Three days had passed since the mountain was taken.
The isolated pavilion on the eastern slope, half of which had been destroyed by Yù Méi's fist, was already standing again. The butler Mò Zhōng had not wasted any time. Using the strength of the First Transcendent Stage, he had cut fresh timber, cleared the rubble, and rebuilt the walls and roof in record time. The scent of green bamboo and fresh sap still lingered in the air.
Inside the main hall, the wooden floor was covered in an organized mess. Hundreds of jade slips, scrolls, and ancient maps confiscated from the sect's vaults lay scattered across the planks.
Sitting in the middle of the documents, Bái Wǎn traced the lines of an ancient scroll with her finger. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders as she translated the dead dialects of her former sect in a low voice.
At the head of the table, Zhì Yuǎn listened in silence, cross-referencing the information with what he had already sensed about this plane.
"There is a term that appears repeatedly in the oldest texts," Bái Wǎn murmured, lifting her head. "Three Thousand Worlds. It is the structure born from the Fragmentation, which supposedly split the ancestral land and divided the universe eons ago. But the records do not explain why. They only state that the energy was separated and isolated."
Zhì Yuǎn rested his arm on the back of the chair.
"The universe is not a single thing, Wǎn'er," he replied, his voice calm and rustic. "It is a mirror shattered into thousands of pieces. The Three Thousand Worlds. And this plane is merely one small shard. The energy here is thin and has a rigid limit."
Bái Wǎn lowered the scroll onto her lap, listening with full attention.
"When a cultivator accumulates more energy than this space can bear," Zhì Yuǎn continued, "the world tries to rid itself of the excess. The Heavenly Tribulation is the judgment of the heavens. A fair test. If the body is weak, the pressure crushes the person on the way out. If it is strong, the sky forces open a hole and spits the cultivator into the next plane. That is why they call it False Immortality — those who survive are not immortal, only strong enough not to be destroyed by their own weight."
Bái Wǎn furrowed her brows. The most sacred explanation she knew about ascension had been reduced to a simple rejection from the environment.
Zhì Yuǎn looked at his right hand. The apathy on his face darkened.
"But with me it is different," he said, his voice lower. "When the tribulation descended upon me days ago, the sky was not trying to expel me. It tried to erase me."
Bái Wǎn held her breath.
"The existence of my Singularity attracts annihilation," Zhì Yuǎn continued. "If I strike the ceiling of this world in the normal way, the dimension will not open a door. It will try to eradicate me with everything it has. I cannot ascend through the common paths."
The girl tightened her fingers around the scroll.
"Then… how are we going to leave this place, my god?"
Zhì Yuǎn lowered his hand and looked toward the pavilion door.
"I will send some hunting hounds out of this plane and use the Law of Karma to track where they fall," he replied. "Once I have enough information, I will open a portal myself."
The wooden door of the pavilion opened.
Yù Qíng entered first, followed by Yù Méi and Mò Yán. The youngest completely ignored the mess of scrolls scattered across the floor. She walked straight to the end of the table, sat sideways on Zhì Yuǎn's lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing her face against his gray tunic with a spoiled expression.
"How long are we going to keep reading paper, my heaven?" she grumbled, her voice sweet and bored as she played with the collar of his clothes. "This mountain is too quiet. There's no one left to fight."
Zhì Yuǎn's calloused hand rested on her waist out of pure habit.
"The reading is over," he replied.
Yù Qíng stopped beside the chair, her perception always rooted in her husband.
"You mentioned using hunting hounds to open the gate to the heavens," she said, immediately understanding his logic. "What do we do with the rest of this?"
"Burn it," Zhì Yuǎn answered without hesitation.
Bái Wǎn, still sitting among the documents, widened her eyes, but swallowed hard and said nothing.
Zhì Yuǎn continued, his hand still resting on Yù Méi's waist.
"The method to transfer my comprehension to you is ready. I will use the Law of Devotion to anchor the connection, Karma to create the bridge, and the Soul to transport the information."
Mò Yán held her breath. Skipping centuries of study and receiving the Dao directly from his mind was an absurd shortcut.
Yù Qíng smiled faintly.
"And the hunting hounds will test the safety of the route," she deduced.
Zhì Yuǎn nodded.
"I cannot tear the sky open blindly. I will push the peak Nascent Souls of this world past their limit. When the heavens try to expel them, I will bind the Law of Karma to them and trace where they fall. Once I have the coordinates, we open our own gate."
Yù Méi's boredom vanished instantly. She broke into a wide smile on his lap.
"Abducting the patriarchs of the Great Sects…" she murmured, her eyes shining with excitement. "Where do we start, my love?"
Zhì Yuǎn looked at the map.
"With the most obvious target. Zhào Fēng, who is within our immediate reach."
Mò Yán took a step forward.
"He is not at his peak, husband. He is at a summit in the center of the map. In a few months, there will be a disciple competition sponsored by the Hegemonies. The leaders of all sects, including Sect Master Zhào Fēng, are gathered there right now to discuss the tournament."
The information settled perfectly in Zhì Yuǎn's mind. The bureaucracy of the cultivation world had just made his work easier.
Yù Qíng smiled faintly.
"How convenient."
Yù Méi jumped off his lap, excited.
"I'll tell Mò Zhōng to prepare—"
"No," Zhì Yuǎn cut in, rising from the chair. "We will be more direct."
He raised his right hand. His index and middle fingers sliced downward through the air.
The fabric of reality tore with a dry crack. The silver void opened in the middle of the pavilion, directly revealing the coordinates Mò Yán had given.
Yù Qíng watched her husband in silence. For a brief moment, she saw something she had missed in recent years — that slight trace of humor he used to have when he was not completely absorbed in dissecting Laws. One corner of his mouth moved.
"After you, fairies," he said, making a casual gesture toward the portal.
Yù Méi laughed softly and was the first to cross. Bái Wǎn followed right behind. Mò Yán hesitated for a fraction of a second before following.
As she crossed the portal, she watched her husband's broad back. Since she had knelt before him, Mò Yán had only known his heavy and distant side. That small trace of lightness he showed now… felt almost strange.
Elder Sister and Méi always tell stories about how he was before, Mò Yán thought, her scarlet eyes still on him. They talk about the jokes he used to make, how he always teased them… I only ever heard about it. But now I understand why they seem to miss it.
Yù Qíng was the last to go. Before crossing, she stopped beside him and spoke quietly, only for him to hear:
"I'm glad you managed to turn your head off for a while."
Zhì Yuǎn did not reply. He only looked at her for a second, his gaze a little less empty than usual, and crossed right after her.
------
The Crystal Dome Palace rested on the neutral peak of the Sacred Compass.
In the main hall illuminated by the afternoon sun, the round jade table gathered the leaders of this plane. The subject was strictly political: the organization and distribution of prizes for the imminent Continental Disciple Competition.
Jiàn Wúshuang, the Hegemon of the Immortal Sword, tapped his finger on the jade.
"The steel of my peak will take first place this year. If the smaller sects think they can take resources from our coffers with mediocre disciples, they are mistaken."
Mèng Lián, the Mistress of the Celestial Crane, adjusted the sleeve of her crimson dress and smiled while pouring tea.
"The arrogance of the sword always blinds reason, Jiàn. But the tournament will be a good stage to measure strengths."
She took a sip and turned her face toward the third chair.
"And the Celestial Mirror?" she provoked, her smile gaining a mocking edge. "Senior Zhào has not said a single word since he sat down. Is the tea bitter? Or has the fear of losing the competition dried your throat?"
Zhào Fēng did not touch his cup. The Sect Master was pale, his skin a sickly gray. His hands trembled on his lap.
He raised his gaze to the two of them and spoke with a hollow voice:
"There will be no tournament."
Jiàn Wúshuang let out a dry laugh.
"Did your treasury go bankrupt, Zhào? Want to cancel the event so you won't be embarrassed?"
Zhào Fēng clenched his fists on his knees, swallowing the last of his pride.
"The Secret Realm of my sect was erased," he revealed, desperation leaking into his words. "Our guardian beast turned into a pool of blood. There is someone… something that does not belong to this world."
Silence fell over the table.
Mèng Lián sighed with pity.
"You've gone completely mad, Zhào. A monster erasing an entire Secret Realm? If something of that scale were walking around, your mountain would already be dust. Inventing calamities to hide your own weakness is pathetic."
Jiàn Wúshuang agreed, his face hard.
"If something tries to step into this tournament, I will personally cut it—"
A hollow, dry crack cut through the air from outside the palace. The distinct sound of old fabric being torn in half.
At the same instant, the world seemed to lose its sound.
The wind vanished. The footsteps of the patrols in the outer courtyard disappeared. No guard shouted. No alarm sounded. Only an unnatural and heavy silence took over everything.
The pressure did not weigh on the shoulders. It weighed directly on the survival instinct.
Zhào Fēng stood up with a jolt. The chair fell to the floor. He circled the jade table in quick steps and dropped to his knees on the stone floor, lowering his forehead until it touched the ground.
His voice came out clear and low in the middle of the dome's silence:
"He has arrived."