp before leaning forward. "You've got the look of someone chasing something. Gold? Glory? Or just a warm bed?"

Jiang Feng's lips quirked, not quite a smile. "Knowledge, maybe. I've heard a lot of stories about these mountains, but blindly wondering does get one killed in these parts I assume? Tell me, Huo Tan—what's the shape of this place? Who holds its reins?"

The serving girl arrived, sliding a bowl of soup before Jiang Feng, its broth rich with the aroma of ginger and wild herbs. He nodded his thanks, lifting the wooden spoon as Huo Tan settled back, his gaze sharpening with interest. "You want the lay of the Azure Peaks? Fair enough. Pull up a chair—or, well, you're already sitting." He grinned, then sobered, his voice dropping to a storyteller's cadence.

"These mountains aren't just rock and ice—they're a fortress, carved by the winds and the will of those who've claimed them. Since the lower realms split from the chaos of old, folks here have bent the gales and the frost to their essence energy, only those from influential families and powers with strong backgrounds dare to fly. Well, one would need to be a Golden Core expert to do that using special flying techniques unless one was a Nascent Soul old monster, but nonetheless." Jiang Feng listened with rapped attention while he drank his soup.

Huo Tan then continued in a low voice that only the two could hear "Towns like this one—Frosthaven, they call it—dot the slopes, linked by trails that'd break a lowland horse in a day. The Peaks stretch wide, nigh on a thousand li from the eastern spurs to the western ravines, and they're split into domains, each with its own masters."

Jiang Feng sipped his broth, the heat seeping into his bones as he listened. Huo Tan traced a rough map in the air with a calloused finger. "Northward, you've got the Windscar Expanse—cliffs so sheer even the eagles think twice. That's where the Tempest Blade Sect holds sway. Cultivators there weave their essence into the wind itself, slicing through stone like silk. Their master, Lady Feng Rao, could split a storm with a flick of her wrist—or so the tales go."

He paused, taking another swig from his cup. "South lies the Iceveil Crags, colder than a widow's heart. The Frost Lotus Clan rules there, a family of ice-wielders who've turned the chill into a weapon. Their matriarch, Bai Luyao, is said to freeze a man's soul with a glance. Then there's the eastern ridges—the Golden Prayer Peaks. That's the domain of the Buddha's Palm Sect. Monks mostly, but don't let the robes fool you. They channel qi through chants and strikes, and their abbot, Venerable Xutain once shattered a cliff with a single palm while reciting sutras. Folk says he's half-enlightened, half-mad."

Jiang Feng's spoon paused midair, his mind turning over the names. "And the west?"

Huo Tan's grin faded, his voice lowering. "The Shadowfang Hollows. No sect claims it outright—it's a tangle of rogue cultivators and clans scrapping for power. The strongest there's the Nightshade Wei, a family of assassins who'd sell their own kin for a spirit stone, treasures, and just about anything associated with wealth. Ruthless bastards, but they keep the hollows from spilling chaos everywhere else."

"So that imposter Gung Suhe must have come from ShadowFang Hollows, Nightshade Wei. Interesting" thought Jiang Feng to himself.

The tavern's noise swelled around them, a drunkard's shout cutting through the hum, but Jiang Feng's focus held firm. "Sounds like a land at war with itself."

"Not war," Huo Tan corrected, tapping the table. "Balance. The sects and clans keep each other in check—none strong enough to swallow the rest, not yet. The Peaks' isolation helps. Invaders die on the trails, and trade's too thin to fatten any one power overmuch. Goods from the lowlands—silks, spices, spirit herbs, treasure swords, and the like—fetch a fortune here, but they're rare as a phoenix feather. There are blacksmiths yes but nothing of quality."

Jiang Feng nodded, setting his empty bowl aside. "And Frosthaven? Where does it fit?"

"Right in the middle, more or less," Huo Tan said, leaning back. "A crossroads town—neutral ground, mostly. Traders and wanderers like me pass through, and the sects keep their squabbles out of sight. You'll see their disciples now and then, strutting like peacocks, but the real power stays up in the peaks."

The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and Jiang Feng let the words settle. The Azure Peaks were a tapestry of strength and solitude, their masters as varied as the winds that shaped them. The Faceless Mask had bought him this glimpse, but he knew it was just the surface—the mountain's heart pulsed deeper, its secrets waiting beyond the next ridge.

"Appreciate the tale, Huo Tan," he said, sliding a few copper coins across the table. "Might be I'll see you around."

The hunter pocketed the coins with a nod. "Might be. Watch your step out there, stranger. The Peaks don't forgive the careless."

Jiang Feng rose, his cloak settling around him as he stepped back into the cold. The sun still burned bright, the snow glinting like scattered jade, but the weight of the Peaks pressed heavier now—a land of ice and wind, of sects and shadows, where every trail promised both peril and possibility. 'This place isn't any different from the Woodlands, just its geography is different but the nature of its people, the same'

—////

With the mask's guise cloaking him, Jiang Feng turned toward the bustling market, the lively hum of Frosthaven softening into a distant murmur as he stepped away from the tavern's warmth. The snow-dusted streets stretched before him, flanked by stalls draped in furs and glinting with trinkets, but his thoughts drifted far beyond the clamor. He needed to find a way back to Northern Moon—a land of shadowed pines and rivers, a place where his past still lingered like a half-remembered dream, he still had a lot to get done there. His boots crunched against the icy path, each step measured, his mind adrift in a sea of plans and uncertainties.

A sudden tremor shook his spirit, a ripple deep within his mental will that jolted him to a halt. The air around him shimmered, heat blooming against the biting cold as two radiant forms flickered into being on his shoulders. To his left perched the Golden Crow, its body a dazzling fusion of blinding light and molten yellow flames, feathers of fire curling like tendrils of the sun itself. To his right hovered the Skyforge Flame Fairy, a delicate wisp of azure and silver, her ember-like wings trailing sparks that hissed against the snow. Steam rose in curling wisps around him, the clash of their burning auras melting the frost at his feet into fleeting puddles.