While thinking about how to grab the attention of the elders of the eternal night mansion, Mo Han walked towards the room.

But as he opened the room door, suddenly an idea struck him in the next second. He closed the door and walked out of the Inn. In the middle of the dark night, he walked towards the eternal night mansion.

The night of Golden Silk City was unlike any other place in the realm—streets alive with laughter, music, and the flicker of thousands of crimson lanterns. Perfume mixed with incense, and painted courtesans leaned from balconies, calling out to passersby with lilting voices.

Mo Han walked through this sea of temptation without breaking stride, his cloak blending with the shadows.

By the time he reached the towering gates of the Eternal Night Mansion, the city's noise softened.

Tall black sect gates were guarded by six disciples in dark uniforms. Beyond the gates stretched a grand avenue lined with towering golden-leaf trees, their foliage glowing faintly under the moonlight as though kissed by starlight.

Mo Han tilted his head back, eyes following the symmetry of those trees. His lips curved into a slow smile.

"This would be perfect," he murmured, gripping the cursed sword that lay dormant at his side.

Without hesitation, Mo Han drew the sword.

Step by silent step, he moved to the first tree. The blade sliced, not with brutish force but with the grace of a brush upon silk. A single cut here, a clean stroke there. Within breaths, the outline of a majestic lion emerged from what had once been ordinary branches. Its mane flowed as though it roared in eternal defiance.

Mo Han's movements were deliberate, almost meditative. He moved from one tree to the next. Every tree was shaped into a new animal.

The guards at the gate remained oblivious, yawning as they leaned on their spears. Mo Han's sword moved so quietly, so precisely, that even the sound of falling leaves melted into the night air.

One after another, the trees transformed into a menagerie of lifelike sculptures, each infused with his sword's aura. By the time he reached the final sapling near the left edge of the avenue, his breath had steadied into a rhythm with his blade. He crouched low and carved his mark into its bark:

Mo Han — Room 13, Cold Night Inn.

He sheathed his sword, exhaling a long, slow breath. The glow of the lanterns danced across his lips as he whispered, "You won't be able to ignore this."

By the time the disciples stirred to stretch their stiff limbs, Mo Han was already gone, a shadow swallowed back into the city's crimson glow.

–

The morning sun rose...

The Eternal Night Mansion's gates stirred with activity. Disciples trickled out, yawning from late-night duties, only to stop in their tracks.

"What… what is this?" one gasped.

The lion-shaped tree cast a proud shadow across the avenue, its mane aflame with golden light from the rising sun. The eagle's wings shimmered as though they would take flight. Each tree radiated life, crafted so vividly that even seasoned cultivators stared with slack jaws.

Soon, more disciples arrived. A young woman with a broom clattered it against the stones in shock. "These were plain trees last night! How—who could…?"

Within an hour, the avenue swarmed with people. New disciples abandoned their sweeping tasks, dragging friends to witness. Senior disciples frowned, muttering under their breath.

"It's impossible. We were on guard all night. No one passed through without us seeing."

"Do you think an elder did this?" another whispered, eyes darting nervously.

The crowd grew louder as even townsfolk from Golden Silk City poured through the gates. News spread like wildfire: Mysterious artist transforms Eternal Night's entrance overnight.

Merchants arrived with their servants, noble ladies peeked from sedan chairs, and wandering cultivators craned their necks for a better look. Mothers tugged children closer, pointing at the fox tree. "Look, it's smiling at you."

The disciples, humiliated, scrambled to explain. "It must have been a spiritual illusion… yes, some illusion technique—"

"No illusion," an old merchant interrupted, running his hands across the carved surface. "Feel it. Each cut is real. Each curve, deliberate. Whoever did this has sword mastery far beyond mere artistry. This is sword-qi condensed into creation!"

The crowd gasped.

A female disciple pressed her lips together, her eyes wide. "But if such a master was here… how did we not sense them?"

By midmorning, the noise reached a fever pitch. Some laughed, some applauded, and some sneered at the guards who had failed their duty.

"This is a humiliation for the Mansion," grumbled one of the senior disciples, sweat on his brow. "If outsiders see us as weak, we—"

"Humiliation?" a bold youth cut in, his gaze fixed on the menagerie of trees. "No, this is a challenge. Someone has declared themselves. Someone with skill. The question is—will our elders ignore such a declaration?"

That struck silence.

The commotion did not stop at the gates. It carried through the winding corridors of the Eternal Night Mansion until it reached the ears of those who mattered.

In a jade pavilion, two elders sipped morning tea when a messenger disciple fell to his knees.

"Honored Elders, please… you must see the front gate!"

They followed, robes whispering against stone, and when their eyes fell upon the carved beasts, their expressions shifted from annoyance to intrigue.

"This sword work…" one murmured, running a hand across the eagle's wings. "Alive. Controlled. Every cut infused with intent. Whoever did this is no ordinary cultivator."

"Alive?" the other elder chuckled grimly. "Alive enough to mock us. They left their mark as well." He gestured to the base of the sapling. Disciples crowded around, whispering at the words carved into the bark:

Mo Han — Room 13, Cold Night Inn.

A ripple of shock passed through the gathering.

"He left his name?"

"Bold… too bold! Who dares inscribe their own name outside our mansion?"

"It could be a trap. A ploy to provoke."

The elders exchanged a long look. One smirked. "Or it could be courage. The Mansion values courage… even arrogance, when it is backed by skill."

From behind them, more footsteps sounded. Another elder arrived, his long sleeves brushing the ground, eyes gleaming with sharp calculation.

"Bring me the name again."

The disciple trembled. "Mo Han, Elder. Room 13, Cold Night Inn."

The elder chuckled low, rubbing his beard. "Mo Han… so you want our attention? Very well. You have it. Let us see if your blade can carve as deep into men as it can into trees."

The disciples swallowed, glancing at one another with unease. The Mansion had been stirred. Word spread like fire through dry grass. By evening, not just the sect but all of Golden Silk City would know the name Mo Han.

And in the Cold Night Inn, unaware of the storm he had unleashed, Mo Han slept calmly.

-

Thank you so-much guys :-)