Alfir

152 Seeds of Civilization

“So, what are we waiting for?” I asked, half-expecting someone to snap and tell me to shut up. “Do we just stand here on the sand like decorative idiots or…?”

Nongmin didn’t even blink. “They will send someone to greet us. I’ve already informed our hosts.”

Of course he had. Everything he did was three steps ahead and filed in triplicate. For someone who ruled an empire, the man had the patience of a monk playing chess against time itself.

Zai Ai sighed beside him, a sound that somehow conveyed both spiritual exhaustion and maternal disappointment. “You should be disciplined.”

That again.

“For the ninth time, your method of speaking is disgraceful. Crude. It will offend someone important one day. And that day might as well have been today.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, smirking. “Besides, shouldn’t you be out there, I don’t know, searching for your disciple or whatever? Why’re you here wasting time picking fights with me?”

Her eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “If you weren’t the Emperor’s grandson, I’d teach you some manners.”

“Oh, would you?” I said, stepping forward with my hands out, egging her on. “Go on, hit me. Right here. I won’t even dodge.”

Zai Ai raised her hand, but only to fix a loose strand of hair that hadn’t even moved.

Nongmin stood to the side like a stone statue watching children squabble. “Little Wei,” he said, yes, he’d started calling me that recently, the bastard… “can handle himself. He speaks as he pleases because he lives as he pleases.”

I threw a smug look Zai Ai’s way. “See? Grandpa says I’m special.”

She scoffed. “Special like a cursed cauldron.”

We didn’t have time for a comeback, because that’s when they arrived.

A group of cultivators in blue and black robes approached, each embroidered with a bold silver character on the chest that read 武 (Martial), the Martial Alliance’s symbol. The group was led by a man with a golden sash wrapped around his waist, denoting status without ostentation. His qi presence rippled gently in the air like wind through water. His qi was firm, but not aggressive. He wasn’t some bottom-rung escort. His cultivation was solidly Fourth Realm. Honestly, closer to Fifth.

Yup. That tracked. I had a feeling that by the end of this summit, if you weren’t Fourth Realm or above, you might as well be in charge of catering.

The golden-sash man stepped forward, offering a martial artist’s bow, fist against palm, low and respectful.

“Honored Emperor,” he said with clarity and force. “I am Ma Lin of the Martial Alliance, honored to serve as one of the welcoming delegates for this summit.”

Nongmin returned the gesture with grace that felt more imperial than any golden dragon robe ever could. “I am pleased to be received, Ma Lin. My people and I are grateful for your hospitality.”

Ma Lin turned and gestured to the palanquin behind him. It was elegantly built, with curved handles of lacquered spiritwood and engraved runes glowing faintly in the morning sun. Carried by six cultivators in perfect synchronicity, it seemed to float rather than be lifted.

Nongmin stepped forward and ascended the palanquin in one fluid motion. No rustling of fabric, no awkward shuffle… just a man used to the fact that every floor beneath him should rise on command.

I gave a low whistle as I watched him settle in. “Nice. He’s doing the whole ‘untouchable emperor’ bit today.”

“Better than your ‘idiot vagrant’ impression,” Zai Ai muttered beside me. “Now, behave…”

“Hey, I work hard on acting like this.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, seemingly confused.

Ma Lin offered, “We can take your ship to the staging grounds. The Martial Alliance has cleared space for such artifacts.”

Nongmin shook his head politely. “No need. I’ll store it myself.”

Store it… himself?

I blinked. That was the first time I’d heard of pocket dimensions actually being casually used like that. I mean, sure, people always mentioned storing rings and bags, but this was on a different level. The Megatron was the size of a damn manor and a flying artifact on top of that, and Nongmin just said he’d put it away like it was a coat.

I frowned to myself. So that’s why most of the Storage Rings I snatched back then felt nearly empty. No weird scrolls, no powerful talismans, just weird pastries or flower manuals. They were using something else for the real loot. Great. More reading to do.

It seemed I still underestimated high level cultivators. I wondered at what Realm would they start possessing pocket dimensions? Ugh… It was tough my reading time being interrupted again and again, but hopefully, I’d be able to continue polishing my knowledge of this world… I should have a lot of free time in between days of the summit.

With a casual wave of his hand, Nongmin activated a formation with precise, practiced movements. Runes flared beneath the ship’s hull. The Megatron shivered, then began to shrink, collapsing in on itself into a shimmering string of light. That ribbon of brilliance curled through the air before landing softly in Nongmin’s palm. He closed his fingers around it, storing it with a flicker of spatial turbulence.

“Let’s proceed,” he said.

The rest of us followed behind the palanquin: Zai Ai, ever-judgmental and sharp-eyed; Tao Long and Liang Na flanking me like glorified babysitters. I didn’t mind Liang Na, she was fun to mess with and less prone to lecturing. Tao Long just kept his arms folded and said nothing, but I caught him side-eyeing me from time to time like I was a wild animal pretending to wear a human face.

Ma Lin kept pace with us, polite but observant. His eyes flicked toward me now and then, probably trying to figure out what rank I held or whether I had any value beyond being dead weight… or sometime soon, a very annoying brat.

I looked at the massive construction site ahead of us, where the fortress-to-be clung to both mountain and shore like some kind of hybrid beast. Workers flew from scaffold to scaffold, hurling spells and stones alike.

“How long do you think it’ll take before it’s done?” I asked Ma Lin, genuinely curious. “Looks like it’s gonna be massive.”

Liang Na nudged me with her elbow. “You should introduce yourself before asking questions like that. It's rude, even if you're trying to act charming.”

Then, in Qi Speech, she whispered in my ear: ‘Don’t use your real name. Not here. You’re Mei Wei for now.’

Ah. Right. Cover names. Political summit. Cultivation world etiquette.

I gave Ma Lin a crooked smile. “Name’s Mei Wei,” I said. “Sorry. I’m still new to all this.”

Liang Na added smoothly, “He’s His Majesty’s grandson. Please excuse his behavior… he’s been spoiled since birth.”

I resisted the urge to shoot her a look. Spoiled? Maybe. But that wasn’t the full story. Still, I let it go. I was undercover, technically.

Ma Lin repeated my fake name under his breath. “...Mei Wei?”

The name rolled oddly off his tongue. He tilted his head slightly. I could tell he was trying to recall if any royal branches used the surname Mei. There weren’t any, of course. That was the point.

He didn’t press. “To answer your question, young master Mei,” he said, his tone even, “the fortress should be completed within seven days. With the joint efforts of various sects and the Martial Alliance overseeing the central formations, it will be done in time for the opening rituals.”

“Opening rituals?” I asked.

Ma Lin inclined his head. “Of course. The World Summit cannot begin without the Blessing Rite and the Pact Assembly. Tradition, after all.”

“Sounds official.”

“It is,” Liang Na muttered under her breath, lips twitching. “So don’t say anything embarrassing.”

I rolled my eyes. Like I ever said anything that…

Okay. Maybe once. Or twice. A day.

But still. I could behave.

Sort of.

Still…

Seven days.

That was a long time, relatively speaking. Long enough for shit to quickly hit the fan.

Back during the Yellow Dragon Festival, I barely had two days to myself before everything snowballed. What started as a casual walk turned into scuffles, then into a conspiracies, then into a full-blown brawl with what amounted to a literal devil from hell. My first real fight. First serious battle in this world with its freaky energy system and nightmarish stakes.

And gods, I had been so clumsy.

I remembered fumbling, frustrated at how slow I moved. I'd been using ‘my skills’ like a player abusing cooldowns in a game, but movement techniques were still awkward. Too many limbs, too many physics rules I hadn’t adapted to. It didn’t help that my foe at that time could fly. I wasn’t born with an inner core or dragon blood or spirit wind under my feet. Just stats. Just a system. And despite that, somehow I delivered.

Now, standing on this path to the World Summit, I couldn’t help but think what another seven days might do to me.

“Seven days is a lot of time,” I muttered.

Ma Lin nodded. “The Summit will begin once all the great powers have arrived. If schedules hold, seven days seems likely.”

“And if they don’t hold?” I asked.

Ma Lin allowed himself a small smile. “Then we wait longer. Tradition says no opening ceremony without all parties present.”

Tao Long, arms folded and tone sharp as ever, interjected, “Aren’t you saying a little too much, daoist Ma? Bit bold, talking about who’s late and who’s not. Isn’t that revealing dirt under your own alliance’s fingernails?”

I could tell he wasn’t really scolding him. Just poking the bear. Cultivators did that a lot. Nobody said what they meant. It was all posture and layered intention. Still tripped me up.

Ma Lin shrugged, relaxed and unbothered. “It’s no secret. The Heavenly Temple arrived before us. There was some… contention. Tempers flared.”

“And?” I asked.

“And,” Ma Lin said, “after mediation, it was agreed the Temple was at fault.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is: technically you’re not throwing dirt on yourself, you’re chucking it at someone else and calling it a resolved misunderstanding.”

That earned a short laugh from him. “You are not wrong, young master Mei.”

“And the Union?” I asked.

“They’ll arrive late,” Ma Lin said. “But they will attend. They always do. For them, the Summit is less about diplomacy and more about recruitment.”

We arrived at a jade platform, polished smooth and glowing faintly with sigils along its surface. A wide disc just sitting there at the edge of a path like an ancient elevator in the xianxia kind of way.

I stepped onto it and casually swept my Divine Sense across its surface. The formation felt elegant, refined, and modular. Somehow, I understood this tech better than the Empire’s version, like someone had finally written the code in a language I could read. It wasn’t brute-forced, just… efficient. Beautiful.

With a low hum, the platform rose.

As we ascended, the full scale of the city came into view. Not fortress, but a city! I could see it now. The thick stone walls were only the skeleton. What sprawled beyond them was a living organism of tents, scaffolds, rooftops, and fires. Mortals and cultivators swarmed below like ants… constructing, repairing, arguing, and living.

There were banners and flags of different clans. Cooking stalls. Tents where people slept beside their wares. Children ran between carts. Not all of them wore robes or fancy insignias. Most of them didn’t. Most were ordinary. Human.

Ma Lin turned slightly, catching my expression.

“During World Summits,” he explained, “the four great powers agreed to bring in refugees from war-torn lands. Mortals seeking a better life, or adventurers hoping to settle in new territory. This place will become a city long before it becomes a battlefield.”

I didn’t say anything at first.

Instead, I just stood there.

“It looks nice.”

People lived here.

People worked. They fought, yes. But they also dreamed. They also built homes and stalls and lives. So much of what I’d seen in this world revolved around violence… cutthroat cultivation, assassinations, clan betrayals, and demonic invasions. I’d almost forgotten what it looked like when people just… lived.

I mean… The Imperial Capital had it too in spades, regarding their common citizenry, but this was different.

My throat tightened slightly.

I wasn’t from this world, but this? This part? This I understood.

“I like this,” I said, my voice quieter than I expected. “I really like this.”

We stopped in front of what could only be described as a high-end inn. No, pavilion would be the right word for it. Tall redwood columns framed the entrance, each one carved with cloud motifs and coated in spiritual lacquer that shimmered faintly under the setting sun. There were gold inlays along the windows and polished white stone underfoot that didn’t carry a single trace of dust.

It reeked of luxury and power.

Ma Lin stepped ahead of us and gestured toward the entrance like a respectful host. “This inn has been prepared in advance for esteemed guests. The staff have been informed of your identities and will accommodate any needs you may have. Please, there’s no need to hold back.”

“No need to hold back,” I repeated under my breath. “I’m sure that won’t go horribly wrong.”

Zai Ai ignored me, of course. She stepped forward, her robes barely rustling. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp. “I’m looking for my disciple,” she said. “His name is Mao Xian. Male. Androgynous features, Adventurer’s Guild master. He’s affiliated with the Martial Alliance.”

Ma Lin offered her a polite bow. “Yes, Grandmaster. Mao Xian is known to us. He arrived several days ago but has since departed.”

Zai Ai’s face didn’t change, but I noticed the air shift around her slightly. Just a bit of her Qi leaking.

Ma Lin was unfazed as he continued. “A few experts, including Mao Xian and the Grandmaster of the Martial Alliance chose to begin exploring the new realm while preparations for the Summit continue.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Exploring already? That’s allowed?”

“It’s an unspoken rule,” Ma Lin said. “Whoever hosts the Summit gains the rights to the first expedition. A tradition rooted in respect… and practicality. After all, when so many armies and sects gather, it’s only natural for some to go adventuring while the bureaucrats argue.”

Zai Ai gave a small nod and turned away, already heading toward her assigned room. She was probably going to cultivate until she got word of her disciple again.

Ma Lin gave one final bow and smiled at all of us. “If you need anything, send word. I will be nearby.”

With that, he left.

Nongmin wasted no time. He turned on his heel and walked toward his room, calling over his shoulder without even looking at me. “Little Wei. Come inside.”

I followed, shutting the door behind me. As I did, I caught a flicker of movement… It was Tao Long. My Divine Sense picked him up loitering just outside, casually walking past the room, too casual. He was either there to eavesdrop or guard the door. Probably both. That was part of his job now, wasn’t it?

Zai Ai had already retreated to her room, settling in for whatever long meditation or cultivation session she liked to drown herself in. As for Liang Na… Well, she wasn’t even in the inn anymore. My Divine Sense picked her up as a streak of motion flitting between rooftops, vanishing down a side street.

“Where’s Liang Na going?” I asked as I turned back to Nongmin. “I thought she’d stick around.”

Nongmin was already setting up some kind of array around the room. Lines of faint silver lit up around the walls and ceiling, sinking into the wood before vanishing entirely.

“Probably to make contact with our spies,” he said casually.

I blinked. “Aren’t you worried Tao Long might hear that? He’s right outside.”

Nongmin raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d start talking before the formations were in place? No one outside this room can hear a word.”

Fair enough.

I looked around. It was a nice room. Velvet cushions, tea already poured on the table, glowing lanterns casting soft shadows. Warm, comfortable. A false sense of security if I ever saw one.

“So,” I said, sitting down across from him, “what are we talking about? I don’t suppose you just want to play cards or chat about childhood traumas. Just so you know, I am scared of roaches, and also paper cuts… Definitely hate ‘em.”

Nongmin didn’t sit. He stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the street below.

“The strategy,” he said.

I tilted my head. “Strategy for what?”

He turned slightly, just enough for his profile to catch the light.

“To ensure your fateful encounter occurs.”

I frowned.

“…My what? Ah, okay. Walk me through it.”

But he didn’t answer right away. He just smiled slightly and looked back out the window.

I got a bad feeling about this.

151 Little Shit

It hadn’t even been ten minutes into our flight on the Megatron when Zai Ai started looking for her ring, her brows furrowing in what looked suspiciously like rising panic. She patted down her sleeves, then her sash, then made a little whirl halfway down the corridor like she was hoping she’d catch it falling through a portal in reverse.

Huh… So her perception sucked.

I reckoned the Emperor was the exception, fairly recalling the one time I tried to steal from his treasure hoard by sneakily spamming my Divine Sense and Item Box in tandem.

How was I supposed to pretend to be a little shit of a genius if no one could see my feats?

Meh~! It was fine either way…

“Has anyone seen my Storage Ring?” she asked, trying to sound calm but failing miserably. “It was just on my hand. A moment ago.”

Jia Sen didn’t even try to hide the smirk. “Amazing,” he said. “So young and already forgetting your things. What a prodigy.” He clapped slowly, mock applause echoing off the ship’s crystalline walls.

Zai Ai glared at him. “I’m being serious.”

“I am too,” he replied smoothly. “Serious admiration. Very inspiring.”

Jia Yun made a noise like a stifled sneeze, which I was pretty sure was her trying not to laugh.

I kept my face blank. That’s the key to misdirection: not looking guilty when you absolutely are.

Because yeah. I stole it.

The moment I bumped into her earlier, right between our delightful exchange of creative insults and the ship taking off, I palmed the ring and slid it into my Item Box with the kind of practiced ease that should’ve belonged to a rogue, not a holy knight. But hey, I was no longer in a game, and class restrictions were long gone.

I was a Paladin, sure. But what was stopping me from picking up more Sub-Class?

Nothing.

That thought alone had me buzzing. Maybe I still needed to find a Legacy Advancement Book to unlock rogue talents formally, but clearly, the boundaries of my old world’s system were dissolving. Skills bled into each other now. Morality, too. I wasn’t trying to be a thief. It just happened. Like tripping over a rock and landing on a chest full of loot.

Yep, I’m a ball of contradiction!

In my defense, it wasn’t about the ring. It was about the look she kept giving Nongmin. That soft, downturned glance when she thought he wasn’t watching. The way her body turned slightly toward him whenever he spoke, like he was the only gravity in the room. It was subtle. But I noticed.

And so did he.

Nongmin hadn’t said a word since Zai Ai brought up the missing ring. He was just standing there, hands behind his back, eyes locked on me like I was a particularly noisy ghost he’d chosen not to exorcise yet.

Yeah. He knew.

He definitely knew.

And yet… he said nothing.

Which made me feel worse, honestly. Because it wasn’t like I wanted to make Zai Ai miserable. She had that particular brand of elder-youngster energy that made me want to break a teacup over her head. But still.

I didn’t hate her.

It was just one of those moods I’d get cranky, unapologetic… and impatient.

On top of that, I just felt weirdly, irrationally protective of Nongmin. The guy was emotionally constipated on a level I hadn’t seen since every sad dad in every fantasy JRPG ever. And yet, despite his terrifying power and high-level stoicism, he had this sort of dumb, wide-eyed sincerity under all that regality. Like if someone cared for him, even a little, he wouldn’t know what to do with it.

So... when Zai Ai gave him that glance? I felt… twitchy. Not jealous, not exactly. More like suspicious older brother energy.

It made me wonder why Xin Yune hadn’t told me anything about this dynamic. I mean, come on. This was the scoop of the millennium. Nongmin and Zai Ai? If that ship was even possible, how had the Empress of the Empire’s Secrets not spilled it?

Was she laughing at me from beyond the grave?

...Probably.

“Maybe the Honored Seat dropped it during the ship formation,” Jia Yun offered politely. “I believe the Honored Seat was on the far side of the hallway.”

“Maybe,” Zai Ai muttered, clearly not believing that but unwilling to escalate the matter without proof. “But lass, I am a Tenth Realm cultivator… Do you think I’ll drop my own darn Storage Ring for something so simple like that?”

I didn’t say anything. Just kept my expression blank and focused on a nonexistent scratch on the wall.

Eventually, Nongmin spoke. “We’ll arrive in three days’ time if we maintain current velocity. Until then, rest. Or meditate. Or whatever it is you people do when not accusing each other of thievery.”

He turned without another word, robe fluttering behind him like he was already over the entire situation. I followed his back with my eyes.

He didn’t ask for the ring back.

Did that mean he approved?

...Did that make me the bad guy?

“Hey,” I said, too quickly. Zai Ai turned toward me. “When I find your ring, I’ll return it. Just... try not to look too betrayed, alright?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You know where it is? How suspicious...”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

She stepped forward, raising a hand like she was seriously considering smacking me across the face.

I pointed at my cheek. “Go on. Hit me. It’s not like I’ll dodge.”

The moment dragged. Then she huffed and turned away, muttering something about insufferable gremlins.

I exhaled.

Just another normal day on the Megatron.

Here’s the thing about being a gamer: we loved loot.

We didn’t just love it, we lived for it. Whether it was raiding boss chests, farming drop zones for that 0.2% drop rate, or pulling gacha rolls at 2 a.m. with all the reckless hope of a man lighting fireworks inside a gas station… loot made us tick.

But if we existed in real life like how we existed in our games? We’d probably be put in prison. Or a mental hospital. Or straight-up found dead in an alley, impaled on a rare sword we couldn’t unequip.

Even a Paladin like me—technically holy, mostly noble, debatably lawful—had his moments of weakness. Or strength, depending on how you viewed opportunistic thievery.

I waited until everyone had shuffled off the corridor. Zai Ai stomped back toward her quarters like the hallway had insulted her ancestors, and Jia Sen had wandered off humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like the Emperor’s anthem but off-key on purpose.

I reached into my Item Box and pulled out the Storage Ring.

Time for some reconnaissance.

I closed my eyes, activated Divine Sense, and pushed my awareness inside. It felt a little like sifting through a very judgmental closet.

No traps. No spiritual guardians. Just rows of spatial compartments, neat and tidy… and filled with disappointment.

“Come on…” I muttered.

No jade slips. No secret manuals. No sword scrolls inscribed with forbidden lightning techniques that could vaporize enemies and emotionally cripple their families.

Just… clothes.

Specifically, robes. A dozen varieties. Battle robes. Cultivation robes. Casual “I’m-not-trying-but-I’m-still-hot” robes. Some even looked tailor-made to match certain lighting conditions—was she color-coding by time of day?

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “Is this… a vanity ring?”

And then there were the portraits.

I paused, squinting at one.

It was a spiritual sketch, one of those animated types that moved slightly if you looked long enough. Zai Ai, striking a dramatic pose against a backdrop of mountains and mist, wind tugging at her hair while a crane circled overhead like it had been paid to photobomb.

I found five more just like it.

Each one had different poses. In one, she was meditating under a waterfall. In another, she was dual-wielding spirit sabers with a little spark effect that probably cost extra.

This was not a treasure trove.

This was a highlight reel.

There were spirit stones, hundreds and thousands of them, glowing gently in the corner like obedient puppies, but I didn’t dare take those. Someone like her would notice the exact weight and spiritual balance of her currency pile down to the decimal.

Techniques, though? Those I could’ve copied on a separate piece of paper while in the shitter. That was the plan. Just good ol’ bathroom piracy.

But there were none. Not even a basic cultivation method. I found a comb imbued with wind affinity and a tea set that auto-boiled, but no manuals.

I sighed.

My day was ruined.

Closing the ring and slipping it back into my inventory, I leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Light from the ship’s core pulsed faintly through the translucent panels above me, bathing the corridor in a soft blue glow.

“I’m in my villain arc,” I muttered.

Then paused.

“No. Actually… this is the start of my little shit arc.”

There was a difference.

A villain planned. Had schemes. Goals. World domination. Long-term bitterness.

Me?

I was just vibing in moral gray. Low-stakes chaos. Annoying people slightly to make myself feel better while desperately hoping my karma didn’t stack too high too fast.

I stretched and wandered toward the dining hall. Might as well grab something to eat before I started casing Jia Sen’s ring next. That smug bastard had to have something worth copying. If Zai Ai was hoarding fashion accessories, maybe Jia Sen was hoarding something actually illegal.

Or at least embarrassing.

The thought made me grin.

Then I paused, mid-step, because Nongmin was standing at the edge of the hall’s entrance, holding a cup of what looked like plum tea. His gaze was level, as always.

But this time, when he looked at me, he raised an eyebrow.

Not in judgment.

In amusement.

I blinked.

“Problem?” I asked.

He took a slow sip. “Did you learn what you needed?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You knew.”

“I always know,” he said mildly. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

I flushed, more from embarrassment than guilt. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

He considered that, then gave a tiny shrug. “She deserves to be humbled now and then.”

I blinked again.

That was… unexpected.

He added, “Though next time, ask. Theft lacks elegance.”

“Right,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “So you’re okay with me… you know. Picking through people’s rings?”

He gave me a look.

I raised both hands. “Purely for information!”

He rolled his eyes, an honest-to-gods eye roll from the Emperor of Grand Ascension Empire or whatever title he had now.

“Just don’t get caught. And don’t touch my ring.”

I snorted. “Got it.”

And just like that, he walked off with the faintest smile at the corners of his mouth.

I stood there a second longer, wondering what kind of fever dream I was living in where the Emperor was encouraging my petty crime career, and why it weirdly felt like he approved of my chaos.

Yep. Definitely the little shit arc.

"Okay, what's next?"

The Megatron was many things: massive, mysterious, and a marvel of artifact engineering, but above all else, it was weirdly domestic on the inside. We each had personal quarters, real beds, and door handles made of jade-inlaid starmetal. The walls had subtle formation scripts that glowed faintly with mood lighting. There was even a damn bonsai room. A bonsai room. If it weren’t for the occasional flash of lightning across the view panels or the muted hum of flying at ridiculous speeds through the upper stratosphere, I’d have assumed we were living inside someone’s fancy mountain estate.

Naturally, I took this as permission to act like a gremlin.

Over the past three days, I’d been entertaining myself the only way I knew how: by being a little shit.

For example, on the second morning, I walked into the central corridor, flopped dramatically onto one of the jade benches, and groaned loud enough for the entire ship to hear.

“No chef?” I whined. “Really? You bring me to some god-tier flying fortress, and you expect me to reheat my own dumplings?”

Zai Ai was meditating. Her eye twitched.

Jia Sen blinked at me like I was an exotic insect he hadn’t studied yet.

Nongmin, ever the bastion of regality and passive-aggression, just stared.

I pressed harder. “Are you telling me the Empire couldn’t spare one culinary cultivator? One soulfire baker? Not even a Spirit Stew Grandmaster? You know food affects qi flow, right? What if I die from improperly steamed buns?”

“Nongmin, discipline your grandson,” Zai Ai muttered without opening her eyes as she expressed her complaints in Qi Speech to Nongmin from her quarters. “Or I will do it.”

“See? That’s the spirit!” I beamed. “Even she agrees.”

Nongmin looked seconds away from teleporting into deep space just to avoid further social interaction. His hands folded tightly behind his back as he walked past me. “Your quarters are fully stocked… with food. Use the talismans if you must, so go and cook for yourself.”

“Yeah, but then it feels like I’m eating scrolls. It’s emotionally unsatisfying.”

“Then meditate on that dissatisfaction.”

God, he was such a nerd.

Zai Ai muttered something about ‘scrubbing me off the deck with a broom’ and turned away. Jia Sen, whom I still hadn’t decided if I liked or hated, gave me this slow, smug smile like he was recording my tantrum in a mental ledger.

But honestly? It was worth it.

That night, I returned Zai Ai’s Storage Ring. Slipped it onto her finger while she was deep meditating, right after triple-checking she wasn’t going to open her eyes and explode me on reflex. I might be a gremlin, but I wasn’t suicidal, whether it be physical suicide or social suicide. I even used Divine Word: Rest, because I could be such a brat sometimes.

“Not so worth it… Man, I got my priorities so wrong sometimes...”

Two days in, I pulled the same trick on Jia Sen. He didn’t even notice, probably too busy studying that flower manual he kept in his Storage Ring. A whole technique scroll about horticulture. Tenth Realm cultivator, and he was obsessed with the spiritual harmony of petunias.

What was with these people?

You’d think two peak cultivators would be hoarding doomsday techniques and forbidden soul arts. But no. They had tea blends, paintings, flower books, and robes so ugly they must have been enchanted to repel criticism.

I didn’t steal anything permanent. Just copied some manuals. Mostly out of curiosity. I figured if I ever needed to start a flower shop or impersonate a scholar, I’d be covered.

Eventually, the ship began descending. The Megatron didn’t land like normal flying vessels. It phased downward, the warping formations humming with ridiculous precision. Nongmin’s control over the formation scripts was terrifying. At one point, he literally rewrote the space-time pathway of the ship mid-flight to bypass a dimensional fog pocket. And he did it in under two minutes, like he was editing a spreadsheet.

By the time we reached sea level again after that stunt, I felt like I’d gone through five stomachs and left my soul somewhere near the troposphere. I really should’ve stayed in my room.

We emerged onto the deck as the mist cleared, revealing our destination. The ocean sparkled below like molten silver. Cliffs rose jagged and proud, and there, nestled between mountain and shoreline, was the outline of a fortress still under construction. It wasn’t just stone and scaffolding—it was alive with qi, glowing runes etched into every tower spire, shimmering barriers weaving between construction crews. It looked like someone had tried to manifest a city out of a dream.

Liang Na, who had appeared out of nowhere like a polite ghost, clasped her hands behind her back and said, “Each World Summit is hosted at a neutral site… and each time, a city or fortress is built by a joint alliance of attending factions. It is symbolic of cooperation.”

“More like a show of power,” Tao Long said, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.

“Sometimes both,” Liang Na replied mildly. “This time, the fortress is sponsored by the Martial Alliance. They serve as this summit’s host.”

Nongmin nodded. “Their leader, Grandmaster Yi Qiu, selected this location for strategic and spiritual resonance. Earth qi converges with ocean qi here. It also makes escape difficult. An ideal setting for... diplomacy.”

Zai Ai snorted. “You mean an ideal setting for passive-aggressive threats cloaked in flowery language and tea ceremonies.”

“Ah,” I said, grinning. “So a family reunion, but with swords.”

No one laughed. Figures.

I leaned on the railing and looked out at the growing fortress. So much was happening. Powers aligning. Tensions building. It felt like the prelude to a war, dressed up in robes and polite smiles.

I cracked my knuckles.

Good. I was getting bored anyway.

“So… how often does this World Summit thing happen, exactly?” I asked, my hands resting behind my head as I leaned back against the rail of the Megatron’s deck. The ocean breeze tousled my hair, and I squinted out toward the fortress rising from the beach and stone.

Tao Long, who had been standing like a statue for the past hour, spoke without turning his head. “Roughly once a century. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. Depends on the signs.”

“Once a century?” I whistled. “Not exactly your local monthly town hall meeting.”

“The timing,” Nongmin added from nearby, “corresponds to the opening of a new realm.”

That made me pause.

“…Wait, what do you mean by ‘realm’?”

He gave me a sidelong look, as if trying to figure out how to explain to someone who still occasionally forgot spirit stones weren’t edible. “A new realm. An unexplored world. Often with its own laws of qi, ecology, treasures, and dangers. Sometimes it’s a pocket dimension. Sometimes it’s something larger. A whole world."

My mouth opened slightly. “You mean… You guys discover a whole-ass new dimension every century like it’s some seasonal event?”

“More or less,” Tao Long said.

That was… No. Hold on.

That was crazy. Insanely crazy!

Back on Earth, we spent centuries just trying to figure out if aliens existed or if Atlantis was real. These people? “Oh yeah, another world just cracked open in the void again, better hold a summit.” What next? A “Mystic Realm Loyalty Program”? Collect nine entry tokens, and get the tenth realm free?

Nongmin must’ve seen the look on my face. “It’s not always predictable. Sometimes a realm devours the cultivators who enter it. Sometimes the realm itself becomes sentient. But yes, roughly every hundred years, something opens… and when it does, the major powers gather to divide access.”

Of course. Because nothing said ‘civilized diplomacy’ like carving up a newly discovered world like pizza slices at a college dorm.

The Megatron slowly began its descent, its formation rings folding in with a series of soft, harmonic hums. Nongmin didn’t bother landing the ship properly—he let it hover a meter off the sand, hovering like a boastful god refusing to touch dirt. With a flick of his fingers, a glowing plank extended from the side of the ship and gently thudded onto the beach.

I hopped down first.

Instant regret.

“Ugh. Sand. On. My. Feet,” I hissed, brushing at my boots. “You couldn’t have parked us on the stone, seriously?”

Tao Long and Liang Na followed close behind, silent as ever. I was starting to realize they weren’t really my companions as much as my designated handlers. Maybe I should’ve been offended. Then again, with my track record, maybe I should’ve been grateful they didn’t put a leash on me.

I’d dare them to put a leash on me, though… I’ll throw hands.

To my right, Jia Yun clung to her father’s side. Jia Sen had already taken out a golden slip and was imprinting a message into it with a narrow stream of qi, probably some political notice or invitation scroll. His robes fluttered slightly in the breeze, and he looked like someone who never once had to deal with chafing in his life.

He turned to Nongmin and offered a shallow bow. “I’ll go ahead to join the Heavenly Temple delegation. They should be assembling on the main platform. I’ll inform the other participants of the Empire’s arrival.”

“Much appreciated,” Nongmin said, clasping his hands politely. “If it’s not too troublesome, let them know the Empire is interested in maintaining a… mutually respectful relationship with the Temple. Friendly, if possible.”

Jia Sen smiled faintly. “If it’s possible, then it shall be done. If not, I’ll find a way to make it possible.”

Classic cultivator answer, say nothing clearly, but sound wise as hell while doing it.

He departed with his daughter in tow, their silhouettes shrinking against the expanse of rising scaffolds and gleaming formation pillars from a distance. They sure could move fast. I watched them go, thinking to myself how I should behave for the rest of the day.

“You think he’ll actually put in a good word?” I asked.

Nongmin didn’t answer immediately. “He will. He understands the value of appearances.”

“Mm,” I nodded. “And here I thought the summit would be boring.”

Tao Long gave me a flat look. “You still have no idea what’s going to happen, so stay on your toes, young master.”

“Young master? Ah, never mind... I usually don’t have an idea,” I said with a grin. “That's the point. But that’s half the fun of life, right? At least, if it’s a Shenyuan situation, I won’t weep if any of you suddenly kicks the bucket… wait, too far? Is it too far? Yeah, too far… I should dial down my brattiness index.”

150 Megatron

Just as the old man was gleefully pinching my cheeks and preparing to ruin my dignity forever, I noticed someone standing beside him, mouth slightly open, eyes fixed on me like she’d seen a ghost.

Jia Yun.

Ah, shit.

Out of all the cultivators in the Empire, why did it have to be her?

Back in my first week of stumbling into Yellow Dragon City: new to this world, confused, uninformed, and way too friendly for my own good… I’d made two extremely poor life choices. Their names were Fan Shi and Jia Yun. If not friends, we were at least… suspiciously close acquaintances who got into way too much mischief together.

We had history. Specifically, a night of gallivanting around the city as bratty little hooligans. How? It was thanks to the same damn perfume I was using now. The Chibi Perfume.

We’d all shrunk ourselves down and run wild like unhinged kids with divine credit cards.

And now, standing before me, was Jia Yun… still looking exactly as she did back then. Same dark hair, same calculating eyes, and same permanent expression of “I know you’re up to something.”

Me?

I looked very different. Because now I was a "child." A "grandson." A lie. And a lie on top of a lie. Uuuuh… Great!

Nongmin, with the confidence of a seasoned politician and the morality of a chaotic neutral bard, faked a cough and introduced me with zero hesitation.

“This is my grandson, an offspring of my offspring,” he said solemnly, “from… an affair I had a long time ago.”

Wow. He was really coming in hot with the misinformation, huh?

I glanced at Jia Yun. She looked nervous. Her eyes darted between me, Nongmin, and the old man who was still hovering over me like a candy-bearing vulture.

I remembered a little detail about her. Jia Yun was technically a member of the main clan. But due to some “complications”—probably politics or a family falling-out—she’d been sent to one of the branch clans to “learn humility.” She was still a prodigy, though. Sharp. Watchful.

And she knew about the Chibi Perfume. Which meant she knew exactly who I was. I mean, she’d seen me in this shape one time already.

Nongmin, perhaps sensing danger, didn’t dare use Qi Speech. Not with the Tenth Realm grandpa within hearing range. But I felt his glare. That sharp, sidelong do something look.

Right. We had to sell the story.

I took a deep breath, summoned the spirit of every obnoxious brat I’d ever taught in gym class, and protectively wrapped my arms around the candy stick the old man had given me.

“You can’t have this,” I snapped in my highest-pitched childish voice. “It’s mine!”

Jia Yun recoiled slightly, blinking like I’d just tried to bite her.

“I… I wasn’t trying to steal it,” she stammered, raising her hands defensively. “What is wrong with you?”

I turned my head sharply and clutched the candy tighter.

Perfect.

Operation Gaslight the Fox was a resounding success.

Nongmin didn’t say anything, but I caught the flicker of a smirk at the edge of his mouth.

Yeah. We’d pulled it off.

For now.

The old man finally let go of my cheeks, though the damage to my dignity had already been done. He gave one last pinch for good measure and then turned toward Nongmin with hopeful eyes and an unsettling smile.

“Your Majesty wouldn’t mind if my youngest tags along, would you?” he said, gesturing toward Jia Yun like she was a puppy he’d found on the roadside.

My eyes narrowed instinctively.

Jia Yun didn’t react, at least not outwardly. Her face was as composed as I remembered, but I could see the slight clench of her jaw. Fourth Realm. That wasn’t something I expected. She’d left Fan Shi in the dust, and she wasn’t exactly slouching around at the bottom of the ladder either. Then again… my disciples were monsters. Their rate of cultivation could make geniuses weep. Jia Yun just happened to be a different kind of monster.

Nongmin offered a thin-lipped smile that said ‘I see what you’re doing, old man,’ but nodded.

“Then she will be your responsibility, Jia Sen,” he said.

Ah. So that was the old man’s name. Jia Sen. Made sense.

Jia Yun gave a polite bow. “This junior is grateful for the opportunity,” she said aloud in third-person with a careful tone. Good. She was easing back into her usual speech pattern. No more startled prey. Just the calm, polished front of a competent cultivator.

I took that as my cue to retreat.

Slipping between Tao Long and Liang Na, I found a quiet corner and flopped into it like the tired, sugar-rushed child I currently appeared to be. The candy stick was still clutched tightly in my hand, and I munched on it as I stared at the slowly growing group.

“So,” I mumbled around the candy, “who else?”

A polite cough, definitely fake, rippled through the air. The Qi pressure changed immediately.

Someone had arrived.

Standing just behind Jia Sen was a woman wrapped in imperial purple, one leg provocatively shown through the slit of her high-cut cheongsam. Her presence was sharp and unapologetic, and the moment she took a step forward, everyone noticed.

Tenth Realm.

“Blocking the door, are we?” she said lazily, her voice like honey drizzled over sharp steel. “What’s an old fossil like you doing here? Unsightly. That’s what you are.”

Jia Sen didn’t even flinch. He just kept smiling with that grandfatherly kindness that now felt like a mask more than a personality.

“Oh, have some patience, Zai Ai,” he replied with mock sympathy. “You aren’t getting any younger yourself.”

Zai Ai narrowed her eyes but otherwise seemed amused. Before she could bite back, Nongmin stepped in with all the poise of someone who knew when to drop a little oil on the fire before it burned down the manor.

“Zai Ai,” he said smoothly, “thank you for honoring us with your presence.”

It was diplomatic code for: Don’t start something in front of the guests, please.

Jia Sen tilted his head, clearly intrigued. “An independent cultivator with Tenth Realm cultivation, returning to the Empire’s doorstep? Curious. Unless…” he leaned forward with mock conspiratorial glee, “this is another one of your summons, Your Majesty?”

I couldn’t help myself.

I muttered, “So a booty call then?”

Silence.

Several heads turned to look at me.

I shrugged, lips still red from the candy. “What? We’re all thinking it.”

Liang Na turned away and covered her mouth. Tao Long gave me the side-eye of a man deeply reconsidering his life choices. Jia Yun… looked like she wanted to die.

Zai Ai, to her credit, laughed.

“Oh, I would love to have romantic entanglements with His Majesty,” she said without shame. “But no. I’m here on official matters.”

She gave Jia Sen a pointed glance.

“I’m helping my little disciple.”

Jia Sen snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes! Your disciple. I remember now. He’s starting some sort of business venture… the Adventurer’s Guild, is it?”

Zai Ai’s smile was wicked. “That’s right.”

The mention of the Adventurer’s Guild caught my attention like a thunderclap in a library.

Back on Earth, in the game LLO, the Adventurer’s Guild had been the nexus for quests, rumors, impossible bosses, and broken mechanics. It was a behemoth of a faction, sprawling and powerful, interwoven into nearly every major questline. But here? In this world? It was just a fledgling idea, barely standing.

I licked sugar off my fingers, eyes flicking to Zai Ai. “So, your disciple runs the Adventurer’s Guild?”

Zai Ai raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised I spoke in full sentences. “He’s the founder. A bit idealistic, but competent. He’ll be arriving at the summit with members of the Martial Alliance, if their egos don’t drag them into some scenic detour.”

Jia Sen gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ah yes, the Martial Alliance. Puffed-up peacocks too proud to admit their legacy's rusted.”

Zai Ai didn’t even turn to him. “Says the man who trains brats in seclusion and calls it ‘wisdom.’”

They kept at it, flinging barbs like children tossing rocks in a pond. I zoned out briefly, watching a spiral of light curl lazily around Tao Long’s fingertip, probably some idle formation script he was playing with to keep from stabbing someone.

Eventually, Nongmin had enough. “We’re leaving,” he said flatly, the emperor in him momentarily surfacing.

The bickering stopped. Even Jia Sen turned serious. “Where will the World Summit be held this time?” he asked.

Nongmin gave a faint nod. “As usual… somewhere new. A realm just opened to the north, past the Empire’s edge. Unstable, but safe enough for now. We’ll need to travel nonstop at cultivation speed if we want to arrive before the sealing window closes.”

Translation: No stopping to pick up weaklings. If you couldn’t keep up, you didn’t come.

Zai Ai’s gaze drifted toward me, her eyes narrowing. Her lips tugged down into a frown. “Weird kid,” she muttered.

I sat up straighter and narrowed my eyes. I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or proud. I mean… she was weird. Was she expecting a toddler to not chew on a sugar cane sword like it was a heavenly artifact?

Nongmin, naturally, stepped in with an air of forced patience. “Young Wei can handle himself.”

That was my cue. I leaned forward, putting a bit of manic fire into my brat impression, and said loudly, “Yeah, you heard that right, hag! Go die in a ditch!”

Gasps. Some audible. Tao Long dropped the glowing spiral he was forming. Jia Yun looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.

Zai Ai blinked slowly. Her face said, ‘I am seriously considering vaporizing this child.’

“You little…”

“Come on!” I shouted, grinning like a gremlin. “Murder this bratty imp! Let’s go! Finish the job, scary auntie!”

Her palm twitched. For a second, I thought she might actually do it.

Nongmin cleared his throat and stepped in between us with infuriating grace. “Wei,” he said with a tight smile, “we behave properly in front of honored guests.”

He turned to Zai Ai, giving a respectful bow of the head. “Forgive him. He’s… spirited.”

Zai Ai huffed, brushing nonexistent dust from her shoulder. “He’s lucky I’m feeling generous.”

“Lucky you,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “I’d erase you with the flick of my finger…”

Okay, I should turn off the bratty impression a bit.

Still, I took a step back and resumed sucking on my candy stick. Maybe I pushed that one a little far. But I could feel it… Zai Ai wasn’t the kind to lash out randomly. She was testing me. Measuring something.

And I’d passed, somehow, by being the world’s most annoying child.

Then, Nongmin raised a hand. “There’s no need to burn our cultivation for travel,” he said, casually brushing aside the invisible weight of awkwardness. “I’ve had something prepared.”

Jia Sen scoffed. “What, you planning to use a teleportation formation large enough to transport all of us? Our existence… is too big for a teleportation formation. It would cost a fortune. To borrow your words, it’s inefficient!”

“I don’t like inefficiency,” Nongmin said, voice smooth with that smug imperial confidence.

He raised one foot and stomped lightly. It didn’t shake the ground. There was neither a dramatic earthquake nor a shockwave, but the response was immediate. The floor beneath us lit up with a pulse of golden light.

Lines, glyphs, and runes ignited, unfurling like blooming lotus petals across the stone tiles. They curved, twined, and folded in on themselves, creating complex loops that pulsed with qi so dense I felt my skin buzz. It was a masterstroke of formation craft, the kind that didn’t just scream xianxia, it sang it like an opera chorus.

I didn’t even bother pretending I wasn’t impressed. My jaw might’ve hung open for a second. I’d seen Ren Xun use formations before—his had an elegance born from intuition, almost like he danced with the symbols. I’d seen the Formation Specialists we brought to the Promised Dunes too, all scrolls and dust and sweat.

But this? This was next-level.

The entire scrummy manor shook. Then it lifted.

We rose slowly, the structure humming around us as the formation glowed brighter. I stepped back, almost bumping into Zai Ai, and turned to look out one of the open walls.

Yellow Dragon City spread beneath us like a painting, lanterns flickering like fireflies in the dusk.

“You’re levitating the house?” I asked.

Nongmin smiled. “The structure was always a ship. Just disguised.”

As we lifted higher, the roof peeled back with a hiss of escaping spiritual pressure. Panels unfolded from the sides, reshaping themselves like petals of a metallic lotus into sleek hull plating. The interior warped and rearranged: walls shifting, furniture folding flat, and wood becoming silver and white jade alloy.

Jia Yun hurried in, pulling her sleeves close. Jia Sen followed with the careful steps of someone trying not to admit they were impressed. Zai Ai said nothing, but her eyes roamed the interior with the quiet attentiveness of someone updating a mental dossier.

When the transformation was done, we were standing in what looked more like a floating palace than a flying ship.

I whistled. “This thing got a name?”

Nongmin folded his arms behind his back. “Usually, it’s Sikao Biaoji who names the ships…”

I blinked. “Wait. So there's someone whose job is just… naming them?”

He gave a small nod. “Among other responsibilities. But yes, he believes names define the spirit of a vessel.”

“Damn,” I said. “That guy’s got a nice gig.”

Then, without thinking, I added, “Let me name it.”

He arched a brow. “You sure you won’t regret it?”

“Nope,” I said, with the unshakable confidence of a man who had definitely played too many online games and watched too much anime. “Call it… Megatron.”

There was a long silence.

Even Jia Yun blinked.

Nongmin gave a faint, polite chuckle. “Very well. From now on, this ship shall bear the name Megatron.”

Zai Ai squinted at me like she was trying to figure out if “Megatron” was some kind of ancient beast or demonic incantation. Jia Sen snorted.

I patted the nearest silver railing. “Good girl, Megatron. Let’s fly.”

And just like that, the most advanced flying artifact in the Empire took to the skies, powered by the peak of xianxia engineering and named after a Saturday morning cartoon villain.

It was beautiful.

149 Want a Candy?

“I’m sorry about Ren Xun,” I told her, voice low. “I promise I’ll bring him back.”

The words tasted heavy coming out. He had died because of me… or more accurately, because he’d agreed to watch over me during our trip to the Imperial Capital. A simple ‘tourguide’ mission, basically babysitting. And now he was dead.

Lin Lim stood still beside the cart, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the beast’s torn wing. She didn’t look at me, but that was nothing new. She never looked at anyone.

Her lips tightened. “Don’t misunderstand.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Ren Xun only volunteered for that journey to avoid his duties… and his desire of wooing me is just a trick. In the end, he just needed an excuse to run away. To put it simply, I just happened to be a convenient excuse he used to appeal to his parents for his desire to get away from that life. We are not in love.”

That was a lie.

I didn’t need to probe deeply into her tone, her heartbeat, or her body language. My Divine Sense told me plain and clear… she was lying. Her words were neat, carefully folded like offerings left at a shrine, meant more for herself than for me.

But I didn’t call her out.

Instead, I just nodded, quietly.

“I see.”

I thought, maybe I should give her something. Money, spirit stones, a supply pack, and a talisman. Anything. She deserved something.

But I knew how that would look. I knew exactly the kind of steel that lived inside her. She’d take it as pity, and she’d hate me for it.

Instead, I offered something else.

“…Do you want me to heal your eyes?”

She went stiff. The breeze carried her silence like a banner.

Then came the fire.

“No,” she said, sharp and sudden, voice almost too loud for the street. “They’re mine. This blindness, it’s my burden to carry. My punishment.”

“For what?” I asked, almost without thinking.

“It’s my story to tell.”

She clenched her fists, then slowly exhaled. The rage melted back into her, hot iron cooling into something quieter. She didn’t apologize. I didn’t expect her to.

I nodded again, slower this time. “Alright.”

A few seconds passed. She let the silence breathe before she broke it again.

“I’m fine,” she said more softly. “Governor Ren Jin and Lady Yue Ruo have looked after me. I have work. A place. I’m not lost.”

“That’s good,” I murmured.

“But…” She turned her head slightly, toward me, though her gaze passed through. “You’d better bring him back. We still have a lot to talk about.”

I met her not-quite-eyes. “I will.”

Then she walked off with the cart, her footsteps steady, fading into the noise of the street.

Tao Long had been standing quietly beside me the entire time, which was a miracle in itself. He looked toward her retreating form, then turned to me.

“Should we go, Lord Wei?” he asked.

I took one last look at Lin Lim’s back.

“…Yeah. Let’s go.”

Old Song led us through a twisting alley toward what looked like the bones of a house. The building might’ve once been a shop or a courtyard residence, but now the wood sagged like tired shoulders, and the gate leaned open like it had long since forgotten how to close.

“This is where we part ways,” he said, his voice cracked like dry leaves. No farewell, no warning. Just a statement. I nodded. He limped off before I could thank him.

I stepped inside behind Tao Long, the boards creaking under our feet. The scent of dust and old incense clung to the air. Inside, the Emperor stood waiting. Nongmin was dressed not as a ruler but as a traveler, robes simple but sharp. General Zhu Shin was beside him, arms crossed, spine ramrod straight. The man wore his age like armor: every line in his face, a campaign. 

In other words, Zhu Shin was mewing.

I raised an eyebrow. “Is this everyone? I remember you harping about how many would be attending. Contingents, you said. Practically small armies.”

General Zhu Shin gave a short nod, replying, “I am prepared to offer my soldiers at any moment.”

“We’re not going to war,” Nongmin didn’t glance at him. “We’ll move into a small unit. No army.”

I frowned. “Are you expecting a fight?” I had a feeling that if we weren’t expecting a fight, he’d gladly bring along an army to let them gain experience and as a show of prestige to the rival sovereigns.

Zhu Shin offered, “Forgive me if I speak out of place, but if a fight is expected… wouldn’t bringing an army be the point?”

Before the Emperor could answer, Tao Long cut in, voice tight with disapproval. “A fight at the World Summit would be idiotic. The Empire would be sanctioned, maybe even condemned. No one with sense wants that.”

Nongmin remained quiet for a moment. He didn’t pace. He didn’t sigh. He just watched the dust swirl in the air until he spoke again, calmly.

“We’re not picking a fight,” he said, “but there will be a fight.”

The room settled into a stillness that wasn’t quite silence. I folded my arms. “If we’re expecting a fight, then I’d rather move in small units. Strong fighters. No baggage. No formations. Just people who can handle themselves.”

The Emperor nodded slightly. “I’ve invited experts I trust. Some are still arriving.”

“And until then?” I asked.

His gaze shifted. Not just toward me, but… into me. The weight of it was heavy. Suddenly, both Tao Long and Zhu Shin were staring at me too, not unkindly, but with something close to caution.

“There’s something important we must settle first,” Nongmin said, voice low. “It concerns perception… appearance.”

He let that hang just long enough for my mind to start racing before he asked, tone suddenly far too serious:

“For the duration of the World Summit, can you pretend to be my son?”

Silence.

Not because I didn’t know how to answer. Just because I was trying very hard not to laugh.

“…Excuse me?”

He didn’t flinch. “It’s a calculated move. You are already known to many dignitaries by face or by tale. Aligning you publicly with the Empire gives us both cover. You move as my son… unofficially. An honored guest, hidden in plain sight.”

Zhu Shin cleared his throat. “It also keeps enemies from targeting you openly. They’d have to go through us.”

This Emperor wanted to be beaten up, didn’t he?

He looked me dead in the eye, dead serious, like asking me to pretend to be his son wasn’t the most absurd thing I’d heard since arriving in this realm. My expression must’ve said as much, because I didn’t even need to speak for the silence to feel loaded.

But I did speak, anyway.

“What’s next?” I asked, voice dry as bone. “I call you daddy?”

Nongmin didn’t flinch. Of course, he didn’t.

I rubbed my temple with two fingers. “Do you remember, Nongmin, that you still owe me one slap? I’ll be delighted to land this itchy palm of mine on your smug imperial face.”

General Zhu Shin bristled instantly. “How dare you disrespect His Majesty—!”

“Calm down,” Nongmin interrupted, lifting a lazy hand in the general’s direction. “He’s not wrong. I do owe him a slap.”

Zhu Shin looked like he might burst a blood vessel.

Nongmin exhaled slowly and turned back to me, eyes tired but focused. “If you’re uncomfortable with the idea, you could pretend to be a squire. Or anyone’s nephew. Tao Long’s, maybe.”

Tao Long choked.

“But,” Nongmin continued, “the best excuse I could think of for you to accompany us is that you’re my mysterious lovechild… disguised as my genius and talented grandson.”

I stared.

Then I stared harder.

“…That’s your best excuse?”

Before he could defend himself, a new voice cut in from the shadows.

“I’ve got it handled.”

Liang Na strolled in like she owned the building… and to be fair, with her entrance, she might as well have. Her robes were crisp, her hair tied up in a braid so tight it probably had its own spiritual formation. She looked sharp. Strong. Smug.

She gave me a nod. “Just broke through the Ninth Realm. Early stage.”

Of course she did.

I let out a long sigh and muttered, “I really need more practice reading people.”

I’d known Liang Na’s cultivation was high. But Ninth Realm? That was ridiculous. That was bordering on demigod territory.

Still… I narrowed my eyes. “Why a son, though?”

Liang Na was already three steps ahead of me.

“I mean no disrespect, Lord Wei,” she said, tone respectful in the most technical sense of the word, “but your Presence—and the Spiritual Pressure you exude—clearly marks you as someone limited to the Third Realm. That makes you extremely suspicious.”

I folded my arms. “Thanks.”

She kept going, merciless. “If His Majesty were to show up at the World Summit with a Third Realm cultivator—without an army backing him—curious eyes would definitely pry. Questions would spread. Rumors would multiply. That kind of scrutiny is dangerous. But…”

She glanced toward Nongmin. “A mysterious illegitimate descendant? With untapped talent and a late start? That’s romantic. Poetic. Politically convenient. You’ll move through the Summit unchallenged, assuming you play your role well.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we all die horribly,” she said, like she was describing the weather. “The Empire is alone, nascent, and painfully lacking of heroes…”

Nongmin added, far too casually, “Liang Na will act as your personal guard.”

“Oh great,” I muttered. “Even more eyes on me.”

“And,” Nongmin added, a little too cheerfully, “with your treasure that allows shapeshifting into smaller physiques…”

I groaned before he could finish.

“…you’ll sell the lie well.”

My hand slowly, very slowly, dragged down my face. “This is revenge, isn’t it? For when I used the Chibi Perfume on you.”

“Absolutely,” he said.

At least he was honest… and unrepentant.

Tao Long finally stepped forward, clearing his throat like he’d been waiting for an opening. “I will similarly stay by Lord Wei’s side.”

I raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I feel… an affinity,” he said carefully, “to Lord Da Wei. I wish to witness his greatness up close.”

That was a lie.

Not the worst lie, but still a lie. The guy was clearly scheming something, but honestly? I didn’t have the energy to deal with him just yet. I eman, I liked him enough… so I’d feel terrible if he ended up screwing with me, but that was just how people worked. Let him watch. Let him witness.

I looked at Nongmin, who was still watching me with that infuriatingly patient expression.

“So,” he asked, arms folded behind his back. “What’s it gonna be?”

I took a breath.

Let it out.

“…Fine,” I said at last. “But be forewarned… when I get into a role, I take it seriously.”

Nongmin smiled faintly. “I expect nothing less, my son.”

I reached for my Chibi Perfume and stared at the little bottle like it personally betrayed me. Then, without another word, I popped the cap.

“Yes, Father.”

I sprayed myself with the Chibi Perfume.

In an instant, my body shrank: limbs compressing, torso tightening, and even my robes slinking inward as if obedient to the magic. It was surprisingly comfortable. Whoever enchanted the item had actually accounted for the user’s clothes adjusting too, which… considering how often magical gear ignored modesty, was nothing short of miraculous.

“Convenient gimmicky item,” I muttered, adjusting my sleeves and testing my gait. “I’m a walking plush toy now.”

Nongmin rubbed his chin thoughtfully, not even pretending to hide the amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll fit in well. You act like a child anyway.”

I turned slowly to face him, eyes narrowed to slits. “Hey, hey… that’s crossing a line.”

“What’s next?” I asked, not even bothering to wait for a response. “You gonna pinch my cheeks and call me adorable?”

He smirked. “Tempting.”

Before I could threaten to unshrink just to slap him, he changed the subject. “We’re waiting on two more people. They’ll be joining our little entourage for the Summit.”

“Oh? Who?”

“One is the Sect Master of the Cloud Mist Sect,” he said. “The other, an independent cultivator of considerable renown. Both are in the Tenth Realm, so… you might want to watch your back around them.”

Tenth Realm? Of course. Why not just throw in a dragon or a celestial beast while we're at it. Wait, we already have a dragon in our midst, so that had to count for something, right?

I crossed my arms and frowned. “Cloud Mist… you talking about the sect here in Riverfall?”

Nongmin shook his head. “No, no. That’s just a provincial branch. I’m referring to the main sect. The real one.”

Then he paused. I could tell a lecture was coming. I could feel it. Sure enough, he steepled his fingers and went full teacher-mode.

“Their true name,” he said with exaggerated importance, “is Cloud and Mist as One, Yet Never United Sect.”

“…Huh?”

He nodded gravely. “Exactly.”

“Wait. That’s seriously their name?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…” I blinked. “So that’s why it’s not Cloudy or Misty. It’s not an adjective. It’s two nouns awkwardly crammed together into a philosophical contradiction.”

“They are very proud of that.”

“I bet they are,” I muttered.

Nongmin continued, as though he hadn’t just dropped a naming disaster onto my lap. “The Cloud Mist Sect maintains a unique relationship with the Empire. Though they’re directly affiliated with the Heavenly Temple, their Holy Mountain lies within imperial territory.”

“So they’re squatters.”

“They pay for the privilege,” Nongmin said smoothly. “Heavily. Unlike the sects born and raised within our borders, Cloud Mist is taxed aggressively in exchange for imperial protection.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re extorting them.”

“I am extorting them,” he said shamelessly. “And it works. The Empire has remained an unassailable powerhouse largely because of one reason.”

He tapped a finger to his temple.

“My Heavenly Eye.”

Then he spread his arms, expansive and regal. “And because I am strongest when I remain within my Territory. They know better than to test me on home soil.”

He said it like it was a simple fact. Like gravity. I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or concerned.

Probably both.

“You really are a final boss, huh?” I murmured.

He glanced at me sidelong, that knowing smirk curling again at his lips. “Only if you make me one.”

Gods help me, he wasn’t even kidding. I mean, I was more surprised he got the reference.

There was something deeply unsettling about how casually Nongmin had started to adopt my mannerisms. A few phrases here and there, the cadence of his sarcasm… it was getting suspicious. Was this man actually borrowing my personality?

It made me wonder: just how many times had he talked to me in alternate timelines? I knew he used his Heavenly Eye to simulate possibilities, but lately it felt like he’d been doing it a lot. Enough to mimic my speech patterns.

Were the other versions of me that gullible? Spilling secrets just because someone smiled at them and offered a bit of imperial flattery?

No. I didn’t think so. I had too much pride, even in parallel.

Still… a dark thought crept in.

Did the Emperor torture me in those alternate realities to make me spill secrets?

I shook my head. Nah. That wouldn’t work either. If that happened, I’d end up killing him. Probably slowly. My lie detection ability didn’t just work on others… I was pretty damn good at spotting manipulation, even layered across dimensions. And if anything, I'd weaponize it in reverse.

There was a knock on the door.

“That would be the Cloud Mist Sect Master,” Nongmin said casually. “If you don’t mind.”

He wasn’t looking at me, just sipping tea and enjoying himself like he hadn’t just dropped that bomb. I realized I was standing in front of the door. I opened it, not because he asked, but because I had to get out of the way.

And that’s when I saw him.

An old man with flowing white hair, bright laughing eyes, and a youthful grin that looked way too mischievous for someone claiming Tenth Realm status.

“Oh! Who is this cutie?” he said the moment he saw me.

I didn’t even have time to flinch before his hands were on my face, stretching my cheeks, patting my head, giving me full-on coddles like I was a lost puppy and he was a grandma at a dumpling shop.

“Is this your grandson, Your Majesty?” he cooed, turning briefly toward Nongmin. “He’s so adorable!”

My voice came out higher-pitched than usual thanks to the Chibi Perfume. “I’ll kill you.”

The old man blinked.

“I am in my murder hobo arc, let go of me!”

He burst out laughing. “Oh! He’s got spunk too!”

I barely restrained myself. It took every ounce of my willpower not to drop the full power of my Reflect ability and turn his enthusiastic pinches into divine backlash.

Internally, I was raging.

Nongmin, you bastard! You saw this, didn’t you? You definitely saw this in one of your precog runs. And you said nothing.

That settled it.

From now on, if anything bad happened to me, I would blame Nongmin by default. Even if it wasn’t his fault. New policy.

Suddenly, the old man leaned in and whispered like he was offering contraband.

“Do you want candy?”

…

Okay.

Maybe I’d postpone Nongmin’s punishment.

Because, yes. I could use the candy.

148 Feast Before the Summit

It had been a week since my talk with Nongmin, and the preparations for the World Summit were still dragging on. Apparently, assembling the most powerful people in the world under one roof took more time than I expected. A lot of politics. A lot of pomp.

But that delay came with its perks. I had time to cultivate, catch up with people, and… well, “stuff.”

The Empire had loaned me a manor in Yellow Dragon City. Not some crumbling ancient compound either. This place was the real deal: spiritual wood beams, flowing qi ponds, reinforced formations, and even a garden filled with herbs I couldn’t name without help. A “gift” from Nongmin. Or a leash. Hard to tell with him.

Out in the courtyard, Lu Gao was running through his sword forms with deadly precision. Even from the hallway, I could hear the air tearing with each swing. The guy didn’t mess around.

Not far from him, Alice was instructing Ren Jingyi on the use of the whip. The crack of it echoed against the tiles, followed by a loud “Ow! What the hell, that hurt!”...Jingyi, of course.

I slid the door open, stepping into the kitchen with a wicker basket filled to the brim. Groceries. Not spirit beast meat or some thousand-year-old herb, no. Actual groceries.

I didn’t  bother using my Item Box, because… I didn’t want to.

Eggplants, potatoes, onions, rice, flour, tomatoes, spices… spices I had begged, borrowed, or bartered from all over the continent. It took a few sketchy deals and one awkward argument with a culinary cultivator who tried to sell me “Nine Heavens Salt” that was just regular salt dyed blue.

I hadn’t cooked in a long time.

Back on Earth, cooking was just a necessity. I lived alone in my apartment, and everything I made was more “passable” than “passionate.” But now? In a world where people feared kitchen smoke would ruin their cultivation, it felt almost rebellious to boil water and stir-fry vegetables.

I started with curry. Good old curry and rice. A rich roux formed with browned onions, garlic, and a mix of spices I'd managed to recreate from memory—turmeric, cumin, coriander, chili powder. I added chopped potatoes and carrots, then slow-cooked some diced meat from a beast I hoped wasn’t poisonous. It smelled incredible.

Next up, fries. I peeled the tubers—some sort of spiritual potato variant—and sliced them thin. Oil was expensive, so I borrowed a formation from a local cultivator to heat and reuse it safely. Fried them twice for crispiness. Salted them like I meant it.

Then came burgers. I ground meat manually using a technique that made my arm feel like it was dying. That was… an exaggeration. I pan-seared them, slapped them into makeshift buns I baked yesterday. Lettuce, tomato, even a bit of sweet sauce I brewed from local honey and vinegar.

For veggies, I stir-fried greens with garlic and sesame oil. And for Alice… desserts. Baked little sponge cakes soaked in syrup and paired with fruits. I even grounded my own coffee beans. Earth-style roast.

By the time I was done, the kitchen looked like a battlefield. Plates stacked like spiritual artifacts. Aroma thick enough to make a Will Reinforcement cultivator salivate.

I called them over.

"Lu Gao! Ren Jingyi! Alice! Food's ready!"

They came quickly. Lu Gao was first, wiping sweat from his brow and already eyeing the table like it was a rival. Ren Jingyi jogged in behind him, her cheeks flushed from training. Alice walked in last, graceful, casual, the whip still coiled on her hip.

The round table was already set. I never liked those long rectangular tables. Always felt like they were made for cold banquets and formal smiles. Round tables? They were for family.

“Take a seat,” I said, sliding into mine. Alice to my left. Lu Gao to my right. Ren Jingyi across from me.

I pushed a hand-ground cup of coffee to Alice. “Figured you’d want this.”

She arched a brow, sniffed it, then took a sip. “Still warm. You spoil me.”

“Just don’t let it go to your head.”

Lu Gao didn’t wait for ceremony. He reached for a burger, then some fries, then curry. He looked like a bear at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Me and Alice just stared.

“…What?” he asked, mouth half-full.

“Nothing,” I muttered.

Alice just smirked. “You eat like the world’s ending.”

“It might be,” Lu Gao said, not missing a beat. “And this? This is worth it.”

Unlike most cultivators who believed mortal food clogged the meridians and tainted purity, Lu Gao didn’t hold back. He didn’t need to anymore. In fact, food in huge quantities seemed to help his cultivation. Something about his path being tied to physical and spiritual harmony, or whatever.

Ren Jingyi was less enthusiastic. She picked at the burger, took a bite, and glared at me.

“…What?” I asked.

“She’s not an idiot,” Alice said, sipping her coffee.

Ren Jingyi narrowed her eyes. “It’s today, isn’t it?”

“Hahaha!” I laughed, way too loud and fake. “What’s today?”

She didn’t answer. Just took another bite, chewing it like it was my dignity.

“…I knew it,” she said finally, eyes still fixed on me. “You’re leaving again.”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “…Yeah.”

Silence settled over the table for a second. Even Lu Gao stopped eating.

“Well,” Alice said, tone light, “at least you fed us first. That’s something.”

Ren Jingyi muttered something under her breath, but she kept eating.

I watched them: these weird, powerful, reckless, and special people who somehow became my responsibility. Even if I didn’t say it out loud, I knew I was going to miss them.

We ate. We laughed.

For a little while, it was like nothing outside the manor existed. No Outsiders, no Summits, no old grudges or secret plots. Just us around a round table, plates half-empty and smiles half-formed, all pretending we weren’t living in a world constantly on the edge of war.

Even Ren Jingyi tried not to feel bad about it. She pretended she was just focused on the food, but every now and then, her eyes flicked to me. Still, she talked. She told me stories between bites of burger and mouthfuls of rice.

"Back at the Isolation Path Sect," she began, swinging her little legs under the table, "I kept beating Fan Shi in everything."

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean… that Fan Shi?”

“Yeah! But she’s slow,” Jingyi said with a proud puff of her cheeks. “She’s older than me, you know. But I still whooped her. Sparring, alchemy exams, ghost hunting. All of it.”

Alice chuckled into her cup. “Poor Fan Shi.”

I remembered Fan Shi from the Martial Tournament. A jade beauty, kind of brooding. Too much goth… or was it emo? It blurred together after a while. Long black hair, serious face, edgy vibes. But I did hear she was doing fine in the Isolation Path Sect. She had a decent Master after all.

“And then,” Jingyi said, pausing for dramatic effect, “an elder told me I had attitude problems.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “What’d you do?”

“I kicked his leg until he fell down.”

“…What.”

“He’s from Cloud Mist,” she added, like that explained everything.

It kind of did.

I rubbed my forehead. “You’re beating up elders now?”

She grinned. “Only rude ones.”

Yeah. That spoke just how unfair Ren Jingyi was. A little girl with the power to humble old cultivators who’d been around longer than my entire life back on Earth.

Then it was Lu Gao’s turn. He didn’t share much, he wasn’t the talkative type when it counted, but when the topic drifted to Xue Xin, his ears turned pink.

I didn’t say anything at first. I just watched his face as Alice casually mentioned, “Captain of the Left Wing, huh? Xue Xin’s been around a lot lately.”

Lu Gao coughed. “She’s… just doing her duty.”

Alice and I locked eyes across the table. We didn’t need words.

“Uh huh,” I said. “Duty.”

Lu Gao pretended to focus intensely on slicing his curry-drenched meat.

Before we could tease him further, a knock came from the front door.

Knock knock.

Xue Xin, of course.

I called out, “What is it, Captain Xue?”

She stepped inside without ceremony, armor polished and formal as always. Her gaze barely flicked over the table before landing on me.

“Your guest has arrived,” she said.

Behind her, I caught Lu Gao staring like someone had cast a charm spell on him. Starry-eyed didn’t even begin to cover it. He looked like a man halfway through composing poetry.

Xue Xin ignored him entirely.

I raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Tao Long.”

Ah. Right.

It was time, then.

Tao Long had sent word earlier, asking to accompany me to the World Summit. With his cultivation at the Ninth Realm, he was plenty strong. Politically connected too. Nongmin hadn’t objected, which was as close to an approval as one could get from him.

Still, I wasn’t ready to leave the table yet.

“Tell him to wait a bit,” I said, waving a hand. “He can enjoy the spiritual tea garden or whatever while we finish.”

Xue Xin gave a small bow and left, footsteps like measured drumbeats down the hall.

I turned back to the others. Ren Jingyi was chewing thoughtfully again. Alice had gone back to sipping her coffee. Lu Gao was still a little pink in the face.

I took another bite of curry.

This right here—this quiet, messy, ridiculous table filled with weirdos and monsters and children pretending not to care—this was the closest thing I had to a family in this world.

And I was going to miss them.

I met with Tao Long in the garden. The sun was low, bleeding orange across the sky, and the wind was just sharp enough to remind me we were near Riverfall’s cliffside, where cold air loved to bite through robes.

Tao Long stood with his hands behind his back, still as a statue beneath the wisteria tree. He turned when I approached, inclining his head with that familiar, knightly grace of his.

“Thank you,” he said. “For the spear. It served me well. But I believe… it’s time I let it go.”

I blinked. “Let it go? You planning to give it back?”

“I only borrowed it,” he replied. “And I always meant to return it once your goals were met.”

Right. I had loaned him the Dra-kon Mar back when I asked him to deliver Ren Jingyi to Jiang Zhen. He went above and beyond. Even stayed in Riverfall to slay devils.

I crossed my arms and tilted my head at him. “You’re a dragon of your word, Tao Long. You delivered Ren Jingyi like I asked. Helped clean up Riverfall’s demon mess. You’re a hero, whether or not you admit it.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his eyes softened.

I continued, “Which means… you deserve a quest reward. That spear? It’s yours now.”

His eyes widened slightly before he gave a single, respectful bow. “Thank you. I will treasure it.”

Of course he would. He was a dragon. Even if this world didn’t follow all the usual fantasy tropes, one thing remained true across every genre: dragons loved hoarding treasures.

I grinned. “So. We going?”

He straightened. “Yes. His Majesty and the rest are waiting in the sealed courtyard.”

I frowned. “He could’ve told me that with a Qi Speech. I’ve got that function turned on.”

Tao Long didn’t argue. He just looked politely amused.

“Lead the way,” I said. “I don’t know where it is.”

“We have a guide,” Tao Long said.

Old Song emerged from the path behind him, hands tucked behind his back, posture relaxed but alert. He wore travel robes this time, and moved like someone who still had a few decades left despite his apparent mortality.

“It’s barely been a year,” I said. “Thinking of you as dead might be a little premature.”

Old Song chuckled. “Death’s never been punctual, Lord Da Wei.”

I followed them down a shaded path, canopied by talewood trees. As we walked, I asked, “How’s the Adventurer’s Guild holding up?”

“Hard times,” Song admitted. “The Union’s breathing down our necks. They don’t like independents playing politics.”

“Expected.”

“They’ll manage. We received an invitation to the World Summit, by the way.”

I turned my head. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said. “The World Summit isn’t just the big four. Vassals, countries, sects, merchant coalitions, even Beast Courts… everyone wants a say.”

“So you’re planning to join the Emperor’s retinue?”

“If you’ll have us,” Song said with a faint smile. “We’d rather not go in alone. And just to clarify, I wouldn’t be going. Just the Guild Master.”

I nodded slowly. That made sense. Not just tactically, but politically. Showing up with the Empire said something about allegiance… even if that allegiance was temporary.

“Sure,” I said. “You walk with us, you don’t get left behind. That’s the deal.”

Song grinned. “That’s all we ever ask.”

There was still daylight, so Yellow Dragon City hadn’t gone to sleep just yet. The streets pulsed with life: merchants yelling prices, kids running past with paper talismans fluttering behind them, and cultivators arguing over street food. I watched from the garden path as the city breathed, and I almost felt like I belonged.

Then I saw the beast carcasses being hauled in from the southern gate.

Huge things. Some still steaming, blood sizzling faintly against talismans meant to suppress miasma. A tusked panther the size of a wagon. A winged centipede impaled by six different spears. Tao Long followed my gaze.

“The devil worshippers used waves of demonic beasts during one phase of their assault,” he explained. “Hence the surplus.”

I nodded slowly. “So I’ve heard. The cores and materials’ll be salvaged to strengthen the city?”

He inclined his head. “Every piece counts. Especially now.”

He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t been idle either. The past week had been a blur of spellwork, terrain-hopping, and the occasional impromptu monster surgery. I’d slain more than a few of those beasts myself, as well as a few rogue cultivators with more ambition than sense.

I was about to walk past the scene when I saw her.

Lin Lim.

She was hauling part of a wyvern’s wing into a cart, sleeves rolled up, a sweat-stained cloth wrapped around her forehead. The once-leader of beggars and pilgrims, now working alongside butchers and cultivators. Her hair was tied back, and her staff rested by the cart like an afterthought.

I flashed forward with a single step.

Flash Step was fun when I wasn’t using it to kill people.

“Hey,” I said casually, stopping just beside her.

She didn’t flinch.

She turned her head toward me, those cloudy eyes somehow locking onto mine like she knew where I’d be.

“Young Master Da Wei?” she asked, tilting her head.

Before I could reply, Tao Long chimed in from behind me.

“It’s actually Lord Da Wei now,” he said with far too much dignity. “Named Lord of Riverfall by the Emperor himself. Functionally the equivalent of a Duke in foreign lands.”

I groaned. “Not now, Tao Long.”

Lin Lim’s lips curled upward, just a little. “So formal, this friend of yours.”

“Yeah, he gets like that. Ignore him.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, brushing her hands on her robe. “Lord or not, you still sneak up on people the same way.”

“I didn’t sneak,” I muttered. “I just walked quickly.”

“You vanished and reappeared,” she said calmly.

“…Fair.”

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of blood and cooked rice from nearby stalls. Lin Lim didn’t seem bothered. She turned toward the cart and resumed her work, muscles straining beneath her simple robes.

“You sure you want to be doing this kind of labor?” I asked. “Could’ve sworn you were more the inspiring-leader type.”

“I lead by example,” she said simply. “These beasts took lives. The least I can do is help clear them out.”

Tao Long nodded in approval behind me. “A noble spirit.”

“You and your nobility,” I muttered.

But I didn’t argue. Lin Lim didn’t need praise. She didn’t want pity. She just worked.

And somehow, I respected her more for it.

I stood there for a moment, watching the city, the dead beasts, the living people… and Lin Lim, blind but seeing everything.

Maybe I’d sneak her an extra talisman pack later. Just in case.

147 Dreamt Dreams

I stood up from the gilded chair, brushing a bit of imaginary dust off my sleeve, and looked Nongmin dead in the eye.

“If you really want to feel attached to them,” I said, “then there’s only one solution. Spend more time with the people you want to feel attached to. Doesn’t matter if you know how to do small talk or not.”

“I’m too busy,” he replied flatly.

I rolled my eyes. “Too busy is a term people throw around when something isn’t their priority. Let’s be real, Nongmin, you just haven’t put them at the top of your list.”

“That is a fact,” he replied, his voice a step above indifferent. “If I want to keep the people I love safe, then safeguarding the Empire is my highest calling. Everything else comes second.”

I stared at him for a moment, letting the silence press between us.

It was weird. I used to think this guy was just another cold, calculating ruler. And sure, he still was, but this side of him, the one trying to wrap his head around emotional connection like it was an alchemical formula, made him oddly human. Endearingly clueless, in the way only an emotionally stunted immortal warlord could be.

I think I got it now, where this sudden interest in small talk came from.

He missed her.

Xin Yune. The Divine Physician. His mother.

It wasn’t hard to figure out. The way he kept circling around the idea of connection without actually saying it. The awkward yearning in his tone. It made sense, especially knowing how their bond had been veiled by political necessity. He insisted that her identity remain a secret. Publicly, she was just a great healer. Privately, she was his mother. And now she was gone.

I respected his choice, even if I didn’t like it.

Being proud of your parent while you still had them, that was a blessing. One not everyone got. I couldn’t say whether what he gave up was truly worth it.

Nongmin sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. “If only it were that easy.”

I crossed my arms. “But maybe it is,” I said. “I think you're hesitating like this because you need that attachment to keep going. Not strategy. Not duty. Something that actually moves you.”

He blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Give up trying to understand things you can’t. Sometimes, knowing is enough.”

I shrugged. “I know the world is round. Do I understand orbital mechanics or tectonic plate drift? Hell no. Doesn’t mean I can’t live with it.”

He stayed quiet, looking thoughtful in that dispassionate, vaguely terrifying Emperor way.

“So here’s my advice,” I continued, tone softening. “Ask yourself what you really want. Strip away the Empire, the duty, the foresight. What do you, Nongmin, want? Not the Emperor. You.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away either.

I took a breath. “If what you want is to feel attached to people... then how about this?”

I walked forward, slowly, like I was about to hand him a forbidden scroll. Maybe I was.

“Think of it like a mental exercise,” I said. “Once a week. Short intervals. Use your Heavenly Eye and precognition, like you already do. But this time, not for war, not for politics. Use it to walk among commoners. Your wives. Your sons. Your grandsons. Everyone.”

He tilted his head. I kept going.

“In those alternate futures, eat with them. Drink with them. Tell them stories. Celebrate their birthdays. Listen to their dumb jokes and laugh even if they suck.”

He didn’t interrupt. That was progress.

“The people in those visions… they won’t remember it. They won’t get attached to you. But you will get attached to them. You’ll feel it. You’ll carry it.”

Nongmin blinked, lips parting slightly. “Won’t that just be a waste of energy?”

I scoffed. “Only if you think the only value in a dream is the result. But guess what? Even if it’s a dream, it’s still a dream. Still yours. And maybe that's enough.”

He stared at me for a long moment, like he was reading three layers beneath what I said.

Finally, he spoke. “I never considered it like that.”

“Well,” I said, turning toward the corridor, “that’s why you talk to people instead of reading their bloodline histories.”

I didn’t wait for a thank you from him. That would be uncool.

But I could feel something shift in his eyes, carrying a subtle ripple in the air. Maybe I managed to teach a thousand-year-old emperor how to be a slightly better person. That’d go on my resume if I ever made it back home.

“So, what is it gonna be?”

“I’ll do as you say,” Nongmin finally said.

His voice carried the weight of someone agreeing not just to a plan, but to the unfamiliar idea of longing. Not strategy. Not control. Just… longing. I nodded, not gloating, just letting the moment sit between us like cooling tea.

“Good,” I said, then leaned against the edge of a bookshelf, arms crossed. “Now to the important matter.”

He raised an eyebrow. I could already tell he knew what was coming.

“You said I’d be able to refine my current cultivation method. That I’d find a way to resurrect my disciples if I came with you to the World Summit.” I kept my tone level. “Elaborate.”

Nongmin didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, walking toward the far side of the room where a black mirror sat inside a gilded frame. It wasn’t magical. Just reflective. Still, it felt like he was looking at more than himself in the glass.

“Before we continue down this line of discussion,” he said, “we should establish the context first.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He looked back at me, expression unreadable. “How much do you know of the four biggest powers in the known world?”

“Enough,” I replied. It wasn’t bravado. Just a fact. “I’ve done my reading, you know?”

I ticked them off on my fingers. “There’s the Empire. you. Your country, your rules. Formations, technology, the works. Most advanced infrastructure in the world, or so your books and scholars claimed.”

He gave a slight nod.

“Then there’s the Martial Alliance. The Alliance, for short. State-sponsored Sects or just any righteous sect under a unified cause. Brawny heroes, blade saints, loud mouths with pure hearts. They’re more diverse than people give them credit for.”

“Go on,” he said, folding his arms.

“Heavenly Temple,” I continued. “The mystics. Cults, sages, healer lineages, secret academies buried under a hundred layers of fog. The kind of people who say things like the Dao flows through all while staring into waterfalls.”

Nongmin’s mouth twitched, maybe a smile.

“And finally, the Union. The least predictable. Profit-driven organizations, mercenaries, warlords, and independent cultivators who sell loyalty by the hour. They’ve got their own code, but it’s more business than belief.”

“Each with their own form of government,” he said. “No two alike.”

“Exactly.”

It was a rhetorical question. I knew that now.

Nongmin turned away from the mirror and faced me fully.

“While my Heavenly Eye is weaker outside the Empire’s reach,” he said, “I can still see far enough. And what I see is this: at the World Summit, you will have an encounter. That encounter will give you the opportunity to bring your disciples back.”

I stayed silent.

He didn’t blink. “I am confident.”

The way he said it wasn’t arrogance. It was a statement carved from bedrock.

“How?” I asked.

He paused, folding his hands behind his back like a professor about to lecture. “The Summit is more than a gathering of dignitaries. It is a convergence of opportunity. Each power is sending its strongest: cultivators, scholars, traders, and prophets. Not all will be on good terms. But all will be present.”

“So you're saying I’ll meet someone?” I asked. “A fated encounter?”

“I’m saying you’ll meet several,” he said. “But one in particular, an entity tied to the Heavenly Temple, will offer you a path. Their methods skirt the boundary between life and death, spirit and echo. It will not be a guaranteed resurrection… but a foundation for one.”

“Spirit and echo,” I repeated. “Sounds like necromancy with extra steps.”

“Necromancy? Not quite,” he said. “It is closer to… hm. Imagine a library. But instead of books, it houses the echoes of lives. Lives that once burned bright enough to leave an imprint on the Dao itself.”

I squinted. “You're telling me my disciples left echoes?”

“I am telling you,” he said slowly, “that you, through your cultivation and connection to them, might still carry pieces of those echoes within you. The right technique… the right person… may allow you to use that.”

I let that sink in. My heart beat a little faster.

“If you’re wrong…”

“Then I’ll help you find another way,” he said, interrupting me gently. “I gave you my word.”

The tension between us ebbed, just a little.

“I’m not asking you to trust me blindly, Da Wei,” he added. “Only to walk the path far enough to see for yourself.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Fine. But if this whole thing turns out to be a massive political trap, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

He smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

I cracked a smile. “I’d just be the last. Probably dramatically, with fireworks and some over-the-top revenge speech.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “You’re getting the hang of Empire politics already.”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered. Then, more seriously: “When do we leave?”

“Soon,” he said. “You’ll need to prepare. The Summit is neutral ground… but only in name. Every step you take there will be watched. Judged. Manipulated.”

I shrugged. “Story of my life.”

He turned toward the mirror again, then stopped. “Da Wei.”

“Yeah?”

“You said something earlier. That sometimes, knowing is enough.” He looked at his own reflection. “I think I’d like to try that.”

There it was again, that strange, flickering humanity buried under armor and titles.

“Good,” I said, heading for the door. “Let’s hope knowing how to be a person doesn't get you killed.”

“Likewise,” he murmured.

And with that, we stepped into the hallway together, the path ahead lit not by certainty… but by possibility.

Two days later, I stood at the foot of the holy mountain of the Isolation Path Sect. The air was sharp and clean, thin with altitude, but dense with spiritual qi. The mountain range behind the sect looked like it had been painted with a calligrapher’s brush: jagged strokes, soft mist, and a faint divine pressure pressing down from the peak. Classic aesthetic. Beautiful in that very specific way that said “no mortals allowed.”

I was here for Ren Jingyi.

Jiang Zhen greeted me at the gate, his expression splitting into a grin the moment he saw me.

"Well, look who’s still intact," he said. "And mostly alive, too. That’s already more than I expected."

The last time I saw Jiang Zhen, he was a sharp-eyed middle-aged man with a steel spine and steady fists. Now… he looked older. Not just in the wrinkles, but in the way his qi moved—heavier, more settled, less restless.

“What happened?” I asked, eyeing him with more concern than I let on. “You look like you skipped a few decades.”

He chuckled, a bit hoarsely. “It’s my cultivation method. A side effect, that’s all. Appearance only. My lifespan’s still quite long, so don’t go planning my funeral yet.”

“Sixth Realm, huh?” I said, inspecting his aura. “Congrats. That’s no small feat.”

He waved it off modestly. “Long overdue.”

Beside him stood Fan Shi, the sharp-featured young woman who had once been a quiet shadow in the background. She offered me a clasped-hand salute with the discipline of a textbook sect disciple. “Senior.”

I returned the gesture, amused. “Third Realm already? You’re climbing fast.”

She smiled faintly. “Still can’t compare to Jingyi.”

"Don’t be modest," came the scoff from behind them. A familiar voice, small and sharp. “It’s not that hard.”

Ren Jingyi stepped into view, arms crossed, mouth slightly turned down in a pout. Her robes were neat, her presence contained, but the glint in her eyes said she was still pissed.

“You left again,” she muttered, not looking at me directly. “And now you’re leaving again.”

I scratched my head, a little guilty. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

She just huffed and looked away, but didn’t walk off. Progress.

I turned back to Jiang Zhen. “How’s business?”

He let out a long sigh that sounded way too satisfied. “Demon-hunting’s going better than ever. Thanks for the letter to the Seven Grand Clans. They’ve stopped sticking their noses in our operations. And Master Tao Long has been a tremendous help. His spearmanship… frankly, they’re on a different level. Devil worshippers don’t stand a chance.”

The way he said Master Tao Long caught my attention. There was respect there. Real, grounded, earned respect, not the usual superficial deference cultivators throw around.

“I see he made a good impression,” I said.

“He deserves it,” Jiang Zhen replied simply. “The man’s not just strong… he listens. That alone puts him leagues above most.”

I nodded slowly. “Thanks for looking after Jingyi.”

He smiled. “She’s a handful, but she’s one of a kind. We’re lucky to have her.”

As thanks, I reached into my Item Box and tossed him a sack of Spirit Stones, big enough to make a sect jealous, and a weapon wrapped in cloth.

He unwrapped it, blinked, and held up a gleaming silver shovel. The kind of artifact you didn’t laugh at unless you wanted to find yourself buried in a spirit-sealed graveyard. It wasn’t LLO gear, but something I had Nongmin dig out from his collection. One of the nicer pieces.

Jiang Zhen gave it an appreciative once-over, testing its weight. “Now this,” he said, “is how you bribe a cultivator. Got another one?”

I smirked. “Do you want a Heavenly Punishment? Just to warn you… I’ve improved.” 

There was no way a Fifth or Sixth Realm would be able to dodge my Heavenly Punishment now just by digging underground.

He laughed, full and unrestrained. “You couldn’t even catch a goldfish last time.”

I flipped him the bird, and he doubled over, wheezing with mirth.

Ren Jingyi raised an eyebrow. “That’s the goldfish stall owner?”

“Regrettably, yes,” I said with a grin. “And unfortunately, I’m still stuck being the adult.”

I turned to Jiang Zhen and Fan Shi. “Take care of yourselves.”

“You too, Da Wei,” Jiang Zhen said, more sincerely now. “The world’s a mess. Don’t get caught in it too deep.”

“No promises,” I replied.

Ren Jingyi walked up beside me. “Where are we going?”

“Not far,” I said. “Just a little place called the World Summit. Bunch of world powers, ancient enemies, possible assassins. You know. The usual.”

She sighed. “You’re going to leave me again, aren’t you?”

“Not if I can help it,” I replied. “But yeah. Probably.”

She didn’t argue. Just took my hand for a second, squeezed it, then let go.

That was enough.

We turned toward the sky, where the Soaring Dragon boat floated like a quiet promise against the clouds. Its hull shimmered faintly with runes, sails unfurled in lazy defiance of gravity.

Hopefully, Alice wouldn’t mind playing babysitter for me.

I had the sneaking suspicion Ren Jingyi was about to test every last bit of her patience.

146 The Talk

Alice was feeding me grapes.

Not just any grapes. These were qi-soaked, high-grade spirit grapes, the kind that grew in the mist-drenched hills of the Empire’s interior. I could feel the energy dancing in my veins with every chew.

“Open,” she said softly.

I did. A grape rolled past my lips, and I chewed slowly as I leaned against her lap, the slow rise and fall of her breath brushing against the back of my neck. It was therapeutic, sure. Luxurious, even.

But it was also killing me inside.

“I should go,” I muttered between bites. “Egress can get me back to the Imperial Capital in under a minute. I can speak to the Emperor, get access to the Grand Ascension Library, research resurrection techniques…”

She popped another grape into my mouth before I could finish.

“Chew,” she said flatly.

I tried. Really, I tried.

But I’d barely taken a breath when she suddenly gripped my throat, not with lethal intent, just firm enough to lock me in place. The grape got caught halfway down my windpipe, and I sputtered, eyes watering as I forced it down.

“C-careful!” I croaked.

“Then don’t move,” she replied, her voice calm and almost gentle. “Rest, David. Please.”

I sank back down, defeated more by her eyes than her hand. From my peripheral vision, I noticed the Phoenix Guards nearby. Captain Xue’s elite all-women unit had gathered near the helm, pretending to check instruments while clearly sneaking glances. One of them snorted. Another actually giggled.

I tried to look dignified. It didn’t work.

Lu Gao sat cross-legged by the ship’s bow, fully immersed in his Mana Road Cultivation. Mana particles gathered around him in swirls, and his brow was furrowed in intense concentration. He was growing. Fast.

I wished, I had the same kind of talent…

In the far corner, Hei Yuan was bickering with Jin Wen, something about the future of their clan, the morality of allegiance, and whether they should focus on consolidating influence within the Empire or stay neutral.

All that political nonsense faded into background noise.

Because right now, all I could see was her.

Alice.

Her eyes were brighter than usual, less blood-red and more amethyst-violet under the ship’s golden lighting. I stared up at her, trying to piece together everything that had happened.

“You do know you’re feeling like this because of a side-effect of Divine Possession, right?” I said quietly. “I figured… that has to be the reason.”

She looked down, not denying it.

“I know.”

Her fingers brushed against my jaw, tracing the line of my cheek. There was a softness to her touch: tentative and confused. Like she didn’t know whether to hold me tighter or let go entirely.

“It felt good,” she confessed.

She wasn’t talking about the lap pillow or the grape-feeding.

“Being understood… the way you did, back there. In my soul. In my past. No one has ever seen me like that.”

I listened. I didn’t interrupt.

“Vampires,” she continued, her voice almost clinical, “don’t feel pleasure. Not the way humans do. Our bodies can simulate lust, affection, even ecstasy, but it’s artificial. Skill-based. Blood-borne. A lie we weave to mimic what we’ve lost.”

She exhaled, and I felt her breath skim across my skin.

“We’re infertile. Emotionally truncated. We feel rage, loyalty, obsession... but joy? That’s... not something we get to have.”

My throat tightened.

“So,” she whispered, “when I say it felt good… I mean too good. I think your skill broke something in me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Divine Possession wasn’t supposed to cause this much of a shift. But maybe with Alice, someone already half on the border between sentience and sanctity, it had done more than just resonate.

It had connected.

She looked down at me, and for a moment, her expression was unreadable.

“Don’t fix it,” she said finally. “Not yet.”

“Alright,” I murmured. “I won’t.”

We stayed like that a little longer. No more grapes. No more words.

Just silence, and the steady hum of the Soaring Dragon flying us back to the world that didn’t care how tired we were.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “For still not finding a cure.”

Her hand paused mid-stroke, just barely touching my hair. I didn’t dare look up.

“I know I said I’d work on it,” I continued, staring somewhere off into the cloud-washed sky above us. “But I haven’t. Not really. It’s been… easier to pretend it wasn’t urgent. Like some optional side quest with no timer. Just something I could circle back to, eventually.”

A long silence followed.

Then she spoke, voice so light I barely caught it over the thrum of the Soaring Dragon’s engines.

“It’s fine.”

I frowned. “It’s not.”

“No,” she said, brushing her thumb along my cheek again. “It really is. If you die, I’ll just turn you into my thrall. That way, you can keep going on your grand little adventures... and eventually you'll complete your quest.”

I laughed.

And then I stopped.

Because she wasn’t laughing.

“You’re… not serious.”

Her expression didn’t change. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

I blinked. “That’s not really my style.”

“It should’ve been.” Her tone was dry. “Would’ve saved you a lot of trouble.”

I sat up slowly, twisting to face her. Her eyes met mine, still that eerie mix of ancient and uncertain. But I didn’t respond with words. I just stared at her.

And then… Flash Step.

In a blink, I was gone from her lap and standing several paces away, arms crossed, the wind tousling my hair.

“You remember that bridge?” I asked.

Alice tilted her head.

“In that world,” I clarified. “First time we met. You ambushed me. Church Champion gone rogue, fangs bared, ready to ‘purify’ the darkness.”

She didn’t answer.

“I could’ve killed you then. Easily. But I didn’t.”

I studied her routes and spawn areas. I got guild connections and lots of… friends. I have so much data about her, enough that I could realistically nail her. Even if I died, ‘Players’ had the respawn system. Even if I failed, most players in the game at that time were nearing completion in creating a strategy to take her down.

However, because of my meddling, she was transformed into an ‘Essential’ NPC, and players started to hound her in hopes of learning Exalted Renewal.

“You might not believe me, but I saved your ass back then… and probably would continue to save your ass now and the future, I must say, you have one precious ass.”

Captain Xue coughed from the background, but I continued nonetheless.

“So why didn’t I kill you?”

I let the memory hang in the air between us like a loaded crossbow.

“Because even back then,” I said, “I saw something worth sparing.”

She stared at me, lips slightly parted.

“I’ll see you again in Riverfall.”

I gave her a small, two-finger salute, then turned.

Captain Xue caught my eye as I walked past the helm. She tried to hide her smirk behind a stoic facade and failed miserably. I gave her a respectful nod. She gave me one back.

And then…

Egress.

The spell snapped reality around me like a taut string. Space folded.

One blink.

And I stood before the towering gates of the Imperial Capital.

Stone arches rose high into the sky, glistening with runic carvings and barrier glyphs, a reminder that this was the heart of the Empire. A place of impossible mystery and imperial control.

And standing there, just past the threshold, arms behind his back like some kind of theatrical butler…

Was Nongmin.

Of course.

I sighed.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You foresaw I’d show up at this exact gate?”

He smiled faintly. “Of course not. That would be cheating.”

He gestured politely. “Come, Da Wei. I’ve cleared your path through the Grand Ascension Library. And you’ll be pleased to know I’ve had some progress compiled regarding resurrection techniques. Class Two restricted, but we can negotiate.”

I shook my head, chuckling softly as I followed him past the gates.

“Anyway!” I said to the Emperor as I dusted myself off in front of the city gates, “fuck you. We are not negotiating. I’ll kill you.”

Nongmin blinked, as if I’d just told him his sandals were untied.

“Figures,” he said calmly, like I’d confirmed a weather forecast.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why even ask, then? You already knew what I’d say.”

He gave a little shrug. “I was… practicing.”

“Practicing?”

“The art of conversation,” he replied with a straight face. “Small talk. Casual banter. Human warmth. That sort of thing.”

I stared at him. Hard. He didn’t even flinch.

“You’re practicing small talk,” I repeated slowly, “using precognition?”

“It seemed logical at first,” he said, folding his hands behind his back as we started walking. “But it turns out knowing all possible responses makes the exercise… sterile. Counterproductive, even.”

I kept staring at him. This time, with deep, existential concern.

“Are you a robot?”

He paused mid-step. His expression turned contemplative, like he was trying to compute that question across five parallel timelines.

And just for a moment, in the haze of precognition flickering around him like invisible static, I saw it. No, it was more accurate to say I’ve imagined and intuited it… A future where Nongmin turned to me, utterly sincere, and asked: What is a robot?

“…A robot,” he said at last, eyes narrowing in thought. “Ah. It’s a quip, then.”

“Oh my god.”

I ran a hand down my face.

“Not a quip,” I said, trying not to scream. “Closer to a metaphor. Forget it.”

He didn’t reply. I could practically hear the gears in his head churning as he logged the phrase ‘closer to a metaphor’ into his Imperial Lexicon of Mortal Vocabulary, probably next to ‘emotional support dumplings’ and ‘don't be weird about it.’

We reached the Grand Ascension Library in an instant, because, well, we could. When you’ve got an overpowered movement technique and you’re walking with a man who can kind of bend time, travel becomes less of a journey and more of an inconvenient blink.

The Library was quiet. Towering shelves arched across the dome like ribs from some ancient beast, each stuffed with scrolls, jade slips, textbooks, and some artifacts that probably shouldn’t be that close together if you liked your face un-melted.

Laid out on one of the main tables, because of course he’d already prepped this, was a neat stack of scrolls.

“Compiled everything I could find,” Nongmin said, gesturing lazily. “Soul anchor theory. Reverse karmic tracing. Three banned rituals I’m not officially allowed to show you. And a few notes from the Shenshou School on body reconstruction using temporal echoes.”

I let out a low whistle and gave the scrolls a once-over.

It was a lot.

It was also better than nothing.

“Thanks,” I muttered, and stuffed the lot into my Item Box with a flick of my wrist.

Nongmin watched with a faint smile. “You’ll need time to study, I assume?”

“Yeah.”

“And after?”

“I’ll bring them back,” I said simply. “All of them.”

He didn’t nod or offer any cryptic encouragement. He just stood there, arms crossed, like he knew the weight I was carrying and respected it in his own strange way. Then, as I turned to leave, I heard him murmur behind me, his voice almost childlike.

“…Metaphor.”

I didn’t look back.

I just laughed, quietly, and walked deeper into the stacks.

After five minutes of wandering through the Grand Ascension Library, past staircases that twisted into nothing, through aisles that smelled like ink and thunderclouds, I ended up at the throne room.

Nongmin was already there, sitting sideways on the armrest of his massive jade throne, one leg over the other like he was posing for a melancholic painting. His robes pooled around him like liquid obsidian.

“So,” he said without turning. “We’re finally having the talk, then.”

I blinked. “Wow,” I said, folding my arms. “You’re getting better at small talk already.”

He nodded appreciatively, as if I’d just graded his quiz.

“I’ve observed,” he replied, “that phrasing a statement as a question, or breaking up complex ideas into brief fragments, creates the illusion of casual conversation.”

“…You’re dissecting it like a frog.”

“I dissect everything like a frog,” he replied seriously. “And no, I am not the frog in the equation.”

Bruh… you didn’t need to lower your intelligence to make small talk.

I sighed and leaned against one of the absurdly ornate pillars. “What made you want to learn small talk anyway?”

He looked up at the vaulted ceiling like he was staring into a memory… or one of his many futures.

“I have eight wives,” he said flatly. “One passed from old age last spring. I have eight children. I am emotionally detached from all of them.”

My lips parted, but nothing came out at first.

“…Not even Ren Jin?” I asked.

“Even him,” he said without a hint of hesitation. “I have foreseen that one of my sons, possibly Ren Jin’s second, will inherit my Formation Talents. Moreover, Ren Jin himself will serve as a guiding symbol for my ideal Empire.”

I didn’t know what I expected. But something about the way he said it made me shiver. It was all so… cold.

But also oddly human in its effort. Like someone trying to sculpt love out of marble.

“Alright then,” I said, half-laughing. “What’s that story I heard about you making out with a commoner woman in this throne room, in front of your officials? Sounded like tabloid crap, but…?”

“Tabloid?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Go on, tell me… Did it really happen?”

Nongmin gave me a slow, unreadable look.

“It happened.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously? Like, full-on public deed doing?”

“It had to be done.”

“Yeah, I get that Ren Jin had to be born,” I said, waving a hand. “But come on. You mean to tell me you felt nothing? Not even a flutter?”

“There are poems about the deed,” he said flatly. “Many describe me as being as hard as a stone.”

I gaped at him. Open-mouthed.

He looked back at me. Stoic.

He was trying to make small talk again. Avoiding the point by tossing in some bizarre historical trivia wrapped in a sexual pun.

I had no words.

None.

“You know,” I said at last, rubbing my temples, “you’re really bad at this.”

He smiled faintly. “I am learning.”

“I don’t know if that makes this better or worse.”

He didn’t answer.

We stood there in silence, the gravity of the throne room bearing down like a mountain. And still, somehow, this awkward conversation about wives and thrones and emotional ineptitude made him feel more real than any of his speeches.

Maybe that was the scary part.

The tyrant emperor trying to learn how to feel.

And failing… beautifully!

There was just no way I was letting this go.

I mean, seriously… this dude had basically thrown me into a pseudo-harem situation, complete with overzealous guards that I did appreciate, thank you very much, but still. There was also that little nugget of horror: the gender-bender curse he snuck in without telling me the activation conditions. Like… hello? Informed consent?

And okay, yeah, sure… I got Lu Gao out of trouble and even scored a pretty neat anti-virus for the eldritch entity hitchhiking in my skull. I wasn't ungrateful. But that didn’t mean I was about to let him dodge this.

I leaned in. “So tell me,” I said, leveling a finger at him, “about that grand feat of yours. You know the one. Bedding women from all seven Imperial Houses in one night, one bed, and then capping that night off by publicly procreating with a commoner woman. Like, what the actual hell?”

Nongmin didn’t flinch. He never did. The guy could probably keep a straight face while getting stabbed in the spleen.

“I heard from Ren Xun’s mouth,” I continued, “that you were pissed about being hounded by your ministers, your court, for being a virgin. So you decided to just… break the world’s mind, I guess? That’s not normal. So don’t try to tell me you don’t feel anything. You had to have emotions, right?”

He blinked once.

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “I bedded each woman from the Seven Imperial Houses in one night. In a single bed.”

I squinted at him. “You’re not even gonna sugarcoat it?”

“It had to be done that way,” he continued, as if reading a grocery list. “A singular location and shared time slot established visual and narrative equality between the Houses. If I had visited them one by one, hierarchies would have formed.”

My brain short-circuited trying to imagine what “visual and narrative equality” even meant in that context.

“To surmise,” he added, “it was more efficient.”

More? Efficient!?

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out except the faintest whisper of a mental scream.

“And as for the commoner woman,” he continued with that same deadpan calm, “the act had to be done publicly so that the officials and Houses would be unable to later claim the child was not mine. Visibility was the proof.”

“Publicly,” I repeated, still struggling to wrap my head around it. “You mean like in front of everyone?”

“Yes. In the throne room.”

He paused, then added, completely without shame, “I ensured she enjoyed the communion.”

My eyes widened. “You… what…?”

“The communion,” he repeated, not realizing, or maybe ignoring, how insane that sounded. “I interviewed her in multiple alternate timelines and performed rehearsals to understand her preferences. Through this, I constructed a scenario that guaranteed her safety, long-term happiness, and the opportunity for meaningful contribution to society. She went on to lead three major literacy movements and died at the age of ninety-five, surrounded by her grandchildren.”

That was it. I had to sit down.

“You’re… for real?” I said, slumping onto the nearest gilded chair like my soul had been drop-kicked. “You planned the perfect one-night stand across realities. For diplomacy.”

“Diplomatic cohesion is important,” he replied. “And legacy must be irrefutable.”

“You sound like you scheduled an orgy in Excel.”

He tilted his head. “What is Excel?”

“Forget it.” I rubbed my face. “You know, I expected cold logic from you. Tyrant emperor and all. But I didn’t think you’d break reality just to make sure your one-night partner caught feelings and a pension plan.”

“I did not break reality,” he said, slightly defensive. “I merely consulted several.”

I stared at him.

And I realized, with a terrifying sort of awe, that he meant well. That was the scariest part. The terrifying, alien kindness of a man who loved through flowcharts and contingency plans.

“You’re not heartless,” I muttered. “You’re just… alien.”

“I am human,” he replied.

“Sure,” I said, “and I’m a toaster.”

“Do you toast?”

“Shut up, Nongmin.”

He actually looked smug for a second.

Maybe, just maybe, he was getting the hang of small talk.

God help us all.

145 Unexpected Kidnapping

The memory didn’t end.

It couldn’t.

I was still inside Alice’s soul, watching through her eyes. Feeling through her heart. Hearing her breath tremble as she cut down the last of the villagers. She knew them, and it hurt her.

Not in the way an outsider passes through and trades a few words… Alice knew their names, their jokes, and the way old Jiu Ma always pretended to be blind just to dodge chores. The way the twins argued over which of them was faster. The way that little girl, Sanli, always brought Alice her best acorns like they were sacred offerings.

Alice cut them down anyway.

Her sword trembled in her hands, but she didn't stop. One clean stroke after another. No waste, no hesitation. Her heart was breaking in real time, and I felt it through the link… splintering like ice underfoot. And through her sobs, she whispered the one thing that cracked me more than any scream could have.

“You’ll fix this… won’t you, David?”

“You’re the hero. You can bring them back. If not you, then… maybe Joan.”

I clenched my fists, but they weren’t my fists. I could only watch.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, blood staining the sand, light flaring behind her. “I’m so, so—”

A ripple of divine light split the sky.

Alice turned.

Joan appeared.

But not really.

Her body floated down like a feather on divine wind, but her eyes… they were empty. No spark. No curiosity. No mischief. None of the chaotic, brilliant soul I remembered from LLO.

Just utter silence.

She was wearing ceremonial white robes edged in holy gold, and a halo circled her head—not illusion, not aesthetic, but real. Constructed. Forced. “Joan?” Alice called.

No response.

She raised her weapon instead.

I frowned. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The divine signature radiating from Joan didn’t feel like hers… it felt like mine. Or rather, like my skill... Divine Possession. When I used it, I’d step into someone else’s body, override the self, and take the reins. Possession, cloaked in sanctity.

That’s what I was looking at.

Joan... wasn’t Joan.

She was being piloted.

The clash was inevitable.

Alice didn’t wait. She dashed forward, striking low, hoping to disarm, not kill. She still believed she could bring her friend back.

Yes, they were friends. I could sense in Alice’s soul how she had come to cherish Joan. But Joan met her, blow for blow, without flinching. Her movements were mechanical. Precise. Calculated to win, not to survive.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Alice murmured, dodging a spear of light that melted the ground.

No answer.

Joan or the thing controlling her raised her hand. Glyphs spiraled in the air. I recognized the spell a half-second too late.

Heavenly Punishment.

A colossal hammer of divine force fell from the sky and crashed into Alice, cratering the village beneath her feet. The light was unbearable. My ears rang even though it was a memory. Her spells cracked. Her scream choked back.

She got up.

Gods, she got up.

Bleeding, breathing hard, and trembling... but she got up.

“Joan,” she begged. “Wake up. Please.”

The sky shimmered again.

The second Heavenly Punishment descended like a god's gavel, and this time it wasn't just Alice. The entire center of Sandthorn Village was erased. Houses. Corpses. Even the sand was turned to glass. If not, it turned black.

Alice hit the ground hard, sword shattered, clothes burned to ash.

She didn’t move again.

And Joan… floated back to the sky.

The clouds parted, unnaturally neat, like opening a vault. Golden light streamed down in rays, and then she was taken. Her body rose slowly, arms limp at her sides, swallowed by the radiance of Heaven.

Then… nothing.

The memory ended.

The dreamscape darkened. I was back in the stillness between thoughts.

Joan had been kidnapped. Ripped from our world like an item looted from a corpse. I clenched my jaw, heart thundering.

Of course, it had to be her.

Of course, the universe couldn’t leave well enough alone.

I breathed in, bitter and numb. “Why is it always me?”

I’d already fought angels, crossed continents, and nearly lost myself to this world more than once. Now Joan, my stubborn, loud, and reckless friend, was being used like a puppet by a faction that wanted to rewrite the damn universe to achieve there version of eternal peace.

I stared into the darkness of the fading soul memory.

So that was what happened.

Alice had made a choice no one should ever have to make. Joan had been taken. And me?

I was going to get her back.

Arguably, the player character ‘Joan’ was a stranger to me, but not to David_69.

The memory wasn’t over. It should have been over. The soulscape had faded after the memory had played out... Joan had been taken. But suddenly, without warning, the world twitched.

Like a skipped heartbeat. Like the reel of a movie being rolled backward and snapped back into place.

The sands of Sandthorn Village reformed. The glassed craters mended. The smoldering air returned to silence. Time rewound itself, re-stitching reality into the moment just after Alice fell.

And there she was again… Joan. Or rather, the thing inside Joan. Standing above the fallen Alice, divine light still curled around her like tendrils of smoke. But then, she moved.

Not the kind of movement a memory makes. Not a puppet retracing its steps.

She turned and looked straight at me.

Me.

Not Alice.

Me!

Her eyes met mine, sharp and glinting with unnatural clarity.

“Hello, Anomaly,” she said, voice soft, melodic, and terrifying. “My name is Aixin. It means Loving Heart.”

I staggered back instinctively, though my body wasn’t entirely mine in this place.

“What the hell is this?” I asked. “How are you doing this? This should be a memory... just a playback. You shouldn’t be able to see me.”

She tilted her head slightly, almost amused.

“It’s within my authority,” Aixin said. “Your little spell is impressive. But it tugs too hard on threads you don’t understand. A shame, really. You’re clever for a lower-order soul.”

She walked through the ruined sand, each step leaving behind motes of gold.

“What do you think of cultivation?” she asked, as if we were sharing tea in a garden instead of standing in the shell of a destroyed village. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? A staircase for mortals to reach the divine.”

A sudden flare of heat ignited beside me. My Holy Spirit, Dave, manifested in a flash of righteous fury, glowing with wrath.

“GIVE. ME. JOAN. BACK!!” he roared.

The force of his presence cracked the ground. A holy sword surged into his hand, light blazing. He lunged at her like a comet of righteous vengeance.

Alice’s voice rang in my head, strained and urgent:

“Get him out of here!”

 Her Danger Sense shared via my Divine Possession was SCREAMING…

“She’s dangerous!”

I didn’t hesitate.

I snapped my fingers and channeled the spell through sheer will:

“Summon: Holy Spirit.”

But not inside.

Outside.

The spell yanked Dave from the dreamscape and ejected him into the physical world like a hooked fish. The holy sword vanished mid-swing, and with a pop of compressed mana, he was gone.

Then I reached for the real world.

I poured mana into Voice Chat, channeling my will across the distance, across the barrier between the mental and physical. My voice echoed like thunder across spiritual cords:

“Everyone on the boat... GET OFF. NOW!”

Aixin watched me calmly, as if I hadn’t just launched a divine entity out of her invaded space.

“Such a loud child,” she murmured. “This is the price for defiance. For daring to spit in the face of the Supreme Beings.”

She raised her hand, tracing something in the air. Runes formed. Golden light curled like calligraphy spun from the breath of angels.

And then, she smiled.

“Farewell, Da Wei.”

She dissolved into motes of light.

And then came the flying sword.

It wasn't conjured.

It was declared.

A blade of judgment, massive, shining gold, perfect in form and power… like a second sun in sword form.

It tore through the memory, the soul!

"Flash Pa-"

It rushed straight for me!

I barely had time to curse.

It connected.

And my eyes snapped open to the real world, to a scream on the winds, to the Soaring Dragon ship vibrating beneath my feet… And then the sword burst from Alice’s chest, golden and divine and merciless, a phantom made manifest.

I didn’t even have time to react before it finished its arc and slammed through me.

There was a moment of surreal stillness.

Then the pain.

Explosive pain!

The Soaring Dragon ship erupted into splinters. I saw wood, flame, mana, sky… all of it spinning as my body was flung into the air, skewered by divine judgment.

I looked down and saw the hole in my chest.

Big. Circular. Glowing. About the size of a basketball.

“Ah… fuck my life,” I groaned, as gravity claimed me. "Shit."

And I blacked out.

Of course.

Of course, there would always be a bigger fish.

I should’ve known. Hell, I did know.

I’d been in this world long enough to recognize the pattern: arrogance, followed by a slap from the universe. A divine backhand, to remind you where you truly stood. And for someone like me, a transmigrated player-turned-teacher-turned-sorta-cultivator, it hit every time.

That wasn’t just an echo of power I had seen.

It was a message.

Aixin’s words weren’t a threat. They were a flex. A warning! A glimpse of what a true Outsider could do. And I wasn’t ready. Not even close.

Even now, as my consciousness clawed its way back into reality, the aftershock of that golden blade lingered in my chest. I remembered its radiance, the way it carved through dream and body alike… as if I were no more than paper in front of divine fire.

And still... I lived.

Barely.

When my eyes fluttered open, the first thing I saw was crimson.

Alice.

She was looking down at me, her cold hands cupping my cheeks, her brows tight with worry and regret. I realized my head was resting on her lap, her robes soft and slightly scorched around the edges.

The Soaring Dragon was flying smoothly, high above the dunes.

"Master!" came a panicked voice.

I turned slowly and saw Lu Gao barreling toward me with tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

I winced and raised a hand.

“I’m fine,” I rasped. “But... I want to stay like this for a while longer.”

Lu Gao skidded to a stop, clearly worried, but nodded.

Alice said nothing. But she didn’t move. Her fingers gently brushed my hair back, the pads of her fingers trembling. She looked away, pretending to watch the clouds, but her silence said more than words.

Man. Being pampered by a beauty like this should’ve lifted my spirits. It should’ve felt like a win.

But it didn’t.

Because no matter how many wins I stacked, I was still, at the core, just human. If not in body, then in thinking. In doubt. I hadn’t just lost to Aixin. I’d been dismissed.

It didn’t matter that I could fly a ship or tear apart weak angels with divine spells, or survive near-fatal wounds.

The truth was… I didn’t have what it took yet.

And that stung.

It burned in a place deeper than the wound in my chest.

“Young Master Lu Gao,” Hei Yuan’s voice broke in with surprising gentleness, “please let the Master rest.”

Lu Gao froze mid-sob, standing at attention like he’d been whipped.

I gave Hei Yuan a grateful look. She didn’t meet my eyes, but she gave the faintest nod.

Then came the sound of deliberate footsteps… Captain Xue.

She stopped beside me and gave an exaggerated cough, clearly trying to act unaffected by the sight of me half-dead and nestled on Alice’s lap like some tragic male lead from a pulp novel.

“I made the executive decision to retreat,” she said crisply. “We’re heading back to Imperial territory for regrouping.”

I nodded, letting my head sink slightly deeper into Alice’s thighs.

“That’s fine,” I murmured.

We needed time. Space. A plan.

Because now I knew the truth.

The “Great Enemy” we’d fought in LLO? They couldn’t even compare. That wasn’t the final boss. That wasn’t even the mid-game. It was just the tutorial. And I’d already failed the first quiz.

This world wasn’t going to pull its punches. And if I didn’t get stronger faster than I already am, then the next time a golden sword showed up, I wouldn’t wake up afterward.

We had entered the Promised Dunes with three ships.

Now, we had one.

The others… I could only imagine them: burning, broken, lost beneath the sand or stranded somewhere behind enemy lines. Fucking angels. A chunk of my expedition, my people, had been left behind in the chaos. The realization hit me like a dull ache, just below the ribs. Not sharp enough to double me over, but heavy enough that it settled in my breath.

I shifted slightly on Alice’s lap, breaking the quiet hum of the Soaring Dragon’s flight.

“What about the others?” I asked hoarsely, my voice raw from pain and residual dream-burn. “The other ships?”

Captain Xue was standing near the helm, her hands behind her back, and turned when I spoke. Her expression was composed, soldierly, though I could tell from the faint pull in her jaw that she hadn’t taken it lightly.

“General Bai remained behind,” she said, “to lead the others. We split at the dunes’ edge… once the danger became apparent to us. The rest are holding a defensive position, waiting for the rest of the fleet to retrieve them.”

I sat up a little straighter. My chest throbbed like a drumbeat of agony, but I needed to hear this.

“Are they safe?”

Captain Xue hesitated. Then nodded.

“Safe as they can be. The… creatures… There were no more of them. I believe you’ve dealt with the last of them, Sir Da Wei.”

She exhaled slowly and added:

“We’ve already crossed the Promised Dunes’ border. We’re headed back to the Empire’s inner skies.”

Alice’s fingers brushed through my hair gently, almost absentmindedly. The contrast between her current tenderness and the Alice I knew from LLO, the witty, antihero Vampire Warlock who cursed like a dainty noble, and always picked the most self-damaging spells, was jarring.

“We should be back in the Empire soon,” she murmured, her voice like distant bells, soft and delicate.

She gave me a bittersweet smile.

God, that smile.

It was the kind someone wore when they were trying very hard not to cry, but didn’t want to show weakness. The type that said “I’m still here” but didn’t believe it.

I stared at her for a moment, remembering her old voice lines from the game, the ones full of pride and sarcasm, like she was holding the world at knifepoint.

Now…?

She was brushing my hair.

I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to react.

Then came the cough.

A deliberate one.

“Ahem,” Lu Gao said, his voice laced with uncertainty. He was fidgeting by the bulkhead, eyes darting between me and Alice. “Master… is it true? What happened out there… what I heard…”

He swallowed.

“Gu Jie? Ren Xun? I… I heard the story from Elder Yuan.”

My gut twisted.

It wasn’t the kind of thing you wanted to confirm. Hell, it wasn’t the kind of thing you ever wanted said aloud. Saying it made it real.

Before I could answer, Hei Yuan stepped in.

“Ahem,” she mimicked pointedly, one brow arched. “Young Master Lu Gao, you should learn to read the atmosphere.”

Lu Gao blinked.

“I… I was just…”

“Let David breathe just a bit more,” Alice said, her tone firm but not unkind. “He just died. He’s still bleeding mana, and half his soul just got stabbed with Heavenly Punishment. If it weren’t for your Ring of Resurrection, you’d be dead by now, David.”

Lu Gao flushed and stepped back, muttering apologies under his breath. “S-sorry, but… I… Never mind, Mistress.” I could sense a bit of impatience in his tone. "Master, heal well..."

144 The Long Echo

The memory didn’t end.

It shifted again, seamlessly, as if flipping to the next chapter in a story already written but now being read aloud with fresh eyes. The field of poppies faded. The lavender sky turned to grey. And when the light returned, I saw it.

Me.

Or at least, him.

David_69.

I stood on a ruined bridge beneath a shattered moon, decked in the full Paladin kit from my late-game loadout: Radiant Fang, Iron Mercy cloak, and that dumb over-leveled shield I used to call the Pancake of Justice.

And across from me stood Alice.

But not the Alice I knew now. This was her at her most untrusting. Her most dangerous. Rosy hair stained darker by blood. Fangs bared. Cloak of shadows billowing behind her like wings of ink. The two stared each other down like fated rivals.

“You hunt vampires?” she hissed. “You call yourself holy, yet you swing your blade blindly. Do you not know who I am? Do you know my story? Do you know my pain? How dare you look down on me?!”

David, me, didn’t back down. He gritted his teeth and leveled his sword. “You kill people.”

“I kill monsters.”

“Then we’re no different. But I still have to take you in.”

And that’s when the fighting started.

Honestly, that wasn’t how I remembered what happened.

Instead, I remembered the meeting with more whining on her part and me cussing my heart out as I chugged on an energy drink, and my game avatar chugging on potions.

It wasn’t just a clash of swords and spells. It was a fight for one’s ideals. So yeah, it was a tough fight. Of course, David_69 had his own ideals. As for me, I was just there for a different reason. Flame met void. Steel clashed against shadow. Light and dark coiled, wrapped, tore each other apart, and reformed again.

I watched the battle from outside my body, detached and ghostlike, but I remembered every move. Every parry, every counterspell. I remembered how hard that fight had been, how long it lasted.

What I didn’t remember back then was how hurt Alice looked when we first spoke.

“You don’t understand,” she had said mid-fight, bleeding from her side. “Every Champion comes at me swinging. I expect it. I brace for it.”

David scowled, blade raised. “You’re an enemy of the Realm!”

She laughed bitterly. “Of course I am. What kind of world lets people like me live?”

“But do I really have to fight you?” asked David with a pained expression. "Yes, I see your point... but..."

It was at that moment I started to realize, watching from the outside, just how real this was. Even now, LLO remained distant from me. Of course, I get the xianxia elements and have come to accept it, but the world of LLO?

Back then, in Lost Legends Online, I thought it was just amazing writing. Just some dynamic NPC with a branching dialogue tree and a rare drop table. Alice was famous among the community. Half the player base hated her. The other half was obsessed.

And I? I was one among the obsessed. The one who... she spoke to, not just fought. I tried hard to look for a dialogue option, so I raised my Speech Stat as much as possible before that fateful encounter.

“Why do we fight?” I asked. “Just surrender!”

“Kill me,” she answered. “And I will find peace.”

She even acknowledged it now, standing beside me in the echo of that battle. Her ghost-like form watched the reenactment unfold with me.

“That was… life-changing,” she murmured.

“You mean the fight?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Meeting you.”

I looked at her, and for a moment, I forgot we were walking through her soul.

She continued, “Most Champions… Immortal Souls, as your lot called them… only saw me as a monster. They’d draw their blades before I even opened my mouth. Didn’t matter what I said. But you were different.”

“Uuuh…” I nodded. “Yeah… makes sense.”

Technically, I drew blades first before I started talking. The cut-scene demanded it after all. The memory flickered again, another scene stitched into this dreamlike tapestry of her soul. Same bridge. Same moon, but less shattered now, as if remembering softened even the sky’s wounds.

The fight had dragged on for nearly twenty minutes, real-time. Most PvP duels didn’t last a third of that. We weren’t just throwing numbers at each other. We were talking. And not like two players bantering over headsets. No, this was deeper and layered. Alice wasn’t just an NPC with a hot character model and OP vampire stats. She felt real. Her dialogue didn’t follow standard scripting patterns. Her lines changed depending on how I moved, when I spoke, even how much damage I took.

It wasn’t just programming. It was like she knew.

At one point, I tried to cheese her with a terrain exploit, some busted ledge jump combo I’d seen in a forum video, but she laughed.

“Oh no,” she’d said, sidestepping the trick like she’d seen it a thousand times. “Not that again. Champions always try that rock-hop thing. Did someone on your ‘chat board’ suggest it?”

That line hit me like a glitch to the gut. Most players would complain how dialogues like that would ruin immersion. But LLO's players weren't 'most' players. I was the same.

Alice knew. Or at least, she knew enough. LLO’s world wasn’t supposed to break immersion like that. And yet, there she was… sounding like she half-understood what a player was, what a forum was, what a cheese strat was.

“What are you?” My character asked mid-fight, breath ragged, shield cracked, Radiant Fang glowing at half-durability.

Her eyes gleamed like blood-stained garnets. “I’m someone the gods forgot. I was a daughter of light once. A Holy Woman. Now I live in the dark and pretend not to miss the sun. Now, kill me, wandering adjudicator! Deliver me!”

That was the turning point. Not just in the fight, but in the questline.

We didn’t end it with emptying each other's HP. It ended by choice.

“I don’t want to kill you,” I’d said finally, lowering my weapon.

“Then what do you want, Paladin?”

“I want to understand you. To help.”

She’d gone quiet for a long time. The wind howled between us, carrying motes of ash from a world forever burning.

Then she said, “Find a cure. Free me from this curse. And in return… I’ll teach you the one thing your light has never given you.”

That was how the Exalted Renewal quest began.

Back then, I thought it was just a prestige-line hidden unlock. Maybe a faith-locked Paladin passive, or a bugged interaction between Warlock and Priest legacy paths. But now, standing beside Alice in this echo of memory, I understood something I didn’t before.

It wasn’t a bug. It wasn’t a feature.

It was her choice.

The system hadn’t assigned her to give me that skill. She had chosen to teach me.

Back then, I hadn’t known how any of it worked. The NPCs of LLO… they weren’t normal. They spoke like they lived in some fantasy realm, sure, but their word choices always had this offbeat quality to them. They didn’t say “level up,” but they’d talk about “refining their Path” or “advancing their Soul Brand.” They didn’t say “Class”—they said “Calling.” EXP was “Karmic Light.” Dungeons were “Wounds in the World.” It wasn’t just flavor text. It felt real. Too real.

Even now, watching the scene replay from the inside of Alice’s soul, I could hear it in her voice.

“You think this world is simple,” she spat as she bled across broken stone. “You think there’s black and white. Good and evil. But everything here is dying slowly. Some of us just decided to die faster. I want to die! But you refuse!”

I remembered how I’d paused. How I had genuinely hesitated, sword half-lowered.

“You don’t have to die,” I said, low. “You’re smart. You’re strong. Just… surrender. We can find a way to fix this.”

Her expression twisted like I’d slapped her. “Fix? Fix?!” And then, softer: “You think I haven’t tried?”

That was when I made her the offer.

“I’ll do it,” I said unconsciously into the mic, feeling caught in the moment. “I’ll find a way to cure your vampirism. I’ll grind whatever questline it takes. I’ll burn all my mats, spend all my tokens, reroll my damn build if I have to.”

She blinked. For once, no biting retort came. No spell. No sudden strike.

Instead, she said, “If you mean that… I’ll teach you something. Something lost to time. A skill once taught to me when I still wore white robes and carried a sun-marked scepter.”

“Wait, you’re talking about…”

“Exalted Renewal,” she whispered. “I will teach it to you. Now. Let's do it now.”

Even hearing the name gave me chills. Back then, I thought it was just another cool, overdramatic spell name. But it wasn’t. It was an Ultimate Skill. One of the old legacy ones, from the early patches of LLO that people barely remembered.

But that wasn’t the problem.

Alice was talking to me via the headset.

I remembered the interface… flickering, almost reluctant to let it happen. But it did happen.

Exalted Renewal
[Paladin Legacy / Ultimate Skill]

“Requires death to activate. Fully consumes the user’s Divine Soul to resurrect with one final burst of divine energy. All conditions must be met. Cannot be triggered by external resurrection effects. One use per lifetime.”

The confirmation window appeared like a divine decree, written in gold-edged script.

But the cost? It was steep.

To learn it, I had to sacrifice skills. Not just dump points like normal, but permanently recycle them. I let go of three Divine Word series abilities: Word of Radiance, Word of Binding, and Word of Mercy. Each one had gotten me through nightmare dungeons and solo runs. They were pretty useful in PvP too. They weren’t just numbers. They were part of my identity as a Paladin, so it hurt when I gave them up.

Alice hadn’t even blinked when I told her I was ready.

We stood together in the ruined sanctum, just past the bridge, her stronghold, if the game’s HUD was to be believed. She raised her hand, and I felt the ritual start. Symbols carved themselves in blood through the air, looping in runes I didn’t recognize but somehow understood.

“This is a Blood Pact,” she said. “Not just a mere quest binding. If you break it, truly break it, you won’t just die.”

“I’ll become your thrall.”

She didn’t deny it.

“You will lose your mind. Your will. You’ll become the thing I fought so hard not to be. And then you will serve me… until you fulfill your end of the bargain.”

I hesitated only a second, then said, “I’m in.”

I remembered the sound of her voice when she whispered the final word to seal the pact. A kind of mournful acceptance. Not hopeful. Just tired. Like someone who had been disappointed too many times to believe anymore, but who still dared, just once more.

The memory shifted again.

And this time… it burned.

I found myself in the sky. No bridge. No Alice. Just a sun that flickered like a dying candle over a broken landscape. Glitched textures, missing assets, monsters frozen in T-poses, or twitching spasms. LLO was falling apart.

This was the end.

I remembered it, vividly now. The week the servers started hemorrhaging players. People logged off and never came back. Skill trees bugged out. Certain abilities wouldn’t activate. Crafting failed unpredictably. Some quests locked permanently. Even movement started to break, avatars clipping through geometry or falling forever into the void.

The devs had gone silent. The subreddit turned into a graveyard of bug reports and conspiracy posts. Most players called it an unbalanced mess and bailed.

But the ones who stayed?

We weren’t there for gameplay anymore.

We were there for the NPCs.

Because somehow, even as the rest of the world collapsed, they didn’t break.

They mourned. They panicked. They held funerals for villages that despawned, which later was found out got wrecked by angels. They cried when their scripted gods stopped answering prayers. They remembered me, even across play sessions, even if I created new accounts.

They’d ask:

“Where have you been?”

“Have you come to help?”

“Please… don’t leave us again.”

That was why it had a cult following, why people were so obsessed. And why, when I died, truly died, in the game, not from a glitch or logout timeout, but perma-death at some virus bugged-out eldritch hands, something broke in more than just the system.

The memory pulled me forward. Faster now.

I saw Alice again. Not as a boss. Not even as a quest-giver. Joan was with her, looking the same as the day I met her in the game. Then Alice turned toward the broken dungeon where I fought an eldritch abomination, and began weaving a spell. One the game had never logged. One that didn’t exist in any datamine.

A Soul-Seeking Rite.

I watched, stunned, as she and Joan gathered mana and tore a portal from where I had my last fight in the world of LLO.

The memory kept shifting.

I saw them after. Lost. Wandering.

The language was a nightmare for them. No interface. No auto-translations. They had no idea where I’d gone or what world they’d landed in. I watched Alice try to barter with a passing merchant by drawing runes in the dirt. Watched her cry when she realized the locals couldn’t understand anything she was saying. Joan had tried to write out spell glyphs, but even those twisted midair, this world rejected their systems.

And yet, they kept going.

Day by day, town by town.

Looking for me.

Joan refused to feed for weeks. Alice pawned old gear to buy food and information. A floating skull: ancient, lecherous, and far too interested in Alice’s “unusual soul structure”, eventually began translating and teaching them the local tongue. Slowly. Painfully.

They suffered.

But they endured.

Now, here, in the remnants of Alice’s soul, I stood beside her and watched it all again.

Watched as she walked through a world that didn’t want her, again, just to find me.

She didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t need to.

I turned to her, voice quiet.

“I’m sorry you went through all of that.”

"Don't mind me," She shrugged. “I was the one chasing a ghost.”

“You weren’t,” I said. “You found me.”

For a moment, she smiled. A real one. Not the bitter, crooked one she used to wear.

Then she reached out and placed her hand gently over my heart.

“You still have it,” she said. “The spark. The one that makes you worth dying for.”

“Hey now, I might get the wrong idea,” I looked at her, stunned. “Moreover, I thought I was the one who was supposed to die for you.”

The memory pressed on, bleeding from one moment to the next like ink across parchment. The world dissolved into ash and starlight, and the world shifted again. I found myself above it, distant and bodiless, watching like a silent god peering into a page already written.

Darkness. Trees. Mist that curled like smoke.

The Black Forest.

Even now, in dreamlike recall, I felt the heavy, pressing weight of the place… like the air was thick with secrets. I remembered fighting with them side by side.

We’d won, eventually. If you could call surviving winning. The thing dissipated into glitch-light, leaving the forest silent again. The three of them limped out, two in soul, one in body.

The memory shifted again.

The Great Desert.

Endless dunes stretched beneath a white-hot sky, but the sand didn’t scorch… No, it pulsed with heat like a heartbeat. The three wandered, clothes ragged, and Lu Gao half-starved. They found the village by accident… Sandthorn, the oasis hidden in the lee of a ridge-like dune, with palm roofs and soft-spoken people who asked no questions.

Alice and Joan, or rather Aili Si and Cho An, as the locals called them now, managed to adapt to the village rather well. Lu Gao, of course, kept his own name… nobody ever tried to rename him.

They stayed. They settled. And I... watched.

It had felt like years since I’d seen them like this. Not just surviving, but living. Alice trained Lu Gao in actual martial drills, correcting his footwork, running him through movements using a sand-worn staff. At night, they sat by the communal fire and listened to the elders tell stories, using the few words they’d managed to pick up.

The villagers adored Joan. They whispered of her kindness, her strength. How she could sing and lull children to sleep. They brought her flowers. Dried dates. Laughter.

And then the sky broke.

It started with one angel. Then three. Then more.

They appeared in the dunes like statues, as if remembering they used to be gods. Wings too bright. Eyes too empty. Heaven’s software wrapped in something too clean, like sterilized death.

I saw Alice’s panic the moment she recognized them.

She didn’t hesitate.

She forced a scroll into Lu Gao’s hand, forcing him to teleport. He tried to resist, tried to stay, but the spell was already unraveling beneath his feet.

The teleportation tore him away.

She turned. The angels hovered over Sandthorn now.

I saw her choices.

I watched as she fought. Fire, shadow, light, illusions… all of it. She summoned spells I didn’t recognize, cracked the sky, and collapsed two of them with a demonized version of the chant from her Holy Woman days. But they multiplied, absorbing the villagers they touched. With every life taken, they grew stronger, cleaner, and more mechanical.

And Alice…

She made the only choice she could.

She began killing the villagers herself.

Clean, merciful strikes. Magic that unmade them faster than the angels could claim them. Her face was stained with tears and blood. Her voice trembled with every invocation.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted to save you.”

Her hands shook. Her soul splintered. But she didn’t stop.

She killed them all.

Only ashes remained.

And the angels left her alone.

In the dream space, I turned to her. The ghost beside me. The echo of her. She didn’t look at me. She stared at the scene like she could still smell the fire, still feel the heat on her skin.

“I didn’t want to do it,” she said finally. Her voice cracked.

“I know.”

“No one else would’ve understood.”

“I do.”

She finally turned to me. Her eyes, so often sharp, looked tired. “Do you hate me for it?”

“No,” I whispered. “I think… I think you saved them.”

That was the truth of it.

Even now, this world was cruel. The rules were different. The stakes were higher. And Alice—Aili Si—had done what no Paladin, no Champion, no so-called hero could have done.

She sacrificed her own peace to protect their souls.

The memory shimmered, fading. 

She had waited for me.

Through black forests, cursed beasts, broken language, and holy monsters…

She had waited.

And I was finally here.

143 Alice’s Life

The dreamscape shifted.

I didn’t feel my body anymore, only the drift of consciousness as my soul merged with Alice’s. This wasn’t like when I entered Gu Jie’s soul, where lines blurred and I became her. No. This was different. I could still tell where I ended and she began. I was a passenger, not a replacement. A thread wound into her, not a needle driving the story forward.

Divine Possession wasn’t just possession. It was empathy, distilled into a technique. If she laughed, I’d feel the tug at my lips. If she cried, I’d taste the salt on my tongue.

It was compassion turned into a system mechanic. Honestly, it was kind of beautiful.

And right now?

Alice was pissed.

The scene opened in a stone hallway, arched with ivy creeping in through stained glass windows. The light was golden, casting pools on the floor where the sun filtered through images of angels and saints. Candles flickered in wall sconces. The air smelled of old parchment, beeswax, and incense.

“I said no, Sister Magdalene!” a girl’s voice snapped from around the corner.

I turned toward it instinctively, even though I didn’t have feet anymore. Just presence.

Alice stormed into view. Brown hair, cut messily, framed her face. She looked like she hadn’t brushed it all morning, which, judging by the fire in her expression, might’ve been true. Her cheeks were flushed with frustration. She wore a simple white and blue robe, clearly too big for her small frame, and her sleeves kept slipping down past her wrists.

She didn’t look over twenty.

“You can’t just keep me here like this! I have the right to leave!” she shouted.

Behind her, a plump, wrinkled nun followed, clearly long past tired with the conversation. “You are the chosen Holy Woman, Alice. The prophecy…”

“Screw the prophecy!” Alice flailed her arms, nearly hitting a candle. “I don’t even believe half the things you people chant every morning!”

Sister Magdalene’s eye twitched. “Watch your tongue, child.”

“I’m not a child!” Alice barked back. “I’m an adult! I know what I want… and I don’t want to waste my life stuck in a building praying to a golden statue for people who don’t care if I’m happy!”

I watched from the side. I couldn’t interact, not yet. I was just observing. But somehow, the emotion in the air seeped into me. My fists clenched. My chest tensed. She really didn’t want to be here.

And yet, I could also feel the guilt in her bones. That ache when you know you’re disappointing someone who raised you. The way she glanced away after yelling, not quite able to hold eye contact. She wasn’t a bad person. She was just trapped.

I remembered her lore, of course. Alice of the Silver Dawn. Born to a peasant couple who died during the Plague of Thorns. Raised by a traveling priest. Eventually taken in by the Church. I’d read it all back in high school while grinding achievements. At the time, it was just flavor text, something I memorized because I thought she was hot.

But now?

Now I saw the moments between the lines.

I saw her kneeling in front of a cracked altar, muttering prayers while hungry.

I saw her staring longingly out the convent windows at kids running through the town square.

I saw her clumsily swinging a broom like it was a sword, pretending to be a knight.

I saw her weeping once when Sister Magdalene fell sick, and she stayed up for three nights straight nursing her, not even knowing the proper herbs to use.

She had been so naive. Kind of dumb. But a heart of gold.

The memory looped again.

“I want to leave,” she muttered this time, voice quieter, more tired.

“You have nowhere to go,” the nun said gently.

Alice didn’t answer.

She just stared at the sun through the window like it was taunting her.

The memory ended there, fading softly like the last note of a lullaby.

And in that moment, I felt it… a warmth, somewhere deep in the chest. Not mine. Hers.

Loneliness. Hope. Anger. Confusion. All tangled together.

This was the real Alice. Before she ever tasted blood. Before she ever became a vampire. Before the world twisted her into a creature that others feared.

And even now, part of her was still that girl. Still staring out the window.

Wanting to be free.

That was the problem with the Divine Possession skill.

It didn’t give a damn about boundaries or personal space. There was no line it wouldn’t cross, no door it wouldn’t open. When I cast it, I was allowed in completely: memories, emotions, dreams, and traumas. The whole messy spectrum of a life lived and still being lived.

And the worst part?

I liked it.

No, loved it.

It was addictive. That miracle of connection, of being able to understand someone else not just with words but with soul… it was intoxicating, like sex but many times better. Every time I used Divine Possession, I felt like another person and myself at the same time. I got to live lives that weren’t mine. I got to experience what made someone them, see the world through their eyes, love the things they loved, and hate the things they hated.

It was like eternity, compressed into a single heartbeat. An infinite stretch of moments folded neatly into a flicker of time I could revisit, again and again.

That’s why I turned away.

Not out of guilt. Not even really out of respect.

But because if I stayed too long, I knew I’d lose myself.

A flicker of green light shimmered in my vision… a butterfly, translucent and glowing, fluttering on wings woven from my Soulful Guiding Fire. It danced across the dreamscape like it knew the way, like it belonged there.

So I followed it.

Down the stone halls, past memories stitched into shadow and stained glass. Through silence and dreams and the rustle of pages that no longer existed. I followed it because I had to know. I had to see how Alice ended up like that.

And then I was there.

The dream shifted around me like a held breath exhaled too quickly. The convent was burning. Not with fire… but with blood.

The air reeked of iron and incense and something wrong. Something that made my skin crawl, even though I didn’t technically have skin right now. The floors were slick with crimson, the walls clawed with scratches and symbols that hadn’t existed in any religious text. Moonlight poured through shattered windows, washing over the bodies of the Sisters. Some were still alive, twitching. Most weren’t.

Alice was running.

Her dream-body surged past me, barefoot, robes soaked and torn. Her eyes, those soft brown eyes, were different now. Glowing red, slit like a cat’s. Her hands trembled, nails darkening, warping. She stumbled over Sister Magdalene’s body and screamed. Not a battle cry. Not fury.

Just pure, unfiltered grief.

“No… no, no, no…” she sobbed, falling to her knees. “You were supposed to… You said the saints… You said the saints would protect us!”

A low laugh echoed behind her. A silhouette stood in the wreckage of the altar, tall and lean, half-shrouded in mist. I didn’t need to see his face to know what he was. Vampire Progenitor.

One of the ancient ones. The kind who didn’t just drink blood, but rewrote people with it.

His voice was like honey on a dagger. “Oh, little lamb… you should be thanking me. You’re free now. No more cages. No more prayers to deaf gods.”

Alice turned, mouth bloodied. “You made me a monster!”

He stepped closer. “No, dear. I gave you power. The Church would’ve let you die nameless. Now? You’ll be remembered.”

She hurled a chunk of debris at him with raw instinct. It missed. He laughed again and vanished.

The vision stilled. The dream slowed. I felt her rage bubble under my ribs, like magma. Her shame, her betrayal, and her terror. They swirled inside me like poison mixed with holy wine. And beneath it all… that aching, bitter thing:

Loss.

She hadn’t wanted this. She’d just wanted to leave. To be free.

And now she could never go back.

I moved slowly through the scene, feet skimming the blood-slick floor as I traced her steps. My Soulful Guiding Fire butterfly flickered again and I followed it deeper, through a crumbled doorway into what remained of the chapel.

A mirror stood there, cracked down the middle, reflecting two versions of Alice.

One side showed her with holy light behind her: a robe mended, a staff of silver in her hand, and eyes full of hope.

The other side?

Crimson eyes. Fangs. A cloak of dusk and shadow. Power that made the air itself tremble.

Both were her.

Both were real.

I reached out, not with a hand, but with a presence, and touched the edge of the mirror. And in that instant, I felt her soul flinch.

She knew I was there now.

Her presence bloomed behind me like a gust of wind.

“…You’re seeing all of it, aren’t you?” she whispered.

I turned, or maybe just acknowledged her. Her dream-self was older now. The Alice I knew: fanged, beautiful, and dangerous. But also… tired. The kind of tired that sleep never fixes.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I said, and meant it. “Divine Possession doesn’t exactly come with a consent form.”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t frown either. Just watched me for a moment. Then she said:

“You know… I used to pretend I was the hero in a story. Slaying evil. Saving people. Making them proud.”

“You were a hero,” I said gently. “You are.”

“No.” Her voice broke. “I was just… a scared girl who wanted out. And when I finally got what I wanted, it destroyed everything I loved.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Because she was right.

Sometimes freedom came with a cost so high, you couldn’t tell if it was still worth it. Sometimes, the door out of the cage led straight into the abyss.

“I’m still here, though,” she whispered after a long silence. “I’m still me. Even if I don’t always feel like it.”

I nodded, my voice soft. “And that’s enough.”

She looked at me then. Really looked at me. And for the first time, she didn’t see a skill invading her soul. She saw me.

“…Thank you,” she said.

The dream began to fade again, slipping into that golden quiet where memories rest.

But before I was pulled back, I heard her voice one last time.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Neither did I.

The memory shifted.

The golden hues of the convent dissolved like dust scattered by wind, and for a second, I floated in nothingness: no sound, no sensation, just the faint flicker of consciousness tethering me to something deeper.

Then came the pulse.

It was soft at first, like a heartbeat in the distance. But with it came a presence. Not memory. Not reenactment. Aware. Real.

Alice.

I felt her now, not just as some echo of her former self but present. She was here with me.

Her soul brushed against mine like the breeze before a storm, deliberate and warm. I turned, though I had no body to turn with, and there she stood. Not the girl from before. Not the fledgling vampire drenched in blood. This Alice was different. Something between then and now.

Her eyes met mine, and for the first time since I began using Divine Possession, the reenactment acknowledged me.

"I only wanted to know what happened in Sandthorn Village," I said softly. “There’s no need to go this far…”

She nodded, lips twitching like she might smile, but didn’t. "But I want you to see," she said. Her voice wavered like a candle’s flame. "I don’t want to be alone anymore."

That got me.

I could’ve told her she wasn’t alone. That I was here now, watching. But she didn’t need promises. She needed presence. So I gave her that.

"Okay," I said. "I’ll stay."

And then it began.

A thousand scenes bloomed like flowers in fast-forward. Alice wandered the world: a drifter, a shadow, and a hunter wrapped in a pale girl’s skin. She searched for answers. For cures. For redemption. I walked with her. Or floated, or simply existed beside her. Divine Possession blurred the lines between observer and companion. I felt her pain, her hope, her bitter hatred for the blood that cursed her.

She hunted them. Vampires. Not out of loyalty to the Church that once abandoned her, but out of fury. Vengeance. A need to erase her reflection by destroying what had made her.

"Monster," they called her.

"Heretic."

"Traitor to your own kind."

"Cannibal."

She didn’t argue. She drank their blood not to thrive, but to spite them. With every progenitor she slew, her hair lightened, darkened, then shimmered with a strange rosiness… like crushed rose quartz in sunlight. It became her mark. Her myth.

And still, I stayed.

Decades turned into centuries. Centuries into millennia.

And I was there.

I watched her sleep in hidden crypts, tucked beneath church ruins. I watched her fight through snowy forests and desert wastelands, chased by those who feared her, revered her, or wanted her power.

But the moments that broke me weren’t the battles.

They were the pauses.

A woman with kind eyes handed her a loaf of bread in a cold village where no one else would meet her gaze. A child with a scraped knee smiled when Alice healed him and whispered, “Are you an angel?” She didn’t answer.

She never stayed long. A day. A week. Then gone. But I saw her smile. Once, in a cottage lit only by firelight, when a man with broken teeth offered her a place at his table and called her “Miss.” Not “beast.” Not “witch.” Just Miss.

Those were the moments she lived for.

Not power. Not revenge.

Kindness.

Genuine, fleeting, human kindness.

And I understood, finally. Her love for humanity wasn’t a trick of the mind or a leftover habit from before the blood. It was real. The kind of love born from distance and longing, nurtured by small acts of grace in a world that gave her none.

She never wanted to be feared.

She wanted to be human again.

Not in body. But in heart.

I turned to her as the dreamscape quieted. The sky was a muted lavender now, stars blinking softly above a field of poppies.

She stood beside me, hair glinting pink under the starlight.

"I don’t hate them," she whispered. "Even when they ran from me. Even when they tried to kill me. I still loved them."

"I know," I said.

She looked up at me. Vulnerable. Small.

"I just didn’t want to be alone anymore."

"You’re not."

And this time, she smiled.

A real one.

Maybe that was the true miracle behind Divine Possession. Not the ability to see memories. Not the insights or stats or secrets.

But the simple power to sit beside someone, soul to soul… and stay.

142 Outsourcing Heaven

There was silence.

Not the kind that came from awe, but the confused, stunned kind… like a crowd who blinked and missed the finale.

My dear audience stood frozen in place, eyes wide, mouths half open. A few rubbed their eyes like they were trying to reboot their retinas.

Yeah, I moved that fast.

The lower realm cultivators hadn’t seen anything. To them, it probably looked like I stood still, blinked twice, and seven monsters just exploded into divine fireworks.

But those with higher cultivation, like Captain Xue, General Bai, and a couple of the Imperial Phoenix Guards, had watched it happen in real-time. Their eyes followed me now. They were quiet, wary, and calculating.

Then someone finally spoke.

A nervous voice, almost hopeful.

“…What was that?” asked Han Lun, one of the Falconeers, his hand still clenched around the reins of his bird mount as the creature hovered in and landed just beside me.

I turned to face him, letting the wind tug at my robe like a dramatic movie poster.

“You’ll find out,” I said calmly, “in the coming World Summit.”

That shut everyone up real quick.

Name-dropping the ‘event’ like that ought to bring the gravity of the situation to the forefront of their minds. The Imperial Phoenix Guards and the Falconeers exchanged glances. Jin Wen looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but he bit his tongue.

I appreciated that.

Still, part of my mind wasn't here anymore. It was back in a different world. Back in my gaming chair, back in Lost Legends Online.

Back when the Heaven faction had been introduced as one of the Great Enemy.

To the average player, “Heaven” sounded like the good guys. Pearly gates, golden clouds, maybe a few harp solos, and holy smites.

Wrong.

They were corporate-tier manipulators with divine branding. Outsourcing everything to local agents, cults, and “blessed chosen.” Half their campaigns felt like you were fighting mind-controlled Karens who just discovered holy fire.

And when that didn’t work?

They brought out the big guns.

The Legion of Angels.

At first, everyone thought they were mid-tier trash mobs. Shiny, dramatic, and preachy. They came in squads, with low aggression range.

But then… players started disappearing and getting booted off the game for weeks.

NPCs too. Whole cities would go dark. No warning. Just silence.

It turned out, those angels… especially the lower-ranking ones… had an ability that broke the damn meta.

Absorption.

If your level was a certain percentage below theirs, they could just… overwrite you. Like Agent Smith from The Matrix, they’d touch you, twist, and boom: another angel. Same model, same stats, now stronger.

It was a cascading infection mechanic. You lose one town, you lose a hundred. And if even one angel made it to a population hub, it was game over.

Entire servers had to rebuild civilization from scratch. I remembered the forums: people arguing about optimal architectural layouts so we wouldn’t get wiped again. We literally built buffer cities just to slow them down.

So yeah.

I didn’t like angels.

Didn’t trust anything that tried to steal your soul with a glowing smile.

I glanced back at the battlefield. The seven I killed were nothing compared to the actual invasion squads from LLO… but if even one of them showed up here?

It meant something was stirring.

Ah shit, it looked like listening to Nongmin was my only choice.

I turned back to the group. “Stay alert,” I said, loud enough for all to hear. “Falconeers, return to your Falcons. No foot patrols from now on. Say the same to your Queen… After my business here is done, I’d be rushing back to the Empire, so I won’t be able to help you with these freaks. These things are dangerous, trust me. None of you would like it if just one of these things gets to you.”

They hesitated, but my tone brooked no argument.

“And keep the ships skyborne,” I added to my companions. “Remain warp-ready. If I say go, you fly immediately. No hesitation.”

Xue Xin and the others saluted.

I looked toward my own people: the Formation Specialists, the transport crew, and the Imperial Phoenix Guards.

“This isn’t a joke,” I said. “Stay in the sky. Stay aboard. Don’t leave unless I say so. If we need to retreat, we’ll do it by warp.”

No one objected. Good.

“What’s that? Anyone heard that?”

I felt something stir.

A faint ripple at the edge of my Divine Sense, like a whisper caught in a sandstorm, faint but urgent. It didn’t match the signature of an angel, nor the twisted presence of the Wyrmed Worm that just died. It was… subtler. Fainter. But alive.

I raised a hand, gesturing for silence.

“Everyone, stay put,” I said, not loud, but firm enough that no one dared move. “Something’s still down there.”

Without another word, I Flash Stepped. The world blurred around me in streaks of motion, and then I was standing in the center of the crater: char and ash still hot beneath my boots, the air stinking of ozone and divine flame.

There it was.

Silver Steel was still embedded in my chest, right where it had been lodged during the fight. It was in the way, so I reached up and pulled it free with a smooth tug. A sharp breath left me as it slid out, blood hissing where it met divine steel. A resonant hum vibrated through my bones as the power of Heavenly Punishment remained in the blade, its edge glowed with divine wrath, etched in quiet thunder.

And then, a hand broke through the sand.

Charred. Barely moving. I almost missed it.

The Wyrmed Worm’s massive lifeforce had masked everything nearby. No wonder I hadn’t sensed her. But now that the beast was gone, I could feel it… faint and flickering, but undeniably hers.

“Alice?” I murmured, lowering my sword and slipping it back into the Item Box with a whisper of displaced space.

I knelt, brushing aside debris and grit. Her fingers twitched as I gripped them, and I pulled slowly and carefully.

Her body surfaced from the sand like a ghost unearthed. Half-burnt, skin cracked and exposed, gown incinerated into ribbons. Her once pristine white complexion was now marred with soot and blood. Her long, silky pink hair had darkened into a matte tangle of red-black, like strands of wine-drenched silk.

She was naked, but I didn’t flinch.

Not because I wasn’t affected… hell, even scorched, she was beautiful… but because she looked broken. Weak. Her lips were cracked, her eyes fluttering in delirium.

“…sorry…” she whispered, again and again. “…sorry… sorry…”

I leaned closer, brushing hair from her face. “Hey. Alice. It’s fine. You’re okay.”

She wasn’t okay.

But I said it anyway.

Vampire physiology wasn’t something I could brute force with a spell. My healing magic was tied to divine energy, the kind that burned her from the inside out. She needed blood. Real, living blood. And I only saw one option.

I reached into my Item Box again, drew out a clean, curved ritual dagger.

There was no hesitation in my movement. All it took was one smooth cut across my wrist.

I returned the dagger before the pain could fully register, then lowered my arm toward her mouth. Crimson drops beaded and dripped, the scent hitting the air like wine uncorked after centuries.

She twitched. Her body shuddered. Then her lips parted.

She latched on.

No ceremony. No teasing banter. Just raw need.

I could feel her fangs pierce my skin, not sharp like a predator, but aching, desperate, like she was apologizing even as she fed. Her breath hitched with every pull. Her cracked skin began to mend, the burns closing one heartbeat at a time.

I kept my other hand on her back, holding her steady.

“It’s alright,” I whispered. “Just take what you need.”

And still, she muttered between gulps, ‘sorry’ like the word was the only thing keeping her conscious.

So… question.

How the hell was a vampire drinking the blood of a paladin?

It should’ve burned her from the inside out. My divine essence was practically liquid fire to anything undead. If a normal vampire even smelled my blood, they’d probably turn to ash and start praying to whatever unholy mess spawned them.

But not Alice.

Her fangs dug deeper into my wrist like she didn’t care—or didn’t feel—the pain she should’ve been in. And I watched, amazed, as she didn’t catch fire or scream. No smoke. No sizzling skin.

Only hunger.

Raw, desperate, and all-consuming.

The charred blackness of her skin began to slough away, dead layers peeling off in flakes and strands like old paint. Underneath it, pristine white skin emerged, porcelain-smooth and untouched. She looked like she was being sculpted anew, right there in my arms, forged in blood and second chances.

And yeah… I knew the reason.

Alice wasn’t just some random vampire with a hot model and tragic backstory.

She was a special vampire, one with actual depth. A ‘Holy Woman’ of the Church in her former life, back when she still walked in daylight and prayed before meals. Her lore ran deep, tangled in forgotten prophecies and broken oaths. I remembered because…

Well.

I’d started playing Lost Legends Online back in high school. And like any other socially awkward teen with a preference for pretty digital women who could break his neck… yeah, I had a crush.

So, of course I read her lore.

Front to back. Twice.

In her case, the Church didn’t just bless her once… they anointed her with divine favor. She was supposed to become the Holy Woman of the Church. A vessel for some long-forgotten goddess. But something went wrong: betrayal, corruption, and a forbidden love... I forgot the details. Just remembered the emotions. Her fall from grace. Her rise as a vampire who still retained fragments of her holy self.

Enough that divine energy didn’t kill her.

Maybe it even fed her.

Her grip on my wrist tightened, but her breathing slowed. Her lips moved less violently. Then she did something that would’ve normally thrown me straight into fight-or-flirt mode.

She licked my wrist.

Long, slow, and delicate. Almost sensual. Her tongue brushed over the puncture wound with practiced care, her saliva warm and tingling. The bite marks faded like they’d never existed.

Right.

Vampire healing.

I cleared my throat and tried not to focus too much on the imagery. “Alice,” I said quietly. “Where’s Joan? What happened?”

Her lips parted. Eyes fluttered.

“…Joan…” she breathed, voice paper-thin.

I leaned closer.

“Is she safe? Did she run? Was she taken?”

But the words never came.

Alice’s eyes rolled back, her body going limp against my chest. I caught her before she could slump fully into the sand. Her skin was warm now. Breath stable. Her wounds had mostly closed. But her energy was spent. She’d passed out.

I looked down at her and exhaled. “Yeah. You’ll be fine.”

I hoped Joan could say the same.

I carried Alice gently, cradled in my arms like something precious that might shatter if I held her wrong. Her skin, once burned and cracked, was smooth now. Her breathing was soft. Even unconscious, she clung to me like a frightened child who hadn’t yet realized the nightmare was over.

I walked toward one of the Soaring Boats, the wind tugging at my sleeves, the sand still crackling with residual divine energy. When I stepped onto the wooden platform, Captain Xue Xin approached quickly, a folded robe in her arms.

“She’ll need this,” she said quietly, handing it to me.

“Thanks.” I shifted Alice slightly and let Xue help wrap the robe around her. The fabric was thick, Imperial-standard weave, and it swallowed Alice’s body completely. I adjusted it carefully over her shoulders.

Around us, people were beginning to murmur again: too many curious stares and too many questions being loaded into the air like cocked arrows.

I raised one hand. “Keep the boat steady,” I said. “No one’s to disturb us. I’m not in the mood for questions.”

The crew froze, then nodded quickly.

I carried Alice in a full bridal carry, because, honestly, there wasn’t a better way to keep her stable right now… and stepped into the center of the Soaring Dragon Boat. The platform there was flat and reinforced, meant for formation engravings and casting circles. It’d work just fine for what I needed.

“General Bai,” I called out over my shoulder, “I want you to watch the perimeter. You see anything weird, you shake me out, hard. Strike me with the intent to kill. Don’t worry, I won’t die. If it goes wrongly, it might be you who’d end up dying, so be careful… only limit yourself to a single strike to wake me up.”

Any more than a single strike, my Reflect would kill him.

He nodded sharply, drawing his war fan at the ready.

I turned to Hei Yuan, who was hovering nearby with his usual ghostlike presence. “You prioritize Alice. If anything happens, even if I blink funny, you get her out. Use every movement technique you’ve got.”

He nodded once. “Understood.”

“Captain Xue,” I added, “stay close. Guard us. No distractions, do you understand?”

She saluted immediately, stepping into a low stance beside the boat's railing.

I exhaled slowly, shifting Alice’s weight so she lay evenly across my lap. Her head rested against my arm, her fingers limp but warm.

“Alright,” I whispered. “Sorry about this.”

There was a combo I’d been thinking about lately. Something new. Something weird, but maybe brilliant.

Divine Word: Rest.

My palm hovered over her chest as I murmured the word. The effect was immediate. The skill ignored elemental affinities. It would heal her. But more importantly, it would deepen her sleep, making her more stable for what came next.

“Forgive me,” I murmured again. "This is for our sakes..."

Divine Possession.

The connection snapped into place… my soul reaching across the thread between us, weaving in, latching on. I felt her breath, her pulse, the tug of dreams and memory.

Then I dived.

One final move.

Soulful Guiding Fire.

Mana surged through me, channeled and shaped with intent. I’d practiced it for weeks now, mastering its subtlety. As I cast, the dreamwalking spell took form: a small, emerald flame blossomed in my palm, then shaped itself into a butterfly, wings shimmering with ghostly green fire.

It fluttered once, twice, and dove straight into Alice’s chest.

My vision blurred. The real world peeled back. I felt my soul stretch forward, drawn in by her unconscious mind.

And then…

I saw.

I heard.

I entered her dreams.

141 Falcons and Roses

The falcon screeched as it broke through the clouds, its shadow passing over us like a silent omen. I watched it descend with practiced grace, folding its wings mid-dive before flaring them open again at the last second. Its rider leapt off, landing in the boat with barely a sound.

Han Lun.

The man stood tall, draped in desert-colored leathers and a polished scale coat that shimmered faintly under the sun. His skin was bronze from the heat, and a curved sabre hung from his waist. His face was calm, his eyes sharp.

“I apologize for the behavior of the guide we assigned you earlier,” he said, brushing a bit of wind-swept grit from his shoulder. “From now on, I’ll be taking over personally.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect the Captain of the border guards to come himself.”

He smiled faintly. “Captain of the Southern Military Outpost, actually. I was just recently promoted as a Falconeer and was just allowed to ride my Falcon into battle… It’s a great honor.”

Falconeer?

Ah. That explained the falcon.

I nodded toward the skies. The falcon was gone, hidden somewhere behind the thin veil of clouds, but I could still sense it: its heartbeat, its breath, amd the tensing of muscle as it circled above. My Divine Sense painted its shape clearly in my mind.

“Your falcon’s impressive,” I said. “Not just the beast. The saddlework, the gear. Compact, aerodynamic. The Soaring Dragons and Formation Gourds of the Empire are marvels in their own right, but I doubt they handle like that.”

Han Lun looked up as well. “They don’t. The Falconeers of the Promised Dunes are the best in the Great Desert. Generations of tradition. We raise their falcons from eggs, bond with them, train together for years before they even set foot in the skies.”

I reckoned that while the falcons were more maneuverable, the Empire’s flying boats would still be faster with their warp function.

“Sounds intense,” I said. “Bet they don’t crash as often either.”

That drew a chuckle from him, brief and sharp.

I shifted slightly, scanning the distant dunes. “You ever heard of a place called Sandthorn Village?”

“Of course.” His tone was immediate, confident. “They’re known for their roses.”

“Roses?” That one caught me off guard.

He nodded. “Desert roses. Deep red, resilient to heat, blooms even in sand. Beautiful and stubborn, like most people from the Dunes.”

I wasn’t surprised he knew the place. The Promised Dunes weren’t like the rest of the world. Most countries leaned on powerful sects, warring clans, or imperial bloodlines. The Dunes were different. Tight-knit. Local. The kind of place where a village name still meant something.

I’d only learned that recently, digging through the books Jin Wen smuggled back for me. The methods of acquisition of knowledge in this world were so strict that it was annoying. Still, I found Promised Dunes to be quite an impressive country. No sects. No cultivation academies. Just villages, towns, and a handful of sun-bleached cities clinging to oases. Somehow, it made the place feel older… less like a kingdom and more like a memory refusing to die.

“Then you’ll be our guide,” I said. “We’re heading to Sandthorn Village, and we’ll be relying on your expertise.”

He gave me a short bow. “Understood. I’ll notify Captain Xue and coordinate our movements. I’ve brought a dozen Falconeers with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said, then hesitated. “Hmmm… I hope you’ll have the discretion not to pry too much into my business. I understand the Promised Dunes have a bit of an isolationist policy, and they don’t look kindly on foreigners who manage to enter their borders without permission.”

“What does that mean, Sir Da Wei?”

“Let’s just say it's to your Queen’s best interest if you play ball with us.”

We landed our Soaring Dragon boats a few hours later, their cloud-streaked trails vanishing behind us as the enchantments fizzled out with a gentle hiss. The falcons circled above, casting looping shadows across the dunes. Han Lun pointed us toward a small rise of sandstone ridges,” a natural windbreak he claimed shielded Sandthorn Village from the worst of the desert gales.

But when we crested the final ridge, there was no village.

Just a crater. Wide. Deep. Blackened around the edges like something had burned it into the earth. It was too symmetrical to be natural, and too silent to be anything but wrong.

Han Lun dismounted without a word, his boots crunching against the glassy grit as he approached the edge. He stared down into the hole, lips pressed thin. I followed a step behind, the wind tugging at my sleeves as it whistled through the emptiness below.

“This…” His voice was rougher now, touched with disbelief. “This isn’t possible.”

I crouched and ran a hand through the scorched sand. Still warm. Whatever did this hadn’t happened long ago. “You sure this is the place?”

“I’m sure,” he said tightly. “This ridge, that cactus grove on the left, the fault lines in the stone… they all match. Sandthorn Village was right here.”

I stood. “Then where is it now?”

He didn’t answer.

A few of the Falconeers landed a few seconds later, their falcon making a low, uneasy trill as it flared its wings. I stayed on the boat, gazing at the crater from my perch.

“Place got swallowed,” Lu Gao muttered, one hand on his brows as if covering his eyes. “No signs of a fight. Just... gone.”

I opened my Divine Sense again. My radius expanded, threading through the dunes, reaching for buried qi signatures, bloodstains, bones, artifacts, and anything. But all I felt was static. Not absence. Interference.

Something had wiped this place clean.

Han Lun dropped to one knee and touched the blackened soil with the back of his hand. “We used to trade with them. My second cousin married a girl from here. I... I should’ve been here sooner.”

I watched him closely. “This wasn’t an accident.”

“No.” He clenched his jaw. “No, it wasn’t.”

I leapt from the Soaring Dragon.

The warm wind hit my face as the enchanted metal beneath me hummed and tilted, reacting to my descent like a loyal steed trained to obey. Sand rushed up to meet me, and I landed softly, boots sinking an inch into the dune before I stood straight, brushing off dust that clung to my robes.

Nine Soaring Dragons, and three Formation Gourds… It was an impressive formation by any military standard. The Empire’s skyborne fleet, powered by Formation Cores and elemental circuits I still couldn’t replicate even after weeks of study. The fact that I, a literal outsider, had been allowed to ride them? That said more about my current reputation than I was comfortable with.

We had entered the Promised Dunes with two Soaring Dragons and one Formation Gourd. The rest stayed at the borders. The Promised Dunes, its Queen, and Han Lun had been cautious of our presence, and I couldn’t blame them. To their credit, they had reason to be.

I looked up. The sand-colored sails of the Soaring Dragons reflected the late-afternoon sun like sheets of bronze, casting slow-moving shadows across the dunes. We had landed far slower than I preferred. Why? Because we had to wait.

Falconeers.

The riders of the desert. Fast in the air, sure… but they rode birds, not boats. And their birds were tired. So the fleet had slowed for them. The honor guard of the Promised Dunes, revered across the region for their martial prowess and stubbornness.

I was about to turn toward Han Lun when I felt it.

A tremor.

Faint. Subtle. But it wasn’t the wind.

The sand beneath my boots shifted, just slightly, like a breath drawn beneath the dunes. My eyes narrowed. My Divine Sense flared out like a net. And there it was.

The epicenter.

Right beneath the Formation Gourd.

I raised my voice and amplified it with a Lion’s Roar and Voice Chat. “Everyone off the Formation Gourd! Now!”

They obeyed immediately, leaping from the craft with practiced grace. The Imperial Phoenix Guards were trained not to hesitate, and thank the heavens for that.

Because the next second, the sand exploded.

A monstrous column of earth and grit erupted upward as something massive and bone-white burst from below. The Formation Gourd tilted, shrieked as its core overloaded, and then… crunch.

Gone.

Swallowed whole.

The creature that surfaced was as long as a city wall and twice as hideous. Segmented flesh wrapped in runed carapace. Eyes nonexistent. A circular mouth lined with layered teeth. It screeched with a horrible, reverberating wail that made the dunes shiver.

“What’s that?!” Lu Gao was practically shouting, sword drawn but wide-eyed.

“My thoughts exactly, buddy,” I muttered.

“It’s a Wyrmed Worm!” one of the Falconeers shouted.

“Oh great,” I said. “A dragon worm.”

“A sand beast,” Jin Wen added, suddenly beside me like he teleported. His voice was disturbingly calm. “Said to carry a corrupted dragon bloodline. Not smart. But very big.”

“Big is all it needs to be,” grumbled Bai Zheme. He stepped forward, flicked open his war fan with a clack, and brought it down with a sharp arc.

A shimmering crescent of force split from the fan and crashed into the worm’s flank. The creature roared, part of its side sloughing off in chunks of burnt armor and gushing black ichor.

Han Lun followed immediately. Seventh Realm cultivators didn’t hesitate.

“Zhi!” he called, and his falcon dove. As he moved, his saber flashed an elegant, polished arc of steel. He and his beast dove into the breach Zheme had made, cleaving through the worm’s already ruptured flesh and tearing a massive line down its side.

The worm screeched again, half in pain, half in rage. Its entire form surged and twisted, utterly destroying what remained of the Formation Gourd.

Wood, steel, and Formation glass sprayed into the air.

Most of the passengers had gotten off in time, thankfully. A few lay scattered but alive in the sand.

And then… fire.

From above, Xue Xin descended. Wings of pure flame spread wide from her back, igniting the sky in streaks of gold and red. She didn’t land so much as fall like judgment incarnate. Her eyes locked onto the opposite side of the worm, and she roared, the heat surrounding her shimmering in waves.

She punched both hands forward, and two massive gouts of phoenix fire surged from her palms.

The worm tried to rear, but it was already half-dead. The flames tore through its flank like molten spears, boiling flesh and bone.

It let out one last thrashing screech. The dunes shook. Winds whipped wildly.

Then… silence.

The Wyrmed Worm collapsed, a mountain of ruined muscle and black blood. Its death birthed a minor sandstorm, the creature’s body slowly charring as the heat from Xue Xin’s flames collided with the frigid interior of its flesh.

The air was thick with the scent of burnt meat and crushed stone.

I stood there, robes flapping in the hot wind. The Soaring Dragons had lifted, barely avoiding the worst of the beast’s rampage. Only two remained overhead. The rest o0f the Falconeers had already veered out of range.

I turned toward the nearest group: Falconeers, my own people, and the survivors who’d jumped when I had.

They’d followed me the moment I left my perch. Loyal. And probably protective of me, courtesy of the Emperor..

I raised my hand and cast Shield of Faith: once, twice, five times over, until the translucent magic shimmered across our group in pale gold.

“Stay close,” I said. “It can’t hurt to be more cautious.”

“Well,” Hei Yuan muttered, brushing dust from his sleeves, “it would’ve been nice if I got a chance to show off.”

I shot him a sidelong glance. My boots dug deep into scorched sand, the corpse of the Wyrmed Worm cooling nearby.

Jin Wen stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes squinting at the remains. “That thing… it was a Sixth Realm Beast.”

He sounded unsure whether to be impressed or concerned.

“And Captain Xue, General Bai, and Captain Han…” he tilted his head toward the three Seventh Realm heavyweights who had just obliterated the thing together, “…couldn’t take it down in one blow.”

Lu Gao chuckled, flicking his blade clean. “No offense, senior,” he said, glancing at Hei Yuan, “but the Sixth Realm doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

Hei Yuan gritted his teeth like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of gravel. “Of course it’s a big deal, you sun-roasted pigeon! So what if I am at the Sixth Realm? It had a dragon’s bloodline! No need to nose-pick me, alright?! I know how tough dragons are.”

He pointed at Lu Gao, then at Jin Wen, flailing with every word.

“I told you both… I tried to control one of them back in the Shenyuan War. Remember?! The big one with the fog? I still can’t sneeze without thinking I’m gonna set something on fire. Huh?! Huh?!”

I raised a hand. “Calm down.”

He immediately deflated, muttering something about respect for elders and battlefield etiquette.

Old man threw tantrums like a toddler. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was faking half his white hairs.

Then I felt it.

Another vibration.

This one was sharper. Smaller epicenters. Fast.

The sand just ahead shifted and then burst upward like ruptured earth.

A winged creature emerged: emaciated, skeletal, and with limbs far too long and bent at angles that offended biology. The wings weren’t exactly feathered. They were cracked and leathery, like something meant to burn in heaven but cast out halfway through.

It shrieked in a soundless-like cry. My head just hurt.

Then another. And another.

Seven of them in total, each one rising from the sand like corpses pulled from a dream. Each one battered, like they’d lost a war somewhere else before showing up here for round two.

They didn’t float. They twitched.

My spine went cold.

“These guys are fast,” I muttered. “So…”

I needed to end this now.

I clasped my hands. “Summon: Holy Spirit.”

The golden sigil flared behind me… and Dave appeared.

Full plate, wingless, visor down. My divine bodyguard. I linked to him instantly.

“Voice Chat: Dave. Give me Divine Possession.”

His armored form blurred and merged into me like a sunrise folding inward. Magic rushed through me, divine slots clicking into place.

Five Spell Slots. Good.

I opened my status switched my Passive to TriDivine: Divine Speed. I also removed my Cosmetic Item, the Lofty Jade Proposition, revealing the ornate armor from underneath. No more illusion. My Wandering Adjudicator Armor gleamed in full golden-blue majesty with flowing ethereal emerald cape flowing behind.

“Zealot’s Stride.”

Power surged up my legs. My boots tore shallow furrows in the sand as the buff flooded my body with kinetic hunger.

Then: Flash Step. Flash Step. Flash Step. The world blurred with streaks of motion. I was lightning wrapped in cloth.

My sword Silver Steel pulsed with the upgraded version of Heavenly Punishment. Light cracked around it like divine static.

I drove the blade straight into my own chest.

—Thud.

The blade stayed. Mana whirled. The Reflect Damage effect began to accrue every hit I would have taken and spun it into volatile, divine retaliation. Paired with Sacrificial Zeal, it built up fast.

“Divine Word: Life.”

My body pulsed. Wounds forcibly tried to seal themselves, but with the sword still in my chest, I wouldn’t be healing at hundred percent any time soon. Still, every future healing spell now came supercharged with bonus effect and temporary health.

Two of the angels lunged.

I brushed past them.

They exploded. Divine backlash took their damaged, cursed bodies and unraveled them like paper dolls in a bonfire.

I gritted my teeth, forcing control over the raging storm inside me.

Willpower made sure there would be no friendly fire. Not today.

One of the angels dove toward a Falconeer.

“Castling.” My body blurred and swapped places with the Falconeer, and I met the angel mid-air with a clenched fist to its center.

Boom.

Light scattered. Three left.

I scooped a handful of sand, hurled it in front of me. A crude screen, but enough.

The angels hesitated. Their senses weren’t human.

My sword was still stuck in my chest, the Reflect Damage ticking upward. I grinned.

I could hear Hei Yuan muttering somewhere, “What are those?”

One of the angels touched an Imperial Phoenix Guard. Before it could do its absorb-thing…

“Castling.” I swapped again.

The angel touched me.

It exploded on contact. Divine backlash amplified by Reflect and Sacrificial Zeal vaporized it.

Two left.

I lunged toward them, my hand open in a blade shape.

“Divine Smite!”

My palm struck the air. The spell exploded on impact, cutting through both angels in a cleaving, radiant arc. Light burst across the field. Two screams… then silence.

I scanned through my Divine Sense.

One still survived, scurrying to bury itself in the sand.

I reached inward, called out with Voice Chat.

“Dave… gimme a spear.”

He responded instantly, my conjured spirit forming a golden spear in my hand, etched with ancient runes of war and justice.

I held it overhead. It crackled.

“Thunderous Smite.”

The spear sparked with holy lightning. I hurled it with both hands.

It howled through the sky.

CRACK—!

The final angel disintegrated in a streak of thunder and light.

Silence fell.

I stood still, heart thudding, sword still lodged in my chest like a divine battery pack. The wind swept across the sand, carrying ash and golden particles with it.

Bai Zheme exhaled loudly. “Well. Damn.”

Han Lun stared at me, then at the scorched remains. “...Okay, that was slightly cool. As expected of Master Wei!”

“That’s Sir Da Wei to you,” remarked Xue Xin.

I looked down at myself.

No one got absorbed.

Still glowing.

I sighed in relief.

But still…

“I am getting used to this… Berserker paladin build, huh? Not bad.”

140 Possession is Nine-Tenths of the Gender

I sat cross-legged in the private chamber Lu Gao had been assigned. The walls were lacquered with restrained elegance, the air thick with incense… floral, maybe aphrodisiacal. Hard to tell anymore. My sense of smell had been dulled by the constant barrage of stimulation in this continent.

I closed my eyes and cycled the Mana Road again, trying and hoping for even a flicker of insight. No matter how I refined the flow, no matter how cleanly I traced the meridians, the boundary of the Third Realm held fast. It was like pressing against glass: invisible, cold, immovable.

Lu Gao had already stepped into the Fourth. Gu Jie was thriving on that Legacy synergy of hers. And Jingyi? That damn girl was sprinting ahead with the shabbiest technique I’d ever seen… just raw genius, leaving me in the dust.

And me? Da Wei? Still stuck.

“Voice Chat,” I murmured in my mind. “Jue Bu, you there?”

A beat passed. Then…

“MOTHERFUCKING SHIT-EATING OUTSIDER SCUM—OF COURSE I’M HERE! You locked me in this freak-ass abyss! And don’t think I didn’t notice how suspicious it was when you gently invited me into your damn soul like some benevolent cultivator. Who just lets a cursed skull in without strings attached?!”

“Oh, good morning to you too,” I said flatly. “Sleep well?”

“No, I didn’t sleep! I existed. In your twisted mindscape, right next to that blob you’ve got loitering in there like it pays rent. WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS THAT THING?!”

“…You mean Eldritch-chan?”

“You NAMED it?! You absolute lunatic! How the hell did something like that end up inside you?”

“It’s a long story,” I muttered. “And I’m not in the mood. Want a bedtime tale too? Should I light incense and fetch popcorn?”

“Let me out!”

“Nah.”

“FUCK YOUR MOTHER!”

“Charming. Do you kiss your master with that mouth?”

“FUCK YOU, FUCKER!”

I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. His rage was weirdly… grounding.

“You know,” I said, “I might consider setting you free… if you tell me about that contract I inherited.”

“…The one from the boy. Lu Gao?”

“Bingo.”

“And you accepted it without reading the terms?”

“Sure did.”

“You brain-dead half-wit. At the time I thought you were just a brute with more power than sense. I never imagined you were actually that reckless. Who the hell agrees to a soulbinding pact without even glancing at the terms?!”

“The kind who doesn’t want to waste time,” I said, leaning back, lacing my fingers behind my head. “I didn’t want to lose the chance. Didn’t want to kill you either. Besides, it’s fun watching you squirm.”

“You’re deranged.”

“I prefer ‘efficient.’ Look, if I’d asked about the terms and didn’t like them, I might’ve backed out. Might’ve tried to loophole it. But that would’ve pushed you to retaliate, maybe even try something desperate. Could’ve ended with your soul shattered, mine damaged, Gao in trouble—too much risk. So I gambled.”

“You gambled with a soul contract.”

“Yep. Like a big boss shouldering his cousin’s debt and turning the scammer into an employee.”

“…What in all the heavens are you even talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just answer me: what’s the catch?”

“You know everything about this is stupid, right?”

“I know,” I said. “It’s my kind of stupid. The deliberate kind. If it works, it works. I might not be able to see the future or juggle a dozen contingency plans like some Divine Strategist, but I know what I want. And right now, I’ve got a use for you. If you can shield my disciple from a demon like that, maybe you can do something about Eldritch-chan too.”

“FUCK YOU!”

How eloquent. As expected of a cursed skull with the soul of a pervert.

“I also know better than to haggle with Soul Contracts. That’s old knowledge: arcane, layered, and dangerous. One wrong twist and you lose a hand. Or a soul. Or both. Besides, you already pulled a fast one on my disciple. I’d be stupid to think you wouldn’t try the same with me. Desperation makes people pliable. No way a relic like you doesn’t know how to exploit that.”

“…Tch. I guess you’re not a complete idiot.”

“High praise,” I said flatly. “Truly honored, coming from the skull currently taking up residence in my brain.”

“You should’ve asked, though,” he grumbled. “Even a token effort. But fine. You’ve already bound yourself, and frankly, I don’t want that blob-roommate of yours nibbling on my soul-fragments out of boredom. So I’ll tell you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“The contract wasn’t just about shielding your disciple from the demon. That was just the trigger. There’s… a side effect.”

“…Define ‘side effect.’”

“Oh, you’ll love this,” he said with that shit-eating grin I could somehow hear. “You haven’t noticed anything weird yet?”

My stomach turned. “…Tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

“Oh, it’s exactly what you think it is. Ever wondered what it’s like to walk in the shoes of womanhood? Want me to give you a tour?”

“Cut the crap.” My voice dropped, flat and cold. “What’s the cost? The real one. You defend Lu Gao, and then what? You get to possess his body?”

“Close. I get access to it. The curse is a conditional possession technique. Not full-on parasitism, not the usual soul-jacking. If certain conditions are met, I get to use the body for a while. Temporary control.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Conditions like what?”

“Gender switch.”

I stared at nothing for a few long seconds.

“You’re not lying,” I muttered. “Not that you need to. It’s too damn bizarre to be fake.”

He chuckled, low and smug. “Every time you switch gender, I get control. For a little while. With Lu Gao, I barely got anything… he’s too weak. I couldn’t draw enough strength to overpower the demon. But with you… oh, the potential.”

“…Why does it have to be a woman?”

“Why not a woman?” he asked with unsettling cheer. “Soul transformation, body reshaping, identity realignment… this isn’t science that most academics and scholars loved to obsessed with. It’s cultivation. It rewrites the vessel to suit the condition.”

Of course, science existed in this world… They got superhuman thinkers after all.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a long, ragged sigh. “Oh my god.”

“Technically goddess,” he said brightly. “At least during the shift.”

“Shut. Up.”

I should note: this skull had an impressively deep vocabulary for a lunatic with a fixation on curse-induced genderbending possession.

“No, seriously,” Jue Bu insisted. “You’re gonna be a real knockout. Tall, lithe, terrifying—that’s how my power likes to manifest. Like a sexy grim reaper. Hope you don’t mind looking better than most fairy queens.”

“I’m going to kill someone.”

And then it hit me.

I knew exactly who I wanted to kill.

“…Nongmin.”

The shriek that followed wasn’t from Jue Bu. No, that was the sound of my own soul cracking under the weight of a dawning, existential horror. This was probably the second time that smug bastard Emperor had pulled a fast one on me.

First time? The sudden Imperial Phoenix Guard. Surprise noble titles. The works.

And now this?

That damn imperial gremlin definitely knew what was in the contract. Sure, he warned me. Vaguely. The kind of warning that lets him sleep at night but still laugh himself sick behind closed doors.

Lu Gao got saddled with this mess first and still managed to act like nothing was wrong.

Of course he did.

Because Jue Bu had been too busy playing demon-nanny to activate the gender-swap clause.

But me?

I didn’t have a demon keeping him distracted.

Wait… hold on.

I did.

Eldritch-chan.

And Dave.

I blinked. Sat up straighter.

“I do have demons,” I said aloud. “And I’m pretty sure you’re screwed. No, I’m confident you’re screwed. That was kind of the entire reason I let you in. I figured: if I inherited Lu Gao’s debt, I might as well weaponize the payment plan.”

“Sorry… what?”

“You’re not getting my body,” I said, grinning now, teeth bared like a wolf that just found out the hunter has asthma. “You think you are. But to take control, you’d have to wrestle a multi-dimensional horror and a rogue AI. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here. Sipping tea. Watching them reduce your soul to metaphysical sawdust.”

“What even is AI? Hmmm… There’s more in here? I thought it was just that horrible thing…”

Anyway. Win-win for me.

New antivirus system. Bonus perks, maybe. It was an unexpected catharsis.

The only downside? Nongmin getting me again.

I could already imagine his smug little face. Probably laughed for an hour after I left.

“I invited you in, Skull-boy,” I said, savoring every word. “Knew there was something shady, but I let it happen anyway. You see, I have strong beliefs…”

“In your power?”

“No. In your suffering.”

“You’re a psycho.”

“Yup.” I folded my arms. Felt… calm, actually. “Welcome to my brain trust. Population: three unhinged nightmares and me. Good luck figuring out who gets to drive when the boobs show up.”

“You’re taking this way too well. This should be a crisis.”

I laughed. A real, honest-to-Daoist laugh.

“Jue Bu,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye, “I’ve been beheaded, got a PC exploded in my face, gaslit by an ancient empire, and painted a dying mother into memory with my own hands. If the universe wants to throw gender-bending into the mix? That’s tame. My life’s already a madlib written by drunk cultivators.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re the one who signed the contract.”

“Technically, you…”

“Nope. Lu Gao signed the first one. I just inherited it. That’s on Nongmin. Who, by the way, definitely knew. Sent me packing with a straight face. Probably chuckled all through tea hour.”

I imagined Nongmin in the throne room, pouring himself wine and whispering, “Heh. She’s gonna lose it.”

The image made me want to scream and laugh at the same time.

It was almost beautiful. Almost admirable.

If Xin Yune’s death marked a turning point for him… then this? This level of emotional investment in screwing with me? It meant he was growing. Processing. Becoming a real person. Something Xin Yune would’ve been proud of.

I sighed.

“You know what? Let him have it.”

“What?” Jue Bu blinked. “Let who have what?”

“Nongmin,” I said, closing my eyes. “If pulling stupid pranks on me helps him process grief and become a more well-rounded person, then fine. I’ll tank the consequences.”

“Even if it means… wait, who’s even Nongmin? Some farmer? You got beef with a peasant?”

“Farmer?” I groaned. “Hah. I wish.”

I inhaled slowly, mentally bracing myself.

“Even if it means being a woman for a bit. Just tell me what the trigger conditions are so I don’t wake up mid-transformation with tits.”

“…It’s a little vague.”

“Of course it is.”

“It’s more of an emotional resonance thing. Like, your soul hits a certain frequency… strong conviction, big epiphany, using the deeper functions of my power. Depends on the person. For Lu Gao, it was cold water.”

“Cold water. Right. So it’s random and stupid. Let me guess… chances are, the moment I get all noble and heroic, I turn into Magical Girl Da Wei.”

“More like Eldritch Valkyrie.”

I rubbed my temples.

“Great. Love that for me. Just know this, Skull—if you try anything funny while I’m in that state… Dave and Eldritch-chan have full permission to redecorate your spiritual essence with lava and screaming.”

“…Noted.”

“Good.”

Fifteen minutes later…

I was still hearing Jue Bu mutter in the background about soul dynamics and “inevitable womanhood,” but I tuned him out like a parent ignoring a toddler mid-tantrum. He was now just a faulty app running in the background of my brain.

Enough. There was work to do.

So much work.

I stepped out of my chamber.

Bai Zheme was there, standing sentinel as always, silent and unmoving. He was dressed like a scholar and armed like an executioner.

A few paces behind him was a few familiar faces. Hei Yuan and Jin Wen were returning from their outing, Lu Gao trailing close behind. Hei Yuan looked dusty. Jin Wen wore his usual unreadable face. Lu Gao... looked sentimental.

I gave them a nod. “You’re back. Anything to report?”

“Master Wei,” Jin Wen said, handing over a Storage Ring. “These are the books you requested.”

I accepted it with a nod, not bothering with ceremony. I tapped into my Item Box and offloaded the contents in a pulse of will. Hundreds of books spiraled into the void: regional maps, folklore scrolls, and obscure myths of desert tribes.

Knowledge, stacked like firewood.

Hei Yuan cleared his throat. “I have news. We brushed through the city’s underworld, shook some rats, poked some dens. Nothing special… until Lu Gao gave me a clue.”

He gestured to Lu Gao, who nodded, arms crossed.

“Sandthorn Village,” Hei Yuan continued. “Small, out of the way. Officially abandoned for years. But there’ve been whispers… foreign trio staying there. Two women: one with rosy pink hair, the other a blonde.”

My pulse quickened.

Alice, Joan, and… of course. This lined up. Lu Gao was the third.

“Good work,” I said.

Before we could go further, bootfalls echoed from the side road. Captain Xue Xin arrived at a brisk pace, saluting sharply.

“The Soaring Dragon boats and the Formation Gourd transports are ready to launch, my lord.”

“Good,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

Because of course there was a problem. She wouldn’t have come sprinting otherwise.

Xue Xin didn’t hesitate. “The guide provided by Her Radiance, the Queen… has been assassinated.”

I blinked. “That wasn’t in Nongmin’s predictions.”

She nodded. “We’re just as surprised.”

“How?” I asked, voice low. “Who?”

Her gaze flicked to Lu Gao, then back to me. “He attempted to force himself on one of the Purple Blossom girls. She resisted. He wouldn’t stop.”

Lu Gao’s aura flared. No hesitation, no concealment. Killing intent rolled off him like a thunderhead.

“He deserved it,” Lu Gao growled. “I would’ve done it myself.”

My eyes slid to Bai Zheme. I already knew. I had told him to watch the guide.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

Bai Zheme met my gaze without blinking. “I killed him.”

There was neither fanfare nor flourish in his confession. Just a statement of fact, cold and clean as a blade. I didn’t respond immediately. I didn’t have to. General Bai did what I would’ve done.

What any of us should’ve done.

Then the wind shifted. A sudden gust swept sand into the courtyard. Madam Yun burst in: robes askew, hair windblown, and eyes wide with panic. She dropped to her knees before I could react, forehead pressed to the dust-caked tiles.

“My lord!” she cried. “Please forgive this one for allowing such disgrace to manifest in your presence. It was my failure! I accept all punishment!”

She groveled so hard I could practically hear her spine pop.

I let the silence linger. Let the gravity settle.

Then I sighed.

“Madam Yun. Stand.”

She hesitated, then rose to her knees, trembling.

“I do not blame you for the man’s sins,” I said. I didn’t need to spell out the implications. The guide had been personally assigned by the Queen. “My bodyguard, Bai Zheme, dealt with it. Let the matter rest.”

Madam Yun trembled harder, still kneeling.

“Prepare a feast in my honor,” I added, flicking my sleeve. “Jin Wen, compensate her for the trouble caused by our so-called guide.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jin Wen replied. He stepped forward, producing a heavy pouch. The soft clink of coin was unmistakable as he passed it over. “Please accept this as a token of our gratitude, for hosting us, and for enduring that fool’s behavior.”

Madam Yun’s eyes widened at the weight. She accepted the pouch with both hands, bowing low.

“Now go,” I said, voice final. “The Purple Blossom household showed kindness in our hour of need. May you continue to care for your people... and may your business flourish for years to come.”

Her lips parted into a smile. She bowed again, this time not from fear, but from relief. Then she all but fled my presence, robes flaring like a bird taking flight.

The feast would force the establishment to close for the day. A gift. A lie, yes, but a beautiful one. Sweet to swallow. Sharp if ignored.

As for us?

“We’re leaving,” I said, turning to the others.

Lu Gao blinked. “Wait. What about the feast?”

I gave him a look. “It was never for us. It’s for the girls. Let them eat. Let them dance. We’ve got work to do.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I understand, Master.”

I turned to Xue Xin. “Draft a letter in my name. Deliver it to Her Radiance. Inform her of the guide’s behavior… how he threw his weight around in front of foreign guests. Tell her we handled it quietly, to preserve her face.”

She bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

I inclined my head toward Bai Zheme. “You did well, General Bai.”

Xue Xin shifted, clearly uneasy. “While it was admirable to see the old general take swift action… I do wish I had been informed sooner. My people were preparing to scour the city for the assassin.”

Bai Zheme answered with a mild bow. “Apologies, Captain Xue. It won’t happen again.”

“No,” I said, cutting in before she could reply. “It won’t. Because next time, I will punish whatever fool dares show indecency and injustice in front of me.”

I turned, robes billowing, already moving.

“Let’s go,” I called back. “I want to be back in the Empire by the third sunrise.”

They followed closely behind.

“Now, let’s look for a certain duo… shall we?”

139 A Man Awakens Surrounded

I opened my eyes to soft violet curtains swaying with a lazy breeze, sunlight filtering in through honeyed lattice windows, and the scent of sandalwood, jasmine, and too many people wearing perfume in close quarters.

The first thing I did was check my chest.

Still flat.

Still a dude.

Thank the Heavens.

And then I froze.

I was surrounded by women.

To be more accurate, fine women… The kind sculptors tried to capture in jade and never got quite right.

One had skin like polished amber and wore her hair in thick braids wrapped with golden rings. She was curled against my right side, her arm over my chest like she’d claimed it in the night.

Another woman, tall, dark, and elegant as a tower bell, lay to my left, draped in a sheer violet robe that barely hinted at the martial scars on her abdomen. Her legs had interlocked with mine at some point.

A third… blonde, curvy, and softer than a spring morning, was tucked under my arm, fingers loosely tangled in my shirt, her breath warm against my collarbone.

All of them were stunning.

Thankfully, they were all dressed. Though a few sashes had come undone and some of those collars were... adventurous.

I glanced up.

The ceiling was painted with blooming plum branches and silver clouds. Familiar. I’d seen it before.

Oh.

"The Purple Blossom."

A famed leisure house in the Promised Dunes. High-end. Respectable. Renowned for offering not just physical comfort, but elegant companionship from tea ceremonies, poetry, zither music, and the gentle art of conversation.

And yet, I was in a bed, surrounded by these women like some tragic romance novel protagonist who’d lost a war and fallen into a pile of warm pillows and emotional support.

“Dave…” I murmured.

No answer came.

So I did the usual.

Voice Chat: Activate!

"Dave. Mission report."

There was a pause. Then, his voice echoed through my mind, smooth as ever, but with the tone of someone caught red-handed.

"My Lord. You’ve awakened."

"Yes. In a bed. With six women."

"Ah. Yes. A misunderstanding, I assure you. Nothing dishonorable occurred."

"Start from the top."

"Of course, My Lord. During your quest to help Disciple Lu Gao, I maintained a low profile for the first week. On your behalf, I entrusted Xue Xin with Lu Gao’s care. As for the rest of the Imperial Phoenix Guard, they had secured the establishment without a fuss, and Madam Yun had been cooperative."

Madam Yun, the house matriarch?

"And the part where we ended in bed? I did ask you to take over and avoid being the subject of suspicion, but…"

"The Purple Blossom is considered a sacred site of emotional cultivation by the locals. It is where warriors come to mend their spirit, poets to refine their verse, and the lonely to feel... a little less so."

I rubbed my face.

"What exactly did you do?"

"We came here under the premise of seeking balance… worldly pleasure to temper worldly burdens. Our story was set straight: you are a wandering sage from the far Empire, weary from battle and in search of peace. I held tea ceremonies with several of the Blossom Ladies, debated philosophy, praised a courtesan’s calligraphy, and complimented a warrior-poet on her swordsmanship."

"And they all just... followed you into bed?"

"A sandstorm struck during the third evening. We were escorted to the guest pavilion for shelter. It is customary here, My Lord, to share warmth during stormy nights. The women insisted. To refuse would have been seen as an insult. I ensured all remained clothed. I even kept a Cleanse Spell repeatedly cast on my mind…" he coughed discreetly "…to suppress any accidental… nocturnal disturbances."

I stared at the elegant wooden wall across from me.

This man.

This bastard.

He'd created a legend of me as a wandering romantic philosopher and slept in the company of beautiful women without so much as holding a hand.

"So let me summarize: tea, poetry, weather-induced co-sleeping, and reputation management. A cuddle, is it?"

"Precisely, My Lord. And biscuits. Quite delightful ones, with a lavender glaze. I requested the recipe."

One of the women stirred slightly beside me, mumbling something about starlight and “the gentle master.”

I was going to have a very awkward time explaining this if anyone walked in.

"Anything else I should know?"

"Ah, yes. You’ve been invited to an informal moon-viewing banquet by Lady Huai and her circle. It seems our reputation has spread."

Of course it had.

I closed my eyes again and let out a long, quiet sigh.

"Dave?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Next time you decide to build a reputation as a refined hedonist with a heart of gold… at least warn me first."

"Of course, My Lord. Shall I begin composing haikus in your name?"

"Dave. This isn’t Losten. There are no haikus here…"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Shut up."

"As you wish."

No way I'd admit to it, but man... sometimes, I'd feel jealous of Dave...

I used Flash Step to leap past the winding staircases and curtained halls of the Purple Blossom. A trail of distorted air shimmered behind me, my footing lighter than wind, yet leaving no trace. I followed with Zealot’s Stride, surging mana through my calves and ankles until every step rang like a drumbeat of purpose. The building blurred around me—velvet drapes, carved sandalwood, giggling attendants—none of it registered. My attention was already elsewhere.

I activated Divine Sense.

The world cracked open to me, a soft pulse echoing through reality. Qi signatures blossomed across my perception like ink drops in water. Familiar energies surged and fluttered through the building. There… hidden, subtle, and like embers in the dark… I found the Imperial Phoenix Guard.

I’d memorized their presence the first time: too disciplined and too still to be anything else. They were stationed outside, pretending to be drunkards, performers, and errand girls. One was even disguised as a flower vendor. Amateurs to the untrained eye. But to me?

Imperial watchdogs, cloaked in shadows, patrolled the perimeter like dogs sniffing out ghosts.

I kept moving.

As I turned into a hall of painted screens and glass lanterns, I passed Bai Zheme.

He stood tall in a pressed silk robe, but wore the silent readiness of someone expecting war before breakfast. His hand was near his belt, though there was no sword. He didn’t need to have one to begin with.

His gaze flicked to me and back ahead.

A nod.

Barely more than a twitch.

I returned it with equal enthusiasm. Which was to say, none.

Then came his voice, calm as a winter lake.

“Where to?”

I slowed just enough to let him fall in behind me.

“Looking for my disciple.”

He didn’t ask which one. He didn’t have to.

I stopped before a sliding paper door at the end of a quiet corridor. I felt her presence inside. Low heartbeat. Steady breathing. No danger. Just the muffled scent of warm blankets and herbal oil.

I slid the door open.

Xue Xin was inside, curled beneath a quilt embroidered with cranes and lotuses. Her long red hair spilled across the pillow like silk threads. She blinked up at me with soft confusion, the glow of sleep still in her eyes.

She smiled faintly.

“Sir Da Wei…?” she whispered, half-sitting up.

“Where’s Lu Gao?” I asked.

Her smile didn’t falter, but her expression did twitch, just slightly. She tilted her head.

“You mean Lu Ling, Sir Da Wei?” She looked toward the lump beside her under the blanket. “She was suffering from nightmares again. I held her so she would not feel afraid.”

I sighed.

I already had a feeling about this.

I stepped into the room and knelt by the edge of the futon. Xue Xin watched, concerned, as I reached out.

“Please don’t… she’s sleeping. She hasn’t rested in days. She…"

I pulled the blanket aside.

Underneath it, very much snoring and very much male, lay Lu Gao.

He had managed to curl into the fetal position, one arm tucked beneath his chin, lips parted in the dumbest sleep expression I’d seen in months. His hair was a mess, and he clutched what looked like a small plush fox someone must’ve given him.

Xue Xin’s face went blank.

Then pale.

Then red.

Then dangerous.

It was a colorful sight.

I watched the sequence with the detached horror of a bystander about to witness a righteous execution.

“…What?” she whispered. “That’s…”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed into sharp slits.

“That’s not Lu Ling. That’s…! That’s a man! That’s…he’s…”

She turned to me, hand clenching over her heart like she’d been tricked by the Heavens.

“Sir Da Wei,” she said through gritted teeth, “I failed you. I swear, I did not know. I thought I was protecting Lu Ling. But it seems…”

She stood abruptly, the blanket falling off her. She was already dressed in her inner armor, light silks wrapped under leather plating.

“It seems she… was kidnapped.”

“…That’s one way to interpret it,” I muttered.

She didn’t hear me.

Or maybe she did, but she was too far gone. Already summoning a glowing saber from her Storage Ring, her spiritual aura bursting with cold, judicial fury.

The room trembled.

“Xue Xin,” I said, raising a hand. “Let’s take a moment…”

“No,” she said, voice like frostbite. “This pig dared to touch Lu Ling.”

“Uuuh… I think you are misunderstanding something…”

The blade hummed with power. Lu Gao stirred, as his eyes fluttered open.

He saw her.

Then saw the saber.

Lu Gao made a sound that was part whimper and part dying sheep.

“Wait… wait… Senior Sister?!”

Xue Xin didn’t hesitate. She charged.

“You deserve death, swine!”

“SOMEONE HELP ME!!”

He scrambled. She pounced. I sighed.

And Bai Zheme, still standing outside the door, calmly slid it shut with two fingers as he entered the room. “You want me to intervene?” he asked, hand touching his war fan.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall.

“...Let her get two hits in first.”

On second thought, I really shouldn’t have let her land even a single hit.

Xue Xin was Seventh Realm. Lu Gao? What was he now, Fourth? Maybe fifth on a good day if he was high on confidence and lying to himself.

The moment she dashed forward, her saber gleamed with genuine killing intent. She wasn’t joking. That wasn’t a slap-on-the-wrist swing. That was a “disgrace to the bloodline” type of cut.

But somehow…

CLANG!

The sound of metal meeting metal rang out like a thunderclap.

Lu Gao. No... The still sniffling and half-asleep Lu Gao had actually managed to parry the attack. He’d conjured a sword made from his Hollow Point technique. A glimmering purple haze flared into existence, deflecting the saber just inches from his face. The thing fizzled and cracked apart instantly, but it had done the job.

Even if it was a half-hearted strike on Xue Xin’s end, that was still impressive.

I blinked.

“Huh.”

“You dare…!” Xue Xin’s saber arced up again, already swinging down.

I moved.

In less than a heartbeat, I reached out and grabbed both of them by the back of their necks. One in each hand. It felt like lifting a saber spirit and a sack of potatoes.

Xue Xin froze in mid-air, feet dangling slightly.

Lu Gao yelped.

I held them up like misbehaving kids at a birthday party.

“Alright, enough,” I said. “We’re on a schedule, and I’d rather we not waste it murdering each other over blanket politics.”

Xue Xin’s eyes narrowed. “But, Sir Da Wei…!”

“It’s a misunderstanding,” I said flatly. “Lu Ling has always been a guy.”

She blinked.

I continued, “But due to a perverted skull fucker, he spent the past few days assuming a female shape.” I got to continue my conversation with that skull, but for now, I have to deal with these two.

There was a beat of silence as Xue Xin muttered, “…Who is Skull Fucker?”

I sighed. “His name is Jue Bu. Old soul. Used to be someone important. Now he’s just mostly horny and extremely literate.”

Lu Gao, still suspended in my grip, suddenly sobbed.

“I missed you so much, Master…”

He squirmed upward, trying to press his face into my shoulder.

Ugh.

“Lu Gao,” I warned, “if you don’t get your snotty little face off of me right now, I swear on the Celestial Dao, I will kick you so hard your ancestors will think they gave birth to a cloud.”

He froze... and then sniffled.

Slowly, he leaned back his face off with a trembling lower lip.

“…Yes, Master.”

I dropped them both.

Xue Xin landed silently, adjusting her sleeves with martial dignity. Lu Gao collapsed like a sack of wet rice, wheezing.

I looked at both of them.

“Good,” I said. “Now get dressed. Eat something. We’ve got business to handle, and it doesn’t involve accidental nudity or sword-based therapy.”

Lu Gao nodded rapidly, still wiping tears from his face. "Senior Xue... I am s-sorry..."

"Shut up," Xue Xin bowed lightly. “As you command, Sir Da Wei.”

Wait a damn minute... I stared at Lu Gao and then at Xue Xin. Something happened between them during the time I was inside Lu Gao. Curious... Very curious, indeed.

Bai Zheme cleared his throat.

“If this is the usual morning routine, I’d like to request hazard pay.”

“Denied,” I said without missing a beat. “Go talk to the Emperor for that shit. I am not your boss. I am your eccentric charge who just happens to have too much power in his biceps.”

“What?” asked the confused Bai Zheme.

Time to get moving.

“Alright. Orders.”

They all turned toward me, still half-tensed from the earlier chaos.

“Xue Xin,” I said. “Get your girls ready and pack up our stuff. We’re leaving soon.”

She gave a slight bow. “As you will, Sir Da Wei.” The moment she turned, her tone changed, barking precise instructions like a general rallying troops in her Qi Speech. Her skill with Qi Speech was unexpectedly sloppy, her Qi bursting forth as she murmured to herself.

I turned to Lu Gao, who was still wiping crusted tears off his cheeks and sniffling like an abandoned puppy.

“Go look for Hei Yuan for me. He’s either at the local tavern or the local bookstore. Check both.”

Lu Gao blinked. “Yessir, right away! Should I…”

“Don’t ask. Just move. Also help him with his task... This is a bit last minute, but you should be able to point us in the right direction to look for Alice and Joan.”

He ran off, tripped slightly, and hurried off.

I finally turned to Bai Zheme, who hadn’t said a word through the entire thing.

“Guard the door.”

He nodded once, noncommittal as always, and took up position just outside the sliding doors with the same stance he’d probably use while storming a fortress. He closed the door respectfully, leaving me by my lonesome.

With the room cleared, I sat cross-legged in the center of the room, took a slow breath, and closed my eyes.

Time to meditate.

I let the mana in my body cycle through the Mana Road Cultivation technique. It was a method Lu Gao and me had developed using what I could glean from local traditions, combined with what felt natural to me. It worked… but obviously, it wasn’t perfect.

A setback in cultivation was, of course, normal, so no need to feel disheartened.

I searched for that feeling again, the stagnation. That annoying, tickling sense at the back of my soul that told me something was missing. I was still stuck in the Third Realm, and no amount of cycling, refining, or muttering encouraging words to my heart-dantian was going to change that.

What was I lacking?

And here I thought killing stuff would allow me to level up after I broke through the level cap by starting on my cultivation journey.

Clearly, it wouldn't be so easy.

There was a piece missing. A crucial element I couldn’t identify.

I guess I’d assumed this whole cultivation thing would be easy. You know, like in the novels. Give the transmigrated guy some cheat abilities, drop him into a fantasy realm, and boom… he becomes a god.

Right?

Wrong.

Sure, I had better stats than anyone in this world, and I was abusing the hell out of them, but cultivation wasn’t a video game. Well, it kind of was, but it was a deeply unfair one with hidden mechanics, vague patch notes, and no customer support.

Lu Gao was already in the Fourth Realm. Not because he was a genius, but because he had actual cultivation experience. He fought tooth and nail to climb up. His foundation was solid, even if his brain wasn’t.

Gu Jie, on the other hand, had always been special. Her constitution gave her a head start, sure… but it was the Legacy she awakened that was carrying her higher. It seemed like she was doing some kind of dual cultivation without needing a partner, creating a spiritual harmony that let her break through again and again.

And then there was Ren Jingyi.

That girl was just a genius, plain and simple.

She started with an inferior method… Hollow Breathing Technique, something most sects wouldn’t even hand to their dogs, but she made it work. Not only that, she accumulated energy with such terrifying speed that she had surpassed Gu Jie and Lu Gao despite the difference in quality.

That wasn’t something you learned.

That was something you were.

And then there was... me.

Stuck. Spinning my mana in circles. I stared at a locked door and hoped it would open if I just jiggled the handle long enough.

I clenched my fists, slowly exhaled, and refocused.

Fine.

If I couldn’t break through with force, I’d out-think the damn system.

Somewhere in the mess of this world’s cultivation lore, there was an answer. A reason why this path was stalling me.

And when I found it, I’d tear the barrier apart.

One breath at a time.

138 Fireflies in the Soul Sea

It had been two weeks since I started diving into Lu Gao’s soul, and I meant that quite literally.

Dreamwalking wasn’t a plug-and-play technique. Especially not when the base mechanism involved something called Soulful Guiding Fire… a temperamental flame that could lead a practitioner through another’s subconscious while fending off invasive forces. Which, in Lu Gao’s case, was a devil knight squatting deep in his mind like it paid rent.

And to make things harder?

The fire couldn’t run on purely Mana. It ran on pure Qi.

Unfortunately, my cultivation path leaned on a different energy entirely… Mana through the Road of Immanence, not Qi through the Meridian Paths. Sure, I had Qi-based techniques for backup and managed to replicate most of them rather perfectly, but integrating a full-on soul technique? That was like trying to power an antique golem with a solar charger.

So, I had to get creative.

Careful.

And paranoid.

Mostly because I didn’t want to get catfished by a floating skull.

Jue Bu, so far, had been… tolerable. Honest, even. Which made me more suspicious.

The soul contract we’d formed wasn’t a casual pinky promise. This thing was soul-binding in the deepest sense. It even had layered seals and linguistic runes I barely understood… and I’d seen my fair share of crazy contracts. Something about Jue Bu’s essence felt ancient. Deep. Maybe even older than this world.

I didn’t say it out loud, but it kind of freaked me out.

How did Alice and Joan even manage to capture this guy? What dumb luck or weird fate had tangled them together?

Still, the results spoke for themselves.

Two weeks later, I could now shape the Soulful Guiding Fire, albeit in a slightly jankier form.

A soft thrum filled the cave as I exhaled and held my palm forward. A swirl of green flame gathered in the air, folding into itself with alien elegance before erupting outward in the shape of a butterfly.

Its wings beat once.

The ground cracked beneath my feet.

Cave walls groaned.

I stepped back, one hand shielding my face as the air thickened with the scent of ozone and wet moss, a side effect of merging Mana with what the Skull called the soul essence.

“Damn,” I muttered, blinking through the wave of heat. “No wonder this thing was so hard to control.”

One reason for the difficulty? Jue Bu had no Qi. Not a drip. Which meant no demonstrations, no examples, and no hands-on feedback. Just him sitting in the corner and giving lewd commentary like a discount Daoist grandpa with boundary issues.

Still, he hadn’t lied.

Not once.

And for an undead, that said a lot.

The butterfly circled around me once, brushing the edge of my robes, then zipped down the tunnel and vanished into the shadows.

I let out a slow breath.

Showtime.

I only hoped my Holy Spirit, Dave, was buying me time. The last time we spoke, he was still pretty tired, but he’d do his best to protect me. Good old Dave. Hopefully, he wasn’t too depressed after what happened with Shenyuan. Admittedly, Dave had undergone a few levels of evolution, I couldn't measure him by LLO standards anymore.

“Alright,” I said to the dark, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s dreamwalk.”

A flick of my fingers sent the butterfly to its destination.

I stared into the swirling green flame ahead, Soulful Guiding Fire fluttering like an anxious butterfly near the threshold of Lu Gao’s soul sea. I turned around to face theSkull.

“Oi. You coming?”

“I’d rather stay,” he said, lazily spinning in place. “Dreams are for the young and horny. I’m ancient and exhausted.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t have a choice.”

Then I cast Compel Duel on him.

A thin and invisible string of power etched itself into the air between us, slamming into his bony chest with a satisfying thwump. A pair of halos appeared above me and above him. His eye sockets flared blue as the binding took hold. The terms were simple: he strays too far from me, his stats tank. It didn’t hurt him, but it definitely made everything suck.

“Oh, come on!” he groaned, shaking his skull like a disappointed father at a tavern brawl. “You’re working me to the bone here. Again. Literally.”

“Welcome to the club.” I walked ahead, not waiting for his complaints to finish echoing. "Come on, time is gold... Act more like your age. You are ancient, act more like it... or you'll lose my respect. Ah, I forgot, I don't have any."

"Sarcastic prick."

The butterfly bobbed along the path like a lantern guiding the dead. Stones shifted underfoot. It was warm, but not oppressively so, like we were walking deeper into memory, not magma.

Naturally, I took the opportunity to probe for answers.

“Jue Bu,” I called back, voice casual, “You… Earthling?”

He floated up beside me, pausing mid-rattle. “Am I what now?”

“Earth. Blue orb. Rich with culture. Exclusively mortal plane. Lotta debt. Slightly too obsessed with cats.”

He tapped his chinbone thoughtfully. “Ahhh… that Earth.”

My heart jumped. I stopped walking and turned to face him again.

“You’re from…”

He snapped his fingers. “The fairy tale! Right, right, Earth. The mythical paradise where everyone lives for ten thousand years in peace and watches boxed dramas on demand. Yeah, what about it?”

The fire behind my eyes dimmed.

“You think it’s a fairy tale?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I mean, that place where everyone’s born powerless but somehow still destroys stars with flying metal birds and pocket screens? C’mon. Next, you’ll tell me they cook food with invisible fire and drink water from underground pipes.”

I stared at him in silence.

“...You’re serious,” I said at last.

“As the grave,” he replied, then paused. “Which, incidentally, is where I’ve spent the better half of the last millennia.”

I walked again, mind spinning. This guy knew of Earth… but not as a place he’d lived. He knew it as a story.

A story.

So… what did that make me?

A walking myth?

A main character in someone’s bedtime tale?

It left a weird taste in my mouth. Bitter nostalgia and existential confusion.

I didn’t know what to ask next. My thoughts churned with too many questions and not enough answers. I could press him. I should press him. But what if I asked and hated what I heard?

Jue Bu floated beside me, silent for once.

Even he could feel the weight of it.

Or maybe he was just waiting to make another sex joke.

Probably both.

The butterfly pulsed again, brighter this time.

“Found you,” I muttered as I sprinted through the dim caverns, chasing the flickering green of the Soulful Guiding Fire.

It fluttered ahead like a signal flare, weaving through collapsing stone and thick dust. My Divine Sense flared, a rippling pulse through the fractured soulscape, and I felt it… Something foul was hiding just beyond the veil.

I reached out, clenched my fist, and grabbed the air.

Stone cracked like glass around my wrist as the illusion crumbled, revealing blackened steel and a suffocating miasma of rage. I yanked hard and pulled a knight in demonic armor from the shadows. Horned helmet, serrated pauldrons, and a cape made of something that didn’t move so much as shiver with malice.

“I know you,” I said. “Saw you back at Hell’s Gate.”

The demon knight didn’t speak. Instead, it slammed its helmet into my face.

CRACK!

My vision flared white for a half second, but the backlash from Reflect Damage triggered instantly. The idiot knight had hit me with a critical, so the counter was even worse.

The echo of his headbutt exploded inward. Cracks spiderwebbed through his armor. His entire body shattered like a statue struck by divine lightning.

Chunks of the knight clanged onto the floor. Smoke curled from his broken core.

“Okay…” I muttered, rubbing my nose. “That hurt more than I thought it would.”

The butterfly was still glowing.

Good. That meant the bastard wasn’t gone yet, just hiding deeper.

Behind me, Jue Bu floated in lazily, arms behind his head like a retired war criminal on vacation.

“Hey,” I called back. “Any tips on my cultivation method?”

His jaw wobbled as if preparing for a sermon. “It’s shitty.”

“Wow,” I said. “Thanks. That really clarified things.”

“No, really,” he replied, floating closer. “You’re using an inferior energy system. You’re taking a high-resistance channel and trying to ram cultivation methods meant for Qi through it. Plus, you’re stacking it on top of some inherited power that was never meant to blend with this world’s laws.”

“So… like a weird smoothie?”

“What even is a... smoothie?"

"An unhealthy mixture that tastes good. You mix crushed ice with fruits, I think?"

"You think? More like mixing sulfuric acid with cooking wine. It’ll burn through your stomach, but hey, maybe you’ll get drunk.”

“...Metaphor noted.”

He spun once in mid-air. “There’s a reason everyone uses dantian-based systems here... and the rest of the Greater Universe. Gathering ‘power’ in the heart is… unconventional. Not useless, but limited. Your method might let someone rush to the Fourth Realm fast, but after that? They’re stuck.”

I felt something tighten in my chest.

I looked down at my hands, at the threads of mana coiled just beneath the skin.

“Stuck…”

Yeah. In my case, I was stuck at Will Reinforcement, Nine Star, so it was a bummer… I thought I'd broken my level cap back in my fight in Hell's Gate and would get to earn lots of EXP after slaying so many demons. Such a bummer.

Nongmin had said something similar once, behind closed doors. He didn’t put it that bluntly, of course. That man had the tact of a scheming tactician, and he’d used words like “potential bottleneck” and “room for architectural improvements.”

But Jue Bu? He just called it crap.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t wrong.

Nongmin thought I could overcome it if I followed him to the World Summit. There, he said, I’d meet figures who understood energy systems beyond even his grasp… and learn from their demonstration. Tools and relics. Laws of nature tied to other domains. A real solution.

But it came with a price.

Even if it wasn't the intention behind it, I'd be encumbered by the said price... and refusal would screw me more than benefit me.

I wasn’t Nongmin’s puppet.

…Right?

I didn’t feel strings on my arms. But if I kept dancing to the tune he played, if I followed the trail he set… was there really a difference?

Oh man.

It’s so much harder to wish for independence when the person trying to help you is smarter than you. Or, at the very least, better informed.

I blew out a breath, eyes flicking back to the flame.

“Alright,” I muttered. “Let’s keep going.”

“Lead the way,” Jue Bu said, tossing me a lazy salute. “If we die, I’m blaming your heart cultivation nonsense.”

I cracked my knuckles.

“Bring it on, demon bastard. Let’s see what else you’ve got hiding down here. And it’s called Mana Road Cultivation.”

After a couple more days of cat-and-mouse, chasing the demon knight through a maze of collapsing dreams and shattered memories, I finally caught a break, literally.

His arm.

Just lying there in a broken alcove, still twitching like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the rest of its owner had fled. The black armor on it was cracked, jagged like volcanic glass. But the essence? Still strong. Still demonic. Still cocky.

I scooped it up and sighed. “Well, that’s one limb down.”

From behind me, Jue Bu floated along with the enthusiasm of a man forced to supervise a toddler's attempt at rocket science. “Congratulations,” he drawled. “You’ve crippled the air. With a bit more time, maybe you can defeat a particularly hostile breeze.”

“Appreciate the support,” I muttered, dusting off my robe.

As we walked through another warped corridor of dreamspace, I figured I might as well pick the skull’s brain. “Hey, what’s the cultivation system like in the Greater Universe? You know, out there. Beyond this world.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

I looked over my shoulder to see his empty sockets glowing faintly.

Then he shrugged.

“They use Quintessence,” he said. “Universal energy constant. Think of it as an evolved form of Qi, a raw law-adherent force. The Realms aren’t chopped up into twelve or twenty-four like you bumpkins do. Just a few big steps.”

“Like…?”

“Well, what do you people here think is the Eleventh Realm? Perfect Immortal? That’s bottom barrel in the Greater Universe. They call it the starting point of the realm, ‘Ascended Soul.’ Like… you just graduated from being dirt.”

I blinked.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Harsh world out there. Stronger, cleaner, more efficient. Less stupid.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He drifted closer and jabbed a bony finger into my shoulder. “Also, what’s taking you so long? You’ve been chasing one single demon for days. You should’ve killed it three times by now. You’re not even trying! You need more practice with the Soulful Guiding Fire!”

“Hey, hey, I have a plan,” I said, holding up my hands. “Watch this.”

To be fair, the demon had been very slippery and was very insistent on not clashing with me. And he was right, I needed more practice with this dreamwalking ability. Still, it was too early to give up.

Thus, I decided to take a leap of faith and try to lure the demon. I took a deep breath and called out, voice echoing into the warped dreamspace like a carnival barker on discount week:

“Heyoooo~ devil knight! Can we talk?”

Silence.

I pushed harder, channeling just a bit of charm through my Mana-infused vocal cords.

“Let’s make a contract, so that you can get inside my body! Woohoo~! I’m a delicious piece of meat, loaded with crazy thoughts, soul scars, and repressed trauma. The full package!”

Stone cracked above me. The shadows shifted. I could feel the knight’s presence circling like a wary animal.

Behind me, Jue Bu groaned in disbelief. “You are courting death, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yup,” I said cheerfully. “But I’m also baiting it.”

The Skull clacked his teeth together. “There’s reckless. And then there’s you. Do you even understand how insane it is to offer your body to a demon?”

“Sure,” I replied, grinning as my Soulful Guiding Fire began to flare with activity. “But what better way to lure him out than to pretend to be dumber than I really am?”

Jue Bu didn’t respond. He just floated a little farther away. Smart.

Suddenly, the world went quiet.

No howling winds. No crumbling dreamspace or soulscape. No demonic shrieks echoing down psychic corridors.

Just silence.

I looked around, frowning. My Soulful Guiding Fire hovered nearby like an overworked secretary trying not to scream... and then the butterfly sputtered out, as if the effect of the technique had met its conditions. I used my Divine Sense, scanning this imaginary realm inside Lu Gao, and I found out that...

“The hell…?” I muttered. “Did he just… run?”

The demon ran.

Jue Bu floated up beside me, his usual smirk practically carved into his jawless skull. “Yup. Demon boy took the express wagon to coward town.”

“Disappointing,” I said with a sigh, folding my arms. “I had this whole plan, too. Thought I’d let him move in with you. You know, you two could share a corner of my soul with Eldritch-chan. Start a weird little sitcom or something.”

Jue Bu shuddered. “W-what? This better not be a jest… What eldritch?”

But I was serious.

"Hmmm... You know what an eldritch is?"

"No, no! We can't talk about them! They are a weird bunch!"

That really was my plan. It was the safest prison I could think of… inside me. Between the literal curse-wrapped pseudo-divinity clinging to my core, the eldritch being napping somewhere in the deeper recesses of my soul, and my personal brand of unpredictable mental instability, I was basically a one-man maximum security facility.

Still, I turned to Jue Bu and said, “Anyway. You held your end of the bargain. You taught me the technique. I chased down the knight. Didn’t catch him, but I learned a lot. So… it’s my turn now.”

“Oh?” Jue Bu’s sockets glowed with mischief. “You’re going to let me in, huh?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Time to formalize this arrangement.”

He wiggled his bony phalanges. “Just so you know… the moment you drop your possession technique, I’ll already be inside you.”

The way he said it made my neck stiffen.

“Don’t phrase it like that.”

“Inside you~,” he said again, voice thick with innuendo. “Deep… inside.”

“Alright, alright! I get it!” I waved him off like swatting flies. “No need to make it weird.”

“You made it weird by making the deal,” he said with a shrug.

And yet… I hesitated. Just a little.

Something about all this… it felt too smooth. Too easy.

Was I forgetting something?

Some detail?

Some danger?

I stared at the flames flickering off my Soulful Guiding Fire, a pulse of green fire dancing against the fractured dream-walls.

Nah.

Probably fine.

Right?

“…Right?”

But Jue Bu was already laughing to himself, voice echoing like clattering bones in a haunted bathhouse.

“Too late now, Da Wei. We had a deal, souls be vowed!”

I sighed, rubbing my temples.

Then I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and cancelled the effect of Divine Possession.

“Ah, shit… the gender bender bullshit… Don't tell me-”

137 Blue Flames and Old Bones

I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was darkness. There was neither light nor warmth. Just that silent and oppressive stillness that makes you feel like you’ve been buried alive.

I stayed there for a moment, breathing steadily, until I sent out my Divine Sense in every direction.

Rocks. Dirt. Some kind of mineral veins, dull and dry. The air was still and stale. I was underground, definitely a cave. The aura was calm but laced with that faint, almost metallic buzz you get from long-sealed space.

Then, ahead of me, I saw it.

A dim blue glow. Faint, like a dying lantern’s wick, flickering through the cave’s shadows. I started walking. No flashy teleportation, no spells… just my footsteps echoing in the silence. Whatever this place was, subtlety felt safer than showmanship.

Didn’t take long before I reached the source.

A skeleton, wreathed in lazy tongues of blue fire, was calmly hacking away at the cave wall with a rusted pickaxe. The sound was steady—tap, chip, tap—almost rhythmic.

I blinked.

“You,” I said, taking a slow step forward. “You’re that perverted Skull back in the Black Forest, aren’t you?”

The skeleton didn’t turn right away. He set the pickaxe down gently against the wall, stretched his bony arms with a slow creak, then finally looked at me. His sockets flared a little brighter, and that damned familiar voice came out. It was dry and a bit too amused, with just enough smugness to make my hand twitch.

“Ah,” he said, “finally. Took you long enough. Your disciple’s body’s about to get stolen by a devil knight, and you decide to appear only now? Back in my days, Masters had more standards they held themselves to…”

I folded my arms. “Start talking. What do you mean Lu Gao’s body is being taken over? I need to hear your side of the story before I decide whether to destroy you or not.”

He floated back a little, bones rattling lazily, and gestured to the wall he’d been digging. “I am using my own soul power to fight off the darn devil… and guess what it did? It trapped me in this enclosed space. I am not really a fan of caves, you know?”

“And the pickaxe?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s what little power I could conjure in this world,” he said, his flaming sockets narrowing in irritation. “And as you can see, I am struggling. Not exactly the glorious undead life I imagined for myself, to be honest.”

I extended my Divine Sense, letting it wash over the pickaxe, the skeleton, the residual traces of soul-forging magic hanging in the air like old incense smoke.

“It all checks out, right?” he said smugly. "I am not lying or anything."

Yep. The perverted skull wasn’t lying.

“Doesn’t mean I like you,” I muttered.

He laughed, bones shaking like wind chimes. “Wouldn’t be any fun if you did.”

The skeleton sighed dramatically and dispelled his pickaxe into wisps of pale-blue fire. He stretched his arms like someone waking from a nap, bones creaking as though savoring the motion.

“I’ve been stuck in here for too long,” he said, rolling his flaming eyes. “Could’ve been enjoying myself, you know. Maybe spend a few decades with my dear Mistresses of Pain…”

I narrowed my eyes. “The who now?”

“Oh, you know,” he replied with an exaggerated shrug, “two charming sisters. One a bloody demon and the other a virtuous lady. Both cultivators of the same origins as yours? One specialized in pain, the other in more pain. Real artists, those two. They really has potential, you know?”

The Skull was definitely referring to Alice and Joan.

But... They weren’t even blood-related.

I felt my expression tighten. “Are they… still around?”

“I’d like to believe so,” he said wistfully. “If fate is kind, perhaps they’re running a brothel somewhere. You know…” His sockets brightened with that familiar, lecherous glow. “You could do me a solid, bring me by a house of ill repute or two? The Promised Dunes were always rather famous for their women, if memory serves…”

I stared at him, deadpan.

“You do know I could destroy you with a flick of my finger, right?” I said calmly. “Reduce you to bone dust and scatter what’s left into the void. I suggest you stop with your fantasies.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, though the amused tilt in his skull remained. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, young master. I’ve seen what you could do with your disciple’s body in all sorts of fun ways. Those motions. Devastating. Rather admirable finger control, actually.”

I sighed, more annoyed at myself than him. Because the truth was… I had intended to destroy him.

Undead were a problem. Unstable, unpredictable, and often malicious. And worse, this one was a known degenerate. Lu Gao had mentioned it, and from the way the skeleton talked, he wasn’t denying anything.

But then again…

Hei Mao had been an unknown too. A misfit, a mistake of fate that clung to life through hate and instinct. And yet, I’d helped him. Gave him a shot. Because sometimes it’s not about what someone was, but what they could become.

So I folded my arms and looked at the flickering flames in his sockets.

“Tell me,” I said slowly, “why shouldn’t I exorcise you right now?”

He tilted his head. “Because if you do, the devil knight takes possession of your disciple’s body with little to no resistance,” he said flatly. “Right now, I’m the lock on the door. Remove me, and you’ll come back to find a massacre.”

…Okay. Fair point.

“Cunning little bastard,” I muttered. “You’ve been alive a long time, haven’t you?”

“Oh, I’ve been dead a long time,” he corrected. “But yes, I’ve lived quite a bit. Too much, perhaps. Seen empires rise and fall, lovers cheat and swear eternal loyalty in the same breath, saints become tyrants, and tyrants become jokes. It’s all very poetic.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

He made a thoughtful noise. “Hmm. You ever seen the Sapphire Moon crack open and rain down lightning roses for three nights?”

“No.”

“Ah. Then probably before your time.” He chuckled. “Let’s just say… I remember when dragons still used to apply for territory rights, and mortals could actually refuse them.”

I wasn’t even from around here…

I didn’t reply right away. I just stared at him, watching the way his flames flickered, watching the signs of decay beneath the showmanship. This skeleton, this perverted skull, might’ve been more than he appeared.

Not trustworthy. Not safe. But useful.

“Alright then,” I said at last. “You get to live.”

He let out a dramatic gasp. “You honor me, my lord.”

“Shut up,” I replied, walking toward the cracked wall, the Skull making little progress. “Next perverted comment and I’m sending you to a temple full of bald monks for spiritual cleansing.”

“…You drive a hard bargain,” he muttered, floating behind me. “But I’m game.”

“Do you know any dreamwalking techniques?” I asked, stepping closer, arms behind my back.

The skull tilted ever so slightly, his jaw clacking once in curiosity. “Dreamwalking, eh? Now that’s a term I haven’t heard in a few dozen decades. Why? Hoping to visit a lover’s dreamscape and whisper sweet nothings?”

I didn’t humor him. “No. I need to reach the darn parasite in Lu Gao’s soul without damaging his body. This devil… seems averse to a direct confrontation. If he’s smart, he’s hiding behind mental barriers or soul traps. Same way the Heavenly Demon did when I fought his fragment in Gu Jie.”

At that time, the Heavenly Demon had no choice but to confront me, because if I succeeded in bearing Gu Jie's misfortune, the Heavenly Demon would be left with nothing to ressurect itself.

“Ah, the Heavenly Demon,” the skull murmured. “Now there’s a spicy name. You crossed fists with her?”

Her? Hmmm… he must’ve been referring to a Heavenly Demon of a different generation… Just how old was this skull?

“Sort of,” I replied. “He was possessing Gu Jie. I used a principle from a Buddhist technique I read in the Cloud Mist Sect’s scrolls… absorbed her misfortune and redirected it through my own existence. That allowed me to manifest inside her and punch him in the face.”

“...You’re insane,” he said admiringly.

“Thank you.”

He hovered closer, firelight dancing across the walls. “So what’s in it for me?”

I raised an eyebrow. “How about I make your exorcism painless?”

“No deal.” He didn’t even blink, though of course, he couldn’t.

“What do you want then?”

“Alright,” he said with a sigh, “I sense that Lu Gao’s cultivation method is… rather unique and touches a different facet of the Great Path. I want to learn it.”

“No deal,” I shot back.

“Killjoy.”

I rubbed my chin and looked at the dim wall behind him, starting to glow faintly with soul suppression glyphs I recognized from the few times I skimmed books from the Grand Ascension Library. I needed to get in without damaging anything. Which meant I needed this degenerate undead on my side. Even if I didn’t like it.

“How about this?” I offered. “You get inside me.”

There was a pause. Then he floated back half a meter. “Sorry, kid. I’m flattered, really, but I’m not into... guys.”

I stared at him. “I didn’t mean it literally, you ancient pervert.”

“Just clarifying.”

“I’m talking about spiritual inheritance,” I said, holding back the urge to rub my temples. “I inherit Lu Gao’s contract with you. That way, you’re not stuck in this cave, in Lu Gao’s soul, and you get a fair shot at possessing my body.”

He blinked. Or rather, the flames in his eye sockets pulsed. “Contract? What contract?”

I narrowed my gaze. “Don’t play dumb. Lu Gao told me everything. Even your nature as an Outsider, so it feels genuinely weird to me how in the world you are acting so much like a native.”

The skull went still for a moment. Then a faint rattle passed through his bones, like wind through dried reeds. “Huh. He remembered that old thing. Thought he’d forgotten it. Or maybe just misunderstood.”

“So it does exist?”

“Well… in a manner of speaking.” He scratched the top of his skull with one bony finger. “I gave him a fragment of my spiritual brand to stabilize his cultivation, which is now very much under attack by the devil. Technically, that counts as a contract, but I didn’t exactly write it up on silk with golden ink.”

“Good enough for me,” I said. “So. Do we have a deal?”

He looked at me for a long moment. The flames in his eyes narrowed and flickered.

“You’re not like most cultivators I’ve met,” he said quietly. “Not like most Outsiders too…”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t,” he muttered. “But fine. I’ll guide you. Just don’t blame me if the devil inside decides to chew on your spine.”

“Don’t worry,” I said with a faint grin. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

He chuckled. “Deal.”

Jokes aside, there was something I wasn’t going to let slide. Not anymore.

“Once this is done, we’re definitely going to talk about your nature as an Outsider,” I said, folding my arms and fixing him with a look. “You can play the fool all you want, but we’re gonna have that talk, whether you want to or not.”

The skull gave me a dramatic shrug, bones rattling like an old maraca. “It’s nothing special,” he replied. Then made a fart noise with his mouthless jaw… don’t ask me how. “Pbbbt.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose.

This was going to be painful for my mental health.

Allowing the soul of an ancient flaming skull to live in my head definitely seemed reckless. And, to be honest, it probably was. But let’s do the math: for this guy to take control of my body, he’d have to beat not just me, but the eldritch thing-y that had taken residence in my core that caused my transmigration… and also David_69.

Yes. That David_69, my Holy Spirit.

Even I didn’t mess with that guy unless I had to.

I feared the current David_69 had evolved to the point even Shenyuan would find trouble picking a fight with him.

Of course, I wasn’t going to tell the skull any of that.

I tilted my head, arms still crossed. “Alright, before we make things official, let’s start with proper introductions.”

“Formality? With undead?” the skull scoffed. "I am superbly flattered!"

“It’s called manners. You don’t just hop into someone’s soul without shaking hands first.”

The flames in his sockets flickered with what I assumed was amusement. “Fine, fine. Be boring about it.”

I straightened up a bit. “Da Wei,” I said simply. “Former elementary school teacher. Current headache collector.”

He floated in a slow circle, as if sizing me up one last time. Then bowed slightly, skull tilting forward, chinless grin still wide.

“Jue Bu,” he said. “Once called the Flame of Ten Thousand Tombs. Now mostly known as ‘Hey, you horny skull!’ Or ‘Stop, you pervert!’ But Jue Bu’s the name. Just a quick ask, what's an elementary school teacher?”

“Charming,” I said dryly. “And a pleasure, I guess. And no, I feel too lazy to explain what an elementary school teacher is.”

“Boring... But hey, give it time. You’ll fall for me.”

“Doubtful.”

I extended a hand, not physically, but with a thread of Divine Sense, letting it pulse with just enough spiritual signature to signal agreement. A handshake of sorts. The skull didn’t hesitate. One flicker of soul fire reached back, brushing against my energy with the faint sting of age and madness, like incense smoke curling around bone.

In that moment, a deal was made.

I’d probably regret it later.

But for now?

Let’s go save a disciple.

136 A Delicate Encounter

I’m like… dude, what happened to you?

Seriously, it took everything in me not to say that out loud the moment I laid eyes on Lu Gao.

I’d come to Healing Garden’s famed Purple Blossom establishment because Nongmin, of all people, had insisted I make it my first stop. “There’s someone important you’ll find there,” he’d said. “You’ll know him when you see her. Now, go, your disciple is waiting for you.”

I thought he was making a bad pun. I didn’t realize it was a warning.

I strolled past silken curtains and overly sweet incense, catching flirtatious smiles and flowery phrases thrown my way like petals on a breeze. My skin itched from the attention. These courtesans weren’t subtle… Charming, sure, but like a spiritual beast in heat, they honed in the moment they sensed a good wallet and clean teeth.

Of course, I had respect for their livelihood. Just being a good listener meant the world to people.

But then… There he was.

Lu Gao.

Except not.

More hips. More chest. Softer features. Delicate fingers clutching the hem of a robe like a deer about to bolt.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought he was a stranger.

But my Divine Sense never lies. Qi patterns don’t lie. Soul imprints? Definitely don’t lie.

That was Lu Gao.

And he was absolutely, unmistakably, painfully pretending he wasn’t.

I coughed, fake, dramatic, and unnecessary. Just enough to signal I knew.

Tried using Voice Chat. Nothing.

That was weird. Voice Chat always worked. I imagined I could use it even through dimensional rifts, during spatial collapses, even while being swallowed by a sandworm.

But here?

Nothing.

Alright, fallback plan: plain old Qi Speech.

Still silence.

Double weird.

“It looks like it wasn’t my imagination then.”

So not only was he looking like he stepped out of a Xianxia-themed hostess simulator, but something was actively jamming our communication. That wasn’t a good sign.

I couldn’t just go: “Hey bro, what’s up with the new curves and that dress that could kill a monk’s vows from fifty paces?” Not here. Not with all these eyes watching.

So I did the next best thing.

I raised an eyebrow, turned up the arrogance, and said, “You. Serve me tea.”

His face contorted, mortification and disbelief dancing across his expression like duelists.

Still, he bowed and scurried off like the trained waitress he probably wasn’t. That was... troubling. I turned to the matriarch of the house, a woman cloaked in silk and subtle menace, and offered a half-smile.

“Private room,” I said simply. “Please.”

“Of course, Honored Guest,” she replied with a bow deeper than most nobles ever gave me. “We’ll prepare the Joy Chamber.”

Joy Chamber?

Just a normal room would do… Uuhh… On second thought, whatever this chamber was, might be preferable, since I’d want complete privacy.

“Lead the way,” I said.

I could feel Lu Gao’s soul trying to leave his body as I followed the matriarch down the hallway, heels clicking like a countdown.

It was going to be a very long conversation.

The hallway to the private chambers was a blur of gauzy curtains and perfumed air. The matriarch led the way, her every step radiating the smug poise of someone who ran the most exclusive establishment in the region… and knew it.

“Honored Guest,” she purred, glancing over her shoulder, “would you like me to send more girls to serve you? We have several specialists trained in various... disciplines.”

I offered a noncommittal shrug. “No need.”

She didn’t take the hint.

“We have a few top girls who would be thrilled to attend to someone like yourself. Lu Ling is new. Just became a waitress, in fact. Her hands are still untrained in the finer arts of hosting.” She gave me a look that said you deserve more.

“She’s quite shy too,” the matriarch added slyly. “Some men enjoy that. But still, if you're looking for a truly unforgettable experience, might I suggest…”

She launched into an impressively poetic sales pitch about her girls, listing their specialties like one might list rare treasures at auction.

“One is an expert harpist, another was taught by a courtesan from the Flowing Moon Pavilion. One can balance a wine jug on her…”

“I’m here more for the pleasure of conversation,” I interrupted gently, turning on just enough charm to sound genuine. “And astrology, actually. Horoscopes. Moon cycles. You know, compatibility signs.”

She blinked. “Ah. Of course. Compatibility signs.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then she bowed again, somehow not laughing, which I respected. “We’ve prepared the Joy Chamber. Your tea will be brought shortly.”

The chamber lived up to its name. Warm lighting, plush seating, incense burning in slow curls from a lotus-shaped burner in the corner. The whole room felt like it had been crafted for sensual poetry readings or awkward noble trysts.

And there she came.

Lu Gao. Or rather, Lu Ling.

His—her?—face was calm, if stiff, carefully avoiding eye contact. The blush on her cheeks could’ve been from shame or rouge. She carried the teapot like it weighed a thousand jin, kneeling too gracefully to pour my cup.

I watched the tea stream into porcelain, a thin wisp of steam rising with the scent of jasmine.

“Thank you,” I said, voice low.

Lu Ling didn’t look up. “Yes, esteemed guest.”

My lips twitched.

I could feel it, how much he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. And yet, he poured the tea perfectly, hands steady despite everything. The outfit, the makeup, the polite submissive posture… it was all theater. Unwilling theater.

And he was stuck in it.

I took a sip.

“Delightful,” I murmured.

He winced.

Yup. That was definitely Lu Gao.

We were finally alone.

Just me, my disciple dressed in silks, and enough scented incense to make a grown monk weep.

I sat cross-legged on a cushion that was far too plush, trying not to focus on how sweet the air tasted. It wasn’t just jasmine. Something thick. Subtle… dangerous. I knew this feeling. Someone had laced the incense with aphrodisiac powder. Strong, too. My thoughts started slowing down, and I could already feel it stirring under.

Shit.

Across from me, Lu Gao… Lu Ling, as he was apparently calling himself now, was kneeling demurely as he poured me another cup. His cheeks were pink. His fingers trembled just slightly on the teapot handle.

I felt a stab of guilt. This wasn’t right.

I reached up, pinched the burning end of the incense stick between two fingers, and snuffed it out with a sharp flick. The scent died instantly. Then, under my breath, I murmured Cleanse, once for myself, then again for him.

The fog cleared from my head like a wave breaking against stone. Lu Gao blinked. He straightened a little, as if a weight had lifted.

Then, without a word, he… or rather, she… reached up and slid her robe off one shoulder.

I spat out my tea.

“Dude.” I coughed. “I know it’s you, Lu Gao.”

It was a bit tricky switching pronouns in my head, but this sure was awkward.

Lu Gao tilted his head, lashes fluttering like some kind of helpless flower. “But my name is Lu Ling, esteemed guest…”

I stared at him. “Are you… Are you trying to gaslight me right now?”

“Why would I gaslight you, Esteemed Guest?” he asked with perfect innocence. Too perfect.

I narrowed my eyes. For a second, I really considered whether he’d been hit on the head or had developed some sort of amnesia. But I didn’t need to guess. I could feel the lie. His words tasted sour in my Divine Sense.

I reached forward and pulled the robe back over his shoulder. He flinched, but I gave him a flat look.

“You do know that traditional courtesans don’t immediately start disrobing after pouring tea, right?”

He blinked. “They… don’t?”

“No, Lu Gao. They don’t.”

He looked down at the floor, cheeks fully flushed now. It was somewhere between shame and mortification. Maybe both. Probably more.

I leaned back and sighed. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

He nodded. Still refused to meet my eyes.

Lu Gao stared at me, confused and maybe a little defensive. “How do you even know that courtesans don’t disrobe? This is basically a brothel, isn’t it? How else are they supposed to… You know, do the deed?”

I paused, staring into my now-cold tea. This wasn’t a question I ever expected from Lu Gao.

“Well,” I began, leaning forward and folding my hands over my knee, “in my short time with Xin Yune, we, uh… let’s just say we wrecked enough brothels and caused enough noble scandals to know how courtesans usually act.”

Lu Gao blinked. “You wrecked brothels?”

“It’s a long story that happened in the span of one night,” I replied, waving a hand. “I was drunk as hell back then, so my memories might be blurry. Huh? I think I might have said something rude to some lord’s son who had a thing for bunny ears and a whip. But that’s beside the point.”

I looked him in the eye. “The important thing is this: human beings… yes, even courtesans… have something they call self-respect. Not everyone in this kind of establishment is here just to tumble with every customer that walks in. The term prostitute is usually derogatory, but courtesan? Entertainer? Those carry a very different meaning, especially in a country like this.”

He looked down, face flushed, clearly mulling that over.

I continued, softer now, “Most people in this line of work don’t just offer the pleasures of the flesh. They master the arts: music, painting, storytelling, and even politics sometimes. Do you think the Purple Blossom girls dress like that just for show? Their dance routines could rival martial arts. Their conversation is more refined than half the so-called scholars I’ve met. At least that’s how I remembered it back in the Imperial Capital.”

He tilted his head slightly, listening now instead of reacting.

I chuckled, more to myself. “Actually, if I think about it… considering my old life—music, arts, dance—I probably relate more to the courtesans and entertainers than I do the so-called teachers or sages.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying… you’re one of them?”

I grinned. “Nah. I just said I relate more. They teach people how to dream. Most teachers just make people memorize things.”

Lu Gao gave a reluctant smile. “That… actually makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” I said, leaning back. “I’ve been there, just saying…”

He rolled his eyes, and for a moment, I could see the old Lu Gao in there: sarcastic, grounded, and just a little tired.

The tension broke, if only slightly. But I could tell he was still holding something back.

And I had a feeling we were just scratching the surface of whatever hell he’d been dragged into.

“Okay,” I said, setting the tea down and straightening my robe. “Let’s get to it.”

Lu Gao looked at me, dead serious, and asked, “Should I disrobe?”

I nearly flipped the tea tray off the table.

“Idiot,” I snapped, smacking the back of his head lightly. “Why is that the first thing your brain jumps to? Get your head out of the gutter.”

He rubbed the back of his head with a pout that looked entirely wrong on his current face. “Sorry, sorry. It’s the incense, I swear.”

“No, it’s your lack of mental discipline. Even if you’re stuck like this, don’t let it mess with your brain.”

“Easy for you to say, Master,” he muttered, folding his arms under… his new chest. “You’re more handsome than usual today.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not addressing that. Moving on.”

He smirked, and for a moment, I had a brief vision of strangling him with the silk sash off his own robe. I took a deep breath and sat back down.

“All right. Jokes aside… what happened? Where are Alice and Joan? And what’s going on with your condition?”

“That’s the thing,” he said, his voice dropping into something conflicted. “I… don’t know.”

I frowned. “Elaborate.”

He scratched his cheek, looking anywhere but at me. “I remember dreaming. It was like I saw Aili Si… er, I can’t pronounce her name right. I remember her yelling. Then suddenly, she forced me to use a Great Teleportation Scroll.”

“What?”

“I didn’t even have time to think,” he said, his voice a little shaky. “The scroll was in my hand. I activated it. And the next thing I knew… I was face-down in the middle of a burning desert, dying of thirst, and threatened by a very real possibility of death.”

That tracked. I crossed my arms and listened as he went on.

“I wandered for a while. Nearly got eaten by a beast twice. Next thing I remember is being hauled onto some kind of sand creature with a caravan of women dressed like… well, like this.”

He gestured to his current attire with no small amount of shame.

“And you were… like this when you woke up?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I think it was that damned floating skull. It must’ve done something before ditching me. I can’t even channel Qi consistently. It comes and goes like a broken faucet.”

I winced. “And the girls from Purple Blossom helped you?”

“Yeah. And now I’m in debt. Big debt.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Of course you are.”

So Alice had somehow thrown him to safety… with a Great Teleportation Scroll, no less. That meant she was in danger, real danger, and fast enough to not be able to explain. And Lu Gao’s condition… Qi disruption, forced transformation, loss of contact with Voice Chat… all of it pointed toward something foul.

Something deliberate.

I stared at Lu Gao, or rather, “Lu Ling,” and felt the pit in my stomach grow heavier.

There were more pieces to this puzzle. And I didn’t like the shape it was starting to take.

I sighed and leaned forward, folding my hands. “Okay. Here’s the deal.”

Lu Gao straightened a little, looking unsure.

“You’re going to tell me everything. No skipping. No vague statements. I want it from the start.”

He swallowed, glanced toward the incense burner I had already snuffed out earlier, and then nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “It started during our travels… back from Yellow Dragon City. I didn’t say anything then, but I’ve been having these… nightmares. Ever since we passed through the southern ridge, something’s been inside my head.”

I frowned. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah. Like… something whispering to me while I sleep. No matter how much I cultivated or meditated, I couldn’t shake it. It persisted even after I learned Mana Road Cultivation. I thought it was stress. Maybe guilt. But then it got worse in the desert. The heat didn’t help. I was disoriented. Delirious. And that’s when I heard its voice clearly.”

He shuddered slightly. “It offered me a deal. Said it would save me. I thought it was just heat madness. I mean, I was dying out there, hallucinating. So I agreed.”

“You signed a contract,” I said grimly.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “I think I did. Not with blood or anything like that. It was… like my soul burned and something locked into place. After that, I blacked out. Next thing I knew, that floating skull had scared away a black-armored demon thing. He said I owed him now. He said it’d keep me safe in exchange for a little ‘mortal freedom’ and a few ‘small spiritual concessions.’”

“That thing made you sign a soul-binding pact and turned you into this for his own amusement,” I muttered, angry now. “That explains the Qi sputtering. And your gender lock.”

“It’s been… rough,” Lu Gao said, eyes dropping. “Especially since the skull vanished right after. Haven’t seen him since. Can’t undo anything. Can’t cultivate properly. I’m stuck like this.”

I let out a long, low breath.

All right. I knew what this was.

Another soul-battle. Another parasite clinging to someone close to me. These damn creatures… entities older than reason… loved hitching rides in my people.

But this time, I wasn’t unprepared.

I already had experience.

I looked Lu Gao in the eye. “I know what I have to do.”

He looked up, hopeful. “You’re going to fight it?”

“Yeah. I’m going in. Direct soul invasion. I’ll confront the contract directly and rip the damn thing out.”

His eyes lit up with excitement. “So we’re doing it again? Like the time with Gu Jie?”

“I should be able to finish this in a jiffy. Just stay still. Don’t resist. This’ll be smoother if you’re cooperative.”

I placed my palm against his forehead, my Qi Sense reaching through the layers of soul energy and twisted bindings already starting to manifest.

“Are you ready, Lu Gao?”

He clenched both fists and shouted, “Do it, Master! Get inside me!”

I froze.

My hand just hovered there.

I stared at him.

“…What’s your problem, dude? Context. Context!”

He blinked innocently. “What?”

“Say ‘enter my soulscape’ or something! Not… not that.”

He turned red in the face. “You knew what I meant!”

“Yeah, but did the walls know? Spirits are listening!”

We sat in awkward silence for a beat.

Then I closed my eyes and activated the soul projection.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Divine Possession!

135 Blushes and Bewilderment

The first thing Lu Gao felt was the warm sway of something beneath him, rocking gently like a cradle. His eyes cracked open to a world painted gold… dunes stretching far in all directions, glittering under the merciless sun. Above him fluttered a canopy of silk dyed orange and crimson, shielding him from the harsh light.

He blinked, dazed. The last thing he remembered was screaming at the top of his lungs, purple flames, and… a contract with a skull?

“Oh, you woke up.”

A melodic voice greeted him, and Lu Gao turned his head groggily. A woman leaned over him, elegant, poised, and dressed in fine desert robes that clung like water to her figure. She wore translucent silks embroidered with golden thread, a veil tied loosely around her neck instead of over her face. Her almond eyes sparkled with mischief, and her smile promised both danger and delight.

Lu Gao’s throat dried all over again.

There were more of them. Four, maybe five other women lounged nearby atop the giant sand beast… an enormous creature with scales like polished amber and a thick, slow-moving tail that left deep trails in the dunes. The caravan was traveling through the desert at a casual pace, pulled by the beast’s plodding gait and surrounded by sleek wagons filled with ornate goods.

“Oh my heavens,” another woman whispered playfully, brushing hair from his face, “You got the look of a lost puppy.”

Lu Gao scrambled to sit up, heart pounding. The silk cushions under him rustled as he tried to move without touching anyone, which proved impossible. An arm grazed him. Then a soft thigh. Then a brush of a hip.

“I… uh… I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“Easy there,” the first woman cooed, her fingers brushing his shoulder. “You’ve been asleep for two days. We thought you might not wake up at all.” She giggled and added, “But now that you have, perhaps you can repay us properly?”

Her voice dripped with teasing. A lock of her hair bounced against her cheek as she leaned forward, and Lu Gao’s eyes darted away, only for them to catch a flash of side boob glancing his knuckles.

“W-We’re moving?” he stammered, eyes wide.

“We just arrived,” she said with a wink. “Perfect timing. We’re entering the gates of the City of Healing Garden as we speak.”

Behind her, the sandstone walls of a desert city came into view: high and ancient, like they’d grown from the earth itself. Pillars flanked the arched gates, adorned with banners fluttering in the hot breeze. Watchtowers stood tall with guards peering down, their armor reflecting sunlight like bronze mirrors.

Lu Gao’s heart was racing. His dream, his nightmare, with Mistress Aili Si, the demon, the contract… was it all real?

He lifted his arm. His veins shimmered faintly beneath his skin with a purple hue, as if fire still burned in his blood.

“Still shaken?” one of the women asked softly, pressing a clay cup into his hand. “Drink. It’s sweetwater with lotus honey.”

Lu Gao accepted it with trembling fingers, taking a small sip. Coolness spread across his tongue. The sweetness made his eyes water.

“Aww, she’s blushing again,” one of the girls teased, leaning in close enough for Lu Gao to smell jasmine oil in her hair.

“I… I’m not used to this!” he blurted, voice cracking. “Wait a sec… she?”

"You’re just too cute," one of the women said, leaning close with a teasing grin. “And with such a mature body, too. You must be killing all the girls back home, sister.”

Lu Gao froze.

…Sister?

He turned to look at her, lips parting to say something, anything… but his voice caught in his throat. Slowly, cautiously, as if fearing the truth, he looked down at his hands.

They were slender. Smooth. Feminine.

“…No,” he whispered, raising them further into the light. His fingers trembled as he rotated them, stared at his wrists, his arms, until finally, finally, he looked down at his chest.

His eye twitched.

“…No.”

Soft.

Definitely not muscle.

Definitely not his.

Lu Gao slapped his hands over his chest and screamed internally.

“That fucking skull!” he hissed under his breath, face twisting in a mix of betrayal and horror. “I knew he was planning something. I knew it!”

The women around him didn’t notice the growing storm inside his soul. No, they were too busy giggling and gossiping, practically treating him like a new favorite doll.

Before Lu Gao could launch into a full-blown existential crisis, a voice barked from one of the wagons ahead.

“We’re here!” called one of the guards, a short woman in sand-colored armor, her long hair tied back and half her face covered with a scarf. “City of the Healing Garden! Get your things ready!”

Lu Gao peeked past the canopy. Through the heat-haze shimmer, he saw it: a city carved from rose-tinted stone, surrounded by lush greenery that had no right to exist in the desert. Water flowed in carefully sculpted aqueducts between buildings. Statues of serene figures stood watch at the gates. Even the air here felt cooler, infused with mist and the faint scent of lotus flowers.

The wagon rocked as the caravan slowed, sand shifting beneath the beast’s feet. Lu Gao gripped the side for balance as another figure stepped up beside the cart. She was tall, tanned, and weathered like worn leather. A scar ran from her cheek to her ear, and her eyes held the calm weight of someone who’d seen far too much.

“I’ll escort you lot until Purple Blossom,” she said, voice raspy. “After that, you’re someone else’s problem.”

“Much appreciated, Sister Jin,” one of the women replied cheerfully, waving.

As the beast stopped, a pair of delicate hands wrapped around Lu Gao’s own. He flinched, his skin still felt too wrong, but didn’t pull away.

“You’ve got a great figure,” the woman said, her voice low and sultry. “With a bit of training, you could be a real heart-stealer in Purple Blossom.”

Lu Gao blinked. “P-Purple Blossom?”

“It’s a pleasure house,” she said with a wink. “But we don’t just sell our bodies, darling… we sell poetry, dance, art, fantasy. You’ve got the kind of mystery that rich nobles love.”

Lu Gao paled.

He tried to say I’m a man, but all that came out was a high-pitched squeak. His own voice betrayed him.

He wasn’t sure what was worse anymore: the fact he had been cursed into a woman’s body by that damned skull, or the fact that, in some twisted way… he did have the kind of grace they were looking for.

“I’m going to kill that skull,” he muttered under his breath.

And from somewhere, he swore, he heard distant laughter echo in the wind.

A few days had passed since Lu Gao arrived in the City of the Healing Garden, and each one had been a special kind of torment.

Not the kind where sand scoured your skin or your throat cracked from thirst. No, this was psychological. Slow. Humiliating.

He sat at the edge of a lotus pond in the Purple Blossom’s inner courtyard, dressed in flowing silks and clutching a tray with trembling hands. The fragrant scent of incense curled in the air, drifting over murals of dancing immortals and perfumed courtesans.

Lu Gao wore makeup.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d cursed his life in the past three days.

The worst part?

He was in debt.

"Apparently, that medicine we gave you wasn't cheap, sweetheart," one of the matriarchs of the house had said with a silky tone and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "We couldn’t just leave you rotting on the back of the sand beast, could we? We're a house of beauty and healing, after all."

And so, Lu Gao… one of Da Wei’s disciples, wielder of powerful arts, cultivator of considerable standing… was now a waitress.

Not a courtesan.

He’d made that absolutely clear.

The first time someone even suggested it, he’d nearly smashed a vase and tried to bolt through the window in his borrowed dress.

"If I ever become a courtesan, I’ll wish myself dead," Lu Gao had muttered, clutching a broom with shaking hands as if it were a weapon. “I’m a warrior, damn it!”

It was… embarrassing. The skirts. The soft shoes. The daily etiquette lessons from a retired dancer who insisted his walk lacked grace. And worse, much worse, was how his body still refused to revert.

He had tried meditating. Circulating his qi. Slapping himself. Screaming into pillows.

His cultivation kept sputtering like a broken artifact… one moment present, the next flickering into nothing. No breakthroughs, no clarity, no strength to break whatever curse had been laid upon him.

And the Skull? The one responsible for all this?

Nowhere to be found.

That damnable floating skull, so proud and boastful before, had vanished the moment the contract was sealed. Not a whisper, not a smirk, not a mocking laugh.

“I swear… if I ever see him again…” Lu Gao muttered as he placed cups of flower tea before three noble ladies who were far too interested in ‘her’ hips swaying when she walked away.

He returned to the kitchen and slammed the tray on the counter, nearly upending a pot of lotus stew.

"Careful, darling. You're not paid enough to break things," said Mei Xue, one of the older courtesans, her eyes lined with kohl as she lazily sipped tea in the corner. “You know, if you just embraced it a little more, you'd have enough admirers to buy back your freedom in a week.”

“I’d rather sell my soul to a demon,” Lu Gao grumbled.

"You already did, didn’t you?" she chuckled.

Lu Gao stiffened. Technically, she was not wrong.

“...Tch.”

At night, in the privacy of the small room they’d given him, filled with floral cushions and perfume he didn’t ask for, he would stare at the mirror, willing his face to become familiar again. His fingers would clutch at the edges of his robe, and he’d whisper:

“Just hold on. Master will find me… or I’ll find him. I won’t stay like this. I refuse.”

But the mirror only showed the soft curves and sad eyes of someone caught in a joke they didn’t understand, wearing clothes that never fit their soul.

It had been a terrible ordeal.

And it wasn’t over yet.

While Lu Gao did long to see his Master again, if only to complain, beg, and possibly throw a sandal at him, he also knew deep in his shriveling, bitter heart that being found here, of all places, would be the absolute end of him.

Not even Da Wei’s strange sense of humor could salvage it.

He imagined it now… his Master walking into Purple Blossom, smirking while sipping tea, seeing him dolled up in makeup and serving fruit slices. Lu Gao could already hear the jokes.

“Is that you, Lu Gao?” Da Wei would say, pretending not to laugh. “I didn’t know my disciple had such… potential.”

That thought alone was enough to push Lu Gao toward insanity.

“I have to get out of here,” he muttered, sitting cross-legged on a balcony overlooking the bustling bazaar. “Maybe hunting beast cores... If I sell a few mid-grade ones, I can pay the debt, buy some real clothes, and…” He paused, looking down at his hands. “…figure out what the hell this body even is anymore.”

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan.

Until the next morning came, and with it, chaos.

“Lu Ling!” called one of the senior hostesses.

Lu Gao winced. That damned alias again...

“Yes, I’m here,” he replied flatly, descending from the upper floor while fixing the sash of his pale violet robe.

He was met at the inner hall by Madam Yun, the house matriarch, who stood dressed in her formal layers, every pin and comb in place like a general readying for war.

“We’ve received a writ,” she announced, waving a golden document with the seal of a blooming flower encircled by three swords. “A client under direct patronage of Her Majesty the Queen of the Promised Dunes.”

That got everyone’s attention.

The chatter stopped. A fan dropped. One of the courtesans gasped.

Lu Gao, who was planning to sneak out that night, felt his stomach twist. “That’s... not just nobility,” he whispered to himself. “That’s royalty.”

“A VVIP,” said Madam Yun, eyes sweeping across them all. “He has requested our finest. Everyone is to be present. Everyone will receive three times their daily pay, plus a bonus if selected for individual attendance.”

Lu Gao opened his mouth. Closed it. Then hesitantly raised a hand.

“Yes?” Madam Yun asked, already bracing herself.

“Does this include me?” Lu Gao asked with the caution of a man poking a spirit beast with a stick.

“You’ve been resting on our coin, drinking our medicine, and wearing our robes,” she replied sweetly. “Yes, dear. Especially you.”

He wanted to scream, but the words three times the pay echoed in his head like divine scripture.

He bowed instead. “Understood, Matriarch.”

—

Later, after being forcefully bathed, powdered, perfumed, and shoved into a new outfit with sheer sleeves and a silken sash that clung a little too well to his waist, Lu Gao stood stiffly among the rows of beauties.

They were strategically arranged across the reception hall… by skin tone, height, even the way their hair caught the candlelight. He was placed near the center, somewhere between “exotic elegance” and “mysterious and quiet.”

“Smile more,” one of the girls beside him whispered. “You’ll draw more attention.”

“I don’t want attention,” he hissed.

She giggled. “That’s what makes you so charming.”

Lu Gao glared at the wide bronze doors at the end of the chamber, already dreading whoever stepped through them. If his Master walked in right now, he'd fake a coma on the spot. If the Skull returned, he’d strangle him with a hair ribbon.

And if this VVIP turned out to be a total creep?

Well…

He’d smile, pour some tea, and pray no one recognized him before he regained his cultivation.

The air in the grand hall was thick with perfumes and expectation. Long silk banners swayed gently overhead while incense burned from dragon-mouthed censers. Lu Gao stood among the painted blossoms of Purple Blossom Pavilion, a reluctant flower in full bloom.

His eye twitched.

Then came the announcement.

“Presenting the honored guests, holders of the Queen’s Writ!” declared Jin, the scar-faced mercenary woman who had escorted them through the dunes. Today, she wore formal clothes: sturdy, ceremonial armor laced with royal purple and copper-thread embroidery. Even she had been made to look presentable, like a bronze statue freshly polished and given a courtly sheen.

Lu Gao’s eyes narrowed as she opened the great doors.

In stepped an elderly man, hunched but regal, with a large war fan slung over his back. His face was carved by the desert winds, every wrinkle a scar of war and time. His eyes, however, were sharp. Calculating.

Lu Gao blinked. “That man… I’ve seen him before.” But no matter how hard he tried, the name danced just out of reach in his mind.

Then he came.

Emerald jade robes. Black hair. A calm, unbothered walk as if the world belonged to him and no one had told him otherwise. He bore no weapons, only a killer smile that would have made any ladies shake on there legs.

His smile was suave. Effortless.

Lu Gao’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“What the fuck?!”

He hiccupped, accidentally drawing the attention of the sister behind him.

“Shhh!” she hissed, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Look pretty! You’re up front, idiot!”

Lu Gao straightened his spine on instinct, but his soul had already fled. His jaw clenched. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cool air of the pavilion.

His Master… Da Wei the Unpredictable, Da Wei the Eccentric, Da Wei the Why-Is-He-Here-Of-All-Places… was strolling through the lines of women like a tourist admiring silk paintings.

As Da Wei passed, courtesans offered playful glances, graceful bows, and subtle fans of their sleeves.

“My Lord looks tired. Would you like a shoulder to lean on?” cooed one.

“I have a song prepared just for someone with your eyes,” said another.

Da Wei smiled at them all with practiced ease, nodding kindly, offering the faintest compliments in return.

“Oh no,” Lu Gao whispered, praying he would go unnoticed. “Keep walking. Don’t look. Just go. Please, go.”

But Da Wei paused.

His gaze swept toward the central arrangement of hostesses.

And his eyes fell directly on Lu Gao.

There was a moment… brief, silent, but immense… where student and master locked eyes.

Da Wei’s eyebrow lifted.

Lu Gao’s soul died.

“Hmm,” Da Wei murmured aloud, tapping his chin theatrically. “Now this one looks familiar…”

Lu Gao smiled.

It was the kind of smile one gave before being executed.

The sister behind him whispered, “He noticed you! Lucky!”

“Lucky my ass,” Lu Gao screamed in his heart. “If I die here, bury me face-down so I don’t have to look at him ever again!”

134 The Black Knight in the Dunes

It had been days since Lu Gao was flung across the continent by the violent tear of a Great Teleportation scroll.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t even know if he was still on the same continent, let alone the same world. All he had were sun-scorched skies, winds that howled like ghosts, and sand… sand in his boots, his clothes, his ears, and his teeth.

The suit Mistress Aili Si had forced onto him was in shambles. A once dignified thing, black with clean silver stitching, made for imposing bodyguards with square shoulders and unspoken threat, now hung limply around his frame like a funeral shroud. The wind had torn through it in places, and grit worked its way between the layers like angry ants.

It was better than nothing, but only barely.

His lips cracked every time he exhaled. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Every swallow was dry and fruitless. He was thirsty. Beyond that, he felt like dying. Not once. Not twice. But ten times over. He had considered collapsing into the dunes more than once.

Only pride and the blood link Aili Si had made, kept him upright.

She had tasted his blood. That meant she’d come find him.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

He’d cursed her name more than once under his breath, but never aloud.

“Stupid mistress,” he muttered one night, dragging his legs through the sand. His voice was raspy and broken. “Stupid scroll. Stupid sky.”

Night was when he moved.

The sun during the day was unforgiving, less like a celestial body and more like a blade, hovering just above his head, slicing into his skin with every passing hour. So he would hide beneath dunes during the worst of it, climbing to the leeward side of tall sand hills and digging just enough to lie half-buried in their shade.

The nights weren’t much kinder.

Winds picked up, biting and cold. His fingers would stiffen, and each gust carried a whisper that sounded too much like mockery.

His cultivation helped… somewhat. Without it, he’d be dead a dozen times over. With it, he was just almost dead.

But he was still moving.

Sometimes, as he walked, he thought about food. Real food. He’d imagine Cho An’s awkward smile, Aili Si’s sharp eyes, and Da Wei’s calm voice giving him some absurd food to try. Pizza, Da Wei once called it. Cheese, meat, bread, oil.

“Gods,” he groaned, staggering to a stop and clutching his stomach. “I’d kill a sand beast for a bite.”

But there were no sand beasts here. No oases. No birds overhead. No signs of life at all. Only shifting dunes that moved behind his back as if mocking his sense of direction.

Sometimes, when he crested a high dune at night, he would drop to his knees and scan the horizon. Hoping. Praying.

Once, he thought he saw lights. A glow against the curve of the world. But it vanished the moment he blinked.

“Mistress better find me soon…” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Or I’ll find her first and die just to haunt her.”

Then he chuckled… a dry, cracked thing that sounded more like coughing. Still, the moment passed.

Lu Gao pressed onward.

Each step sank deep. Each breath felt like inhaling powdered stone. The stars above, dim and strange in this world, watched in silence. He could barely remember what day it was. What time it was. He only moved forward now.

And hoped he was not walking in circles.

Lu Gao trudged through the sand, shoulders hunched, every step a burden.

The desert was endless.

And worse… it was shapeless.

The dunes shifted, rose and fell, the wind carving new paths behind his back. He had tried to mark his trail, drew lines with his boot heel, left scraps of fabric from his ruined coat, but each time he looked back, there was nothing. Just wind-smoothed earth and silence.

One of his greatest fears wasn’t dying.

It was dying stupidly.

Like a fool who walked in circles in an empty desert. Alone. Forgotten. Nothing but a sun-bleached skeleton for the vultures that never came.

“This isn’t a battlefield,” he rasped. “This isn’t a glorious death…”

He paused, shoulders trembling, and stared at the footprints he had just made.

Then looked ahead.

Then looked behind.

A sinking feeling gripped his gut.

The tracks curved. Slightly. Almost imperceptibly. But… curved.

“No,” he said. “No. No. No—!”

He spun, turning in a slow circle, kicking sand. The desert didn’t care. The sky didn’t care. The world gave no answer.

He had been walking in circles.

“DAMN IT!” he screamed, falling to his knees.

The impact sent his face slamming into the hot, dry grit. His skin burned where it touched the ground. But he didn’t move.

He just lay there. Breathing. Broken.

And then… the dreams came.

There was music.

Soft. Like wind chimes and silver bells.

He stood in a place without sand or sun. A ballroom of shifting stars and mirrored glass, wrapped in fog. And before him danced a woman.

She was beautiful.

She wore a dress of shadows and starlight. Her body shimmered as though not quite real, not quite present. But she had no face.

No mouth. No eyes. No voice.

And yet… she sang.

He could hear her… feel her. Not in his ears, but in his bones.

She reached out to him, and he took her hand. They danced. Slowly, fluidly, like they’d done it a thousand times. He didn’t know the steps. But somehow, he followed.

They spun. They laughed. And then… they kissed.

Her lips were soft. Cold. Like water that had never known the sun.

And then her voice whispered through the veil:

“Do you want power?”

He stiffened.

“Do you want life?”

His mouth trembled.

“How about a long life?”

“An eternal life?”

Something inside him cracked.

“I… I don’t want to die,” Lu Gao whispered. “Not yet.”

His chest tightened. His breath caught.

“I am… sorry, Master,” he added quietly. “I was weak…”

The woman didn’t reply. Instead, she began to rot.

Her skin peeled, cracked, and turned black. Her body crumbled like old ash. Her once-lovely dress burned with black flame, the fire curling upward, hungrily.

It caught him, too.

The flames spread along his limbs, his chest, his heart… burning, searing, whispering promises he didn’t understand. He screamed, tried to run, but he couldn’t move. His feet had turned to obsidian. His voice cracked like shattering glass.

And then…

A knight appeared.

Clad in black armor, faceless and silent. He stood with one foot in the fire and did not burn.

The flames obeyed him.

He reached toward Lu Gao, not with a hand, but with a single black sword. Its blade was jagged, old, worn from use. Yet it pulsed… alive.

Lu Gao stared into the knight’s blank visor and felt something behind it watching him.

And then the knight asked, voice like steel dragging on stone:

“Will you walk forward?”

Lu Gao gasped and sat up.

His body was half-buried in sand. The wind had covered him. The sun had not yet risen. But the chill in his spine remained.

He clutched his chest, still feeling the phantom heat of black flames.

He looked up.

No stars. No ballroom. No knight.

Just dunes. And darkness.

But something had changed.

He stood, legs shaking. Looked around.

Then he took a step.

Forward.

Lu Gao’s breath was shallow, his eyes twitching beneath closed lids as if still scanning a battlefield. He stirred beneath the half-buried folds of his ragged clothes, the desert’s chill seeping into his bones despite the sun that had long since risen. And yet… he was no longer thirsty.

His lips were no longer cracked. His skin no longer burned.

He was whole.

And that terrified him more than any nightmare.

He sat up slowly. No sand clung to him. No aches in his joints. He touched his chest where the black flames had once danced… nothing. Just flesh, breath, and a strange silence.

“…Was it all a dream?” he whispered.

The wind didn’t answer.

Instead, a gentle scent drifted toward him. Familiar. Sweet. Like moon blossoms after rain.

He turned.

There she was… standing atop the dunes like she had never left.

Aili Si.

Mistress. Teacher. Warlock.

Her dark gown fluttered in the breeze, though there was no wind. Her face bore a wistful smile, one that reached her eyes, though there was an odd weight behind it.

“Lu Gao,” she said warmly, approaching. “I finally found you.”

He blinked. “M-Mistress?”

His voice cracked… not from thirst, but emotion. He hadn’t seen her since the moment she forced the teleportation scroll into his palm and cast him away.

She stopped before him. Looked him over. And then, to his complete surprise, she hugged him.

Warm. Close. Motherly.

Too real.

“What… is this about?” he asked nervously, arms half-raised, unsure if he should return the embrace. “I… I mean… why now?”

She let go and gave him a gentle pat on the chest. “Cho An is waiting for us,” she said softly. “We shouldn’t keep her long.”

Lu Gao blinked rapidly. “Wait, Cho An? She’s okay?”

Aili Si smiled again, that same dreamy, heavy-lidded smile. “Of course, silly. Everything’s okay now.”

Lu Gao didn’t move. A part of him wanted to believe it. Desperately. He’d been through too much. Alone, lost, hunted by a demon in his sleep. And now… safety? Reunion?

But something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Because hanging from Aili Si’s waist, tucked between two scrolls and tied with a strip of her black cloth, was a floating skull.

One that had been obnoxiously perverted the last time they met.

It opened its mouth.

“Motherfucker.”

Lu Gao flinched.

“You’re still dreaming, you fucking idiot!” the skull bellowed. “Wake! The fuck! Up!”

The illusion shattered like a mirror hit by a hammer.

Aili Si’s face cracked. Her body turned to wax and caved inward, eyes melting like ink across parchment. The dunes split open and revealed a hollow sky, dripping blood instead of light. The skull caught fire, laughing madly as the earth beneath Lu Gao’s feet gave way into blackness.

And then…

Lu Gao woke screaming, back in the real desert, coughing up sand.

His lips were dry again.

His throat was sore.

And the knight’s shadow loomed in the distance, watching from the horizon. Silent. Waiting.

Lu Gao blinked, the sun stabbing his eyes like tiny daggers. His mouth tasted of ash and grit, and every breath was a punishment. But worse than the sun, the sand, or even his shriveled stomach…

…was the presence he felt looming nearby.

It stood tall and unmoving on the edge of the dunes, the same way it had in his dreams. The black knight… armor made of obsidian smoke and ancient bone, its helm a twisted imitation of a man’s face frozen in a silent scream. A single greatsword rested on its shoulder like an extension of its will.

Cold dread gripped Lu Gao’s spine.

Then something floated into view beside him.

“Oi, dick-for-brains. Get up and stop playing corpse, we’ve got company.”

The skull.

It floated casually beside Lu Gao, its cracked bone surface decorated with crude etchings and offensive runes. Two azure flames burned where eyes should have been, and they narrowed toward the distant knight with absolute disgust.

“I called dibs on this kid, you oversized hunk of metal.”

The skull spat the words like poison, somehow managing to float aggressively as if trying to puff up its nonexistent chest.

The knight didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just stared.

Lu Gao, still on his knees, turned to the skull. “What the hell… how are you even here? The last time I saw you, Mistress Aili Si had you sealed in her shadow.”

The skull rotated to face him, flame-eyes rolling like a teenager forced to explain basic math.

“Of course I’m here. What, you think I’m some low-tier artifact who gets sealed once and gives up? I downloaded myself into your arm before we parted, obviously. Left a clone behind in the Mistress’s shadow. That one’s probably still screaming about her underwear or something.”

Lu Gao’s eye twitched. “You… downloaded yourself?”

“Yeah, welcome to SkullNet, bitch.” The floating menace cackled, then turned back toward the knight. “Honestly, you’re lucky I’m here. Otherwise you’d already be a soul popsicle in that bastard’s collection.”

Lu Gao swallowed thickly, eyes darting between the immobile black knight and the surprisingly loyal skull. “Wait, what does it want? It’s just… standing there.”

The skull turned to him, suddenly dead serious.

“What does it want?” It floated closer, until Lu Gao could practically feel the heat of its soulflames. “You made a contract, dumbass.”

Lu Gao blinked. “...What?”

The skull groaned.

“In your delirium. In your half-dead, hallucinating, emotionally repressed sand-drenched misery… you cried out to the void for power. For life. Remember the faceless lady? The kiss? Yeah, that was him, dumbass.”

Lu Gao felt cold.

“That… no, that wasn’t real. That was a dream.”

“Yeah, and dreams are just invitations in the demon world. You said yes, buddy. You sang and danced with your damn soul. You told it you didn’t want to die.”

“…I mean, I don’t…”

“Too late!” The skull clattered with laughter. “You’re now half a hair away from becoming Demon Knight Number Two. Congratulations! Your Master would be so proud.”

Lu Gao paled. “I didn’t mean to…”

“They never do.” The skull sighed. “Look, if we’re fast, I might be able to firewall that bastard off before the contract anchors fully. But you gotta stop dreaming about faceless chicks and start listening to me.”

The black knight took one step forward.

Sand exploded beneath its foot. The wind howled. The sky flickered like a dying lantern.

Lu Gao’s heart thundered.

“…I’m listening,” he said.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” the skull said, floating just inches from Lu Gao’s face. “You’re gonna make a contract with me.”

Lu Gao recoiled. “No way!”

The skull groaned. “Ugh, why so stubborn? Listen here, you absolute blister on the foot of fate… Just like your Master and the two Mistresses of Pain I so dearly adore, I’m an Outsider too, but like, on the good side. So you can put more trust in me than that Silent Stalker of Soul-Depths you’re about to be turned into a finger puppet by!”

“I don’t even know what an Outsider is!” shouted Lu Gao, gripping the side of his head. “And I definitely don’t trust you!”

“Big words for someone who’s about to become demon chow,” the skull snapped back.

As if on cue, the sky above them cracked like fragile glass. Dark clouds boiled into existence from nowhere, swirling like ink dropped into water. Thunder did not roar, but it growled: low and slow, as if savoring the dread building below.

“What’s happening?!” Lu Gao cried, shielding his eyes from the sand kicking up all around him.

The earth vibrated.

Then… whispers.

Hundreds. Thousands.

They hissed like dying voices, speaking no language, yet felt like promises broken in every tongue.

The sand trembled and began rising in defiance of gravity, gathering into a slowly coalescing shape. A figure. The black knight’s outline was returning, sculpted from dust and dread, its presence sharpening the very air into razors.

The skull spun toward it and shouted, “Great! Now you’ve done it! If you tarry any longer, we’ll be up against a demon on par with the Eleventh Realm! That’s Realm Eleven, kid! We’ll be sand jam in seconds!”

Lu Gao’s knees buckled. “What are the terms?!” he shouted, voice cracking.

“Right, contract terms!” The skull straightened midair, floating with the solemnity of a high priest. “One: no sex… don’t even think about it. Two: no meat… spiritual or otherwise. Three: accept change when change comes.”

“What the hell does that even mean?!” Lu Gao shouted.

“You’ll find out when it hurts!” the skull answered cheerily.

The sand figure raised its arm. A jagged blade, too massive to be real, formed from the desert and pointed directly at Lu Gao’s chest.

“I ACCEPT!!!” screamed Lu Gao at the top of his lungs.

At that moment, the world bent.

It bent around him… space, sound, soul.

Mana erupted from every pore in his body, a geyser of raw potential. His qi, once inexistent, sluggish, and starved, flared with it, caught in the tide of alien energy. Together, they twisted.

“Prepare yourself,” warned the Skull. “It’s known with many names: True Qi, Immortal Qi, Divine Power, Quintessence, etc… Remember this, Lu Gao! The threshold between immortality and godhood!”

Purple flames roared around him. They weren’t hot, but hungry. They devoured doubt, fear, and uncertainty. They drank from his exhaustion.

His eyes rolled back as visions of unfamiliar constellations flashed through his mind… creatures without names, planes without borders.

And then…

He collapsed, the fire consuming everything.

The sand knight stopped mid-strike, its blade shattering into harmless glass.

And Lu Gao lay unconscious in the desert, a faint halo of violet smoke curling from his skin.

133 Reconciliation & Omens

I’ve done my reading.

Not just the usual surface-level stuff either. Before coming here, I made it a point to study everything the Empire had on the Promised Dunes: their history, politics, economy, and culture. If I were going to walk into another nation’s lands with a target on my back and a bunch of Phoenix Guard warriors at my side, I figured I should at least know why people might want to stab me.

So I knew why Queen Liu Yana was angry. Her outburst back at the table wasn’t just about what Jin Yi said, though that certainly helped light the fuse. No, this went deeper.

The Kingdom of Promised Dunes had long suffered under a certain… reputation.

Back in the day, this place was considered a paradise for the flesh. The slave trade thrived here. So did prostitution. Their desert elixirs, crafted from rare herbs only found in their lands, were famously potent in enhancing vitality, passion, and, well… libido. If you wanted to feel young again, last longer, or charm the robes off a courtesan, you came here.

And people did.

Even after the Promised Dunes joined the Martial Alliance and pledged to walk the path of righteousness, the old shadows clung tight. The Queen and her council managed to kill off the slave trade, which was no small feat. But the businesses of flesh: the dancers, the courtesans, and the pleasure halls… those only thrived further, legitimized and refined into high art. Their pharmaceutical technology even improved, pushing their aphrodisiac game to terrifying new heights. An awkward victory, maybe, but a victory nonetheless.

Their cities were known for beauty, seduction, and scandal. And now, with a Queen on the throne, unmarried no less, governing a land synonymous with lust and indulgence?

Yeah.

I could imagine how many lecherous old lords whispered about her behind palace walls. I could see why she'd want to throttle anyone who even hinted at validating those rumors. And I definitely understood why Jin Yi’s mention of my so-called vacation with concubines rubbed her the wrong way.

That’s why, when she made her demand, I wasn’t entirely surprised.

“I will permit your group to stay,” Queen Liu Yana declared, her voice echoing beneath the high-vaulted ceiling of her audience chamber, “and allow you to traverse our sacred dunes. But only under one condition.”

She looked me dead in the eyes. “A hundred ships. The likes of the Soaring Dragons you rode in on.”

Jin Yi made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a choking laugh.

Even Xue Xin blinked.

Bai Zheme just smiled to himself like he’d seen this sort of thing before.

As for me? I tilted my head. “You want a hundred warships?”

“Yes.”

“Fully functional?”

“Naturally.”

“Equipped with formations, runes, warp powers, the whole deal?”

She didn’t even flinch. “Exactly that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You realize that’s enough to arm a small nation?”

“Then arm us,” she replied, crossing her legs beneath those billowing robes. “You came here under the banner of luxury and leisure, Lord Da Wei. If you want your pleasure, pay the toll.”

I let silence sit for a bit. Let her believe she’d stunned me.

In truth, I was stunned, but not because of the demand. No, what caught me off guard was how desperate it sounded beneath the polish. Queen Liu Yana was posturing, throwing a price so high it could only mean one thing: leverage. She needed ships. Power. Recognition. The Martial Alliance didn’t take her seriously, and the Empire? Well, they likely looked at her kingdom like an awkward mistress they had to pretend not to visit.

She was starving to prove herself.

This wasn’t about a hundred ships. It was about status.

“I see,” I said at last. “You want power.”

She said nothing.

“You want to show the Martial Alliance that your kingdom isn’t just the place with pretty dancers and miracle tonics.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You want legitimacy.”

At that, her jaw tightened. Slightly.

Jin Yi looked like he wanted to vanish.

“Let’s not pretend I’m stupid, Your Radiance,” I said with a calm smile. “You’re ruling a land still healing from its past. You’re trying to steer it toward a better future. But the world isn’t patient, and your throne isn’t heavy with respect. So you ask for ships. Not because you need them immediately, but because they would change your position at the table.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table like I was back in my classroom, explaining something to a stubborn student. “But a hundred ships is insane. You know that. I know that. And more importantly, your people know that.”

Queen Liu Yana didn’t speak for a long while. The silence stretched like desert wind before a sandstorm.

Finally, she said, “Then counter.”

I grinned. “Now we’re talking.”

She gave me a look that suggested I’d only barely earned that right.

Jin Yi kept his silence.

I wasn’t sure if it was out of fear, wisdom, or sheer disbelief that I’d managed to defuse the Queen’s fury with half a smirk and some conversational aikido. Either way, I appreciated the open floor. His retreat meant this was mine to handle.

Good. I’d already been here… sort of. Not in the flesh, sure, but in theory.

Back in the Imperial Palace, Nongmin had run me through this exact situation. Coaching, lectures, mock negotiations. He even had a script written for me: formal wording, respectful tone, and just enough flexibility to shift if things went south.

Which, given Jin Yi’s earlier blunder, they very nearly had.

I felt sorry for Jin Yi though, since his blunder was most likely and pretty much a part of Nongmin’s scheme to make me look competent… or something like that.

Why? I have no idea…

Still, I’d cooperated. I played along, not because I loved the pageantry or respected his grand schemes, but because I needed to be here. My quest to find and revive my fallen friends depended on not being blocked at every border. The less chaos I caused, the easier the journey. That was the deal.

And now it was time to say what needed saying.

I rose from my seat, adjusted my outer robe, and clasped my hands politely in front of me. “Your Radiance,” I said, voice measured but firm. “The upcoming World Summit presents a unique opportunity.”

Queen Liu Yana tilted her head. Her expression cooled, but curiosity flickered in her gaze.

“If you’re truly seeking recognition,” I continued, “why not aim higher than ship counts or toll fees? The Grand Ascension Empire will have a seat at the summit. I’ll be attending by His Heavenly Majesty’s side.”

I didn’t bother masking the implication. Nongmin wanted me there, wanted me seen. He called it diplomacy. I called it damage control. Still, the influence was real, and Liu Yana knew it.

“If you wish,” I added, “you can sit at the table beside the Emperor and the Martial Alliance… neither behind nor beneath them.”

The Martial Alliance would have representatives… and the Queen would definitely not be one of them. However, the Emperor could make it a reality or so he claimed.

Her fingers, gloved in sheer silk, tapped the edge of her throne. She was listening, but conflicted.

“Of course,” I said with a wry smile, “you’re free to align with the Alliance’s bloc, if that’s more your style. Cozy up to them, trade favors, make alliances. No one’s stopping you. But a seat at the summit… that changes everything. Visibility. Legitimacy. Leverage.”

I paused for effect, letting the weight of those words settle.

“You want your kingdom taken seriously?” I asked. “This is how you do it. Ships help, but diplomacy moves empires.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes searched me, like she was trying to spot the trap in my words. I didn’t blame her. If someone offered me everything I wanted on a silver platter, I’d check it twice too.

But I wasn’t done.

“There’s more,” I said. “A proposition.”

I gestured to Jin Yi, who stiffened slightly. “I’ll be leaving him here with you. He’s more than just a mouthpiece… he’s a direct liaison to the Empire. Through him, we can open talks of technological exchange.”

Queen Liu Yana raised a delicate brow. “Exchange?”

“Warship schematics, formation designs, propulsion techniques,” I listed casually. “You give us research on your herbal technologies, your pharmaceutical advancements… maybe even your pleasure elixirs.”

She gave me a flat look at that last one, and I raised my hands in surrender. “Purely medicinal, I promise.”

That almost earned a smile. Almost.

“In return,” I went on, “General Bai, Captain Xue, and I will depart. We’ll leave your fine castle undisturbed, and the rest of my entourage will enjoy the land in the spirit of peace and luxury.” I gave a brief, sheepish smile. “As promised in our… initial declaration.”

Of course, I couldn’t tell her what I was really here for. I couldn’t share the truth: that I was searching for my comrades, and that somewhere in this desert kingdom, Lu Gao, one of my disciples was alive, in hiding, and waiting for me.

Nongmin had been uncharacteristically firm on that point. Keep their existence hidden. Conceal their names. When I asked why, he’d only furrowed his brow and muttered something about a “bad feeling.”

Hah~! Almost reminded me of Gu Jie.

Coming from him, that meant something.

So I stuck to the script.

I offered legitimacy, power, and partnership. I left out the personal truth, buried deep behind my words.

Queen Liu Yana leaned back in her throne. The gold trim of her robes shimmered in the light, her expression unreadable.

But her silence wasn’t hostile now. It was contemplative.

And that, I could work with.

Moments after a few more formalities were exchanged and the barest sheen of diplomacy wrapped up our talk with Queen Liu Yana, we were off.

Just like that.

It felt almost anticlimactic, considering the tension just an hour ago, but I wasn’t about to complain. The fewer obstacles between me and my goal, the better. We departed with a single Soaring Dragon warship: sleek, elongated, and brimming with refined qi arrays. Its prow shimmered with subtle blue talismans that pulsed with rhythm, like a heartbeat.

The rest of the boats stayed behind at the military outpost, left in the capable hands of the Formation Specialists for much-needed repairs. Apparently, spamming the Bless Spell like a madman to force our warps had a few minor side effects… like warping the rune channels, overcharging the cores, and slightly cracking the keels. You know. Nothing serious.

The engineers and artisans were already hard at work when we left. They looked somewhere between furious and inspired. A few of them cursed under their breath when they saw the damage. One even wept silently when he examined the spiritual lattice.

“Good news,” I had told them with a grin. “It held together.”

“Bad news,” muttered one of the specialists, “it held together.”

We left them to it.

The Soaring Dragon we took was the fastest of the lot, newly reinforced and stripped of unnecessary bulk. It was elegant, lean, and ready to tear across the skies like a golden arrow. The phoenix emblem on its prow shimmered as it caught the desert sun.

Our new travel party was compact and efficient.

I had General Bai Zheme on one side… still looking half asleep, as if war was just something to fill the afternoon with when there was nothing else to do. His massive war fan was strapped lazily to his back, but the sheer pressure he gave off kept everyone at a polite distance.

Captain Xue Xin stood at the bow, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Her crimson cloak billowed even without wind, her aura as commanding as ever. Second only to me in terms of sheer authority, though I wouldn’t say that out loud.

Then there was Hei Yuan and Jin Wen.

They would be fine.

Two Formation Specialists came along to monitor the boat’s stability and make mid-flight adjustments if things went haywire again. Given my spell habits, that wasn’t a “maybe”—it was a “when.”

And finally, the remaining three were from the Phoenix Guard, handpicked elites. All three had cultivation just beneath Xue Xin’s level, formidable in their own right. Their armor gleamed with inscribed runes, and their faces were stoic, disciplined. I hadn’t learned their names yet, but I respected them all the same.

As the boat ascended, slicing through the bright desert sky, I felt a weird mix of relief and anticipation.

This was the part I liked.

Not the meetings. Not the politics. Not even the carefully worded back-and-forths where everyone pretended not to threaten each other.

This. Moving. Searching. Flying toward the unknown with a mission ahead and good people at my back.

I leaned on the rail, the wind brushing through my hair, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Lu Gao was out there. Somewhere.

And I was coming.

I waited until the others were asleep or pretending to be. The desert wind moaned outside the hull, and the ship creaked like an old man stretching his bones. The Soaring Dragon boat had quieted down after a full day's flight, and now only the glowing formation plates kept things aloft, humming in their steady rhythm.

This was the best time to try again.

I closed the cabin door, drew the power from within, and fed a gentle stream of qi and mana into my existence. The special ability flickered, then stabilized.

Voice Chat, activate.

My thoughts flicked toward Alice.

Nothing.

Then Joan.

Still nothing.

I frowned. That wasn’t normal.

"Lu Gao," I called out in my mind.

Static answered. Then a flicker.

And then…

“Master?!” came the desperate cry through the link. “Is that you?!”

My breath caught. Relief rushed in before caution could take over.

“Lu Gao! Yeah, it’s me! Where are you? How are you doing?”

I expected a joke. Maybe something like ‘Doing swell, Master… if swell meant dying slowly in a hellhole.’ Something sarcastic. Something Lu Gao.

But what I got wasn’t even close.

His voice was steady, quiet, and cracked around the edges like glass stretched too thin.

“I am sorry, Master.”

I froze.

“…What?” I asked. “Lu Gao, what do you mean by ‘sorry’? Sorry for what?”

But the line was already cracking.

A low rumble like distant thunder echoed through the Voice Chat, then the sound warped… pulled and distorted like someone yanking the connection away.

“Lu Gao?!”

The Voice Chat shattered.

The power inside me blackened, smoke curling from the edges of my mind. The scent of scorched brain matter reached my nose. My heitened senses now knew what was the taste of scorched brain matter.

I wiped my nose.

“Chunky, gooey, and very… disgusting.”

I used Blessed Regeneration on myself.

I stared at my index finger with the bloody pus, heart thudding against my ribs.

That wasn’t a weak connection. That was someone, or something, cutting me off.

A warning?

A trap?

A goodbye?

“…Ah, crap,” I muttered.

I pressed a hand against the table, trying to steady my thoughts. There wasn’t enough information, but what I did know was enough.

Lu Gao was alive.

But something was very, very wrong.

132 A Kingdom of Sand and Stone

We arrived at our destination short of twenty-one days. Considering the normal pace of sky travel over three continents, that should’ve been impossible. But then again, not many people had the same skillset or stubbornnessas I did.

How did we manage it? Simple. I spammed the Bless Spell like a lunatic.

It just worked… well, at the expense of our Formation Specialists.

Every few hours, I cast it on the fleet, empowering the ships' durability and reducing the cooldown time between spatial warps. Most cultivators treated spells like rare treasures, used only at opportune moments. Me? I treated them like fast food coupons: slap one on, move faster, repeat. If the mana cost didn’t kill me, nothing would.

I learned my lesson from my trip from the Riverfall Continent to the Imperial Capital. There was no way I’d be engaging on detours this time. I’m all business!

Thirteen flying boats… each shaped like the wing of a golden hawk… landed with a smooth whir, sand kicking up along the edges of a greenish patch near the oasis. The Kingdom of Promised Dunes’ southern outpost stretched beside it like a jewel embedded in the desert. A full-sized castle, with carved sandstone walls and lattice balconies, loomed beside the water’s edge.

For a military outpost, the place looked more like a royal vacation home.

A small unit of soldiers stood waiting in formation, draped in azure silks over chainmail. Spears in hand, but lowered respectfully. The golden crest of a sun within a triangle shimmered on their breastplates, matching the banners fluttering above the walls.

The Phoenix Guard moved with smooth discipline, setting down the ship's plank with a soft clunk. Then they stepped aside, ready to form a path.

Old General Bai Zheme stood beside me on the left. His war fan, taller than a man, was strapped across his back like the wing of some sleeping beast. Dust clung to his iron-gray hair and wrinkled brow, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dulled. He didn’t speak, just gave me a small nod.

To my right, Jin Yi flicked a few stray folds of his robe straight. A diplomat attached to our group by the Empire: charming, silver-tongued, and, in my honest opinion, a little too moisturized for desert travel.

And at the head of our group, glowing like a bonfire, stood Xue Xin.

Her presence was unmistakable. Qi blazed around her feet with every step she took, turning sand into molten glass in her wake. Her crimson cloth fluttered behind her like an imperial banner.

She stopped at the edge of the plank, cast a sharp look down at the soldiers below, then lifted her chin.

“Announcing the arrival of Lord Da Wei of the Riverfall Realm and Honored Friend of His Majesty, the Emperor,” she proclaimed, her voice amplified by qi. “Wielder of the Divine Power, Slayer of the Abyss, He Who Defeated the Hell’s Gate!”

Huh? That was new to me… Lord of the Riverfall Realm? That was too much of a jump, wasn’t it?

The soldiers didn’t flinch at the titles. Either they’d been informed in advance, or they were just very, very good at standing still. Good for them. As for me? I felt conflicted, embarrassed, and awkward. Surely, Ren Jin wouldn’t be angry at me, right? Ugh… I’d have to give Nongmin an earful once I return to the Empire.

Xue Xin turned to me with a faint smirk. She seemed to like announcing me as if I were the protagonist of an opera.

I stepped forward. Heat still radiated from the ground she’d walked on, the glass under my boots crunching faintly as I moved. Jin Yi and General Bai flanked me, the wind catching our cloaks just right. I’ll admit, it felt kind of dramatic.

“Lord Da Wei,” a man said from the front of the soldier line. He had bronze skin and a beard like a sculpted wave. His armor gleamed in the sun. “On behalf of Her Radiant Majesty, Queen Liu Yana of the Promised Dunes, welcome to our outpost. I am Captain Han Lun. We’ve prepared quarters and refreshments.”

“Appreciated,” I replied with a polite nod. “We made good time.”

Han Lun tilted his head slightly. “So we’ve heard. The stars bent strangely in the skies these past weeks. Our Seers assumed a greater force was in motion.”

“Just some light spellwork,” I said, casually. Jin Yi coughed into his sleeve to hide a laugh.

The captain smiled faintly and stepped aside. “Then allow me to lead the way.”

We followed him along a stone path bordered by water channels, an elaborate irrigation system turning desert into paradise. My eyes wandered toward the castle. Palm trees swayed within the walls, and I caught sight of a few distant silhouettes moving behind lattice windows.

This was no ordinary outpost. And we hadn’t been summoned here just for tea and pleasantries.

“Stay sharp,” I murmured to Bai Zheme and Jin Yi, my voice low.

“Always,” the old general said without turning.

Jin Yi just smiled. “The desert hides many treasures… and even more daggers. However, I believe we are safe.” There was no need to be vigilant, he seemed to say.

He wasn't wrong. But I wasn't here to collect daggers. With the same line of reasoning, I wasn’t here for an adventure. I was here for my people. For the ones waiting in the sands beyond, and the ones still lost beneath it.

“Anyways, no fighting, guys,” I reminded everyone. “We won’t be here for long.”

We stopped in front of a carved sandstone doorway flanked by twin minarets, each topped with a dome of turquoise crystal that shimmered beneath the sun. Intricate sigils traced across the doors in veins of lapis and gold, humming faintly with defensive enchantments. Whoever enchanted this place hadn’t been cheap.

Han Lun turned toward us with a confident smile and raised his voice, projecting deep authority that echoed through the corridor.

“Honored guests from the Grand Ascension Empire,” he boomed, “prepare yourselves. You are about to stand in the presence of Her Radiant Majesty, Queen Liu Yana, ruler of the Promised Dunes and Guardian of the Golden Oasis.”

Okay. That escalated quickly.

I blinked once. Then twice.

Queen Liu Yana?

We were being received by the actual monarch?

Oh man, Nongmin’s predictions came true… Of course, it did…

Still…

I’d expected some dusty old vizier or a high-ranking minister, maybe a cousin of a cousin with a fancy title. But the Queen herself?

Jin Yi stiffened beside me. His normally immaculate smile faltered for half a second… just enough for me to catch it.

Even Xue Xin, firestorm that she was, flicked her gaze sideways. Her mouth twitched, not quite a frown, but far from calm.

And then there was General Bai Zheme.

Stone-faced, spine straight, hands folded behind his back. The man looked like someone had told him we were going to meet a shopkeeper. Unbothered didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Looks like someone pulled strings,” I muttered under my breath.

“Or she’s just curious,” Jin Yi said, forcing his easy tone back into place. “You have warped across half the continent like a divine comet. That tends to draw attention. Thankfully, our letter to request entry to their borders came first, before we did, or we would have a scandal on our hands.”

“Good thing I combed my hair,” I deadpanned.

“That’s your take on this?” Jin Yi looked halfway suffering from insanity at the moment. “Please, can you take the situation more seriously?”

With a low groan of ancient hinges, the double doors began to open.

A breeze rolled out from within, cool and scented with sweet spices and lotus smoke. The hall beyond was no less impressive than the gates: wide and airy, with light cascading down from polished glass panels high above. The floor was smooth marble dyed the color of honey, and a crimson carpet stretched from the threshold all the way to the dais ahead.

And on that dais, seated beneath a golden canopy, was Her Radiant Majesty.

Queen Liu Yana was younger than I expected. No gray hair, no hunched posture, no croaking voice. She looked maybe mid-thirties, though with cultivators that could mean anything between twenty and a thousand. Her eyes were sharp and dark as obsidian, but her smile was warm and unreadable. She wore robes of flowing sapphire with sun motifs stitched in silver, and a veil of sheer gold thread trailed behind her like sunlight made fabric.

A dozen attendants stood in silence on either side of the throne, eyes lowered, breath quiet. The air felt charged, like the moments before a storm.

We stepped inside.

Xue Xin resumed her place at the front, this time silent as the grave. Jin Yi walked with his hands behind his back, a courtly half-bow in his step. Bai Zheme’s footsteps didn’t echo, somehow… either he knew a trick or the marble respected his presence.

I followed just behind Xue Xin, letting my presence settle over the room like a shadow. I didn’t smile. I didn’t bow yet either. Not until I understood the game.

The Queen spoke first.

“So this is the one,” she said, voice like velvet over iron. “The Lord Da Wei, who stole the fire from the sky and scattered the shadow of the abyss.”

I raised a brow. “That’s me. Though the title inflation wasn’t my idea.”

Liu Yana’s smile widened, showing perfect teeth. “Then I welcome you, Lord of the Riverfall Realm. You arrive with storm and blessing alike.”

A courteous enough greeting. Not hostile. Not deferential, either. Balanced, like a blade’s edge.

I gave a slight bow. “And I thank you for the reception, Your Radiance. I admit, I wasn’t expecting a royal audience.”

Her fingers curled lightly around the armrest of her throne. “Nor was I expecting my stars to shift overnight and light a path straight from the Empire to my gates. Yet here we are.”

Fair point.

I glanced at Jin Yi. He offered the tiniest nod. Diplomatically, this was now his ball to juggle.

He stepped forward with a smooth flourish. “Her Radiance honors us. We are here in peace, on a matter of exploration and mutual benefit. Our lord seeks no war, only knowledge… and perhaps, allies.”

Queen Liu Yana tilted her head, appraising him, then me. “So it is said. But in these lands, even peace comes at a price.”

That caught my attention.

I took a step forward. “Then name it.”

Her eyes locked on mine. “Not yet. First… we dine.”

She raised a hand, and one of the attendants bowed and began whispering into a rune-inscribed shell.

Behind me, Xue Xin let out a quiet exhale. Bai Zheme didn’t move, but I could tell he approved. Jin Yi relaxed by a margin.

And me?

I started calculating how many antidotes I had left in my Item Box.

Because if we were going to play desert diplomacy, I’d better be ready for sandstorms, sweet tea, and a hundred veiled half-truths.

“To the banquet hall, dear guests,” announced Han Lun as he led the way, theatrically motioning for the veiled pathway. “The Promised Dunes wish you fine dining.”

The banquet hall was smaller than the audience chamber ,but no less luxurious. Pillars of white stone arched toward a domed ceiling painted with scenes of golden sandstorms and phoenixes rising from glass dunes. The table was long, narrow, and made of some iridescent wood. It glistened beneath plates of exotic cuisine that could’ve shamed any imperial feast.

The first dish to arrive was a bowl of crimson soup, steam curling upward like wisps of dragon breath. Floating within were translucent lotus seeds that pulsed faintly with qi. “Phoenix Broth,” an attendant said as he set it down. “Heals spiritual fatigue.”

Next came a platter of roasted dune hare, the meat lacquered with a glaze made from nectarfruit and firepepper. I took one bite and felt my blood circulate faster, like my veins had just downed a warm shot of liquid courage.

Then came sand clams soaked in moonlight vinegar, a grainy sashimi of rainbow-scaled fish wrapped in pickled cacti petals, and finally, dessert: sun-petaled cakes filled with custard that tasted like sweet wind and starlight. The last one literally shimmered when I bit into it.

They were all magical in their own way. Not just in flavor, but effect. One dish warmed the body, another soothed the soul, a third sharpened the mind. It was a pharmacological symphony disguised as fine dining.

I chewed slowly, gracefully, resisting the urge to inhale it all like a starving beast.

Last time I’d spoken with Nongmin, before this whole expedition began, he’d drilled into me the importance of presentation, especially during high-level diplomatic meals. The lesson had started with a five-hour lecture on posture and ended with him stabbing a roasted duck with chopsticks and screaming, “Even if it tastes divine, do not eat like a boar in heat!”

Charming guy, really.

Still, the lessons paid off. I sat straight, I took small portions, I nodded politely when the Queen’s attendants described each dish. I even dabbed my mouth with the stupid little embroidered cloth provided. No idea if that was supposed to be used, but I went for it.

Midway through the meal, I set my chopsticks down and looked toward Queen Liu Yana. “Your Radiance,” I said with a respectful dip of my head, “this feast… is astonishing. I’m not exaggerating when I say every bite feels like a new realm.”

She gave a soft chuckle. “You flatter easily, Lord Da Wei.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m simply weak to good food. Mortal or spiritual, it doesn’t matter. If it’s delicious, I’ll sing its praises.”

Jin Yi coughed into his wine, likely remembering the time I spent an hour praising street noodles during a meeting with the Ministry of Agriculture… a few weeks ago.

Yeah, haggling for our logistical supply had been tough even with the Emperor’s token.

For some reason, the Ministry of Agriculture hated my guts.

Queen Liu Yana lifted her own cup, something amber and sweet-scented. “A man of appetite, then. That is rare in these halls.”

I smiled. “Appetite is half the reason I move forward. You can train your body, your mind, even your spirit… but a man without desire is just a statue. Not that I claim I am full of desire.”

Her eyes glittered at that, not offended, not amused, just thoughtful.

Another sip. Another bite.

And then… nothing.

No burning in my throat. No paralysis. No bleeding gums. No illusions or dream poison or delayed death fog.

I blinked. Swallowed.

Wait a minute.

There was no poison in this food?

I glanced down at my half-eaten sun-petal cake as if it had just betrayed me.

What was I thinking?

Of course, they wouldn’t poison the food. We were guests. Respected guests. Political tools, maybe, but not enemies. This wasn’t some back-alley sect or rebel den.

I mentally slapped myself. Relax, Da Wei. Not everyone’s trying to murder you.

Bai Zheme let out a low, approving hum as he bit into a strip of seared cactus boar. Xue Xin had already finished her second helping of the hare. Jin Yi was finally beginning to look like himself again, sipping wine with an ease I envied.

So, I took another bite.

Then another.

And as the courses continued and the conversation drifted toward pleasantries and trade roads, I let myself enjoy it. Because whatever came next, whatever favor, demand, or offer the Queen intended to bring forward, I had a full stomach, a clear mind, and a faint sugar glaze on my lips.

Not a bad start to diplomacy, all things considered.

The plates had been cleared. The scent of roasted dune hare and starlight custard still lingered faintly in the air, but the mood had shifted. Gone was the gentle laughter and polite conversation. Queen Liu Yana’s posture had stiffened, not obviously, but enough that even I could sense the turn in the winds.

“So,” she began, swirling the amber liquor in her crystalline cup with the grace of someone utterly disinterested in its taste, “what, exactly, is the reason for your visitation?”

Her eyes were sharp. Not hostile, just focused, in that way predators looked at things they hadn’t quite decided to kill yet.

Jin Yi cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. The script we’d prepared back in the capital, polished to perfection through hours of debate and second-guessing, was finally up for performance.

“Her Radiant Majesty,” Jin Yi began, “our presence here is borne of both honor and circumstance. Lord Da Wei was recently declared an Honored Friend of the Grand Ascension Empire… and, by decree of His Majesty Emperor Nongmin, a sworn brother of the throne.”

I tried not to grimace at that part. It was true, technically. But emotionally? Spiritually? Sibling-ly? No. Just no.

Jin Yi continued without missing a beat. “This recognition is not without merit. Lord Da Wei has repeatedly risked life and limb to safeguard the Empire, most notably during the Hell’s Gate crisis on Deepmoor Continent, where he personally repelled an entire legion of hellspawn invaders.”

Queen Liu Yana raised an eyebrow at that. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or skeptical.

“And as a reward,” Jin Yi said, puffing himself up slightly, “His Majesty granted Lord Da Wei the freedom to travel anywhere within the Empire’s allied territories… for rest, recuperation, and enjoyment with his… ah… concubines.”

I blinked.

Wait.

What?

Concubines?

Jin Yi glanced at me, only briefly, but the damage was done. The table had gone still. Bai Zheme’s wine cup froze halfway to his lips. Xue Xin tilted her head, suppressing either a laugh or a cough, I wasn’t sure which.

“From his retinue,” Jin Yi added quickly, though the emphasis made things worse. “Namely… the Phoenix Guard.”

I gave him a side-eye like I was going to throw him out the window.

I could feel the Queen's gaze stabbing into me now, colder than the moonlight vinegar we had with the sand clams. Her expression had twisted slightly, from neutrality into something approaching distaste.

And I? I sat there, smiling like an idiot and trying to pretend I wasn’t internally screaming.

My mind drifted back to the conversation I’d had with Nongmin before setting out.

I’d joked—joked!—about being declared his stepdad just to troll him. I wanted to see him squirm, make that stony imperial expression crack a little. Instead, he shrugged, ignored the “stepdad” suggestion entirely, and decided to pull the “Honored Friend” and “Sworn Brother” card like he was flipping through a political playbook.

I didn’t even think of him as a brother. More like… sworn father? Yeah. That felt more accurate. Stern. Infuriating. Questionably wise. The kind of guy who tosses you off a cliff to teach you how to fly and then says you’re welcome.

And then he pulled this… a diplomatic maneuver disguised as a vacation. Tossed me a harem, slapped a fake reason into the papers, and used gallivanting with women as a legitimate pretext to sneak me into the Promised Dunes.

Xin Yune, wherever you are… our little Nongmin’s growing up. Becoming mischievous. Maybe even... playful.

I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or terrified.

Queen Liu Yana set her cup down with a soft clink. “So, let me summarize,” she said, voice dry as desert wind. “You’ve come to our borders not to negotiate, not to offer alliance or trade, but to frolic in my kingdom under the guise of imperial leisure… with a harem of guards, no less.”

“Well…” I started.

“You dare approach the Promised Dunes like it’s some kind of brothel oasis?” Her tone didn’t rise, but it was sharper than before. “And now you expect warm welcome, free passage, and access to our lands without so much as an offering?”

I opened my mouth again. Closed it.

Jin Yi, for once, had the sense to remain quiet.

Xue Xin turned her head ever so slightly. I could see the glow of heat qi gathering behind her eyes.

Bai Zheme scratched his beard, like this was all very amusing.

The Queen exhaled through her nose and leaned forward just a hair. “If you want anything from the Promised Dunes, Lord Da Wei, you’ll need to speak in the language we understand… compensation.”

Her smile was thin. “Gold, knowledge, favors… or something else. We don’t trade in empty titles.”

I nodded slowly. “Fair enough,” I said, then gave a crooked smile. “But to clarify, I didn’t ask to be declared a sworn brother. And I didn’t ask for the harem either. That was just… the Emperor being the Emperor.”

Queen Liu Yana leaned back, studying me. I think she believed me. Ah, I could only hope so…

“Well then,” she said, voice cooled but not entirely appeased. “Let’s hope your offerings are more sensible than your reasons.”

It was time to negotiate.

131 Sailing the Skies

We finally set off.

I stood near the prow of the lead Soaring Dragon, the wind brushing past my robes and the hum of formations vibrating beneath my feet. Beneath us, the clouds parted like silk, revealing glimpses of the earth far below: rivers like silver threads, mountain peaks like broken teeth.

“Sir Da Wei,” Xue Xin called, walking with a measured gait across the polished deck. Her expression was calm as ever, but I noticed the pride in her voice. “At this pace, we’ll reach the Promised Dunes in less than two months. Possibly six weeks, depending on the wind flows.”

I turned my head toward her, raising an eyebrow. “That’s fast.”

“Faster than what I heard about your previous journey from Riverfall Continent to the Imperial Capital,” she said, her voice slightly curious, as if prodding for confirmation.

“Mm. Took longer than that,” I admitted. “And that was on the Floating Dragon. According to Ren Xun, we would’ve made good time if we didn’t sight-see and stop at every turn.”

She gave a rare smile. “These are the upgraded models. The Soaring Dragons run on quintessence-grade formation cores now. A gift from the Empire’s Arcane Engineering Pavilion. And of course…”

She gestured toward the rear of the fleet, where bulbous, gourd-shaped vessels trailed in formation. Their hulls glowed faintly with runes that flickered like fireflies in the fading light.

“…the Formation Gourd boats,” she continued. “They carry a modified leyline compression array that drastically reduces the Soaring Dragons’ cooldown time between warp-jumps. Without them, each leap would require two days of rest. With them? Two hours.”

“Convenient,” I said, though I kept my arms folded. I couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious. All this technology, all this support… too many good things handed over too easily by an Empire that didn’t trust me. “It seems the Emperor does intend to honor his word.”

Still, I wasn’t going to complain about arriving faster. The Promised Dunes weren’t just a stop on a map. Somewhere in that endless sea of sand was Lu Gao. Alive, if Alice's message was right. And the girls… Alice and Joan… were counting on me to get there.

There was so much to talk with them.

“Have you assigned the watch schedule?” I asked.

“I have. Each boat has two internal cultivators, one spell weaver, and a formation specialist. Yours, of course, includes myself, Young Master Jin Yi, and General Bai. And then there are your retainers, Jin Wen and Hei Yuan.”

I nodded, taking in her words. “General Bai, huh? Wasn’t expecting a Divine General to be tagging along.”

Xue Xin inclined her head slightly. “General Bai volunteered. The Bai Clan has always prided themselves on honor. He views your mission as a matter of national interest. And…” she hesitated just a beat, “he wanted to meet you.”

“Let me guess,” I said, tapping the rail. “To see if I’m a threat?”

Her lips pressed into a line. Not denying it.

“Fair enough,” I muttered. “And Jin Yi?”

Xue Xin’s gaze drifted toward the front cabin. “Young Master Jin Yi was assigned by the Ministry of Rites and Harmony. His presence is… ceremonial. The Empire wishes to express diplomatic goodwill.”

I snorted. “He’s a glorified tour guide.”

She didn’t disagree. “He’s harmless. Talented in the social arts, if not martial.”

I leaned back slightly, letting the wind catch my hair. The sky above was fading from pale blue into streaks of lavender and gold. It wasn’t quite sunset yet, but we were nearing that magic hour when the whole world seemed softer.

“You trust him?” I asked.

She looked at me, eyes steady. “I trust few people, Sir Da Wei. But I don’t believe Jin Yi is your enemy.”

That was about the highest praise one could hope for from Xue Xin. I gave a noncommittal grunt and turned my gaze back to the clouds.

A part of me wanted to relax. The wind was clean up here, the kind you couldn’t find anywhere near a city. Even the hum of the formation engines had a soothing rhythm, like the world was exhaling.

But the other part of me kept tapping me on the shoulder.

Too smooth.

Too fast.

Too easy.

“Sir Da Wei,” came a new voice, high and polite.

I turned to see Jin Yi walking toward us with a hesitant sort of energy. He was young, probably not even thirty by Earth standards, though with cultivators it was always hard to tell. Slim frame, neatly trimmed hair, and a long robe in blue and white, typical ceremonial wear for his position.

He bowed lightly, just enough to be respectful without looking like he was groveling. “Forgive the intrusion. I wished to formally introduce myself, as we hadn’t yet spoken in person.”

“Da Wei,” I said simply. “No need for formality.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Jin Yi said, with a practiced smile. “Though my position requires certain formalities, I prefer a more… harmonious rapport.”

Xue Xin remained silent beside me, watching him like a cat eyeing a new bird in the garden.

“I’ve reviewed the itinerary,” he went on, producing a thin jade slip from his sleeve. “Provided all warp-jumps are successful and we encounter no spatial turbulence, we should arrive at the northern edge of the Promised Dunes in forty-three days. I’ve arranged for a pre-landing banquet to be prepared three days prior, during our descent phase.”

“A banquet?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “In the middle of a sandstorm continent?”

“It is tradition,” he replied, as if that explained everything. “A ritual meal to ease the spirit before confronting the unknown.”

I gave a small laugh. “If that’s what keeps the Ministry happy, go for it. Just don’t expect me to toast with gold wine under a collapsing leyline.”

Jin Yi nodded, unoffended. “Understood. I’ll ensure the banquet doesn’t impede our operational readiness.”

He gave another slight bow and stepped away, his light footfalls quickly lost in the wind.

When he was gone, I glanced at Xue Xin. “I take it he wasn’t briefed on the fact we might be walking into a tomb full of sand beasts and forgotten blood rites.”

She gave a faint shrug. “He knows the official version.”

“Right,” I murmured. “The version where I’m going to find missing Outsiders in an uncharted region for goodwill and mutual prosperity.”

And then there was Lu Gao.

The sky darkened. One of the Formation Gourd boats flared briefly, a pulse of violet energy cascading through the clouds. We began to slow, warp-jump preparations underway.

“Should I expect any trouble on board?” I asked her quietly.

“Doubtful. The crews were handpicked by the Phoenix Guard and thoroughly screened. But…” she hesitated, “…there may still be eyes.”

“Spies?”

“Observers,” she corrected. “From more than one Imperial House. They wouldn’t dare act openly. But you know how politics works.”

“No, I don’t, but I am in your safe hands, so that should count for something, right?”

“I am flattered, you think that, Sir Wei.”

I used Voice Chat on Alice.

“Huh? That’s unexpected.”

Nothing. No chime, no signal, just the cold silence of the sky.

I tried Voice Chat on Lu Gao.

“What is the problem, Sir Da Wei?” asked Xue Xin.

Still nothing. Not even a flicker.

I frowned and tried Joan next.

“Don’t mind me, Miss Xue,” I kept my thoughts to my own. “I am merely thinking to myself.”

Silence. There was utter silence in my Voice Chat.

My fingers twitched against the railing. No signal meant either they were out of range… or something was wrong. And I didn’t like either possibility.

“Xue Xin,” I said, turning to her. “Is there any way to make this thing faster?”

She gave me a side glance. “None.”

“Seriously?”

“These are the fastest vessels we have that are warp-stable,” she replied, tone level. “We’re already cutting the standard journey time by half. Unless you’d like to try jumping through unstable leyline turbulence without a calibrated array…”

“I’ll pass,” I muttered. “And honestly, I barely understand half of what you say.”

She studied me for a second, then added, “Be patient, Sir Da Wei. Worrying will not help them. And haste without purpose invites disaster.”

That didn’t make me feel better.

I exhaled slowly, the hum of the formation engines vibrating underfoot. The horizon remained unchanged, filled with endless sky and endless clouds.

“Jin Wen, Hei Yuan!” I called, waving them over.

The two appeared a moment later from below deck, not wearing the dark garb of the Shadow Clan this time, but neutral traveling robes. Neither of them came on this expedition as emissaries or scouts. No, this time they followed me under a simpler title: retainer.

Jin Wen adjusted his outer robe as he stepped beside me, brushing back some windblown strands of his hair. “You called, Master Wei?”

“Yeah. Jin Wen,” I said, crossing my arms. “You know anything about the Promised Dunes?”

He nodded. “A fair bit. I was born in the Great Desert, actually. Not in the Dunes proper, but close enough. My early years were spent among a trade caravan. And just to get this out in advance, no, I am not related to the young fellow called Jin Wen.”

“Really?” I blinked. “How’d you end up with the Shadow Clan?”

He offered a nostalgic smile. “Bandits struck the caravan when I was twelve. Most of us scattered. I wandered for days and was eventually found by Patriarch Hei Ben. He took me in.”

“Lucky,” I murmured.

“Very,” he agreed.

I turned my attention to Hei Yuan, who stood at ease, hands folded behind his back. “Speaking of Patriarchs… has your clan decided on a new Patriarch yet?”

Hei Yuan snorted. “They want me to take it.”

I raised a brow. “And you said?”

“I told them I’m too old to become anyone’s Patriarch. My back hurts just thinking about Clan Council meetings.”

“Nah, I think you are the right age,” I chuckled. “But yeah, it’s an acceptable reason not to agree. I reckon, you’d probably rather fight three blood demons naked than argue with Hei Ximei about land rights.”

He gave a sage nod. “Naked and blindfolded.”

The sky darkened slightly as we approached another warp-jump node. I watched the Formation Gourd boats pulse with pale blue light. That was the cue for a short break, two hours of quiet while the arrays cooled.

The wind died down just enough for voices to carry without shouting.

I sighed. “I’m bored.”

Xue Xin glanced at me. “Boredom is a rare luxury in our line of work. You should savor it.”

“No, seriously.” I turned toward her with a half-grimace. “You got anything in mind to pass the time? Something fun?”

She was silent for a breath longer than necessary.

Then, with a completely straight face, she said, “I could warm your bed.”

Hei Yuan coughed behind me. Jin Wen stared at the sky like he was trying to ascend through awkwardness alone.

I blinked. “I… uh… come again?”

Xue Xin tilted her head slightly, her tone entirely matter-of-fact. “It’s a time-honored practice among martial companions. It builds trust and rapport. If you prefer, I can ask one of my sisters instead.”

I stared. “You’re talking about that like you’re offering me extra blankets.”

She blinked. “Would you prefer extra blankets?”

“No! I mean…” I ran a hand down my face. “You know what? Never mind.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before Hei Yuan broke it with a muttered, “At least offer him tea first, Captain…”

Xue Xin raised an eyebrow. “I did. Two nights ago. He said no.”

I turned to the railing, pretending to admire the scenery, face slightly hot. Why was I feeling nervous about this stuff when I could go gung-ho at it with Xin Yune all night, non-stop? This damn world… sometimes I missed the simplicity of Earth. Pizza and bad movies and awkward first dates where nobody offered to ‘build rapport’ in the most literal way possible.

But I guess boredom really was a luxury out here.

A luxury that was rapidly running out.

Because if I couldn’t contact Alice, Joan, or Lu Gao soon… we weren’t flying toward a reunion.

“So, do you want me to warm your bed?” suggested Xue Xin a second time. “Maybe call a few of my sisters to help on the task?”

“No thanks.”

It wasn’t just Xue Xin.

Now that I was really paying attention, it was all of them.

Every time I walked across the deck, one of the Imperial Phoenix Guard would give me a lingering look, smile too long, or pretend to bump into me and apologize with her hand way too low on my arm. That kind of look… the kind people used when they were sizing up a roast duck, not a person.

It was subtle, mostly. Professional, even. But I wasn’t blind.

I found myself staring at the silver crest stitched into the shoulder of one of the guards standing post near the helm, and I muttered under my breath, “…what the hell is going on?”

Later that evening, when the stars shimmered faintly against the inverted dome of the world and the hum of the formation engines softened to a low thrum, I cornered Xue Xin by the side rail. The clouds passed lazily below, and the desert wind was crisp and dry.

“Hey,” I said, arms folded. “Be honest with me. What’s going on with your girls?”

She blinked at me with that calm, detached elegance that she always wore like armor. “What do you mean, Sir Da Wei?”

“You know what I mean. The Phoenix Guard. They keep flirting with me.” I jabbed a thumb toward the main deck, where three of her subordinates were laughing at something and throwing me glances that were a little too sharp, a little too practiced. “They weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

A hint of amusement ghosted across her lips. “Ah. That.”

“That?” I raised an eyebrow.

She stepped beside me, placing both hands on the rail. Her voice was smooth, matter-of-fact. “The Imperial Phoenix Guard is an all-women unit. Most of us joined for two reasons: loyalty to the Empire, and devotion to His Majesty.”

“Devotion to…” I frowned. “So, like a cult?”

“No,” she said immediately. “We are warriors, trained from youth to fight and die for the Emperor’s cause. We are not mindless. But loyalty breeds its own… traditions.”

I gave her a sideways look. “Uh-huh. Traditions that involve trying to get into my pants?”

She didn’t flinch. “One function of the Phoenix Guard is as a reserve pool for His Majesty’s future consorts.”

I nearly choked. “I’m sorry. What now?” Okay, I knew this little factoid already from Xin Yune, but hearing it for real and confirmed in my face had a different impact.

She tilted her head slightly, as if describing the weather. “We are trained not only in war, but in etiquette, courtly manners, and… companionship. It is considered a great honor to be chosen by His Majesty. However, His Majesty has not touched a single member of the Phoenix Guard.”

“That’s…” I hesitated. “Wait, is this that old story? The one where Nongmin was a thousand-year-old virgin until a century ago?”

Xue Xin nodded solemnly. “Yes. It caused concern among the inner court. Pressure from the Seven Houses and the old nobility was immense. The Phoenix Guard trained and waited… and waited. Some of the oldest members passed without ever being called.”

“Then…” I ran a hand down my face, slowly connecting the dots. “He gives you all to me? What, like some sort of reverse imperial dowry?”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “Not given. Assigned. To ensure your protection and cooperation as an esteemed ally of the Empire.”

I gave a dry laugh, but it didn’t feel like amusement. “Sure. And the part where you suggested warming my bed?”

She shrugged. “I serve the Empire. If that is what keeps you content and on our side, it would not be dishonorable.”

I stared at her. “Are you seriously telling me Nongmin just upgraded his honeypot strategy by sending me a flying harem of elite warrior women?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Which said enough.

I buried my face in my hands. “That’s so cruel… bro, I slept with your mom!”

Xue Xin raised an eyebrow at that.

“Never mind,” I muttered quickly.

She continued without missing a beat, “Only those acknowledged by the Emperor may marry a member of the Imperial Phoenix Guard. That acknowledgment, we believe, has been extended to you.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means some of the girls see throwing themselves at you as a glorious act. A way to serve the Empire in both body and soul.”

I stared at her blankly. “Yeah. I… don’t get it.”

She gave a faint smile, the first real expression I’d seen on her in hours. “You’re not meant to. But we do.”

I turned, leaning my elbows on the rail and staring down at the clouds as they drifted like lazy ghosts below us.

Of course Nongmin would do this. It was exactly the kind of convoluted, dramatic, emotionally charged move he’d pull: offer me resources, ships, elite warriors… and then lace it all with this kind of tangled political intimacy.

I had too much on my mind already. The girls weren’t responding to Voice Chat. Alice, Joan, Lu Gao… wherever they were, I couldn’t reach them. And now I had to worry about seductive death-commandos offering themselves up because they thought it would help the Empire?

What was I even doing here?

130 Sandthorn Village

Morning arrived with a whisper rather than a blaze. The sun had not yet crested the horizon, but Sandthorn Village was already stirring. A faint breeze carried with it the scent of dust, cactus blossom, and baked clay, weaving between clay-brick homes and crooked awnings stretched from one side of the narrow street to the other.

Alice sat on the edge of a window in their rented room atop the old inn. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and watched the early risers shuffle past with baskets, jugs, and the occasional curious goat. From here, she could see Joan already setting up their stall, if one could call it that. It was just a foldable stool, a clean mat, and a wooden sign carved with awkward, shaky characters that read:

“Healing Offered – Trade in Herbs, Plants, or Organic Goods.”

Alice scoffed lightly. At least the sign looked rustic enough. Joan hadn’t even bothered to write in the local dialect properly. But that hadn’t mattered. Sandthorn was the kind of place where people judged character by sweat and work, not titles or script.

Joan, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long pale scarf to hide her more foreign features, waved lazily to a passing auntie.

“Morning, Granny Su,” she called in decent enough pronunciation.

The old woman waddled over, holding a bundle of thorn-leaf cactus wrapped in a basket. “My back’s been acting up again, Mistress Cho An. I brought what you asked.”

Joan motioned for her to sit. “Lay down here, Granny. I’ll fix you right up.”

She slipped a hand into her pouch and pulled out a small phial of cooling tonic, extracted from the root of some creeping vine she’d found behind the village bathhouse. With her Alchemist subclass, creating a simple tonic was easy enough. However, working on foreign materials was easier said than done. Yet, Joan proved herself plenty capable.

Alice watched as Granny Su sighed under Joan’s touch. The old woman’s spine gave a series of audible cracks, and the stiffness left her body like steam rising off a hot pan.

Granny Su cooed. “Ooh... it’s like when my husband was still alive.”

Joan didn’t miss a beat. “Then he must’ve had good hands. Shame he died before he could teach me.” Her lip service was on point as always. The reason she wasn’t using spells was to avoid attracting attention and so that she could test her alchemical concoctions.

Laughter peeled out between them.

Joan chuckled as the woman hobbled away. Alice shook her head and finally stood up. She stepped lightly over the sleeping form of Lu Gao, who was snoring on a mat in the corner of the hut, limbs sprawled out like a collapsed horse.

His hair had gotten long again. The desert sun had bleached it at the tips. At some point, he’d kicked his blanket away and was using a sack of dried lizard jerky as a pillow.

Alice stepped out into the brightening morning, blinking against the dry wind. The air was still cool, but the sun was creeping higher, and with it came the promise of heat.

Joan already had a small line. Villagers brought her everything from dried weeds to dead beetles, offering what they could in exchange for herbal help. Most had stopped trying to guess their origin. Alice and Joan wore their roles well… young mistresses of uncertain background, possibly noble, possibly rogue, but certainly not from around here.

Their water was clean. Their cures worked. And they weren’t stingy.

Alice wandered over and crouched beside the mat. “Any luck with the root you wanted?”

Joan pointed to a gourd-shaped sack hanging nearby. “Got a lump of ‘shiver marrow’ this morning. The old hunter said it grows near snake burrows. Feels cold to the touch. I think I can use it for a blood-freezing salve.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “And you paid him in…?”

“A song,” Joan said with a perfectly straight face. “Told him I used to be a bard.”

“You were never a bard.”

“I didn’t say I was good.”

Alice exhaled through her nose in amusement.

Sandthorn had accepted them faster than expected. Word had spread quickly about the soft-spoken one who healed, and the stern one who traded clean water for stories. Nobody knew what to make of Lu Gao, but they liked how he lifted carts with one hand and talked to animals like they were old friends.

The villagers didn’t press. Life was hard enough out here. If strangers wanted to help, they were welcome to try.

Alice glanced back at the hut. “How’s Lu Gao?”

Joan adjusted her scarf. “Still asleep. I dosed his tea again.”

Alice frowned. “You drugged him?”

“Just a little. He was up half the night trying to fight the firewood pile again. He thinks it’s a spirit. I believe the boy might be either paranoid… or he has a condition.”

“I’m going to start recording his delusions,” Alice muttered. “However, I imagine it has something to do with nightmares.”

A little boy stepped forward with a fistful of strange red moss. “My sister’s got a rash,” he said.

Joan took the moss gently, inspected it, and nodded. “This’ll do. Tell her to stay out of the creek. I’ll make something for her before noon.”

The boy ran off. Joan tucked the moss into a pouch.

“Your Common is getting better,” Alice said, folding her arms. “We’ll be safe here for a while.”

“Of course, it is getting better,” Joan nodded. “Day-to-day conversations help a great deal.”

Alice tilted her head, watching the little boy disappear around a bend in the dusty road, then turned her gaze toward the sky. The clouds were high and wispy, stretched thin across the pale blue. The kind of sky that promised dry heat and no rain for weeks.

She dusted her hands on her disguise, some shawl, trousers, and baggy tunic. “I’m going to wake Lu Gao up. The sun’s already climbing, and he still hasn’t done his stretches.”

Joan smirked under her scarf. “Tell him the firewood’s plotting revenge. Maybe that’ll motivate him.”

Alice snorted but didn’t respond. As she turned to go, Joan added, “Where’s the skull?”

“In my Shadow Space,” Alice replied, pausing mid-step. “It was either that or let him flirt with every passing tree root. He’s been getting annoying lately. Kept asking if I was ‘of age’ in this continent and whether marriage customs allowed polygamy.”

Joan raised an eyebrow. “You’re the only one I know who can trap a disembodied ancient sage in her pocket dimension and call it ‘annoying.’ That skull is rather problematic, isn’t it?”

“Well, he keeps humming when I’m trying to relax,” Alice said flatly. “It’s annoying. I don’t even know where he gets the tunes. Half of them sound like lullabies for demons.”

Joan chuckled. “Still, it must be nice, having that kind of space. I’ve been running out of room in my pouches. Think I could stash a few herbs in there?”

Alice glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t mind. Just don’t put anything that wriggles or leaks.”

“Deal.”

The Shadow Space wasn’t technically a spell. It was a skill: a rare one, and unique to Alice. Back in Losten, before the Fall, she’d seen Blessed warriors and archmages wield miracles like second nature. They’d walked with halos of light, listened to the Voice, and summoned swords and armor from nothing. Joan and David had both been Blessed. They had the Item Box, the System Shop, and even the Respawn Gate at one point.

Alice had none of that.

She remembered the envy well, watching them from the corner of her eye as they channeled divine artifacts or received divine quests. The Blessed were the Immortal Champions of the Realm, chosen by the Supreme, favored, and exalted. Alice had been just a Champion. Strong, yes, but without the Voice, without the grace.

But when the great tragedy fell upon their world, when the sky cracked and the systems bled, the Blessed had lost their blessings. The Voice fell silent. The shops closed. The respawns stopped.

Alice’s Shadow Space, however, remained.

A tiny sliver of a dimensional pocket she had forged herself. Not divine, not holy… just hers. It had grown over time, expanded with her will, deepened as she pressed herself beyond limits.

She entered the hut again. The air inside was dim and warm, a reprieve from the morning glare. Lu Gao was still sprawled across the mat, one arm thrown over his face like a man shielding himself from dreams. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Alice crouched beside him.

“Time to rise, Lu Gao,” she murmured, nudging his shoulder. “There is so much to do.”

Lu Gao groaned. “What…?”

“It’s time to train.”

He grumbled something inarticulate and rolled over.

“Get up,” demanded Alice. “The sun waits for no man, and neither does your sword form.”

Lu Gao stirred beneath Alice’s hand like a reluctant boulder being asked to roll uphill. He blinked once, then again, the haze of sleep thick in his eyes. His face was a mess of pillow creases, dust smudges, and the vague imprint of dried jerky along one cheek. When he finally sat up, his hair stuck out like wild reeds, bleached at the ends and tangled beyond hope.

His torso was bare, muscle-worn but lean, with old scars crossing his back and sides like forgotten brushstrokes. His pants were little more than threadbare rags held together by sheer will and the occasional patch of cactus fiber. The desert had not been kind to his wardrobe, and the locals had even less to offer. The Sandthorn folk were generous with bread and balm but stingy with cloth.

Alice pinched the bridge of her nose. “You look like a spirit who lost a bet and had to walk through a sandstorm naked.”

Lu Gao scratched his chest without shame. “I feel like one.”

“If I had known the extent of your idiocy,” she muttered, “I would’ve force-fed you twice the dose Joan gave.”

Lu Gao winced, rubbing his temples. “So I was drugged.”

“Yes,” Alice confirmed. “Because you were fighting firewood again.”

“…It hissed at me.”

“It creaked. Because it’s wood.”

Lu Gao sighed and looked around for his shirt before realizing there wasn’t one. Just a small pile of desert sand where a sleeve used to be. He turned back to Alice with a questioning look, only for her to wave him off and say, “Don’t move.”

She reached into the air with a practiced motion, her fingers drawing a spiral in the space beside her. A ripple shimmered, distorting the air like heat rising from stone. Then, from the folds of that ripple, she withdrew a neatly folded set of clothes, a tailored outfit wrapped in gray cloth.

Alice unwrapped it with care. The ensemble was unlike anything one would find in Sandthorn: sleek, functional, and oddly elegant. The shirt was dark, close-fitting but flexible, made of some stretch-weave that shimmered slightly in the light. The trousers were reinforced at the knees, with hidden seams for ease of movement. A sleeveless overcoat bore subtle embroidery, nothing flashy, but enough to suggest a touch of refinement. There were even boots.

Lu Gao took it as if handed a relic. He held the shirt up, brows furrowing. “This… isn’t from here.”

“No,” Alice replied. “It’s from my stash.”

The boy stared at it like it might grow wings. “It’s… tight-looking.”

“That’s the point. You’re posing as our bodyguard.” She crossed her arms. “Your cultivation is more obvious than ours. People see it when you walk, hear it when you breathe. Joan and I can do better off with our drabby disguises, since we don’t exactly exude spiritual pressure. But you? You’re like a lion hiding behind a basket.”

Lu Gao blinked.

“That was metaphorical,” Alice added quickly. “Don’t argue. I still need practice with my words.”

He didn’t. Instead, he nodded once, then murmured, “I understand, Mistress.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Don’t call me that.”

“But the Skull said…”

“The Skull likes to mess with you.”

“Oh.” He paused, looking again at the clothing. “Will it… chafe?”

Alice rolled her eyes and turned toward the door. “If you complain, I’ll stitch cactus fibers into the collar.”

Behind her, Lu Gao chuckled faintly. “Understood.”

She paused at the threshold and looked back over her shoulder. “Ten minutes. Then stretches. Then training.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Lu Gao…”

“Sorry!”

Alice nodded approvingly as Lu Gao took the strange, tailored coat from her outstretched hand, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. The garment shimmered slightly under the morning sun, black threads woven with matte silver patterns, reinforced at the seams, and designed for both aesthetic and utility. It looked like something out of a different world. Which, of course, it was.

Lu Gao tilted his head, clearly uncertain. “Mistress… this doesn’t look like something a desert mercenary would wear.”

“That’s because you’re not a desert mercenary,” Alice replied, adjusting the hem of her sleeve. “You’re our bodyguard. Our guard dog. And your cultivation is painfully obvious to those who can see it. Joan and I don’t exude any spiritual pressure. You? You glow like a bonfire at night. It’s fine for you to dress in something… more eccentric. Moreover, I’d like you to be a bit more presentable when David finally collects us.”

“I understand, Mistress,” Lu Gao said obediently. He clumsily began to shrug the suit on, the fabric hanging awkwardly over his still-topless torso.

Alice smirked. “Try not to rip it.”

But before she could quip further, something in the air shifted.

Her body stiffened. Her Danger Sense, an old skill, not tied to any divine blessing, but one she’d sharpened through countless close calls, flared like a siren behind her eyes.

“…No,” she murmured.

The breeze had died. The sunlight felt wrong: dimmed and filtered, as if the sky had been painted over in a thin sheen of silence. She turned and stepped out of the hut.

The streets were empty.

Stalls abandoned. Dried herbs scattered in the dust. Half-filled buckets toppled over. Even the goats were gone.

Alice’s eyes scanned the alleyways. “Joan?” she called, but her voice felt swallowed by the stillness.

Then… her head snapped upward.

High above, in the sky that had once promised dry heat and a peaceful day, something shimmered.

They flickered into view one by one.

Single-winged creatures, drifting like puppets cut loose from their strings. Porcelain faces, cracked and painted with faint smirks. Limbs too long for their bodies, their skin pale like moonlight soaked in bleach. They hovered motionless for a heartbeat. Then two. Then more appeared. Dozens.

“Angels,” Alice hissed. “But not the good kind.”

These weren’t divine messengers. These were enforcers. Executioners. The kind sent when worlds went quiet and systems screamed in warning.

“This is bad,” she whispered.

She ripped off her desert disguise, letting the shawl and dust-dyed cloth fall to the ground. Underneath was her true garb: a gown of midnight black stitched with stormsilver thread, long frills whipping at the edges as if moved by unseen winds. Her heels clicked against the stone as she summoned her Shadow Space with a flick of the wrist.

Her umbrella dropped into her hand with a satisfying snap. She twirled it once and grabbed a rolled parchment, the Magic Scroll of Greater Teleportation.

She spun and sprinted back into the hut.

Lu Gao had just managed to get one arm through his sleeve when she barreled in. His eyes widened. “Mistress…?”

“No time!” Alice shouted, grabbing him by the shoulder and slamming the scroll into his chest.

His mouth opened to protest, but she silenced him with a glare, then jabbed him in the chest with her nail.

Just enough to break skin.

Lu Gao flinched, but she had already brought the bloody finger to her lips, tasting the copper warmth of his vitality.

“Blood link set,” she muttered. “I will find you, but first, you have to go.”

Outside, the light turned blindingly white. A keening wail descended from the heavens, like crystal swords being dragged across glass mountains.

Then the hut exploded.

An all-consuming blast of radiant energy tore through the building like a wave of purification. Walls disintegrated. Air turned molten.

But before it reached them…

Alice raised her hand, channeling raw energy into Lu Gao’s body. 

“Shield Drain!”

His skin flashed black as her own life force wrapped around him in a protective coil. Simultaneously, her other hand thrust toward his forehead.

“Great Charm.”

Lu Gao’s pupils dilated. Just for a moment, his instincts were not his own.

“Rip the scroll!” she commanded.

And he did.

With a sound like ripping silk, the Greater Teleportation scroll activated. Symbols blazed across the floor, surrounding Lu Gao in a ring of violet flame. The hut vanished in light… blinding, searing light…

But Lu Gao was gone.

The angelic detonation consumed the space where he’d stood only a breath before.

Alice, robes smoldering and umbrella now a shield of pitch-black wards, spun on her heel and vanished into the shadows behind the falling debris. She didn’t wait to see where the angels landed.

She had only one thought now.

Find Joan.

129 Just Stay Behind, Damn It

It had been three days since the expedition plans began rolling into motion. The high walls of Yellow Dragon City bustled with activity, cloaked in the haze of talisman smoke and the shimmer of enchanted cloth. A dozen boat artifacts, half of them shaped like elegant dragon-headed skiffs, the others like flattened gourd leaves, were moored along the upper platforms, floating just above the stonework, secured by chains that pulsed faintly with qi.

I stood on the highest tier of the wall, watching as the last of the supplies were loaded. Behind me, the city hummed with anticipation: final orders, last-minute preparations, the kind of nervous energy that always swirled before any long journey.

The Imperial Phoenix Guard was hard at work, finalizing our departure. They moved with that annoying military precision that said we're important and you better not question our list-checking habits. One group tallied rations, another examined communication mirrors, and a few poor souls were still arguing over how many spare chamber pots we needed for a three-week trip.

I, meanwhile, had my own headache.

“No means no, Ren Jingyi.”

She stood just across me, arms crossed and eyes practically sparking. “You’re not leaving without me.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I am leaving without you. I’ll be back in a few weeks. It's not like I'm moving to another planet.”

“What even is a pluh-net?” She stepped closer, practically invading my personal space. “You’re going to get Lu Gao, right? That means there’ll be danger. Which means I should go.”

I forced a smile. “You can’t go because precisely there’ll be danger. Do you want another Shenyuan situation?”

Ren Jingyi scowled, mouth curling into a sharp sneer. “Don’t use that against me.”

“It’s not ‘against’ you,” I said, spreading my hands. “It’s just… look, I’m being practical. I’ve got a terrible habit of nearly dying every other week. And knowing my luck, if you come, I’ll have to carry your corpse back in a Storage Ring, and I’d really rather not.”

She clenched her fists, her qi flaring slightly. “I’m not weak, Da Wei.”

Ooof… No Master? No His Eminence?

“No,” I sighed. “But you’re not invincible, okay?”

She jabbed a finger toward Jin Wen, who had unfortunately chosen right then to walk past us, holding a stack of sealed scrolls.

“What about him, huh?” she barked. “You’re bringing that relic along, and he’s barely even Fourth Realm! What is he gonna do, recite poetry at our enemies?!”

Jin Wen froze mid-step. His lips twitched like he was about to respond, but then he made the wise choice of pretending he was deaf.

I coughed into my fist, trying to stifle a laugh. “Ren…”

“Oh don’t ‘Ren’ me, Master!” she snapped. “Don’t act like bringing a dusty old historian is ‘strategic’ and leaving me behind is ‘logical.’ I’m Fifth Realm already! I can fight!”

Jin Wen was still standing there. Poor guy looked like he’d just seen a ghost from his past life.

“Power doesn’t mean invincibility,” I said, more gently this time. “You’re strong, sure. But strength’s not the only factor. I need people who can adapt. Jin Wen might look like a stick that’s been left out in the rain, but he knows the terrain. He’s been in the desert kingdom before. You haven’t.”

She scoffed. “So that’s it? Experience? I can gain experience if you let me come!”

“Or lose your life getting it,” I muttered. “Look, Jingyi’er, I get it. You feel sidelined. But sometimes, being strong also means knowing when to wait.”

“I hate waiting,” she growled, voice cracking just slightly.

I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Then hate me all you want. But I’m not budging on this.”

She stared at me, furious, lips quivering between yelling and biting back a sob. But finally, she turned around and stormed off.

I let out a long breath.

Jin Wen hesitantly shuffled over. “Uh… Lord Immortal Da Wei?”

“Yeah?”

“…Would you consider issuing an Imperial Order preventing her from ever comparing me to rotten tree bark again?”

“No promises,” I muttered. “But I’ll put in a good word for your poetry skills.”

“That was Kang, he’s the one who recites poetry… I am just a quiet old historian…” The old man sighed and walked away like someone who had just aged ten more years in ten seconds.

“I am just joking, no need to be sour about it,” Gods above. I hadn’t even left the city yet, and I already needed a rest. “I definitely have to keep my mouth in check.”

Footsteps approached behind me: quiet, deliberate, but not hiding. I turned slightly and saw Hei Yuan walking toward me, hands tucked inside his black and gray robes, face as impassive as ever.

“Glad you made it,” I said. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I did say I would,” he replied.

“Well, you didn’t say it enthusiastically.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Just stood beside me, his eyes following the horizon like he was measuring the weight of the sky.

I brought only two people from the Shadow Clan with me: Hei Yuan and Jin Wen. Neither of them had pledged themselves to me, not formally, not with oaths or pacts. But they volunteered for this trip. That said something. Maybe not loyalty, but intent. And intent could be just as valuable.

I glanced at him. “How are you holding up?”

Hei Yuan folded his arms behind his back. “Just returned with the other Imperial Phoenix Guards. We made contact with some of my embedded agents in this part of the continent. The communication array in this region’s weaker than I expected, but it’s still operational.”

I nodded. “Your clan’s information network. Anyone over there got details on the Kingdom of the Promised Dunes?”

He gave me a small, tired shrug. “As much as anyone else knows. Which is to say, not much. The Dunes are secretive. Proud. Even the Martial Alliance doesn’t fully control them. They’re… cooperative, but not submissive.”

“I figured,” I said. “Still, worth asking. I’ve been doing my homework. Been reading, interviewing merchants, cultivators, even a guy who claimed to have married a dune princess. He was lying, obviously… couldn’t even name the capital city.”

Hei Yuan gave the faintest twitch of a smirk.

“But hey,” I continued, “never hurts to double-check the myths. Go ahead, recite what we do know. Might help me organize my thoughts.”

He nodded once. “The Promised Dunes were originally a part of the Tribal Factions of the Great Desert. Independent tribes. Nomadic. Always fighting amongst themselves, but bound by shared bloodlines and traditions. During a great crisis, details unclear, they unified, at least partially, and aligned themselves with the Martial Alliance.”

“Which means,” I said, “they’re technically not under the Empire’s thumb.”

“No,” Hei Yuan said. “They answer only to themselves and the Alliance. It’s complicated.”

He wasn’t wrong.

The Martial Alliance… that was a headache all on its own. A world-spanning organization composed of State-Sects, each powerful enough to rule entire countries. From what I’d pieced together, they functioned like a self-regulating council, enforcing balance and providing arbitration for disputes the Empire didn’t, or couldn’t, touch.

I couldn’t think of a perfect Earth comparison, but I’d say the United Nations came kind of close.

Except, here? The Martial Alliance was armed to the teeth. Every one of its member sects could topple cities, and the Alliance itself? A behemoth that could stand toe-to-toe with the Empire.

Hei Yuan continued, “The Promised Dunes send representatives to the Martial Alliance’s summits. They keep their distance from the Empire, though they’ve fought together in major wars. But internally, the Dunes remain a sovereign power.”

“Cultural differences?”

“Vast. Religious, too. They worship the Endless Sun and its Heralds. Their cultivation methods revolve around heat, pressure, and illusions. Their strongest clans train in the Sand Dreaming Arts, techniques that let them slip between layers of perception.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Dreaming arts?”

He met my gaze. “They believe the world is made of overlapping dreams. To strike the real, you must know which dream you’re in. Their highest masters… never wake up. But they can still kill you.”

“Neat,” I muttered. “Also terrifying.”

Hei Yuan shrugged again. “We’re walking into foreign lands. Expect foreign rules.”

“Got it.” I sighed and turned to watch the floating ships below. “Thanks, Hei Yuan. Really. This trip’s gonna be insane, and I need people who aren’t.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Then why bring Jin Wen?”

“…I walked into that one.”

But hey, the old historian wasn’t that bad.

Hei Yuan gave the barest ghost of a smile, then returned to silence.

The wind blew harder. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.

Departure was near.

“Just a question,” Hei Yuan said, breaking the silence beside me.

I didn’t look at him right away. “What is it?”

He squinted toward the boats and the women moving among them. “This is my first time seeing the Imperial Phoenix Guard in person. But… are they really all women?”

I sighed. “Yeah. All of them.”

“Great figures too,” a loud voice chimed in behind us.

I turned just in time to see Jiang Zhen sauntering over, arms folded behind his head and a grin on his face. He nodded appreciatively at a trio of Phoenix Guards walking across one of the docked skyships, balancing heavy supply crates like they weighed nothing. “Strong hips. Graceful steps. That one’s probably a dancer.”

“Jiang Zhen,” I muttered, dragging a hand across my face.

He winked at me. “What? I’m just appreciating the view.”

The Imperial Phoenix Guards were a sight, I’d admit that. Not for the reason Jiang Zhen implied, though.

They moved with precision, discipline baked into their bones. Their crimson and black armor glinted with golden accents, not flashy, but regal in a way that demanded respect. Each of them wore the winged sigil of the Phoenix Guard across their breastplate, and a shimmering silk sash marked their individual ranks, silver, gold, or the rare platinum. Their weapons were varied: spears, sabers, bows, and fans. Some carried dual curved daggers sheathed at their hips, while others summoned construct tools and spirit tablets with flicks of their fingers.

A dozen of them were currently moving in synchronized formation, directing cargo through the air with spirit art techniques while others reviewed route sigils and finalized barrier matrices on the boats. It was like watching a dance performed by lethal artisans.

I turned back to Jiang Zhen and stared at him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “but thank you for coming on short notice. Picking up Ren Jingyi personally, I appreciate that.”

He grinned wider. “Of course. The brat’s like a daughter to me.”

“Right. And while I appreciate it, I feel obligated to remind you…” I tilted my head toward the guards. “The Imperial Phoenix Guard are all, on average, at the Fifth Realm.”

He puffed up his chest. “I’m at the Sixth Realm.”

I leaned in slightly. “Their captain is at the Seventh.”

That shut him up.

His smirk withered a little, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. Just looking. No need to send me flying off the battlements.”

I snorted. “I wasn’t going to. But she might.”

Jiang Zhen quickly redirected his gaze to the sky. “Lovely day today.”

Hei Yuan coughed quietly into his fist.

I just stood there for a moment longer, letting the wind brush through my hair, watching as another sleek boat artifact floated down beside the others like a leaf settling into place.

The Imperial Phoenix Guard didn’t look back at us. They were too focused, too busy, too professional.

They didn’t need to be feared because they were women.

They needed to be feared because they were damn good at their job.

“There has to be a story behind it, right?” Hei Yuan prodded, not letting it go.

I gave him a sidelong glance. “Behind what?”

He gestured toward the Phoenix Guards again, specifically toward a spear-wielding woman barking orders at her subordinates while standing atop a floating cargo crate.

“The Imperial Phoenix Guard. They’re responsible for safeguarding the Emperor, yeah? So how come… you know, they’re all women? That’s got to be controversial.”

Jiang Zhen, still loitering nearby, smirked and leaned in. “I’ve been wondering that myself. Not that I’m complaining.”

I shook my head. Of course, he wasn’t.

But Hei Yuan’s question wasn’t entirely wrong.

“All right, all right,” I said, hands slipping into my sleeves. “You really want to know?”

Hei Yuan nodded eagerly. Jiang Zhen leaned forward like I was about to tell the best tavern tale of the season.

So I told them.

“The Imperial Phoenix Guard’s all-female composition started because of one person—His Majesty’s mother, the Empress Dowager.” I paused for effect. “She ordered it herself. Said she hoped her son would… enjoy himself a little more.”

Jiang Zhen faked a cough and turned it into a laugh. Hei Yuan, meanwhile, paled slightly.

“Master Wei,” he hissed, eyes darting left and right, “wouldn’t that be considered slander?”

“Slander?” I raised a brow. “It’s not slander if it’s true. Besides, I heard it straight from Xin Yune’s mouth. She was close to the late Empress, you know.”

It was only known to a few people that Xin Yune was, in fact, the Empress Dowager, but she was more famously known as the Empire’s Divine Physician. Nongmin requested her identity as his mother would remain a secret, something I complied with.

“Still,” muttered Hei Yuan nervously.

“Relax. The guards themselves don’t mind. They’re professionals through and through. They’re proud of who they are. If anything, they’d probably beat you up after you said something disrespectful, not before.”

That didn’t comfort him much.

Still, I figured I should take the edge off. “But we’ve got no idea what it’s like to be the Emperor,” I added, letting my tone shift to something more serious. “Even with a guard full of beauties around him, I doubt he’s ever so much as blinked twice. The man’s like a damn robot.”

Jiang Zhen blinked. “What’s a robot?”

“Never mind.” I waved it off. “It’s a ‘me’ thing.”

Jiang Zhen didn’t press. Instead, he leaned his shoulder against a wall and asked, “So what do you think? Want to know why I’m really here?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I figured it wasn’t just to ogle women and babysit Ren Jingyi.”

He shrugged. “The Seven Grand Clans are making trouble again.”

That made me frown.

“Trouble how?” I asked.

“Interfering with demon hunts. Securing border territories for themselves. A few of them are using the demon infestations as excuses to press influence into weaker vassal states.”

Just hearing the phrase Seven Grand Clans made my stomach twist. They were, in essence, the miniature versions of the Seven Imperial Houses: ambitious, ancient, and way too arrogant for their own good.

“And the Empire’s doing nothing?” I asked.

“They’re watching,” Jiang Zhen said. “But you know how it is. As long as it doesn’t disrupt the capital, they won’t move.”

I exhaled through my nose and looked toward the sky, where the first sunboat shimmered against the afternoon light.

So much for a smooth expedition.

I wandered down the rows of Imperial Phoenix Guards checking supplies, fixing cargo seals, and tuning the qi-guidance formations on the boats moored atop the Yellow Dragon City’s high walls. Their discipline was admirable. Their aesthetics? Also admirable.

I spotted one of them, a sharp-eyed spearwoman whose features were more ethereal than militant. Her armor clung to her like sculpted gold and crimson silk, and she had that classic “deadly and don’t-ask-questions” look all the Phoenix Guards seemed to share.

Naturally, I walked up to her and said, “Hey, cutie, you don’t mind running an errand for me, do you?”

She blinked, a bit startled. Her face flushed a soft pink, but she managed a composed nod. “I will do as you instruct, Sir Wei.”

Huh.

I blinked right back at her, genuinely surprised.

Was that… did my charisma stat just finally activate? After all the chaos, bloodshed, and emotional trauma, was this the moment it chose to shine?

“Wow,” I muttered. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

I figured it wasn’t just the stat. Rise in reputation, cultivation, titles… yeah, that probably helped. Being publicly recognized by the Emperor had a few perks. I’d have to remember to abuse, I mean, responsibly use them.

“I need a favor,” I told her. “A friend of mine’s stuck with demon-hunting duties here in Riverfall, but the Seven Grand Clans are sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Do you have any idea how we can get them to back off?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I don’t have any executive power,” she said with a hint of apology. “We’re just bodyguards, really. But…”

I leaned in.

“But,” she continued, “since His Majesty will soon announce you as an Honored Friend of the Empire, your words will carry political weight. If you write a formal letter addressed to the Seven Grand Clans, it might make them reconsider their interference. Especially if you frame it as a contribution to Imperial peacekeeping.”

My brows lifted. “That’s… actually a good idea.”

Before I could even turn to yell at Jiang Zhen for paper and ink, the Phoenix Guard reached behind her sash and produced a folded sheet of fine paper, an inkbrush, and a small jade-capped inkpot. Without missing a beat, she knelt slightly and offered her back.

“I can be your desk,” she said seriously. “Please write what you need.”

I stood there, brush halfway to dipping, blinking in awkward silence.

This was awkward. On so many levels. Her posture was perfect, her back smooth, and the inkpot sat balanced like this was a routine mission task. It probably was.

“Nongmin,” I muttered under my breath, glancing at the heavens, “if this is one of your honeypot attempts, I swear on my former teaching credentials, I will smack you.”

Still, a plan was a plan.

I dipped the brush, and, trying not to press too hard against her spine, began to write.

By the time I finished writing the seventh letter, my hand was sore (kind of) and I’d used more honorifics than I cared to count. The Seven Grand Clans each had their own delicate ego, and if I offended even one of them, they'd likely respond by doubling the number of demons they were allegedly trying to “contain.”

Still kneeling, the Phoenix Guard beneath me waited until the final stroke dried before standing up and rolling the letters with practiced grace. She beamed at me, her earlier blush returning in full force.

“I’ll have these dispatched immediately,” she said, giving a salute that made her armor shimmer in the sun. She dashed off toward the comms division, her crimson sash fluttering behind her like a silk ribbon in a storm.

“...Someone’s having fun,” I muttered under my breath.

Before I could turn around, boots clanked confidently across the high wall stones.

“Captain of the Imperial Phoenix Guard’s Left Wing, reporting for duty!” declared a striking woman with flame-red hair and armor far more ornate than the others. Gold feathers curved around her shoulders and the phoenix crest on her breastplate seemed almost alive with qi. If the others looked like refined bodyguards, she looked like she could solo a battlefield.

The Imperial Phoenix Guard was split into two wings: Left and Right. The Right Wing remained in the Imperial Capital to guard the throne, while the Left Wing accompanied imperial expeditions like this one.

I gave her a nod. “Go on.”

“All preparations are complete,” she said briskly. “Nine Soaring Dragon boats are warp-ready. We’ve completed the tethering procedures for the three Formation Gourd boats as well, they’re synced to ride the dragons’ warp pathways.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Good job.”

The Soaring Dragon boats were our primary transport,  massive, sleek vessels inscribed with ancient flight and warp formations. The Formation Gourds were experimental support crafts, smaller, flexible boats able to anchor and amplify field arrays. Not easy tech to work with, even for the Empire.

I turned and found Jiang Zhen leaning against the railing, watching the fleet from a perch like some idle tiger. He looked far too relaxed for someone with incoming demon problems.

“I made a contract with Tao Long, just talk to him,” I told him, “the Ninth Realm cultivator. I’m sure you’ve already met him, but you’re going to coordinate with him on demon-hunting duties from now on. We had a talk yesterday and he was rather keen of keeping my spear…”

Jiang Zhen raised an eyebrow. “The man with the uncomfortably calm eyes? Yeah, I met him.”

“Good. Work with him. Don’t let your pride get in the way.”

“Understood,” He smirked. “But you do know you are not my boss.”

We were almost ready to move. Supplies packed. Guards in position. Boats humming with energy. Even the politics were, for once, aligned in our favor.

Almost too smooth.

Which meant something was bound to go wrong.

“We’ll be leaving in five minutes,” the Imperial Phoenix Guard Captain informed me crisply, her red hair dancing with the wind as she turned sharply on her heel and barked a series of commands to her subordinates. The women scattered with flawless coordination, like a school of phoenixes taking flight.

Hei Yuan and Jin Wen were already making their way to the nearest Soaring Dragon boat. Jin Wen still looked somewhat traumatized from the verbal lashing Ren Jingyi had given him earlier. Hei Yuan, ever calm, was silently nodding to passing guards, observing, analyzing, storing everything like the quiet tactician he was.

I took a step toward the gangplank, then paused.

A flicker brushed the edge of my awareness. Faint, familiar. The kind of presence you don’t mistake, even in a sea of qi.

I sighed, deeply.

Spreading my Divine Sense further, I honed in. There. Crammed between crates in the lower storage deck. Concealed, or trying to be. I vanished with a Flash Step, reappearing beside a row of barrels filled with… something pungent.

Why was there even wine here?

I popped the lid off one barrel and frowned.

A pair of fluttering lashes peeked out from the shadows, followed by a wine-soaked arm and a bleary little face.

“Wa… wa… waaa…”

“Ren Jingyi,” I groaned, reaching in and dragging her out by the collar.

The girl was half-submerged in wine, and the other half was wobbling in drunken defiance. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth kept mumbling something about “justice” and “boats being for everyone.”

I didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled.

“Why… just why?” I muttered, hoisting her over my shoulder like a sack of carrots. She gave a soft hiccup in response.

With a leap, I landed back atop the outer wall where Jiang Zhen was still lounging, arms crossed, watching the ships like a bored hawk.

“Here,” I said, dropping her into his arms. “Look after her, will you?”

Jiang Zhen caught her with surprising grace. He blinked, looking down at the wine-drenched mess in his arms as her head lolled dramatically against his chest.

“She’s drunk,” he remarked with a wry smile.

“Really?” I said dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“She’s also clinging to my sleeve and muttering something about… becoming my sword companion?”

I turned away. “Not my problem. And don’t be weird…”

Jiang Zhen laughed softly, adjusting his grip so she wouldn’t slip. “This might be a challenging affair.”

“She’s your problem now.”

With that, I jumped down to the gangplank and boarded the ship, the low hum of its formations syncing to my presence.

Somehow, this trip was already turning into a mess… and we hadn’t even left the walls yet.

128 Under the Pale Moonlight

The moon hung low, round and solemn, casting silver light across the dunes. The desert was quiet tonight, eerily so. Even the wind whispered as if trying not to disturb the lonely figure atop the sandy ridge.

Lu Gao exhaled slowly. The night was calm, but his heart was not.

It had been months, three, maybe four, depending on how one counted days without proper sunrises. He had been separated from his Master and the others during that chaotic battle. He remembered the final clash, the screaming, the blood... and then waking up alone, half-buried in sand with the upper half of his robe missing.

Since then, he had wandered with a certain duo.

His Master? No, he wasn’t worried about that man. Da Wei was the type who’d survive anything. The world might collapse, but that man would probably joke about it on the way down.

But the others…

Gu Jie, Ren Jingyi, even Hei Mao. And especially, Ren Xun.

Ren Xun, who was only supposed to be their guide. Ren Xun, who always fumbled during drills. Ren Xun, who had the delicate build of a scribe and the reflexes of a startled rabbit.

“We shouldn’t have let him come,” Lu Gao muttered. “The Emperor won’t want us dead, right? Master would probably be fine, but…”

He tilted his head toward the moon, the weight of guilt growing heavier in his chest.

And yet… Lu Gao smiled faintly.

Ren Xun had the stubbornness of the Ren bloodline. Even if he was useless in a fist fight, the man was formidable enough when it came to spell formations, a talent unique to his bloodline, probably inherited from the Emperor himself.

If at Martial Tempering, a cultivator would reach levels of physical prowess beyond mortal ability. If at Mind Enlightenment, a cultivator would hone their mind to achieve super perception and greater thought. If at Will Reinforcement, a cultivator would be able to express their will to the world. Then at Spirit Mystery, a cultivator would begin to manifest powers unique to their own path of cultivation: abilities shaped by their soul, their intent, and their journey.

For Lu Gao, that power had taken the shape of conjuration.

With a quiet grunt, Lu Gao brought his hands together. Purple flames flickered to life between his fingers, twisting and writhing before taking form… an elegant saber forged from ethereal fire.

“Hollow Point: Incursion,” he whispered. “Take form into the shape I desire, oh… I beseech you, my nascent power!”

His Spirit Mystery Realm manifestation answered.

The blade gleamed in the moonlight, and without further hesitation, Lu Gao moved.

Each step was precise. The sand shifted, but he flowed through it with the grace of a practiced dancer. His purple flame saber carved arcs of light into the night, each movement a verse in the silent poem he composed with his body.

From the outside, it looked beautiful… an art piece in motion.

From within, it was war.

This was how he trained now. No more sparring partners. No more handmaidens delivering tea. No supervising instructor throwing fruit at him when he made a mistake.

Just the wind, the sand, and the whispers of the dead.

Aili Si’s voice cut through the silence. “Stop.”

Lu Gao halted mid-motion, the saber humming faintly in his hand.

He turned his head slightly.

Aili Si.

That probably wasn’t her real name, of course. It was just the closest approximation he’d managed to pull from her strange, lilting speech when talking to the blonde woman. Whatever the case, his Master had told him they could be trusted.

So he did.

The woman with the rosy pink hair and amused eyes looked like a demonic cultivator if he’d ever seen one. Her energy felt wrong, not twisted, not evil, but… wild. Unshackled.

Still, Da Wei trusted her. That was enough.

Lu Gao lowered the saber slightly.

From the woman’s waist, the floating skull tethered to her belt let out a lecherous chuckle.
“I’d appreciate your flawless movement and topless appearance if you were a woman,” it crooned, voice full of ancient sleaze. “Alas, you are just another bastard!”

Lu Gao ignored the skull.

He raised his hand to disperse the conjured saber.

“Don’t,” Aili Si said, stepping forward.

He froze.

Before he could react, she reached out and plucked the saber from his hand as if it were a real, physical object. His eyes widened. No one should have been able to do that. The blade was an expression of his Spirit Mystery, a manifestation of his soul.

“W-Wait—!” he began.

Too late. She twirled it once in her grip, examining the flames as if inspecting a strange flower. The saber did not flicker or fade… it obeyed her touch, gleaming quietly like a house pet submitting to a new master.

Panic prickled beneath Lu Gao’s skin. He resisted the urge to step back.

His cultivation at Spirit Mystery hadn’t granted him extended life, but it had given him power,  abilities more refined and dangerous than most cultivators of his level. Under the right conditions, he could even cross realms and fight those stronger than him.

But Aili Si didn’t seem impressed. She didn’t even seem interested. She was just toying with the conjured weapon like it was nothing.

“Interesting,” she remarked offhandedly. “A little immature in shape-binding, but the soul echo is stable. You’re young.”

Lu Gao blinked.

She turned to him, handing the saber back without ceremony. “Try again. This time, focus less on performance and more on intent.”

He took it silently.

“Yes,” he said, almost on instinct.

There were many things he didn’t understand. Who Aili Si really was. Why the skull never shuts up. Why the desert still felt wrong beneath his feet.

But his Master trusted them. And right now, Lu Gao wanted to be stronger.

So when she told him to try again… he obeyed.

The moon had drifted higher, casting longer shadows over the dunes by the time Lu Gao finished his third weapon conjuration… a spear of lightning-chased jade, flickering and humming with ghostlight.

He stood before Aili Si, breath steady but shirt still missing, the desert wind now a familiar companion against his skin. The pink-haired woman circled him once, her arms folded and her brow furrowed in thought. She hadn’t said much during his demonstration, only nodding or occasionally clicking her tongue when he formed something sloppy. Her expression remained as unreadable as ever.

Then finally, she spoke.

“Enough.” She waved a hand like she was shooing off a particularly persistent cloud. “I’ve seen your shapes. Blade, bow, spear, those tiny flying swordlings… decent control. But clumsy. You are not soul-deep in them yet. I will make a regime for training.”

“Regimen,” Lu Gao corrected quietly, brushing some sand off his pants.

“Regime, regimen, same same,” Aili Si replied breezily, clearly unconcerned with the nuance. She turned her gaze to the distant dunes, as if seeing through them. “You are Paladin, yes? You can take more… sacred power. There are some techniques, holy ones, that might shape you better.”

Lu Gao blinked. “You… know what a Paladin is?”

“Of course. They are my nemeses, priests come a close second.”

The aforementioned skull gave a lewd chuckle from her belt. “And I told her you were a meathead with a conjuration kink.”

Lu Gao grunted and looked away.

The skull was a master of making trouble by taking advantage of the language barrier.

Aili Si continued, seemingly unbothered. “There is a woman, blonde. She is a White Caster. Ask her what to steal. I mean… learn.” She pursed her lips, frowning. “Steal-learn. Stearn.”

Ah… What was her name again? Sho An? Jo Ahn? Cho An. Yeah, Cho An, that should do.

It would take some time for Lu Gao to learn their language, but he was working hard.

“Learn from,” Lu Gao corrected gently.

“Yes, that.” She nodded as if she’d just solved a great puzzle.

It had only been a few months since she started learning Common, but already she could hold conversations… sometimes. Occasionally, though, her word choices left Lu Gao more flustered than he cared to admit.

“Before, when I say your thrusting was very strong,” she began, tilting her head at him, “I did not mean it sounded like rutting.”

Lu Gao almost choked on his own breath. “You could’ve just said my piercing technique was good.”

“Thrusting sounds better. Strong. Potent.” She looked him dead in the eye. “It had rhythm.”

He stared at her, face flushing. “You really need to be careful with how you say that.”

“But why? It is true.” She crossed her arms. “You do it with your whole body.”

Lu Gao covered his face with one hand. “You… you can’t say things like that in public. People will misunderstand.”

“I want them to understand,” she said, clearly confused. “You have strong thrusting. Your form is perfect. Everyone should know this.”

Lu Gao groaned.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Just say… ‘he has good spear technique.’ Simple. No misunderstanding.”

Aili Si nodded, though she didn’t look fully convinced.

She tried again. “His spear is long and penetrating?”

“No.”

“Piercing.”

“Still no.”

“…Stabby?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll work on metaphors later.”

She shrugged. “Strange language. So many words. Why is ‘staff’ not the same as ‘staff’? I told a man in the town I needed a long staff inside me, and they chased me out with bread.”

Lu Gao winced. “I don’t even want to unpack that one.”

“Bread is also wrong word,” she muttered, as if to herself. “They didn’t throw bread. It was stale. Like rock. Very rude.”

The skull let out a high-pitched wheeze of amusement. “Oh, she’s learning fast. At this rate, she’ll be banned from every city on the continent by spring.”

Lu Gao sighed and looked up at the moon.

His Master had said to trust these two. No, not the skull. Definitely not the skull. His Master was surely referring to the two women. And, well… so far, they hadn’t tried to kill him.

That was worth something.

"Let’s dive!" Aili Si declared with a triumphant grin.

Lu Gao tilted his head. "You mean… ‘let’s go’?"

She blinked, then frowned. “Same?”

“Not quite. You dive into the water. You go somewhere. Unless we’re diving into our sixth inn,” he muttered under his breath.

The skull hanging from her belt let out a lecherous laugh. “I don’t mind diving if she’s leading the way.”

“Shut it,” Lu Gao said, though his tone lacked real bite.

They broke into a run, their movements light across the dunes. The conjured flame-blade had long since dissipated, and now the only light was the moon's glow and the occasional shimmer of Aili Si’s floating veil ribbons, fluttering behind her like ghostly streamers.

It didn’t take long to return to the village.

Sandthorn was small, barely a hundred structures, if one was being generous. The buildings were squat and round, shaped from hardened clay and packed sand. No walls, no gates, no guards. Just silence. Most of the inhabitants were already asleep, their windows shuttered and lanterns dark. Only the occasional creak of wood or snort of a dozing animal broke the stillness.

There were no oasis pools nearby, no babbling streams. The only water came from deep beneath the sand, drawn by creaky old contraptions and sold in clay jugs. That was how they earned coin here, by selling conjured or purified water. Simple, clean, and effective. Lu Gao’s flame conjuration techniques had little to do with water, but Aili Si had her own tricks, and Cho An… well, Cho An had smarts.

This was their sixth inn. The first two towns had guards too nosy for their liking. Aili Si had nearly incinerated one for trying to touch her hair. In the third village, they’d unknowingly walked into a bandit den. Lu Gao still remembered the look of horror on the local “mayor” when Aili Si melted a crossbow into slag. The fourth and fifth inns? Rude innkeepers, high prices, and too many questions.

Sandthorn was… tolerable.

They reached their small rented house, barely more than a two-room hut, and slipped inside, careful not to make noise. But someone was already awake.

Cho An sat hunched over a tiny wooden desk. Scrolls, maps, and makeshift parchment covered every surface, including half the wall. The glow of a single spirit-stone lantern illuminated her face, cast in soft blue hues. Her golden hair was tied in a loose braid, and her eyebrows were furrowed in deep concentration.

“You didn’t sleep again?” Lu Gao asked, brushing sand from his pants.

Cho An looked up. “No.”

Aili Si stepped forward. “She is mapping?”

“Yes,” Cho An replied curtly, tapping one of the hanging scrolls. “Wind. Here. Move dune.”

“You mean… the wind moves the dunes here?” Lu Gao offered.

“Yes.” Cho An nodded. “Change every day. Hard path. Safe here.” She pointed at a narrow line in red.

Aili Si crouched beside her. “As you can see, Lu Gao… She is a very serious person.”

“Seems that way,” Lu Gao said with a tired smile. “I’d dare say, she’s the most intense person I’ve ever met.”

Cho An heard that and muttered, “Serious. Not intense.”

“You’re both,” Lu Gao said gently. Then he glanced at the map again. “Are we still good to stay here for another day or two?”

Cho An gave a small shrug. “Maybe. No fight. No question. We stay.”

It wasn’t exactly a ‘yes,’ but for her, it was close enough.

“Alright,” Lu Gao said, finally sitting down and leaning back against the wall. “Tomorrow, we train. Aili Si wants to make me less embarrassing.”

Aili Si beamed. “Yes. I will make him very strong. Very... hard.”

Lu Gao’s soul left his body for a second.

“You mean resilient. You’ll make me resilient.”

Aili Si tilted her head. “Same, no?”

“No,” Cho An said simply from the desk, not even looking up.

The skull cackled again. “She’s my favorite. Both of them.”

“Can I bury that thing in the sand?” Lu Gao asked.

“No,” Aili Si and Cho An replied in unison.

127 Scattered Shadows

“Alright, you and your gal friends can go now,” I said, waving Zhu Lian and the handmaidens away.

Zhu Lian blinked. “Gal friends?”

“Ignore me,” I muttered. “Just go.”

She narrowed her eyes in confusion, but gave a low bow and gestured to the others. “Come, sisters. Let us leave the honored guests to their discussion.” As they filed out, I heard faint whispers among them. I didn’t need Divine Sense to guess what they were saying. My choice of words had always been strange to this world, and honestly? I didn’t think I’d ever shake that off. Some habits from Earth were apparently immortal.

Once the ladies were gone, I turned to the elders of the Shadow Clan, motioning for them to come closer. “Alright. Gather around. Let’s talk.”

They formed a loose semicircle around me, robes still wrinkled from resurrection, post-death daze only now starting to fade from their eyes. I could still feel the weight of the atmosphere, the lingering scent of blood, ash, and crushed pride. But now that they were here, alive, they needed direction.

“So,” I began, “what now?”

Hei Yuan stepped forward with a grim expression, acting as their spokesperson. “Forgive us, Master Wei. It would not be wise for us to speak of our future so lightly. We... must speak amongst ourselves first. Much has changed.”

Silence followed. For the first time since they woke, the elders all fell still, each processing their second chance at life. No bickering, no curt remarks, just grim acceptance. The realization had sunk in. They were alive. The price had been heavy, but they had returned.

Hei Hong broke the quiet with a hollow voice. “The clan is gone. There is nothing to return to. No island. No sacred grounds. No heirlooms. Just ashes.”

Another elder, Hei Ximei, stepped forward. “If you are willing, Master Wei… we would serve. Take us in. We offer what remains of our lives to you.”

Hei Yuan stiffened. “Ximei!” he barked. “You speak out of turn!”

But she met his gaze head-on, chin lifted in defiance. “Then punish me later, Grand Elder. But tell me, what choice do we have?”

He gritted his teeth. “We are the architects of our own ruin. We… I… failed to see the storm brewing in our midst. It was not some outsider’s curse, nor fate’s cruelty, but it was our blindness.” His voice grew harsher with each word. “That girl, Gu Jie… she gave us prophecy. We mocked her. In our circles. I know! Thus, this tragedy had befallen our Clan! Moreover, an Imperial Prince’s son died on our lands. There will be consequences, consequences that we will suffer. It didn’t help that we treated guests like they were invaders. And now…”

He turned to me and bowed deeply.

“It is you, Master Wei, who saved what little we had left. And for that alone, we owe you more than we can ever repay. But to ask more of you now… would be to tread the path of shame. It is dishonorable. Disgraceful. I won’t allow it.”

His voice cracked at the edges, and I saw something rare in a man like Hei Yuan: guilt. Real, unfiltered guilt. The others looked away, suddenly very interested in the stone tiles beneath their feet.

They knew he was right. And still, they didn’t know what to do next.

Neither did I.

Not really.

But one thing was certain, I hadn’t resurrected them just to watch them fade into obscurity.

And I wasn’t done speaking.

“I’ve got no problem taking you guys in,” I said, arms crossed as I looked over the battered but breathing elders of the Shadow Clan. “Honestly, I’ll probably need to build my own faction sometime soon anyway.”

Several of them blinked.

Hei Ximei tilted her head. “Faction?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Like a sect, but with more personality and fewer dress codes. Think of it as a community with slightly less backstabbing. Hopefully.”

They didn’t look entirely convinced, but at least they weren’t outright refusing.

“I can’t make any promises about salary,” I continued, “but I can guarantee weekends.”

More blinking.

“That means… you get a day or two off every seven days,” I clarified, then paused. “Actually… how many days are in a week here?”

That thought hit me harder than expected. I’d been here for months, and I still had no clue what the standard calendar looked like. That’s how strict the Empire was with knowledge. You wanted to know what year it was? Good luck. Want to know the week structure? Better have a library pass or a noble sponsor. It was ridiculous. I made a mental note to ask someone, or better yet, steal a book.

And yes, I could just ask Nongmin, but sometimes I just wanted to be a jerk. I hoped some noble would pick a fight with me, so that I could have them fetch me a book.

Anyway.

I waved a hand lazily. “I’ll leave you all for now. Go gather the other survivors, if there are any, and talk among yourselves about what you want to do. But don’t take forever, yeah? I’ll be heading out soon on an expedition outside the Empire’s borders. Got a disciple to collect and a pair of folks to bring back.”

That caught their attention.

Hei Min coughed into his fist, not-so-subtly trying to get my attention. I looked at him and nodded.

“Yes?”

“Where are we?” he asked, eyes scanning the courtyard. “And… those women from earlier… who were they?”

“I think it’s a sect,” one elder muttered.

“No, no. Too clean for a sect. Another clan’s grounds, maybe?” another whispered.

Oh, right. I should’ve clarified that. My bad.

“Ah,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Welcome to the Imperial Capital.”

The silence was immediate. You could’ve dropped a needle and it would’ve exploded from the tension.

Hei Ping, bless his naive heart, gasped and nodded in admiration. “To think Master Wei was so rich and magnanimous… opening the gates of his prestigious estate to us humble survivors…”

“Hold on, hold on,” I cut in, holding up both hands. “Let’s not get carried away.”

They all looked at me, confused.

“This isn’t my place or anything,” I explained with a sheepish grin. “I’m new here, okay? There’s no way I can afford real estate in the Capital. I had my… uh… bestie lend me the courtyard so I could host you guys.”

Hei Yuan blinked a few times and squinted around the courtyard. “This place… it looks familiar,” he murmured, voice trembling slightly.

I let out a fake cough and avoided eye contact.

“Yeah, about that…”

Hei Ximei, the same elder who’d offered to serve earlier, raised a brow. “Where are we, Master Wei?”

I scratched the back of my head. “Well… you’re standing in the Imperial Palace.”

This time, they didn’t just go silent. They stopped breathing altogether.

Hei Hong’s face went pale. Hei Min’s eyes twitched. Hei Ping looked like he was about to faint from sheer anxiety.

I shrugged.

“Yeah, I know. Not ideal. But hey, if I’m gonna get in trouble for harboring old naked people, might as well do it in style, right?”

There were thirteen of them.

Thirteen ragged elders, stiff from resurrection, still blinking at the sky like they expected it to be fire and brimstone. They weren’t exactly peak fighting material anymore, assuming they ever were, but I wanted to bring about half of them with me.

Call it sentiment. Call it practicality. Call it misplaced loyalty. Whatever it was, they’d earned a sliver of my trust. We were war buddies, after all… Kind of.

They’d died beside me. That counted for something.

Hei Yuan stepped forward, his back a little straighter than before, though his beard still looked like it had lost a wrestling match with a thunder hawk.

“Master Wei,” he said carefully, “may I ask… what became of the Shadow Lake Island? And… the Emperor’s intentions for our clan?”

Ah. Shadow Lake Island. Took me a second to remember that was what they called their home.

I had to chuckle. Cultivators really loved their dramatic naming conventions. Everything had to be ‘Lake,’ ‘Heaven,’ ‘Blood,’ or ‘Moon.’ Couldn’t just say ‘the island,’ huh?

I sobered a bit, then answered plainly, “It’s quarantined. Don’t expect to rebuild your home there.”

Hei Yuan’s brows furrowed. The others stiffened.

I raised a hand. “I got a glimpse using my Egress spell. It’s bad. Real bad.”

I remembered what I’d seen, just a few hours ago, the moment I left the throne room and blinked into existence there. A crumbling island shrouded in red mist. The scent of sulfur choked the air, mingling with the stench of rotting demon flesh and half-reformed undead. Shadow Lake Island was a battlefield turned biohazard zone. The terrain had buckled. Entire buildings had caved in or melted into grotesque, tarry masses. Pools of blood that shimmered like oil lay still and silent, refusing to dry.

Imperial troops had surrounded the perimeter. A few cultivators in quarantine robes were still exorcising what remained. Every now and then, something twitching tried to stand again, a demon, half-eaten or half-dead, trying to resurrect as an undead. The soldiers didn’t hesitate. One strike to the head. Move on.

A wasteland. A warzone. Whatever it had once been, Shadow Lake Island was no longer a home.

“As for the Emperor’s plans with the Shadow Clan?” I shrugged. “None, as far as I know. You’re not his problem anymore.”

Their faces fell slightly.

I added, “You’re mine now.”

That got their attention.

I held up a finger before they could misinterpret it. “Not like that. I don’t mean you’re some burden I’m stuck with. What I mean is… I want you to be my responsibility.”

Hei Yuan’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

I stepped closer, letting my voice firm up. “You’ve lost your land, your people are scattered, your legacy nearly gone. That’s not something I can fix overnight. But if you’re willing to stand, I’ll help you walk again. Starting with your clan members. You’ll probably find the rest scattered across the Deepmoor Continent. Around the military outposts near your old territory. If you want to bring them back, I can help.”

Hei Ximei sucked in a breath. Hei Hong dropped his shoulders for the first time since waking up. All thirteen of them exhaled, like they hadn’t realized they’d been holding their breath until I said the words.

“Of course…” I added with a smirk, “the journey’s gonna suck.”

A few chuckled weakly.

“But I might be able to lend you a few boat artifacts to speed things up. Could even toss in some maps if you ask nicely.”

Hei Yuan looked down, his voice hoarse. “Master Wei… you are… a living treasure.”

I rolled my eyes and turned before he could start composing poetry on the spot. I’d had enough of his overblown gratitude speeches for one day.

I gave the Shadow Clan elders a nod and took a step back.

“I’ll leave you to your own devices,” I said. “Figure out what you want to do. I’ve got other business to handle.”

They bowed. Thirteen elders, all gaunt and ghost-eyed from death and resurrection, bowed low to a random Outsider. It made me feel weird. Still not used to this whole people-looking-at-me-like-I’m-a-big-deal thing.

I activated the Egress spell, letting the glow build along my arms. The formation beneath my feet flared as I channeled my will. Normally, the spell would just snap me back to where I had marked earlier, but with enough willpower and a bit of directional finesse, I could aim my landing with the spell formations set up in advance.

And sure enough, with a pop of pressure and a blink of light,  I was inside the underground chamber beneath Ren Jin’s estate.

It wasn’t much of a chamber. More like a dark basement that got overfunded. Polished jade walls, softly humming arrays inlaid with silver thread, and one of those ambient glowing orbs hanging overhead like a low-budget moon.

The spell formations here were the Empire’s real trump card, not just cultivation or powerful warriors, but the infrastructure that turned cultivation into civilization. Everything was laced with purpose: teleportation grids, sealing arrays, privacy wards. This place was wired like a living thing.

Their warping technique wasn’t to the level they could go interstellar, though. Still, it was impressive.

I started walking, letting the layout guide me toward the exit tunnel, boots echoing faintly on the stone. My fingers brushed along the etched walls absentmindedly.

Time to check in.

I flicked my mental will and connected to Voice Chat, a special power more bizarre than any special ability in my arsenal, but effectively the same thing. Pick a bound target. Call. Pray they weren’t in the middle of stabbing something.

“Hey there, Alice. How’re you doing?”

There was a pause, then her voice crackled into my mind like a grumpy radio ghost.

“Terrible.”

Her tone was flat, dry as desert sand.

She continued, “We found a small village. We're taking our time here. Like you told us. Lying low. Not moving unless absolutely necessary.”

Good. That meant they were listening.

“I imagine things on your side aren’t easy,” I said aloud, pacing past another flickering spell lantern. “The sovereign power over there runs a tight ship, and judging from what I’ve read and seen, slipping past their border control would be... well, not fun.”

I sighed, adjusting my cuffs.

“I’ll come pick you up instead. You just make sure you stay low and cause as little noise as possible. Emphasis on no trouble. We’re trying to stay under the radar, not kick it in the face.”

“Roger that,” she said with a sigh. “Lu Gao’s been resting. He’s stable, no complications.”

“Good. Keep him safe. He’s… important to me.”

“Aw, you do care,” she teased, voice lightening just a bit.

I ignored the bait.

“How’s the language barrier? Locals giving you grief?”

“It’s manageable. Joan and I are picking up the language. Our skull friend’s been tutoring us.”

“Skull friend?” I blinked. “...Is that literal? Ah, that guy.”

“Yup. A skull. Talks a lot. Has opinions on soup. Also likes fashion and stuff.”

I blinked again. “You know what? I don’t need to know.”

Still, I filed that away. Skulls were rarely a normal occurrence. But we could dig into that later. Back in the Black Forest, I didn’t have time to play catch-up, so of course, I have no idea what the deal was with that skull.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s review. No starting fights. No spontaneous uprisings. No sword-drawing unless it’s absolutely necessary. And definitely no slaughtering people just because they’re jerks.”

“Aww.”

“Alice.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m telling you now. If Joan sees injustice, she’s not just going to stand there.”

Of course not. That woman was less Holy Spirit and more self-righteous sword incarnate.

I rubbed my temples. “Just… just watch her. Keep both of you safe. That’s the mission.”

There was a moment of quiet.

Then Alice said softly, “I’m flattered, you know.”

“Hm?”

“That you can put your trust in a dirty vampire like me.”

I smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

“Careful, Da Wei. Flirting like that, and I might just fall for you all over again.”

I sighed and kept walking. “Alice, if you try any harder, I might have to install a rejection formation.”

She laughed.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. For now.”

With that, she disconnected, leaving only the faint hum of formation lines in the air around me.

I emerged from the underground chamber a few moments later, stepping into one of the side courtyards of Ren Jin’s estate. The evening light had begun to settle over the city, casting long shadows through the rest of the Yellow Dragon City.

Time to start making plans. If I wanted to pick up my wayward disciples, I’d need clearance, a plan, and a boat that could fly over an entire continent.

Easy stuff, right?

Right.

126 A Most Natural Resurrection

The courtyard was quiet, save for the rustle of wind through dying leaves and the faint creak of old wood. A garden once full of life now held the stink of death. And at its center, sprawled in a pose that could only be described as violently artistic, lay what remained of Hei Yuan.

He wasn’t just dead. He was mangled, torn apart, burned in places, and dried out in others. Unrecognizable to anyone who hadn’t seen him fighting back-to-back with you in the gates of Hell itself.

I stepped toward the corpse, careful not to step in the blood that had congealed into dark, crusted lines beneath him.

“Old man,” I muttered, raising my hand. “You always did like making an entrance.”

With a breath, I called upon Divine Word: Raise.

The air around us shifted. Light, not warm or cold but commanding, shimmered from my fingers and sank into his ruined body. Flesh knit. Bones mended. Blood vessels crawled back into place like roots drinking rain. He gasped as his lungs filled again. His eyes shot open with a snap like they were spring-loaded.

And then… he blinked at me.

Confused. Muddled. Very naked.

His robes had not survived the revival process. They hung in pathetic shreds, slipping off his frame to reveal what nature and cultivation had crafted. The man was built like a statue carved by a drunk god with decent taste.

“...Master Wei?” Hei Yuan’s voice cracked like a dry twig. “Is this… the afterlife?”

“Nope,” I said, popping the ‘p.’

He looked down at himself, first at his bare chest. Then lower. His eyes widened, and his hand gently cupped his groin with an almost reverent sort of grace.

“Ah… This must be the afterlife indeed,” he whispered, nodding solemnly. “I have returned to my most natural state… as the heavens intended. Naked… like the day I was born.”

“Sure, let’s call it that,” I said, crossing my arms. “Though I’m starting to regret bringing you back.”

He looked up at me, eyes suddenly glassy with emotion. “Master Wei… even in the afterlife, you are clothed… regal… majestic beyond compare. A true immortal…”

Oh no.

Here it comes.

“I should’ve just let you reincarnate,” I muttered, taking one step forward.

I was tempted to slap the back of his head. Tempted enough to picture it. But knowing my luck and my strength, I’d probably accidentally tear it clean off his neck.

So I flicked his forehead instead. Hard.

Yep, it could be considered bullying the elderly and teaching the young a lesson at the same time. It was a strange world. A suppressed burst of willpower-tinged intent surged through my finger. Hei Yuan’s eyes crossed. He flipped. A perfect somersault of 360 degrees in the air. Then he landed facedown with a thud that made the cracked stones under him groan.

His bare ass now pointed at the sky like it was trying to catch divine blessings.

"Please tell me you are awake for real now," I exhaled through my nose and rubbed my temples. “Anyways... Welcome back, Old Yuan.”

He groaned into the stone, voice muffled. “I see… the afterlife is pain…”

“You’re alive, not dead.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

I kicked a piece of the tattered robe toward him. “Cover yourself, man.”

He took it and wrapped it around his waist like it was royal garb, lifting his chin in pride.

“As you command… Great King of the Afterlife.”

I stared at him. “If you ever call me that again, I’m sending you back.”

He paused. Then grinned, teeth yellow but full of mischief. “You missed me.”

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t need to.

He knew.

“If you could joke, then you should be fine,” I said, squatting beside the pathetic excuse for a man who had just performed a perfect naked flip and landed face-first into a rock. "I thought you'd be more traumatized... just about by everything."

Hei Yuan groaned, peeling his cheek off the courtyard stones. His voice came out scratchy. “It was painful, but... Was that… necessary?”

I tilted my head and looked him over. He was alive, sure, but his ribs were poking out like a scarecrow, his skin still patchy from wherever the technique hadn't fully healed him, and his hair looked like he'd lost a fight with a lightning spirit. It seemed my spell was unable to hieal him completely.

Yeah. That was on me.

Hindsight and all.

“Stay put,” I said, dusting off my sleeves as I stood and silently cast Great Cure on him, allowing his rib to mend properly. “Don’t try to be majestic again. Your spine’s not ready.”

“I’ll have you know I once rode a dragon bareback across five provinces,” he muttered. "Hmmm... It's a wyvern, actually, but..."

“And now you’re riding shame, bare-assed, across a courtyard.”

I rolled my eyes and closed them briefly, expanding my Divine Sense outward like a bubble. I swept through gardens, walkways, chambers, and people moving about the Imperial Palace like well-trained ants.

Among them, one soul stood out. She was humming. Not meditating, not patrolling, not attending to nobility, just humming a jaunty little tune and walking through the hallway while munching on a rice cake. Casual. Carefree. Not exactly what I expected from an imperial handmaiden.

I vanished from the courtyard and reappeared a few feet in front of her.

She shrieked like I’d turned into a blood demon. The rice cake flew up and slapped her in the forehead before falling to the floor in slow, tragic agony.

“Calm down,” I said, raising both hands.

She pointed at me with wild eyes. “W-What’s a brute like you doing in the Imperial Palace!?”

I looked down at myself. Tunic crisp, jade robes, boots polished, and I reckoned a handsome enough face to be mistaken as a dignified prince charming who was in fact just a mischievous demon role-playing as a Paladin. I gestured at myself. “Miss… does this look like a brute to you?”

She paused. Her eyes narrowed. That look, that sharp, judgmental, contemptuous glint, cut deeper than a Heaven-Severing Saber or whatever that was... Before she could unleash whatever insult she had brewing, I reached into my sleeve and pulled out the Emperor’s Token. Nongmin gave it to me reluctantly, like a parent handing the keys to a child with questionable driving skills. I’d kept it handy for moments just like this.

Her face froze. Eyes flicked from the token to me. Then she dropped to her knees and planted her forehead on the floor.

“I pay my humble respects to His Majesty!” she blurted.

Huh. Useful thing. Maybe I should wear it as a necklace.

“I need you to go to the courtyard on the western wing,” I said, pointing. “Find me there. Bring… let’s say thirteen robes.”

She looked up. “Thirteen?”

“Yes. At least. I’ve got some old folks who’ll need them soon. Don’t ask questions.”

“I-I will do as ordered!” she stammered, trembling as if I’d asked her to deliver demon hearts.

I was already turning to leave when I stopped. “What’s your name?”

“Zhu Lian, my lord!”

Zhu?

Huh.

Either she was related to General Zhu Shin… or the Zhu surname really was that common. I squinted at her. There was a faint resemblance around the eyes. Then again, everyone in this palace was either too noble, too poor, or too suspiciously bred to guess at.

I sighed. “Never mind. I need those clothes more than I need to show favoritism.”

She nodded rapidly as if understanding my little monologue.

I gave a short bow. “Apologies for disturbing your rest and your rice cake. I’m sure it was delicious.”

She blinked. “I… I will do as you command!”

Then she took off, moving at the speed only a Will Reinforcement Realm could muster.

Quick on her feet, but the cultivation was sloppy. Raw. Unstable. The kind of power that didn’t come from talent, but it came from grit. Probably beat her head against the walls of qi until the wall gave up.

A hard worker. I respected that.

I returned to the courtyard, where Hei Yuan had managed to drag a half-burnt bush over himself for modesty.

“I found someone,” I said. “Clothes are on the way.”

He lifted a twig in the air like a victory flag. “My savior.”

“Just shut up and stay decent. The palace has standards.”

He snorted. “And here I thought I was reborn free of mortal shame.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “and I thought I was getting a day off.”

For the next fifteen minutes or so, Hei Yuan and I worked in silence… Well, as much silence as one could expect from two men stacking corpses and making casual conversation about violent deaths.

One by one, I retrieved the bodies from my Item Box. The spatial compression let them lie preserved, untouched by time or rot. It still didn’t make it any less weird pulling full-sized elders out of thin air and laying them in a neat line like some kind of grotesque scroll unrolling.

Hei Yuan, despite being recently resurrected and still mostly naked with only a bush-leaf skirt for modesty, took to the task with a reverence I hadn’t expected. Every time I placed a new corpse down, he would kneel beside it, place a hand on the body’s chest, and introduce me.

“This one here,” he said, gesturing to a guy with sunken cheeks and a crooked nose, “is Elder Ji Wen. He was the clan’s historian. Could recite three thousand years of blood feuds without blinking.”

“Oh, I remember this guy,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Nearly got swallowed by a flesh demon shaped like a worm the size of a palace. I had to cut through four layers of intestine to get him out before it fully digested him. I am curious. He has a different surname, what's up with that?”

"Adopted," Hei Yuan let out a dry chuckle. “Bet he'd hate being remembered as the one who got swallowed...”

I nodded. “Too late. That's the Ji Wen File in my head now: ‘Swallowed by Worm Demon.’”

Next corpse.

“This one’s Granduncle Min,” Hei Yuan said, patting the bloated chest of an elder who looked like he’d been inflated with bad karma. “He was always suspicious of women.”

I squinted. “He’s the one who got charmed by a mid-rank succubus, right?”

Hei Yuan winced. “Yeah…”

“I remember,” I said. “She almost made him stab me. Then, at the last moment, he slit his own throat and shouted something about no wench taking his soul.”

“Suicidal lunatic.”

“He got better,” I said.

“He’s dead.”

“After getting better,” I clarified. “It’s all about the order of operations.”

Next.

“This is Old Kang.”

“Oh! Kang!” I grinned, remembering the way the man had shrieked. “He’s the one who got dirt kicked into his eyes when the earth demon decided to play whack-a-mole with his face, right?”

Hei Yuan snorted. “That demon was bored.”

“And Kang tried to negotiate. With a creature made of stone. Using poetry.”

“He always said poetry was the truest weapon.”

“Yeah, well, the demon used a boulder.”

Another body.

“Here lies Elder Ping.”

I sighed. “Possessed by a djinn. Tried to stab me in the eye with a soup spoon. Told me I had ‘too much balance in my soul’ and he needed to unbalance it with cutlery.” I couldn't believe I was saying this, but those really happened.

Hei Yuan tilted his head. “You still got that spoon?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Probably would make a great rice ladle now.”

“It’s a spiritual artifact, though,” murmured Hei Yuan begrudgingly. “I recall it can cleanse spiritual toxins.”

We kept at it like that. Laying bodies. Swapping memories. Laughing at the absurdity of it all.

One guy had died while trying to headbutt a flaming giant into submission.

Another one screamed, “I regret nothing!” as he rode a collapsing platform into lava like it was a festival ride.

Hell’s Gate wasn’t a place where sane people went. And these old fellows weren’t sane. They were suicidal cultivators who had nothing left, no homeland, no legacy, and no future. So they chose to die beside their Grand Elder, following Hei Yuan into a one-way death zone.

And I? I’d been the outsider who couldn’t stop saving them. Even when I said I wouldn’t.

“You know,” I said, squatting down next to Hei Yuan, “I thought I’d forget most of these guys. But now that I’m looking at them, I remember every single face.”

Eventually, footsteps approached the courtyard, hesitant and uneven. I turned, and there she was, Zhu Lian, robe bundles clutched in both arms like she expected them to explode.

She looked at me like I was a tiger who'd just asked for a pillow.

“You came,” I said.

“I did as ordered, Lord Immortal!” she squeaked, still trembling. Her eyes didn’t leave my face, like breaking eye contact might summon death.

“For some reason, she’s scared of me,” I muttered to Hei Yuan.

“She probably saw your portrait in some wanted scroll,” he replied. “Sorry, that’s too out of place for me. It won’t happen again, Master Wei. It seems I've grown enamored and was filled with nostalgia as we talked about there heroic ends.”

“Eh. Help’s a help.”

Zhu Lian set the robes down on the stone bench, giving the corpses a wide berth and nearly jumping when one of them shifted slightly. That was just gravity, but I didn’t bother explaining.

She turned to leave, but I gestured at Hei Yuan. “Help the old man out, would you?”

To her credit, she didn’t scream. Just nodded like a puppet and got to work dressing Hei Yuan in one of the simpler sets of robes. He went from wild elder of the woods to "retired eccentric cultivator" real fast.

As for the others, we left the cadavers unclothed. It would’ve been a waste. Their bodies were still a bloody mess, most of them looking like they'd been minced and stitched back together with thread. The robes would’ve just soaked in gore.

Hei Yuan stood before the line of bodies, now robed, and clasped his hands before him.

“Brothers,” he said, voice solemn, “you were born in a broken time, fought for a broken clan, and chose to die beside me when we had nothing left. May the heavens recognize your courage and my immense debt to you.”

He turned to me and bowed, deep and sincere. “Thank you, Master Wei. For retrieving them. I thought I’d never see their faces again.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’re you talking about?”

He blinked.

“I’m bringing them back, obviously. You think I went through all that trouble just to give them a scenic nap spot?”

Emotion flickered across Hei Yuan’s face. He let out a bark of laughter, rubbing at his eyes. “Of course you are. How foolish of me.”

I smirked. “As comrades in arms, the least I could do is try, right?”

He looked at me, eyes glassy but spirit steady. “Then let’s bring the old bastards home.”

I told Zhu Lian to call for more help. Not just for dressing the old folks, though, judging by how they were all going to pop out like naked radishes again, that was probably a good idea, but also to bring me the highest-grade spiritual stones they could find.

She hesitated, trembling slightly as she adjusted her robe. “A-as you command, Lord Immortal,” she said with a deep bow, then ran off like she was racing a ghost.

“Poor girl,” I muttered. “Definitely going to get scolded for this later.”

Hei Yuan, now decently robed, was crouching beside one of the corpses, his face pale and his hand trembling slightly as he brushed hair away from the forehead of an old man whose chest had been crushed in. His voice was steady, though. “This is Elder Hong… used to terrify the junior disciples with his cane. Called it ‘discipline enforcement.’ The kids said it hurt more than soul poison.”

I crouched beside another cadaver. “Right… I remember this guy. Beheaded by an arachnid. Almost lost his head in the chaos. The next second, I found it being used as a decor to a spear of some gargoyle. Nasty stuff.”

Demons were truly illogical creatures...

Hei Yuan snorted.

“Okay,” I psyched myself up. “Let’s start!”

I placed my palm over the first elder and activated the Revival Liquid I had been stockpiling. Not cheap. Not easy to make. But I’d fought demons with these old fools, so Resurrection Stones weren’t enough. We needed items that could pierce the veil where the blood and soul had been mangled.

A soft glow emanated from my palm as the liquid magically seeped from my palm. The first elder’s chest rose, then fell. He coughed up a mouthful of black sludge and groaned. One down.

Second elder, Revival Liquid again. Worked.

Third? Didn’t. The Revival Liquid sizzled and evaporated before it could even touch her. I blinked and leaned in. There it was, a lingering acid curse on the body. Probably from one of those stomach-dwelling slime beasts that ate cosmic dust for breakfast.

I cast Cleanse. A ripple of white light swept over the woman’s body, hissing as it dispelled the last remnants of demonic venom. Once done, I applied the Revival Liquid again. This time, it worked. She gasped like someone drowning coming up for air.

Fourth elder?

Charred beyond recognition.

I whistled. “Tsk. Must’ve taken a meteor to the face.”

I opened my item pouch and pulled out a Phoenix Feather. Honestly, kind of overkill, but I still had a few. Shoved it into the corpse’s chest. A moment later, his body sparked, cracked, and reformed. A second later, he opened his eyes, looking vaguely insulted by existence.

“Alright,” I said, standing. “Last one.”

The fifth elder looked mostly intact, just cold. Tried the Revival Liquid, no go. He had a spiritual tether that was thin and fraying. This one needed something better.

I pulled out a vial with swirling golden liquid, the Elixir of Resurrection. Expensive as hell, rare too. Poured it straight into his mouth. The elder twitched once, then shivered, and began to breathe.

They were all alive.

And naked.

The newly revived old men and the single old woman were just standing there, gawking at everything like baby chickens. One of them was spinning slowly in place. Another was trying to bow toward the sky. The woman was muttering something about the wheel of reincarnation and whether or not she had been judged fairly.

Then they noticed me.

They all immediately fell to their knees.

“O Immortal Savior!”

“Great Emperor of the Afterlife!”

“Please accept our worship!”

I stared at them. “Okay, no… stop that.”

They didn’t stop. I didn't know it would have this big of a reaction.

I looked at Hei Yuan, who was already massaging his temples.

“Forgive them, Master Wei,” he said with a sigh. “Their souls have only just returned from the brink. Their minds yet wander between the Nine Hells and the mortal plane.”

“I noticed.”

Hei Yuan spun around and barked at the handmaidens who had just arrived. “Don’t stand there like you’ve seen ghosts! Scold them! Treat them like unruly brats! They’ve died once already, what dignity is left to lose?!”

One of the handmaidens hesitated, then snapped, “You! Don’t just kneel there, get clothed! And don’t flash your bum at the Lord Immortal!”

Another added, “We’re maids, not undertakers!”

It was chaos. Glorious, hilarious chaos.

And through it all, Hei Yuan stood tall, commanding his people like the clan wasn’t ashes and the world hadn’t tried to swallow them whole. He had spirit… no, he was spirit, forged in fire and tempered in the depths of the Hell’s Gate.

“You’re smiling,” came a voice beside me.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Am I?” I asked.

“Yes. Smiling.” Zhu Shin gave me a side glance, her expression unreadable, but I caught the tiniest twitch at the edge of her lips.

I nodded, eyes still on the scene. “Yeah… I guess I am.”

125 Hollowed World

“In my younger years,” Nongmin began, his voice echoing slightly against the stone walls and shelves of the small study, “I had a simple question. One that troubled me more than most cultivators would bother to ask.”

I raised a brow. “What? Like whether you were the protagonist or the villain?”

He ignored the jab and continued on whatever this was. “I wanted to know whether the world was flat… or a sphere.”

We were sitting across from each other, a modest tea set between us, though neither of us had touched it. The room wasn’t much, just a few sturdy shelves, some ancient scrolls, a jade cabinet humming with sealed energies. It was more study than grand archive, but the ambient pressure in the room suggested the knowledge stored here wasn’t ordinary.

“Huh,” I muttered, scratching my jaw. “I’d normally say a sphere. But considering this is… well, this world, it could be anything. Giant turtle. Endless plane. Floating lotus. But most often than not, it all boils down to whether the world is flat or round.”

Nongmin chuckled lightly. “That was my assumption too, once. But the answer is neither.”

That got my attention.

He raised his hand, fingers brushing through the air like a calligrapher painting on invisible silk. Slowly, golden geometric patterns began to appear, hovering inscriptions glowing softly with ancient script. Lines of light curled, merged, and reformed in the center of the study. The floating glyphs bent into a glowing model of what looked exactly like… a sphere.

I frowned. “That looks pretty sphere-ish to me.”

He shook his head, stepping toward the projection. “Not quite. What you’re seeing isn’t a solid world. This…” He moved his hand, causing the image to shift and rotate, “…is a hollowed sphere.”

A hollowed sphere? My brain stuttered for a second. “So… underneath us is another world? Different ecology? Inverted terrain?” The words tumbled out faster than I meant. “Are we talking ‘Hollow Earth’ here?”

That was a theory back on Earth, some tinfoil-hat nonsense about how there was an entire lost world beneath the crust of our own. Dinosaurs. Sky inside the Earth. Atlantean civilizations. That kind of thing.

Nongmin immediately shattered the comparison. “No,” he said with a firm shake of his head, “nothing like what you’re imagining. It’s not a second world beneath the first. It’s not even a sphere, not really. We just use the word. Rathered than a hollowed sphere, it’s more of a hollowed space, really.”

He pressed his palm to the edge of the illusory projection. The model opened like a fruit sliced in half, revealing its core. Inside, where I expected layers of rock or molten metal, there was instead a glowing orb… like a small sun, pulsing steadily with soft flame.

“That,” he said, pointing at the center, “is our sun.”

I blinked. “Wait. You’re telling me the sun is inside the world?”

Nongmin nodded, dragging his hand along the inner surface of the projection. “Our world is inverted. We do not live on the outside of the ball, like what a world must be. We live inside it.”

I leaned back slowly, staring at the model.

“Imagine a sphere,” he continued, “and the space in which we live clinging to the interior of its shell. The center of the sphere, where the core would be in most worlds, is the sun. A true fire. An object of immense cultivation and cosmic design, older than empires.”

“…What?” I mumbled dumbly. “That makes no sense. Gravity, light, stars… what about space?”

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “None of that exists here in the way it did in most worlds. There is no outer space. No stars. What we call stars are luminous formations suspended in the sky dome, reflections of the world’s inner workings. Our understanding of up and down, the heavens and earth, has always been shaped by what we think we see. But truth doesn’t need belief to exist.”

I stared at the model, my thoughts grinding.

“If the sun is inside,” I murmured, “then the light, the heat… all of it radiates outward.”

“Exactly.”

“And the sky?”

“An illusion, or a membrane. A barrier of cultivated essence. Something formed by ancients before even the immortals left their mark.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I just… sat there, arms crossed, trying to wrap my head around it. The world I’d fought in, bled in, lost people in: it was inside a goddamn ball.

“You’re telling me we’re all walking upside down?” I muttered.

“In a sense,” he replied.

I pointed at the projection. “So what happens if someone digs deep enough?”

“You would reach the membrane,” he said. “No one ever returns. No one ever survives.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Has anyone ever left this world?”

He looked at me, serious now. “Not that I know of. But this knowledge will be relevant to you in the long run. Especially if you ever try.” 

There was something unspoken in his tone. A warning, maybe. Or a quiet hope.

“There are records,” he added, “of immortals ascending to other realms. But those records are fractured. Lost to dust and war.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say. My mind felt like it was doing somersaults.

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve called Nongmin crazy.

But this was Nongmin we were talking about.

Not some mad hermit screaming into the wind about sky conspiracies or buried suns. This was the man who ruled an empire, peered through time, and had access to knowledge forbidden even to most immortals. So when he told me the world wasn’t what we thought it was… I had to at least hear him out.

He stood beside the glowing projection of the hollow sphere, our world, according to him, and pressed his fingers against the edges of it like a craftsman admiring the fault lines in his work.

“It’s not something I can prove easily,” he said, “not to the world at large, and not through traditional means. But this model, this shape, explains more than anything else ever could.”

I raised a brow. “So, the sun’s inside, we’re living on the inner walls… and that’s somehow more sensible than a normal world?”

He nodded. “You wouldn’t know it, being an Outsider. But ask any scholar from the Ten Thousand Provinces, any astronomer from the High Lotus Pavilion. They’ll all tell you the same thing: the world is a sphere, and above the heavens is the Great Void.”

I frowned. “So… a normal world model. Like stars, planets, space?”

This world might be more advanced in its astronomy than I gave them credit for… Or maybe it was just me misunderstanding things.

“Yes,” Nongmin said, “except it’s all wrong. They accept it without question, and when pressed, they don’t even know where the knowledge came from. No foundational scripture, no ancient origin. It’s simply… the accepted truth.”

He looked tired as he said it, like someone who’d shouted at deaf ears for too long.

“So why does it matter to you?” I asked. “Why spend decades chasing the shape of the world? Why does it matter if it’s flat, round, or inside-out?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked back to the table and finally poured the untouched tea, steam curling into the air between us.

“There are records,” he said quietly. “Very old ones. Fragments of tablets. Notes etched into the bones of long-dead sages. They don’t describe the world. They describe a prison.”

The words hit me like a weight. “A prison.”

He nodded. “A cage fashioned by ancient hands. Not metaphor. Not illusion. This world… is meant to contain something. Or perhaps, someone.”

I froze. That word again.

Shenyuan had said the same thing.

Back in the caverns when his true body revealed itself, when he was unraveling his final schemes, he’d laughed, told me I was too naive to realize that we were all prisoners in a world that wasn’t meant to be free.

“Shenyuan said the same thing,” I muttered.

“I know,” Nongmin replied. “That’s part of why I brought you here.”

He lifted his hand again, and the projection shimmered. A smaller illusion appeared above the hollow sphere, an image of a man, likely himself, rising upward through layers of energy, only to vanish in a burst of light… and then reappear, violently, on the opposite side of the sphere.

“I used the Heavenly Eye,” Nongmin said, “to peer into a possible future. In that vision, I tried to break through the heavens. To pierce the veil above the world and ascend beyond.”

He looked at me.

“I succeeded.”

“And then?”

“I reappeared… on the other side. Not a higher world. Just another region inside the sphere. As though the heavens folded inward and spat me back out.”

I stared at him. “So you’re saying… the sky loops?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “A self-contained illusion. A mirrored shell that prevents anything from escaping. I don’t know how it was made. I don’t know who forged it. But I know others must have seen it.”

“Then why haven’t they said anything?” I asked.

He gave me a grim smile. “Because either they are part of it… or they fear what lies beyond the veil. Either way, silence is easier.”

I leaned back, thoughts racing. A prison world. A false sky. A looping heavenscape that turns even ascension into illusion.

“Alright, but then… what about celestial movement?”

I stared at the illusion of the world rotating in the air between us, the dull orange light of the inner sun casting flickering shadows against the high stone walls. After a long pause, I pointed toward the glowing sphere at the center.

“What about the moon then?”

Nongmin raised his hand. The sun dimmed, faded, and in its place rose a familiar pale orb: silver, cold, and cratered. The moon.

“It’s the same,” he said. “One entity. It shifts between forms, alternating between sun and moon based on alignment and intent.”

I blinked. “Wait… entity?”

“That’s what I said,” he replied. “It is not a star, nor a rock. It has will. Or… something close to it.”

The way he said it sent a chill up my spine.

“I once tried to fly to it,” he went on, his tone casual but his eyes far away. “Gathered all my strength, all my techniques. Flew for days. Weeks. Months. No matter how fast I moved, no matter what realm I entered… I never got closer.”

He gestured lazily toward the projection again. “The distance isn’t real. Not in the way we understand. It stretches as you chase it. Warps. Bends. Even with the Heavenly Eye… I couldn’t pierce through. Couldn’t lock onto it. It’s like trying to grasp a reflection in water.”

I frowned. “So it’s a trick?”

“It’s more than a trick. It’s design. A system of layers that keep us turning in circles.”

I folded my arms. “And you think that’s why I can’t go home.”

He looked at me. “I think it’s one of many reasons. You’re not just in another world, Da Wei. You’re inside a sealed construct. A realm with curved laws, scripted heavens, and a sun that plays pretend.”

“Then why tell me all this?” I asked. “If there’s no escape, what’s the point of dangling hope in front of me?”

He smiled faintly. “Because I want you to find a way.”

I stared at him. I wasn’t sure what stunned me more: his answer, or the quiet certainty with which he said it.

“I thought you believed it was impossible,” I said.

“I do,” he replied. “But sometimes… I dream of ascension too.”

He turned away from the projection, his voice softer now.

“And if the day ever comes where I must evacuate this world, my people, my empire, I want to have options. Real options. Not blind guesses. Not half-baked schemes. I want a door I can trust.”

His fingers tightened slightly at his side.

“Because if this place truly is a prison… then I would rather be a fugitive in the Greater Universe than a warden doomed to rot in his own cage.”

I didn't say anything for a while.

The illusion of the moon still hung between us, glowing faintly.

There was a strange ache in my chest I couldn’t name. Not grief, not anger, just a heavy, hollow understanding. He wasn’t giving me this knowledge to control me. He was giving it to me because even he needed something to believe in.

Somehow, that made it worse.

“Guess I better start looking for keys, then,” I muttered. “The important thing is I got the gist of it, but really? A prison? But for who?”

He gave a tired laugh, the kind that sat somewhere between amusement and resignation.

“Yes, a prison… For who? I couldn’t tell…”

This was a good start as any.

“Okay,” I said. “Can you give me a sec… I need a walk…”

Leaving the study behind, I walked the stone halls of the Grand Ascension Library in silence, the air still buzzing faintly with the aftertaste of celestial truth. Maybe it was the talk of moons and prisons, maybe just the quiet, but for the first time in a while, I let myself think about going home.

Home.

That cramped apartment. My off-brand kettle. Those wailing, snot-nosed kids in the third grade to the fifth grade who thought the recorder was a battle trumpet.

I thought about wanting to go back, but I never really entertained it beyond that. Never chased it. Never obsessed. Because deep down, I knew, I didn’t even know how. It was just a thought. A direction, not a destination.

And now?

Now I had a god-emperor telling me the world was inside-out, the sky was a lie, and the sun was a shapeshifting entity that doubled as the moon depending on its mood.

So yeah. Exploring “outer space” or the so-called Greater Universe? That sounded like an insurmountable task. Impossible, really. But so what?

It was a goal, at least.

I sighed as I found myself near a balcony, overlooking the golden skyline of the Imperial Capital. The space was strange inside the Grand Ascension Library that they would change seemingly randomly. But in fact, they react to my thoughts. I stared at the scenery before me. Beyond those mountains, somewhere, were people who needed saving. My friends, their bodies were still with me, their souls, maybe, still lingering, waiting. That was my real task. My real goal.

The whole Greater Universe thing could wait.

I was getting attached to this world, whether I admitted it or not. The wind here smelled like dry pine and incense. People still bowed when they passed me, still whispered like I was someone worth fearing. It was strange, but it was familiar now.

I turned back, re-entering the study. Nongmin hadn’t moved. He stood with one hand on a spinning illusion of the Hollowed World, watching it slowly rotate like some cracked egg with a sun yolk at its center.

“Hey,” I said. “One last thing.”

He glanced at me, eyes tired but expectant.

“This place,” I gestured to the bookshelves, the floating projections, the knowledge humming behind every wall. “Can I access it again?”

He blinked slowly, then nodded. “You may return at any time. I’ll have a token prepared.”

“I’m going to need more than bedtime stories and apocalyptic star maps,” I said. “If I’m going to figure out the resurrection of my disciples, I’ll need access to the real stuff.”

He nodded again. “Then I’ll authorize you access to Class Five through Class One knowledge.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Unlimited?”

“As much as you can digest,” he replied. “That should be enough.”

I gave a low whistle. “You’re being generous today.”

“I had a good teacher,” he said, almost to himself.

I pretended I didn’t hear that. I didn’t want to start thinking about Xin Yune again.

Instead, I bowed slightly, not out of protocol, but something like respect, and turned once more to leave.

This time, there were no grand revelations waiting outside the door. Just the long hallways, lit with jade flame, and a direction. I had a goal. I had knowledge. I had a list of names I wasn’t going to let the world forget.

The universe could wait.

First, I was going to bring my people home.

124 Class One Truth

We were walking down a hallway that refused to end.

Not just long… it was unnatural. The air thrummed with quiet tension, like the corridor itself was alive and watching. I couldn’t help but glance around, eyes tracing the seamless stone, the faintly glowing inlays etched into the walls like veins pulsing with mysterious energy. Wards. Spell formations. Something else too, something ancient, that didn’t belong to either. It all whispered of power layered over power, buried under the weight of secrecy and age.

“The Empire’s technology is truly a sight to behold.”

It reminded me of the path Xin Yune once led me through when she brought me to that underground facility. Left, then right, then a descending spiral staircase. And then doors that didn’t open until you bled.

Yeah. It felt like that again.

"These halls are older than the Empire," Emperor Nongmin said, hands clasped behind his back as if he were just strolling through a garden. "Some say they were carved by the founding dragons. Others think they were stolen from another realm altogether."

"Right," I muttered. "Definitely gives the vibe of someone stealing from someone way more dangerous than them."

He didn’t rise to the bait.

"There is something you must learn," he said after a moment, his voice even, though his eyes flicked to me like they were measuring my weight on some unseen scale. "Knowledge that may influence your path… significantly."

I didn’t stop walking, but I raised an eyebrow. "And this is the part where you pretend you’re not manipulating me?"

"No." He looked at me, actually looked, and said, "I won’t pretend. But I will tell you the truth, because it is not mine to twist."

Well, that was ominous.

Still, I kept pace. I wasn’t stupid. Wary? Absolutely. But curious, too. He had already given me more than most would, information, access, a chance to slap his imperial rear end twice without consequences. He didn’t have to walk me down here himself, but he did.

Maybe because this knowledge, whatever it was, carried weight he couldn’t entrust to anyone else.

Eventually, we reached a door: smooth, pale metal with no handle, no hinges, and no visible way to open it.

Nongmin placed his hand against it. "Before we step through… indulge me."

I crossed my arms. "That’s never a comforting phrase from someone with a title."

He smirked faintly, but his tone was serious. "What do you think… of working with the Empire? Side by side."

I blinked.

That wasn’t how he phrased it before.

"You mean the 'sponsorship' offer?" I asked. "Because that sounded more like you funding me while I do my own thing. Not… whatever this is."

"It’s not an order," he said. "But things are shifting. I can feel it. Soon, choices will matter more than power. Alignment more than strength. And I find myself wondering where you truly wish to stand."

There it was again. That heavy, prophetic Emperor tone.

I sighed, looked him dead in the eye, and gave it to him straight.

"I have no intention of working for the Empire," I said. "Let’s make that clear. I'm not one of your soldiers. I didn’t grow up here, I don't owe you anything, and I don't trust your Houses as far as I can throw them."

He didn’t flinch.

"But…" I continued, "…I’m not blind. We’ve helped each other in ways that mattered. You’ve given me information. And then, sometimes soon, resources. The fact that your mother was the one thing that ties us is something to consider too."

I hesitated. That part still stuck with me, more than I let on.

"So if our goals line up," I said slowly, "then yeah. We can mutually help each other. Not as allies, not as enemies. Something in between. A partnership, maybe. But on my terms. I don’t trust you, Nongmin. I just can’t, so we have to settle for this."

A long silence stretched between us.

Then, unexpectedly, Nongmin chuckled. It was soft, almost tired. "You are unlike anyone I've ever ruled beside, Da Wei."

"I'm not beside you," I said flatly. "I’m just not trying to burn your palace down today."

The metal door groaned, splitting open with a sound like stone grinding against bone.

"Then step through," he said. "And see the kind of truth even an Emperor fears."

I took a breath and walked into the light.

“Hmmm… So, what is this place? Huh? Is this… a library?”

I stepped into a place that didn’t make sense.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the world turned sideways, or maybe upside down. Bookshelves lined the walls, the ceiling, even the floor beneath my boots was covered with open tomes, not a single one shifting as I walked. Titles in languages I didn’t recognize whispered their names as I passed. Some books blinked. One hissed. I wasn’t sure if I imagined that last one.

“Welcome,” Nongmin said beside me, spreading his arms like a proud curator. “To the Grand Ascension Library.”

Grand was one word for it. Disorienting as hell was another.

I followed him as best I could through the uneven terrain of stacked knowledge and floating pages. That’s when I noticed his gait. A little stiff, a little awkward. Like someone who recently got swatted somewhere private and was trying very hard to walk it off.

A grin pulled at my lips.

“You sure you’re okay there?” I asked. “Because you’re walking like someone who lost a duel with a particularly vengeful paddle.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just gave me a flat look over his shoulder. “Your hand,” he said dryly, “should be registered as a diplomatic weapon.”

“Well, you were the one who bent over,” I shrugged, brushing a drifting scroll out of my face. “Anyway, let’s cut through the riddles. Just tell me straight… Shenyuan. Is he still alive?”

That made him stop.

Nongmin turned slowly, his expression serious now. The weight of it hit like a sudden cold draft in the room.

“I am certain,” he said, “that his main body perished.”

I felt something hollow in my chest. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Just… disappointment.

“I mean… I wanted him dead,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “But after everything, after what happened to my disciples, I hoped he’d lived. So I could find him. Make him talk. Rip every damn secret out of him with my own hands.”

Shenyuan did say he could resurrect my disciples.

Nongmin gave a slow nod. “You’re not the only one who wanted answers.”

I exhaled. “Main body,” I repeated. “That implies there were others. Clones, right?”

“Clones. Shadows. Echoes.” He glanced upward as a spectral ladder formed beside a shelf that hadn’t been there a second ago. “Like most old monsters, he prepared contingencies. Shenyuan wasn’t someone who accepted mortality easily.”

“How many?”

“No idea,” Nongmin said. “But there are still a few running around. I can feel their echoes from time to time. Not strong enough to challenge empires, but strong enough to escape detection if they wished.”

“And what are the chances,” I asked slowly, “that those copies know how to bring back my disciples?”

He gave me a long look. “Slim. Very slim. And even if they did… they wouldn’t talk.”

Of course not. That would be too easy.

“I encountered him once before,” Nongmin said, his tone shifting. “Back when I was just beginning my conquest. Before the Empire. When everything was still blood and dust.”

That surprised me. “You fought him?”

“No,” he said. “I survived him. Some of my people didn’t.”

His gaze dropped, fingers brushing a floating scroll before dismissing it.

“We had the Divine Physician, even then… Xin Yune. Her skills were beyond compare, but there were no traces left behind. Not even enough essence to work with. Whatever technique Shenyuan used… it erased the soul’s path completely.”

I frowned. “So he killed them in a way that not even a resurrection attempt could work?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I swore I would understand how.”

He motioned, and the room shifted. The bookshelves rotated inward, revealing a hidden pathway beneath the floor. We walked along its path, turning onto several pathways here and there.

“I managed to capture one of his shadows,” he said. “Not a clone. A living fragment. Some piece of him split from the whole.”

“What did you do with it?”

He met my gaze, and in his eyes, I saw a flicker of something close to shame.

“I subjected it to ten thousand realities. Simulated worlds, recursive tortures. I tried breaking it with pain, with kindness, with truth. I even gave it a chance to redeem itself. Nothing worked. It always chose silence. Always chose death.”

I swallowed hard.

“Not even guilt?”

“It didn’t feel guilt,” he said. “It didn’t feel anything. While some masters would argue his clones were inferior and faulty, it was superior in other ways, like its stubbornness.”

“So if any of his fragments know what he did to my people…” I said.

“They will not give it up willingly,” Nongmin finished. “If they know at all.”

I didn’t say anything for a while.

Then: “Good.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Good?”

“Because if they won’t tell me,” I said, my voice low, “then I’ll carve the knowledge out of their bones.”

One thing about having Divine Sense was that it wasn’t just for feeling spiritual energy or sniffing out danger like a sixth sense on steroids. No. With enough focus, it could peel through the edges of someone’s words and find what lingered beneath. Lies were like smudges on a glass pane, and even if I couldn’t see the full picture behind them, I could tell something was there.

That was the trick. As long as they talked, I could work with it. As long as they talked.

But first, I had to catch one of those Shenyuan remnants.

Nongmin brought me to a stop in front of a narrow, weathered door. Compared to the towering grandeur of the rest of the Grand Ascension Library, this thing looked like a joke. The wood was cracked, the frame leaned slightly to the left, and the bronze handle squeaked when he turned it.

“This way,” he said.

Inside was… surprisingly human.

A small study. A few bookshelves here and there, none particularly tall. A window, false maybe, cast golden light onto a modest desk cluttered with scrolls, inkstones, and a half-drunk cup of tea that might’ve been centuries old. There was even a worn armchair tucked into the corner with an open book left face-down on the seat.

I closed the door behind us.

Nongmin stepped forward and motioned at the room with a soft wave. “This place houses Class One knowledge. The kind that stirs even Immortals to madness.”

I didn’t sit.

He didn’t either.

Instead, he turned slightly, facing a wall lined with diagrams etched in fine golden ink. Maps of star systems? Realms? Spirals within spirals. And then he asked, “Tell me, what do you think the shape of the world is?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is this a riddle?”

“A relevant one,” he said. “You may not realize it now, but this question will matter to you. Especially if… one day, you wish to leave.”

Leave?

I frowned but said nothing. He went on.

“I know little of you,” Nongmin admitted. “Every time I’ve tried to peer into your nature, your origin, you deflect. I see it in the Heavenly Eye. You speak in riddles, or you change the subject. Or you joke.”

I crossed my arms. “Maybe I don’t like being examined like a lab rat.”

“And I don’t enjoy gambling my Empire’s future on a man I don’t understand.” His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. “What I know about you, I learned from the day you appeared in Yellow Dragon City. From that point on, you’ve burned through schemes, toppled powers, and rewritten expectations.”

He paused.

“And in the same breath,” he added, “as much as you can’t fully trust me, I can’t fully trust you.”

I stared at him for a while. “So why are we here?”

“Because,” Nongmin said, eyes turning distant, “the one thing I do know, the thing I see again and again, is that you will save this Empire. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again. And again.”

I blinked. “That’s… weirdly poetic. Did you rehearse that?”

“I don’t need to manipulate you into helping the people,” he said, ignoring me. “You’re going to do it anyway.”

I stared.

“…What is wrong with you?” I asked flatly.

He finally cracked a faint smile. “Everything. And yet, here I am, trying to be honest.”

He walked toward the desk, picked up a scroll, then set it down again. “I don’t know why you were cast into this world. I don’t know who you were before. But I have a feeling you might never be able to go home.”

My throat tightened. I kept my face still.

No witty retort came.

Nongmin turned toward me fully. “That’s why this knowledge matters. Because one day, you may want to go beyond this world. And you may find that this,” he gestured to the maps on the wall, to the spirals, the folds, the impossible geometry, “is the only truth that matters.”

I looked at the wall. I looked at him.

And for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was in a study or standing at the edge of something vast and yawning.

“…What is the shape of the world, then?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

He just stepped aside and let the maps speak for themselves.

123 Daddy Issues

The palace halls were a quiet kind of vast. Silent, but not peaceful. Like the place had seen too much to pretend otherwise.

General Zhu Shin walked beside me. He was a quiet storm of righteousness wrapped in steel and discipline. I liked him more than most of the Emperor’s people, at least Zhu Shin didn’t hide his contempt. That made him honest, in his own blunt way.

We reached the final gate, towering gold-inlaid doors carved with dragons and phoenixes locked in eternal combat. Zhu Shin stopped, shoulders squared, eyes forward. I stopped too, turning slightly to catch his expression.

“This is as far as I go,” he said, voice gruff. “No man treads further unless summoned, and even then, few walk out the same.”

“Appreciate the send-off,” I said.

He didn’t laugh. Of course, he didn’t.

“Da Wei.” He turned to me fully now, lips tight. “If I learn you’ve disrespected His Majesty… I’ll kill you myself.”

I snorted. “You’re not the first to say that.” If I could, I’d share with him my chat logs.

He narrowed his eyes. “I mean it.”

“So do I,” I said, then tilted my head. “Tell me something, Zhu Shin. Can you fight a Hell’s Gate by yourself?”

He blinked. The briefest moment of confusion flickered across his face. “What did you say?”

“Huh. So you have heard of it.”

“You… That was you?”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. His silence stretched like a drawn bowstring. But I caught the little twitch in his jaw as the realization settled in.

“Interesting that you knew what a Hell’s Gate was, though,” I said, stepping past him. “Go on. You’ve seen enough. Please kindly fuck off.”

He didn’t move to stop me. That was good. I wasn’t in the mood to start a fight in the entryway of the palace. Once I was sure he was gone, I placed both palms on the massive golden doors and pushed.

They groaned open like the world itself was holding its breath.

The Imperial Throne Room was as theatrical as ever. Sunlight filtered through glass murals high above, painting the marbled floors with golden lotus patterns. Pillars lined the hall like silent judges, and at the end, seated on the throne wrapped in living starlight, was the Emperor.

Not the doll-sized and chibi version that existed last night. No, this was the real one. Full adult form. Regal. Stoic. Cold.

I walked with no bow, no kneel, no courtesy. Just a tired man striding across polished floors like he’d misplaced something in the room.

“Good morning,” I said.

His cheek twitched. Barely, but I caught it.

“What’s with the cold reception?” I asked, spreading my arms. “Come on, call me Daddy, little Nongmin.”

The silence after that was damn near holy. Like the throne room itself had stopped breathing.

The Emperor inhaled slowly and deeply, as if meditating, as if suppressing some divine urge to smite me into a pile of morally grey ashes.

His golden eyes met mine.

“Da Wei,” he said slowly, voice low and even, “You test me.”

“I’m a teacher,” I said. “It’s in my job description.”

Another breath. A longer pause.

He was trying so hard not to explode, I swear I could see a vein forming on his forehead.

“You’ve come,” he said.

“Surprised I made it?”

“No.” He stood now, descending the steps with all the grace of a god who was used to being obeyed. “But I had hoped you’d come back a little less… insufferable.”

“Aw,” I smiled. “But then I wouldn’t be me.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared. Silent judgment woven into the rise and fall of his breathing.

I could feel it, the weight of him. He wasn’t posturing anymore. This was him, bare and burning behind the mask.

I met that pressure with a smirk.

“You missed me,” I said.

This time, his other cheek twitched.

And that, I decided, was a win.

I probably should have stopped after the “call me Daddy” line. But that’s the thing about me, once I get going, it’s hard to stop.

“You know,” I continued, casually strolling closer to the throne, “I fucked your mommy. So does that technically make me your daddy?”

I swear the silence in that throne room shattered like glass.

Nongmin, His Radiant Majesty, Lord of Ten Thousand Lights, Blinding Glory of the Heavenly Eye, etcetera, etcetera… stiffened. Not a twitch this time. A full-body shudder. His composure cracked just enough for me to see something underneath: mortification, barely concealed rage, and maybe, maybe, a whisper of panic.

“Such crass language,” he snapped, “is not permitted in my court.”

“Oh please,” I said, waving him off, “your mom’s so hot it’d be disrespectful not to be a little crude. A crass compliment is more honest than a thousand poetically-induced metaphors. Xin Yune would probably agree.”

That did it. His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

“Enough,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s get this over with.”

Oho~! Victory. Again.

I grinned. “That’s a win. You didn’t even deny it.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Three strikes. None on the face.”

I gasped. “Three slaps! Correction is important, little Nongmin.”

He glared at me, face blank but twitching at the corners like he wanted to stab me with his eyes.

I folded my arms, stepping in until we were just a breath apart. “And I won’t budge. It’s either three slaps to the face… or to the rear.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I dare. You must be disciplined. It was your mother’s dying wish. Her final command, sealed with lotus motes and tears of love… ‘Slap my son, Da Wei. Slap him hard.’”

“There was no such dying wish,” he snapped.

“Maybe not in those words,” I said, “but she did give me permission to hit you. Said you might need it. And don’t act like you weren’t listening in. You heard her. You know what she said.”

His jaw clenched. His teeth were grinding. I could almost hear the Imperial Molars turning into powder.

Half furious, half embarrassed. It was a beautiful look on him.

“You are a disgrace,” he muttered.

“Hey,” I said, tapping his chest lightly. “You’re the one who invited me back.”

“And I regret it every moment you open your mouth.”

“Too bad,” I smiled. “You still got three slaps coming.”

His hands trembled, fingers twitching like he was debating whether to unleash a world-ending technique or just scream into the void.

He didn’t deny it though. Not really.

Which meant... we both knew the slaps were happening.

“You know,” I said, pacing in front of the throne like it was a classroom and he was the troublemaker with gum under his desk, “just to make it fair, how about you slap me three times too?”

Nongmin, Emperor of the Grand Ascension Empire, wielder of celestial intent and unshakable dignity, narrowed his eyes at me.

“I’d break my hand.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Come on, I’ll turn off my reflect ability. Hell, I won’t use any abilities at all. No intent, no body reinforcement. Just me. You don’t get to use yours either, obviously.”

He stared at me. Hard. Like he was trying to peer into my soul and find the exact point where I broke the rules of the universe and replaced divine decorum with whatever this was.

Then, he muttered, “I don’t want to humiliate myself further.”

That gave me pause.

What had he seen? What vision, what prophecy, what divine script foretold that even slapping me might end in embarrassment?

I gave a casual shrug. “Well then,” I said, clapping my hands together, “shall I start?”

He exhaled like a man about to face his taxes and a tribulation at the same time.

“Fine,” he said, closing his eyes. “Three slaps. On the rear. No abilities. That’s my condition.”

I blinked. I genuinely wasn’t expecting him to fold.

“…Kinky,” I said slowly, lips twitching. “Never thought you’d want your daddy to slap you on the ass.”

His eyes snapped open. “I am the Emperor. I have a responsibility to my people. I cannot risk a swollen face in front of my subjects.”

“Ah yes,” I nodded solemnly. “But a swollen butt is fine?”

He ignored me. Of course.

With all the grace of a man preparing for execution, Nongmin descended the steps of his throne. His robes whispered with every movement, golden silk gliding over his frame until he stood before me like a condemned man walking the plank.

Without a word, he turned, held his hands out in front of him, and then pointed his rear at me.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, stiff as a stone pillar.

I stood there, arms folded, staring at the most powerful man on the continent offering me the royal ass.

This world was insane.

But damn if I wasn’t going to enjoy every second of it.

Right, no abilities.

But I did say I wouldn’t use any active abilities.

So, like any stubborn old man with too many cheat codes etched into his bones, I quietly switched to TriDivine: Divine Might.

It was passive.

Didn’t count.

I raised my palm, stared at it for a second, and immediately realized how deeply awkward this was. I mean… just look at this situation.

We were alone in the throne room. Just the two of us.

The Emperor, in full formal robes, was standing stiff with his arms out, back turned, rear presented like I was about to perform some sacred rite.

And in a way, I was. A sacrament of discipline. A ceremony of karmic balance.

One palm. One ass.

“I should not have suggested slapping the rear,” I muttered to myself.

I took a breath. This was about perspective. Framing. Spiritual alignment.

I was technically—soulfully, mentally, and physically—an old man. A tired teacher. A man who had once spent his mornings keeping fourth graders from stabbing each other with pencils.

And Nongmin?

Nongmin was… not really an adult. He looked the part now, yes. But in cosmic time?

He was a baby. No, worse. A naughty child.

Slapping an infant on the bum normally only made sense if you were resuscitating them or checking for a rash.

This wasn’t that.

And yet… I raised my hand.

The Emperor didn’t flinch, but his shoulders tensed. A bead of sweat traced down the back of his neck.

“Discipline is love,” I muttered under my breath. “This is for your own good.”

And just like that, I swung my palm.

SMACK.

The sound echoed through the throne room like thunder trapped in a jar.

Nongmin grunted, the breath caught in his throat. His spine stiffened like a snapped tree. A faint shudder passed through him, dignity cracking, if only slightly.

I stared at my palm.

Opened it.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

The skin was warm.

There were a lot of things I expected to feel in that moment: triumph, amusement, childish glee.

But mostly I just felt weird.

Deeply, profoundly weird.

"...Two more to go," I whispered.

For some reason, after that first slap, I felt like I was the one being punished.

It wasn't the motion or the sound, and certainly not the contact. It was something deeper. Like somewhere in the vast tapestry of fate, a celestial judge was shaking his head at me in disappointment. I was a grown man, slapping another grown man's rear, inside the most sacred hall of the empire. What had my life become?

It was tough to visualize it otherwise.

I sighed, letting my hand fall to my side.

“Nongmin,” I said, my voice quieter now, “tell me something.”

“What is it?” he asked, still standing stiff as a pole, rear dutifully presented.

“What was your mother like? Or your father?”

There was a moment of silence. Just the soft hum of the Imperial throne room, that eternal, quiet pressure in the air. I half-expected him to ignore me or toss back a sharp retort.

But he didn’t.

He spoke, voice calm, measured, but… softer than usual.

“My father,” he began, “was a farmer. A mortal, through and through. No cultivation, no great aspirations. Just a man who tilled the earth and kept his hands calloused and his back bent.”

I blinked.

He continued, “He died of old age. Peacefully. No glory. No great funeral. Just a simple burial, beneath a plum tree he planted.”

I waited, unsure of what to say.

“And my mother,” Nongmin said, “was a runaway princess. From an inferior Empire whose standards would never match the bigger powers out there. She abandoned her titles, her responsibilities, everything, because she wanted to live a quiet life. She met my father in the fields. They fell in love in the most mundane, mortal way. With dirty hands and stolen glances.”

That painted a picture.

Nongmin stood there like a statue, but his voice carried memory. Pain.

“I used to be disappointed in him,” he admitted. “My father. I was… ashamed. As a child, you dream of heroes. Of fathers who command legions or split mountains. And instead, I had a man who grunted more than he spoke and couldn’t wield a single thread of qi.”

He paused. The weight of that silence hung heavy.

“But… when my father’s time came, when his breath grew short and his body frail, she never once left his side. Not for a second. She cooked, she cleaned, and she carried him. She sang to him when he couldn’t sleep and held him when he cried.”

There was no emotion in his voice, but I could feel the truth of it.

“And I realized,” Nongmin finished, “that there was nothing shameful about him at all. That love he shared with her, in its simplest form, could be stronger than any technique. All lives end, yes. But the truly important thing is what we make out of it.”

I stared at him.

Then I lifted my palm again.

SMACK.

He grunted, staggering slightly from the second hit.

“One more to go,” I said, my tone less playful now. “But finish the story.”

I wanted to hear the end.

"The rest," Nongmin said, still turned away, "was history."

He didn’t look at me. Just stood there, the air of royalty clinging to him even as his royal rear had just been smacked twice by a wandering outsider who used to teach gym class.

"You don’t need to hear the ending," he added. "You’ve already been part of it."

There was a pause, then he turned, facing me properly again, his imperial bearing intact.

“Thank you,” he said, and even now it felt surreal hearing it come from him. “For giving my mother a good time in her last days.”

I looked at him for a long moment, then broke the silence with a sigh. “She deserved it.”

I meant it.

But my tone shifted as I met his gaze again. “Now you tell me something.”

His eyes sharpened.

“What happened in Deepmoor Continent?” I asked. “What really happened with Shenyuan?”

He didn’t flinch.

“You engineered our meeting,” I said, taking a step closer. “You dragged me in. And people I cherished, people I cared about, they died because of it.”

The heat in my chest hadn’t gone away, no matter how much we joked or how many slaps I gave him. I could joke about being his daddy all day, but at the end of it, this weight had been sitting inside me like a blade. Cold. Heavy. Embedded.

He held my gaze for a moment, then said, “You’re right.”

That alone made me pause.

He continued, “Your anger is justified. I would not forgive someone who orchestrated such a thing, either. But I must clarify, Deepmoor was… unplanned.”

I raised a brow.

“I foresaw traces of Shenyuan,” he said, “but not the exact outcome. He found a blind spot, an actual blind spot in my Heavenly Eye. I had to react. Last-minute. Desperate. The convergence that led you to him was an improvisation… not manipulation.”

I wanted to believe that. I really did.

“And Xin Yune?” I asked. “Was that an improvisation too? Or did you send her to me just to play with my temper?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I sent her to you because I wanted her to leave this world happy.”

That made me go still.

“She knew she didn’t have much time,” he said. “And when she asked about my plans… when she learned your name, she laughed. She found your name to be amusing. She asked if she could see you. I arranged it.”

Wow… so Da Wei had hidden rizz, was that it?

“And I thought,” he continued, “if she had someone who could bring her peace, even if only for a little while, it would be worth any risk.”

I stared at him. The anger didn’t vanish, but it dulled. Blunted.

He bowed his head, not in some dramatic display, but with enough gravity to make the air still.

“I am sorry,” Nongmin said. “For the ones you lost. For what you suffered.”

My hand, already lowered, lost its strength. I helped him back up. There was no anger in the gesture. No tension.

Just tiredness.

“I’ll help you,” he added. “Whatever resources you need to resurrect them: treasures, rituals, people, I’ll grant them.”

I looked at his face, and the strange thing was… I believed him.

I patted his shoulder. “Seems I didn’t have much of a choice to stay mad at you, huh? You really schemed your way right out of my wrath.”

The faintest twitch played at the corner of his mouth.

I let my hand drop. “In memory of your mother, I won’t interfere with your Empire. I won’t be your ally, but I won’t be your obstacle either.”

He nodded once, solemnly.

“But,” I added, “if those Seven Imperial Houses try anything stupid, even a toe out of line, I will rain down chaos on them like a divine toddler with a paintbrush and zero impulse control.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Understood.”

A moment passed, and then he asked, “What about the final strike?”

I smirked. “I’ll save it.”

He blinked.

“If you misbehave,” I warned, “I’ll slap you good in front of all your ministers and concubines. Real loud. Make sure they know who raised you.”

He exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a quiet huff of disbelief. “That will not happen. My interest remains the betterment of the people.”

I nodded slowly. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He looked at me sharply. “My Heavenly Eye sees…”

“Doesn’t matter,” I interrupted. “You still won’t know everything. Not about people. Not about yourself. Heavenly Eye or not.”

He didn’t respond to that.

But he didn’t argue either.

So I took a step back, looked around the throne room once more.

Two strikes down. Last one to go.

And maybe, I'd come one step closer to forgiving him.