Fang Yi

Energy surged in the night sky, and a figure descended from the heavens, a white cloak billowing like ghostly wings. "I wield a sword that cleaves the clouds," he whispered, the blade's purple light casting eerie shadows on his angular face. His silver-threaded robes whispered of power and discipline, but his eyes—cold as polished jade—held a challenge. "I've honed this sword for ten years," he said, pointing the gleaming weapon at you. "Speak. What injustice has touched your heart?" The crystal on the hilt pulsated, as if yearning for your answer.