Chapter 148: BLOOD AND BOON

CHAPTER

148

BLOOD AND BOON

Jieyuan

—∞—

It was not the blood-red plains Jieyuan returned to. Rather, what the void of the Heavenly Room gave way to was, for once, an actual room.

The room was large and mostly empty, with bare gray stone walls, ceiling, and floor. There weren’t any windows. Glowing bars ran through the ceiling, providing illumination.

On one side of it was a lone meditation cushion. On the other side was what appeared to be a training area: a metal rack with weapons stacked on it near the back wall, and in front of it a large square zone marked on the floor by what looked like white chalk.

A man was standing in the middle of the square, swinging a steel sword. He wore familiar silver robes; the same color as the Absolute Sword Sect’s robes, but with a slightly different cut. Similar, but a little simpler. His hair was long but bound in a simple knot.

The man looked up at Jieyuan mid-swing and froze. The man was handsome, sharp-looking, but not so much that he couldn’t pass for a mundane. Hair and eyes both black.

There was a single door in the room, and Jieyuan was standing right in front of him. It was open, in fact, and made of steel. It could’ve been the same door he’d opened in the Heavenly Hall, as if it led straight to this room. Except, before appearing here, Jieyuan had had his usual brief stint in the black, featureless void, so that couldn’t be the case.

“A contestant?” the man said, standing up straight, letting his sword drop. His voice was deep, clear. He looked at Jieyuan like he didn’t know what to make of him. “Heavens, it’s been a very long time since the Tower sent me one of you.”

Then the man’s gaze dipped lower, to Jieyuan’s chest, and his eyes narrowed.

This was a routine Jieyuan had gotten fairly used to by now.

“Ah. Blood, was it? It even gave you a soulskill. Binding Blood Resonance. Not bad.” The man’s gaze returned to his face, and he smiled a little. “You really must be something special, for the Tower to pick me to hold Blood’s challenge for you.”

The man’s expression became distant, and though his gaze remained fixed on Jieyuan, his focus seemed to pierce through him, as if he were looking past.

“This is the seventh stage, then? Of course it is. The Tower wouldn’t send you to me for less than that. Not for Blood. And before that, you did… Amphis? Fate? Curious, Unique, even—and trust me, unique’s something very hard to manage, what with how many trials the Tower has seen. You must have quite the story.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jieyuan said, finally seeing an opportunity to pipe in. “So, what will it be?”

He’d have thought that after six challenge phases, none like the last, he’d have been ready for anything. But he still found himself caught flat-footed all over again. He wasn’t even sure how to describe the situation; it felt too… casual. And clearly something was important about this man, this echo, given the things he was saying. That, or he had an awfully high opinion of himself.

Jieyuan also saw absolutely nothing that’d indicate a connection to Blood. Not in the echo, nor in the room they were in. He even tried tapping into his new soulskill (Binding Blood Resonance, apparently) to see if there was something blood-related he was missing, but nothing; all he sensed was the man's presence and the blood within him—nothing amiss.

“That’s a good question,” the man said, agreeably. “Let me think about it for a moment. I don’t think we’ll be dueling, however, so feel free to sheathe your amphis for now.”

As Jieyuan slid the Shifting Feathers back into their sheaths, the man walked over to the weapons rack and deposited his sword in it. The weapons, Jieyuan noticed now, were all swords.

They hung from raised slots arranged in neat rows, each blade visible at a glance. None of them was the same; they varied wildly in length, broadness, thickness, and even curvature. From a small short-sword to your standard hand-and-a-half blade, to the slimmer and longer rapier, to a thick, hulking great sword. With everything in between and more besides.

“Quite the collection, isn’t it?” the man said. He moved to stand by the side of the rack, letting Jieyuan get a good look at all the different swords in it.

“It is,” Jieyuan said, suddenly grateful his problem with swords only triggered on physical contact, otherwise he reckoned he’d be feeling rather nauseous right now. “A lot of variety.”

The man snorted. “Try all the varieties. You’re looking at just about every meaningful variation of the sword. I had something similar, back when I was alive. I’d wanted to find the perfect type of sword for me. “I'm told I never succeeded, but with eternity before me in the Tower, I've resolved to try again.”

There was something off about the way the man spoke. It wasn’t the fact that he referred to himself as being alive in the past; that was standard fare for echoes. The second part was what had caught his attention. “You were told you never succeeded?”

“Hmmm.” The man gave Jieyuan a long look, like he was considering something. Then he sighed and shrugged. “It’s too long a story. Not the time or place for it.”

Near the weapons rack lay a small, folded cloth and a pitcher of water. The man took a few sips from the pitcher, then dumped the rest over his head, drenching himself. Then he picked up the towel and started patting his face dry.

“Let’s go back to your challenge,” the man said while he dried up. “What was Blood’s pursuit phase like? It’s been a good while since I’ve held a challenge. I could use some inspiration.”

Jieyuan moved back to stand by the wall, next to the door, and leaned back against it. The man wasn’t standing on ceremony, so Jieyuan decided neither would he. He crossed his arms. “I don’t think I can help you much, there. All I did was sit in a pool of blood.”

The man froze up, the towel halfway to his face for another pat-down. He slowly lowered his hands.  

“I don’t think I understand,” the man said, his eyes searching. “I never participated in the trials myself, but I understand there are difficulty levels to the pursuit phases. I’m also under the impression they’re supposed to be dangerous. Deadly.”

“Well, that’s what I thought too,” Jieyuan shrugged. “That’s what the other six pursuit phases were like. But not Blood’s. I spent the last six days doing nothing but sit in a warm pool of blood. That was supposed to be at the eleventh difficulty, too; nothing happened when I tried to change difficulties. Well, besides a little ripple in the pool.”

The man was still staring at him like he was looking at a puzzle and Jieyuan was a piece that very evidently didn’t fit anywhere in it. Like he was a circle when all the remaining slots were square. “This can’t be.”

The man looked back down at Jieyuan’s chest, frowning. He stared at it intently. At Blood’s sphere, Jieyuan was fairly sure.

“You’re telling the truth,” the man said, looking and sounding all the more confused for it. “But why would Blood…?”

Then the man froze, his body visibly locking up. He was still staring at Jieyuan’s chest, but his gaze was distant again, like he was focusing on something else. Jieyuan tensed.

The man raised his head, slowly. He stared fixedly at Jieyuan’s face. His eyes were wide, wild. A look of pure, raw disbelief.

Then he threw his head back and laughed. He laughed like he’d just heard the world’s greatest joke. He laughed louder, more freely than Jieyuan had ever heard anyone laugh. It was the kind of warm, infectious laugh that would’ve easily had Jieyuan laughing along if not for the tension that still hung between them. As it was, he just watched the laughing man warily.

He uncrossed his arms, getting himself ready to draw the Shifting Feathers in case the situation took a turn for the worse.

Slowly, the man recomposed himself. He looked back at Jieyuan and gingerly wiped some tears off the corners of his eyes. His towel had dropped to the floor while he was laughing. He shook his head, slowly. His lips kept twitching up in a smile. “Unbelievable. Simply—unbelievable. I never thought this day would come, you know? I didn’t even think it was a possibility that they’d allow something like this to happen.”

“They’d allow this? No, wait—before that. Just what are you talking about?” Jieyuan pushed off the wall and stepped forward. “You saw something in me, didn’t you? What was it?”

He wasn’t really expecting to get answers; even if the man felt like sharing, chances were it’d turn out just like the previous time: with the echo’s words being muffled, rendered indistinct, if not with Jieyuan being outright kicked out of the room. But there was clearly something different about this man—something special—so maybe, just maybe, he could get some answers. He at least had to try.

“Oh, I can’t tell you,” the man said. “Even if I could—and I don’t think I can—you’d be better off not knowing. This is the kind of knowledge that can change you, and in your case, not for the better. You might find out, further down the line. In fact, I strongly suspect you will. But you just aren’t ready for it right now.”

The man kept trying to fight back a smile the entire time, wonder in his face as he kept staring at Jieyuan.

“Not ready for it?” Jieyuan frowned. “How about you let me be the judge of that?”

The man just shook his head again. He stopped fighting back his smile and gave Jieyuan an oddly fond look. He walked over. “No, I don’t think I will. Now, introductions. What should I call you?”

“Haoyujin Jieyuan.”

Reaching Jieyuan now, the man extended his arm, holding out his hand. He was taller than Jieyuan by a few inches, about the same height as Daojue.

That wasn’t much of a surprise; cultivators were considerably taller than mundanes on average, and those from Violetsoul sects seemed to be taller still, given what he’d seen in the Sword Tower. Jieyuan wasn’t sure if it was bloodrights at play, or just the result of generations of selective breeding. Both, probably.

“Nice to meet you, Jieyuan,” the man said. “I’m Jiandaozhi Juechen. You might know me by another name, however.”

Jieyuan shook the man’s hands. Another name? Jiandaozhi meant he was a royal from the Absolute Sword Sect. Not too much of a surprise, given all the swords, though the lack of silver eyes was surprising. But then Jieyuan turned his attention to the given name. Juechen. Something about it struck a familiar chord. He’d heard that name. Recently, too.

The handshake over, Juechen pulled his arm back. He looked at Jieyuan expectantly.

“Your other name,” Jieyuan said. “Is it Tianzijun Juechen?”

Tianzijun Juechen. The name of the founder of the Tianzijun Clan. Jieyuan had learned about it when Anren had been telling him about the clan’s history. The name had stuck with him because it’d been converted into a school of thought within the clan. Juechenism.

“Ah. You do know, then.” Juechen seemed pleased. “I wondered whether I’d been struck from history. Good to know.”

“Struck from history?” Jieyuan recalled everything Anren had told him about the Tianzijun Clan, but he didn’t recall there being anything specifically bad about its founder. “Wait—no. You really are the founder of the Tianzijun Clan, then?”

Because if so, then Jieyuan was looking at Daojue’s ancestor right now. He ran his eyes over the lines of Juechen’s face, trying to see any similarities, but he came up empty. Daojue was absurdly handsome; the man looked good, but was nowhere on his level.

There was a sharpness to his looks, though, that was familiar. Jieyuan imagined him without the smile, wearing a neutral expression instead. He saw it, then. The similarity.

“In a way, yes,” Juechen confirmed, but Jieyuan’s attention was on his appearance now, not his words.

Juechen looked like the Plunderer: the silver-eyed, silver-robed man who’d confronted the Primordial in its cave. Juechen didn’t look as severe, and his lines weren’t as sharp, but Jieyuan could see the resemblance.

And then, just like that, he made the connection. Several connections, in fact.

Juechen was related to the Plunderer. Juechen was born a Jiandaozhi. Juechen had founded the Tianzijun Clan.

Back in the Viridian Dome, in the cave, the Primordial, Muyeshen, had called Daojue the get of the Scourge. She’d also given the impression it wasn’t the first time the Plunderer protected a Tianzijun.

“You— Are you related to the Plunderer?”

“The Plunderer?” Juechen looked confused. “That’s a curious title. I can’t say I’m familiar with it.”

Jieyuan recalled one of his theories. “I think he’s also known by another name. The Absolute.”

“The Absolute…? That’s— Oh, you mean Qianxing? They really call him the Absolute nowadays? I thought she was joking when she told me.” He chuckled. “And he’s also called the Plunderer? That’s…” He frowned, seemingly considering it for a moment. “Actually, no, I can see it. Given things he went on to do, that’s rather fitting.”

“You know him, then?” Jieyuan pressed.

“Of course I do,” Juechen said. “Qianxing’s my older brother.”

Jieyuan really didn’t know what to make of that. He felt like he’d gotten a glimpse at some kind of forbidden history. Jieyuan stared at the man whom the Primordial had called the Scourge. Whom she seemed to abhor so much she’d wanted to kill Daojue just for being related to him. He didn’t see it.

And then he recalled something else.

“Earlier, when I asked if you were really the founder of the Tianzijun Clan, you said, in a way.”

Juechen nodded; he looked like he’d been expecting the question. “I did. This has to do with what I told you earlier, about how I was told I never found the right sword. It's a long story, as I mentioned. But now that I understand what you are… Yes, I suppose I should tell you.”

Juechen clapped his hands. A small, squat table popped into existence in the middle of the room, with two simple chairs on opposite sides. A silver tea set sat on top of the table, faint white vapor rising from the teapot’s spout, curling upward like a phantom finger.

“Come on,” Juechen said, then walked over to the table. He took one of the chairs and gestured to the other one. “Sit.”

Tea. This was Blood’s challenge phase, the culmination of the Absolute Sword Trials, and he was about to sit down for a cup. He’d suspected the challenge would be unusual, given how Blood’s pursuit phase had gone down, but this was a step too far.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it. Jieyuan obliged, taking the seat opposite Juechen.

Juechen removed two cups from the tray, setting them down between them on the table, then picked up the teapot and gently poured a silvery liquid into the cups. It was unlike any tea Jieyuan had ever seen, and as it flowed, a deep, rich scent reached him. It was sort of metallic, but surprisingly pleasant.

“Silver moon’s essence,” Juechen said, offering him a cup.

Jieyuan took it, stared down at the swirling liquid. It glistened under the silver lights above. “What is it?”

“Some kind of herb, I’d imagine. I confess I’m not clear on the details,” Juechen admitted. “It’s a specialty from the New Moon Hall. I first had it when the sect sent me on a diplomatic mission to the Empyrean Plane, to see whether there were trade deals to be made with their inhabitants. We were also meant to be a showing of force. My brother had only just paved the way to Violetsoul for humanity; we didn’t want them getting ideas.”

Juechen shrugged, raised his cup to his lips. “Anyway, it has a nice taste to it.”

Jieyuan looked up from his cup. Paved the way to Violetsoul? “What?”

“Drink,” Juechen said, before taking a sip.

Jieyuan raised his cup to his lips and tipped the silverly liquid into his mouth, down his throat. Somehow, it was both cool and warm; touching ice could feel like getting burned, and it was like that, except softer, pleasant. It filled his mouth like velvet, rich and sweet.

He’d tasted good tea before, the best the mundane world had to offer. His old man had been something of a connoisseur. Nothing came close to this, though. Not remotely.

Jieyuan wasn’t that big on tea, but suddenly he felt like he could understand his father. He felt like he was with his father again, in fact: drinking tea in their sitting room, looking out the veranda, as the sun set on the horizon. Quiet. They had their evening tea at least once a week; it was one of the few times they got along, when they weren’t butting heads.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Juechen said, and the illusion was broken; he was in the stone room again, and his drinking companion wasn’t his father, but rather a man whom, from the few sprinkles of information Jieyuan had gotten so far, might very well be legendary.

“It evokes memories of the past, the tea,” Juechen said, taking another sip. “When I drink it, I see myself with my brother and my sister back in the Jiandaozhi’s ancestral compounds; she was the one who’d make the tea for us. Every time it’d be a different brew.”

Juechen looked away from him, at nowhere in particular. “She’s always been one for variety, that one. She even managed to get her hands on silver moon’s essence once, centuries after I first had it. For a human, she managed to cultivate unusually close ties to the lunars.”

Jieyuan took another sip, enjoying the rich flavor. He didn’t get lost in the past again, but that was only because he was concentrating on the present. He could still feel his evening tea with his old man, hovering just at the edge of his perception. If he were to only let go, he’d see it again.

But Jieyuan had never been one to dwell on the past overmuch.

“You were going to tell me about your… identity,” Jieyuan said, not sure if that was the right word.

“I was. I am. What you must understand is that I am not Tianzijun Juechen. I am Jiandaozhi Juechen. Tianzijun Juechen is my future—but I am not him. My memories of my life after I left the Absolute Sword Sect have been sealed.”

Juechen set down his cup.

“I am not the Rogue Sword, who forsook the sect and gave up his clan to make a name for himself,” he said. “I am still the Second Sword, still serving under my brother, who at the time was the First Sword. The second-greatest swordsman of the Absolute Sword Sect. The second-greatest swordsman in the Chromajie, in existence, for all time.”

Juechen leaned forward in his seat. “But second-greatest wasn’t enough for me, you see? That was why I left. But I’m not quite at that point yet. Never will reach that point, in fact, because that’s when I became Tianzijun Juechen, and I’m not supposed to become him again.”

Before Jieyuan could really appreciate those claims (second-greatest swordsman in existence?), Juechen asked him a question, “Do you know where the echoes here in the tower come from? It’s not well known.”

Jieyuan searched his memories, recalling what Anren had told him. “They were created by cultivators who took part in the trial, no? And those who’ve allowed the Tower to make a copy of them?”

“Some are, yes,” Juechen agreed. “But that’s only true for a minority. See, the Sword Tower wasn’t always a tower. It was once significantly smaller. A normal-sized sword, in fact. It was my brother’s sword before he gave it up. And most of the echoes here are, in fact, its victims: lives the Sword Tower claimed back when my brother still wielded it.”

Jieyuan was still wrapping his head around that when Juechen added, “Myself included.”

That stopped Jieyuan dead. “Your brother killed you?”

“Yes,” Juechen said, his tone light. “Not alone; he had help, I’m told. But he was the one to deal the killing blow, with the very sword we’re inside of right now.” He traced a long finger across his silver-clothed neck.

“But why?”

“Because I’d gone out of control,” Juechen said. “Well, Tianzijun Juechen had. I am not clear about the details; after my brother’s sword became the Sword Tower and the echoes manifested, the first thing he did was to seal my memories and my powers. All I know were things I was told later, and I doubt I was told it all.”

Juechen took another sip from his cup. “Supposedly, however, I made a mistake. One that ultimately cost me my life—and that, if I hadn’t been stopped, might have very well destroyed the entire Chromajie.”

“That… That sounds like quite the mistake.”

Juechen scoffed, smiling. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“What was it? The mistake.”

“I guess you could say I went mad. Insane.”

“That was your mistake?” Jieyuan frowned. “Going mad?”

“Yes,” Juechen said, “because back then I’d grown so powerful that one man’s madness was the entire world’s problem.”

Juechen poured himself another cup of silvery tea.

“Let me tell you a little about myself,” Juechen said. “I told you already how I was the second-best swordsman that will ever be. I say this because I know for a fact that nobody will ever be able to reach my level with the sword again.”

Jieyuan’s doubt must’ve shown on his face, because Juechen just chuckled.

“See, there’s such a thing as perfection. Perfect motion, perfect form, perfect intent. You can achieve all of that. At that point, there’s no way to improve further. Not in the physical sense. But you can go beyond. You can delve into the conceptual.”

It reminded Jieyuan of some of the things Anren had told him about. “Surpassing perfection. Surpassing tenth-order affinity.”

“Oh?” Juechen gave him a curious look. “You’ve heard about it? Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. When you surpass perfection, you force reality to accept your prowess. You bend it to accommodate your impossible skill. I surpassed perfection with the sword. Surpassed it many times over, in fact. My brother, however, always remained several steps ahead of me.”

Juechen glanced to the side; Jieyuan followed his gaze to the weapon rack filled only with swords.

“Nowadays? I imagine Qianxing has a thorough monopoly on Sword. I doubt it’s still possible to surpass perfection with Sword; maybe just the once, if you’re really something. Sword has got too much of its attention on him to spare much more than a glance at anyone else.”

His voice was low, now, and there was a controlled edge to it, like Juechen was choosing his words carefully. “Some people are born blessed: a high heavenly affinity, an aptitude for martial arts, an unbreakable will. I’m one of those blessed ones; so are you. My brother, however, is the most blessed of them all. Bar none, past, present, and future.”

Juechen turned back to Jieyuan.

“Anyway, that was why I left. I couldn’t stand to be in my brother’s shadow anymore. From what I understand, I didn’t give up the sword immediately. But after a while, there came a point where I couldn’t even stand to look at it anymore without being reminded of how I’d never measure up to my brother.”

Jieyuan knew what that was like; he’d gone through something similar, back as Amyas, when he’d given up the sciences after realizing he’d never come close to Maeva.

“After I gave up the sword, I tried all sorts of weapons before settling on the spear. I went on to become the greatest spearman of the time. But I was still nowhere near my brother’s level. So I sought other sources of power. One, in particular, proved to be very successful. Blood. I understand bloodrights are rather common today. You have me to thank for that. Well, Tianzijun Juechen, technically.”

Jieyuan wasn’t sure he understood. “You… created bloodrights?”

“No. Bloodrights existed before me, but they were naturally occurring. Exposure to rather… anomalous elements, or the result of an empyrean having a child with a human. You couldn’t make a bloodright, back in those days. Couldn’t change it, either. Tianzijun Juechen was the one to change all of that. The Tianzijun Bloodright is, in fact, the oldest human-made bloodright in existence, though I believe its current iteration has little to do with what it was originally like.”

“That’s all…” Jieyuan searched for something to say. More than anything, he had a hard time believing that this man in front of him was all he claimed to be. “And this mistake of yours?”

“It has to do with Blood. I don’t know the details, myself.” He gestured vaguely with his hands. “I went too far, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“You say you almost destroyed the Chromajie,” Jieyuan said. “What exactly did you do?”

Out of everything, that was what Jieyuan was most interested in. Considering all the things he now knew violetsouls were capable of (creating entire worlds, for one), he just couldn’t see how one man could achieve something of that level. The Chromajie was everything; the universe.

“As I understand it?” Juechen asked. “Every crime imaginable, on scales unimaginable. And yet, the greatest of them all… Are you aware of the Sanctuaries? Do you know what they are?”

“No.”

“Then you cannot fathom the depths of Tianzijun Juechen’s sins.”

Something was off about the situation. And Jieyuan realized what it was: for all the things Juechen was saying, for this great evil he (or his future self) had supposedly committed, he didn’t seem particularly contrite about any of it. If anything, there was something about Jieyuan’s face, and his voice…

“You seem rather… proud of it,” Jieyuan said, slowly, carefully.

Juechen looked at Jieyuan for a long moment. Then he shook his head softly and sighed.

“I’m not proud of my actions. But you must understand, at my peak? After thousands of years in my brother’s shadow, I didn’t just surpass him—I eclipsed him. My brother, the most talented cultivator ever born. I was stronger, perhaps, than my brother is now, even though so many epochs have passed, and he’s doubtlessly spent every second of that time honing himself.”

He leaned over the table, staring straight into Jieyuan’s eyes. “Do you know of greatness? That fickle, cruel mistress, always teasingly out of reach?”

The words sung to Jieyuan. “I do. Heavens, I do.”

Juechen nodded, straightening his back. “Greatness. I spent my entire life chasing it, while it just kept getting farther and farther away, courtesy of my dear brother. And yet, at the height of my powers, I was great. Great beyond doubt. Great beyond measure, even.”

The silver teacup in Juechen’s grip trembled.

“I was terrible, yes. The most terrible, wretched being to ever walk the Chromajie. But also the greatest one. Under the Heavens, I had no equal. And in that? Yes, in that I take pride. How can I not, when I became a god?”

The Scourge, Jieyuan recalled. That was how Muyeshen had referred to Juechen. Suddenly, it was starting to make sense.

“I brought the Chromajie to its knees, Jieyuan. I declared war on all of reality, on every human, empyrean, and beast alive, and I almost won. Can you imagine that?”

“No,” Jieyuan said quietly.

“No, you can’t,” Juechen agreed, just as quietly. “Even I can’t, and I’ve had an eternity to think about it.”

A silence fell between them. Juechen poured him another cup, and Jieyuan drank all of it, slowly turning Juechen’s words in his head. He hadn’t quite found what he’d wanted—just what it was about him that Juechen, and some of the other echoes, had seen—but the things he’d learned…

It was rare for a conversation to leave him so shaken.

“The challenge,” Jieyuan eventually said. “What will it be?”

“There won’t be one.”

Jieyuan shot Juechen an inquiring look.

“You wouldn’t be able to pass it, regardless of what challenge I set for you, not if I am to follow the rules of the Tower,” Juechen said. “You aren’t ready for a seventh-stage challenge, no matter the Concept. You also don’t have a trial token with you. You’d die if I gave you a challenge.”

Jieyuan frowned, but Juechen raised a hand before he could speak.

“I’m serious,” Juechen said. “Earlier, when I was inspecting you, I saw how you did in the other stages. You just aren’t ready, not even with all your new soulskills.”

Jieyuan got himself under control, swallowing down his pride. He didn’t like hearing he was strong enough, but he wasn’t about to risk his line over it. “So what will it be?”

“You’ll be getting a free pass,” Juechen said. “Now, I can’t do that for you. I can’t break the rules of the Tower, not like the Blood Laws can. But I know someone who can.”

He stood up and walked over to the sword rack. Jieyuan followed.

“Who?” Jieyuan asked. “The Plunderer?”

“No, not my brother. He could do it, but I have no means of contacting him.”

Juechen pulled out one of the swords—a standard one, nothing special about it—and held it out in front of him, turning over the blade to look it over.

Juechen was smiling again. A mysterious sort of smile that had Jieyuan’s skin prickling. It seemed oddly familiar, too, though he’d never seen the Plunderer (or the Sword Tower’s ego, who wore his face) smile.

“Who, then?” Jieyuan’s hands moved closer to the shafts of the Shifting Feathers.

“Why, Tianzijun Juechen, of course.”

In one fluid motion, Juechen reversed the sword and, before Jieyuan could react, stabbed himself through the chest.

Back in the fourth stage, Jieyuan had done much the same to beat Death’s challenge. He sure hadn’t expected he’d get to witness someone pulling that same move so soon, though.

Drawing the Shifting Feathers, Jieyuan took several steps back. That was not normally the reaction you’d have to someone stabbing themselves in the chest, but he’d been paying attention to Juechen’s words. He had a suspicion about what was going to happen.

Juechen did not crumple forward. He did not fall to his knees. He stayed standing, hands still gripping the hilt of the sword running through his heart, his eyes still locked onto Jieyuan’s. Blood flowed, drenching Juechen’s robes red, sliding down the length of the steel blade and dripping onto the stone floor.

Then Juechen sagged; he still didn’t fall, but he hunched, his head dropping, his shoulders slumping, though his hands didn’t leave the hilt of his sword.

And then came the ripple. It started in Juechen’s chest, where the sword sank into him: a shimmer in the air, spreading outwards in a slow wave. Where it passed, silver turned red, and dimensions stretched.

Wide-eyed, Jieyuan stared at the new man standing in front of him. Simple silver robes were now ornate and crimson. Juechen had already been tall, but now he looked enormous: still hunching, head down, he towered over Jieyuan.

A long, deep sigh came from the transformed Juechen. It sent a shiver down Jieyuan’s spine. Then, smoothly, he slid the sword out of his chest. There wasn’t a drop of blood on the sword, the blade spotless, and as it fully left Juechen’s body, Jieyuan didn’t see the faintest hint of a tear on the crimson robes.

Holding the sword to the side now, this new Juechen straightened his back and lifted his head, and Jieyuan, having to crane his neck up to look at him, realized he’d underestimated how much taller Juechen had become.

Juechen was now taller than even the empyreans Jieyuan had met earlier had been, both the Xieyueshen lunar and the red-robed woman from Fire’s challenge. Closer to eight feet than seven. But then Jieyuan caught a good look at his face, and thoughts about his height were forgotten.

Now he could see the resemblance to Daojue. It was still Juechen’s face, but refined, rid of any imperfections, slightly altered to give him the same cold, statue-like beauty Daojue possessed. His skin was paler, marble-like, and his hair was now unbound and longer, a black curtain falling freely down his back. His eyes had changed, too. But they weren’t violet, as Jieyuan had been expecting.

They were a deeper, vibrant red. Scarlet, lighter and brighter than his deep crimson robes.

Euphoria bloomed in Jieyuan’s chest—a feeling of such pure joy and ecstasy he almost lost the strength in his legs, and staggered back in shock. But it hadn’t come from him. It’d come from the Blood sphere. An unending, overpowering wave of glee surged from it, almost drowning out his thoughts.

“Hello, Jieyuan,” said Tianzijun Juechen. His voice was deeper and richer, almost hypnotizing. His lips curved upward gently. “I am afraid we shall have to keep our business short.”

He'd barely finished speaking when a tremor shook the room. Juechen glanced up, frowning, and waved his hand. The tremor stopped abruptly.

“You…” Jieyuan had no idea what to say. His mind kept drawing blanks, and the sheer happiness emanating from the Blood sphere wasn’t helping matters any.

“Me,” Juechen said, chuckling. “My past self meant for me to send you out of the trialworld, and I shall do so in short order. Before that, however, I shall offer you a boon.”

He extended his hands. “Pass me your weapons.”

Jieyuan wasn’t sure if it was the influence of the Blood sphere or if it was Tianzijun Juechen’s hypnotic voice, but he didn’t think twice. His mind blank, he unsheathed the Shifting Feathers and handed them over.

Juechen held out both the Shifting Feathers in front of him, between them. Then his eyes glowed, and vein-like, radiant red lines appeared in his pale hands; they spread into the golden shafts of the Shifting Feather, red against gold. Up the shaft, then onto the blade.

The moment the lines finished covering the entirety of the Shifting Feathers, they pulsed, once, with a light so bright Jieyuan had to close his eyes. He opened them the next instant, only to find the lines gone, the pair-forms looking no different.

“Consider this a gift, from one beloved by Blood to another,” Juechen said, offering the pair-forms back to him.

Wordlessly, Jieyuan took them. They didn’t feel any different under his grip. He sheathed them again, not taking his eyes off Juechen.

Juechen reached out and placed a hand on Jieyuan's shoulder. Even through his robes, Jieyuan could feel the warmth of the hand. Its hold was light and gentle, but the sheer size of it unsettled him; it swallowed his shoulder whole. If Juechen wanted him strangled, he could do it one-handed.

“I suspect we shall see each other again, Jieyuan,” Juechen said. “Look forward to our reunion.”

“I—” A strand of coherent thought finally managed to pierce through the haze in his mind. “But— Aren’t you dead?”

Juechen smiled, dark and radiant, immaculate red eyes like blood moons.

“Once you reach a certain height of power, Jieyuan, you will find that death does not quite stick.”

Then Juechen winked.

And the world winked back, a void swallowing Jieyuan whole.