In a world of shadowy storms, the scroll titled Canghuang holds the secrets of the ages.
Feng Xiaowu travels alone, sword on his back, its shadow slicing the setting sun. The inferno that consumed Liyue Manor ten years ago left an everlasting brand in his bones and blood. Sima Yan waits with her zither in her arms, its strings entwined with the dusk. The rain beneath the eaves of Purple Bamboo Manor always dampens her eyes as she gazes toward the distant horizon.
The Cangqiong Gang's hidden network spreads like a web. The scent of poppies mingles with blood in the secret meetings at Yihong Manor. Song Zhuoying hides his edge beneath a disguise, but the moonlight he steals from the wrinkles on his face cannot illuminate the sinister tunnels beneath the main altar. Bi Gongxuan hides a killing move in his fan, while Situ Chaofeng presses a finger to the map, every crease concealing a life. The silver needles in Li Qin's sleeve remain silent. Firelight flickers in Qin Feiyu's furnace, reflecting the helpless panic from which no one in the martial world can escape.
Jujube leaves fall into the river, and blood droplets splash into ripples, reflecting the tattered pages of the Canghuang Scroll. Green is blood not yet cold; yellow is earth already chilled. Green and yellow encroach upon each other, throwing this chaotic world into turmoil. The meeting of Feng Xiaowu and Sima Yan is a harmony of sword and zither, and a tangle of calamity and fate.
The road through the martial world stretches far, and the boat home is hard to find. Every meeting follows a long separation, and every parting is fated. Read this scroll of Canghuang, where sword shadows, flashing blades, love, hate, and obsession fill the pages. Amid the shifting green and yellow, a sliver of light struggles free, pointing toward home.
