The cold mist of the high altitudes snaked through the lower stables of the Shattered Heaven Sect. The smell of damp hay and aged leather mixed with the thin air, but Mò Yán paid no attention to the cutting wind that lashed the mountain.
The white‑haired young woman moved with silent, methodical precision. Her pale, immaculate hands adjusted the heavy steel buckles that secured the four pure‑blood black horses to the colossal carriage. In the armored rear compartment, she had already organized the gold bars and the sacks of spirit stones, along with the boxes containing the rare Night Frost Herbs plundered from her own father's vault.
She tightened the last leather strap and stepped back, her deep scarlet eyes assessing the vehicle.
The silver‑gray tunic she wore strained against the generous curves of her hips and the full weight of her breasts with every breath. Her chest rose and fell in a solemn rhythm, free of the old anxiety of her dogmas. The collapse of her strict foundations—begun by the blue priestess's poisonous words and cemented by the overwhelming force of the black‑eyed god—had left only a dark, terrifying peace in her mind.
My grandfather was right, Mò Yán reflected, her long white lashes trembling as she smoothed the silk of her sleeve. He abandoned this pillar saying we were merely corpses seated on a throne of dust, climbing an empty sky. I spent my entire life trying to maintain order in a cemetery.
The image of Hán Léi, the supposed "pride" of her generation, crossed her mind. An arrogant debaucher who used the clan's name to cover his own filth, whose skills had been shattered in seconds by the blonde warrior's clean hands. The sect had tolerated that mediocrity for years in the name of politics.
But the lust Mò Yán felt now… the dense, febrile heat that made her press her legs together merely from knowing she would accompany that man… was not dirty. It was inevitable, like matter yielding to gravity. She was not breaking her modesty out of weakness; she was delivering it, offering herself to the only being in the universe with the weight necessary to ruin her.
The sound of slow, unmistakable footsteps echoed on the stable stones.
Mò Yán turned, recognizing the heavy presence immediately. Mò Tiān, the Sect Master of Shattered Heaven, walked toward her. The man who had ruled the southern mountains dragged his boots on the ground. His shoulders were slumped, his graying hair disheveled, his face bearing the gray color of one who had seen his own empire reduced to a grain of sand.
"You really prepared their carriage, Yán'er," Mò Tiān's voice came out rasping, nearly swallowed by the cold wind.
The young woman joined her hands before her body and curved her torso in a formal, perfectly aligned, respectful bow, greeting the clan leader before lifting her scarlet gaze.
"Yes, Sect Master. The logistical preparations for my Lords' departure are complete," she replied, her melodious voice flowing like crystal.
Mò Tiān clenched his hands until his knuckles cracked. His jaw trembled in a futile attempt to maintain a leader's posture.
"Why?" the man's voice choked, his eyes moist. "That monster reduced our foundation to dust. The woman in blue looks at us as if we were dust, and the other tore apart our best disciple like scrap. You are the heir of Shattered Heaven. Why throw yourself at the feet of a force that has no mercy?"
Mò Yán held her father's gaze. Her scarlet irises did not retreat.
"Because they are the truth, Father," Mò Yán said, abandoning the formal title for an instant. "We spent millennia reciting dead mantras. We built high walls to hide our stagnation. The Lord I now follow is as great as heaven itself. And heaven does not ask stones for permission to exist."
She took a step toward the old man, her wooden sandals tapping softly on the black floor.
"My grandfather left to seek the world," Mò Yán continued, her rigid features softening. "The world came to me. And for the first time, my discipline has a true purpose. I will not be destroyed, Father. I have finally chosen my purpose."
Mò Tiān looked at the unbreakable firmness in his daughter's posture—the same iron determination she had always used to govern the sect's corridors, now completely redirected. The Sect Master let out a long, heavy, defeated breath.
The old man raised a trembling hand and touched the top of Mò Yán's head, smoothing her white hair.
"As Sect Master, I weep for our ruin," Mò Tiān murmured. "As a father… I only ask that the path you have chosen does not consume you. May the Laws have mercy on you, Yán'er."
Mò Yán closed her eyes.
Heaven has already claimed me, my father, the restrained flower thought, her mind throbbing with the silent heat of devotion. I do not need mercy. I only need him.
"Farewell, Father," she bid, bowing before turning her back and walking toward the upper pavilions.
---
Meanwhile, on the upper floor, the atmosphere in the quarters isolated the mountain's cold.
The steam of fresh tea mingled with the scent of sandalwood and warm skin. Seated in the widest carved wooden armchair, Zhì Yuǎn rested as the absolute anchor of his own world.
Yù Méi was sprawled on his lap. The younger sister wore the long golden silk dress with thigh‑high slits, her long legs swinging languidly in the air. She leaned her face against her husband's broad chest, her almond eyes gleaming sensually, a lazy smile on her full lips. His Inner Universe served, infinite and hungry. Yet the large hand wrapped around the Brutal Blade's waist caressed the silk with meticulous tenderness, his firm thumb drawing slow circles that dictated the quiet of the hall.
On the other side, Yù Qíng was settled on the armrest of the chair, her short navy‑blue dress sliding over her crossed legs. She leaned her body against the god's shoulder, her knees resting against his thigh, her soft peaks against him, her pale fingers idly twirling a lock of his black hair.
"Remember the first time he let me help count the coal sacks in the mine?" Yù Méi laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest as she looked at her sister. "I was seven. I tried to write the weight on the tablet and ended up drawing three crooked flowers and a duck."
Zhì Yuǎn let out a low laugh, a soft baritone that vibrated in his throat and made the younger sister's body shiver.
"Your father nearly had a heart attack when he went to check the records and saw the duck in the profit margin," he commented, affection shining in the darkness of his eyes. "But the stroke had intention."
Yù Qíng rolled her black eyes, a lethal smile playing on her lips as she nuzzled the curve of her husband's neck.
"Her intention was to get in the way so she could stay close to you," the blue goddess murmured, her fingertips tracing his jaw. "Just like those village girls who went to wash clothes at the stream early in the morning only because they knew you were sitting on our veranda."
"And you would cast that death‑fairy look at them until they dropped their baskets in the water," Zhì Yuǎn retorted. He turned his face, pressing his lips to his wife's pale wrist in a calm, slow kiss.
Yù Qíng purred in response, melting against his shoulder, while Yù Méi let out a genuine laugh, pressing herself even tighter against the warmth of the chest that now sheltered her.
In the hallway, Mò Yán's steps stopped.
The white‑haired young woman raised her hand to knock on the heavy cedar door, but her fingers froze. The keen hearing of her Refined Body caught the low laughter and the dense intimacy. Her Lord was laughing.
"You may enter, Mò Yán," Zhì Yuǎn's deep, absolute voice passed through the wood, detecting the fluctuations of air in the hallway and observing her through the dense doors without the slightest effort.
Mò Yán swallowed dryly and slid the door open.
The sight that struck her sucked the air from her lungs. The god was not in silent meditation. He was relaxed, his hands caressing the golden woman nestled in his lap, his arm serving as a support for the blue goddess. The atmosphere exuded a warmth so thick the air seemed made of honey.
Mò Yán's teeth bit the inside of her cheek with force. The Yin in her body pulsed painfully at the sight of those two women monopolizing the skin, body, and attention of the only man who attracted her. The sterile solitude of her entire life and pure jealousy descended burning through her throat.
The diplomat's face gained a febrile flush. She lowered her head in a swift movement, hiding her scarlet irises and the hunger that had nearly betrayed her.
Yù Qíng did not let the detail escape. The priestess noticed Mò Yán's locked jaw and let out a low, crystalline laugh, delighting in the evident corruption already corroding the foundations of that snow.
"My Lords," Mò Yán announced, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. "The carriage is stocked, the horses harnessed. Shattered Heaven is already the past for this servant."
Zhì Yuǎn stopped caressing Yù Méi's waist. His black eyes focused on the woman bowed at the entrance. His Wisdom decoded the tiny tension in her shoulders and the slight catch in her breath—the stubborn resistance beneath the sea of submission.
"You hesitate, Mò Yán," his voice cut through the hall, devoid of accusation, demanding only the mechanical truth of the moment. "Your mind has surrendered, but your chest still weighs. What troubles you?"
Mò Yán shuddered. Her sweaty hands gripped the silver silk of her tunic.
"Only the memory of an old ghost, my Lord," she whispered. "My grandfather was the Master of this sect before my father. He abandoned the central pillar twelve years ago. He said that all the men of the South were blind, climbing an empty sky. He abdicated everything to open an old bookshop in the mortal world of the North, full of dust and scrolls my clan called useless."
The words hung in the hall. Yù Qíng raised an eyebrow. Yù Méi sat up straighter on her husband's lap.
He retrieved an image from memory. A narrow street in a mortal city and a cave of paper.
"A toothless old man, but with a sharp smile," Zhì Yuǎn's firm voice reverberated, calm. "A bookshop hidden in a narrow alley in Qīngshí."
Mò Yán broke her bow with a jolt, lifting her aristocratic face. Her scarlet irises were wide in shock, staring at him, her full lips parted, her fair skin blotched with surprise.
"My Lord… knew him?"
Zhì Yuǎn smiled. The unfathomable light receded for a fraction of a second, giving way to a warm glow in his dark eyes. The eccentric old man had been the first to deliver relevant knowledge to him at the time—the books on the Nine Mortal Realms.
"The world is a loom of laws, Mò Yán. Nothing is isolated," Zhì Yuǎn's voice descended with overwhelming serenity. "We will visit him one day. But first, we will return home."
Hearing those words from the abyss broke the last tether of melancholy in Mò Yán's chest. The young woman's chest heaved in a jolt, and a warm wetness burned at the corners of her eyes. Her face flushed, her hands trembling with devotion, she stared at him with even greater intensity.
"My life and my soul belong to your path, my Lord," Mò Yán swore, raw adoration filling the room.
Zhì Yuǎn accepted the loyalty with a slow nod, his long fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. The vastness of his gaze descended upon her, embracing the weight of that reverence with a firm, unshakable possession.
Yù Méi stretched languidly, the slit of her golden dress exposing her thick thigh.
"Excellent!" exclaimed the Brutal Blade, leaping from her husband's lap and landing on her feet with a weight that made the wooden floor creak softly under the pressure of Qi vibrating between her delicate feet and the ground. "The snow flower will have to guide the carriage across the plains. I'm tired of taking wind in my face; today I'll travel inside on the velvet with you, husband."
Zhì Yuǎn rose from the armchair. He looked at the younger sister, a crooked smile forming on his lips.
"Are you in such a hurry to do that in the carriage that even your sister, Méi?" he teased, his baritone brushing the blonde's ears.
Yù Méi's face exploded in furious red. The memories of brutal thrusts, sweat, and the creaking iron bed struck her head‑on.
"I d‑didn't say that!" the warrior stammered, covering her face with her hands.
Zhì Yuǎn laughed low and walked toward the door.
"She will not need to take the reins."
Yù Qíng let out a crystalline laugh. The priestess floated close and intimately pinched the line of her husband's waist beneath his charcoal‑gray tunic.
"Explain, my love," Yù Qíng purred, her black eyes sparkling. "I adore the idea of having our little sister back there with us, but how will the carriage cross the plains without a driver?"
Zhì Yuǎn covered his wife's hand with his own fingers, guiding her out of the hall.
"We will not cross plains."
They stepped out into the vast courtyard of Shattered Heaven. The colossal carriage awaited them, the four horses snorting in the icy air.
Zhì Yuǎn walked to the open space before the horses. The Wisdom in his mind swallowed the remaining spatial laws of the mountain, merging them with his own Inner Universe. He raised his right hand and made a downward motion, as if cutting a piece of cloth.
The dry sound of thick silk being torn echoed. The atmosphere split in two. A black spatial rift, vast enough to swallow the colossal carriage, opened in the air before him. Its edges trembled with a silver light, and the void stabilized instantly under Zhì Yuǎn's will.
The landscape beyond the rift was not of clouds or stone needles. The air leaking from the portal was warm, laden with the perfume of packed earth, golden rice fields, and the first rustic thatched houses. They were looking directly at the entrance to Qīngshān Village.
"My beloved heaven…" Yù Méi breathed, her eyes wide.
He had opened the portal at the village limits to spare her parents the shock of a spatial explosion in their backyard.
Mò Yán felt her legs give way subtly. The diplomat held her breath. He had crushed continental distance with a flick of his wrist.
Zhì Yuǎn turned his profile to the white‑haired young woman.
"Bring the carriage, Mò Yán," the god ordered, his black cloak fluttering in the warm wind of the home village flowing through the rift.
The restrained flower swallowed hard. She hurried forward and pulled the pure‑bloods by the reins, guiding the colossal carriage directly into the mouth of the silver abyss.
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