Immortality Starts With Face

The first sensation was not the gentle, insistent caress of the morning sun filtering through the worn silk screens of my window, but a violence within. A potent, almost furious thrumming in my meridians, a river of Qi that had, overnight, swollen its banks and now raged through me with the force of a flash flood. I lay still for a long moment, my eyes closed, taking inventory of the changes.

The familiar, comfortable warmth of my Fire-aspected Qi was still there, a comforting echo that has been with me for as long as I could remember, but it had been forged in some unseen crucible into something new. Something hotter.

Purer.

The subtle, almost imperceptible bottleneck that had marked the peak of the Eighth Stage, a barrier that should have taken me months, perhaps even two or three years of dedicated, resource-intensive cultivation to overcome, was simply… gone. Washed away by this new, torrential power as if it were nothing more than a child's sandcastle before a rising tide.

The Ninth Stage of Qi Gathering.

A small, humorless smile touched my lips in the pre-dawn gloom. I should have felt a surge of triumph, a thrill of accomplishment. After all, this was a milestone many cultivators strived for decades to reach, a testament to my prodigious talent, a validation of my family's legacy.

And yet, the achievement felt… hollow.

Unearned.

Somehow, it had come too easily, too quickly, a strange and unsettling flower blooming from the poisoned soil of the most profound humiliation of my life.

My mind, a relentless, unforgiving inquisitor, replayed the events of the past weeks in a tormenting, endless loop.

The confrontation in Fallen Star City.

Jiang Li's cool, dismissive eyes, holding not even a flicker of desire, nor respect my station demanded — only a bored, almost pitying amusement.

The casual way he had annulled our engagement, as if swatting away a mildly annoying fly.

Su Mei's disastrous showing at the provincial auction, having managed to offend an Imperial Princess of all people.

And then… the punishment.

The searing, soul-shattering agony of the Thorned Vine Rattan, the cold, unforgiving eyes of my own family's Elders as they watched me hurt and bleed for failures that were not my own, their faces masks of grim necessity.

The prideful, fiery part of my spirit wanted to believe that this breakthrough was a direct result of that crucible. It was a romantic, fanciful, almost poetic notion — one worthy of the storytellers who sang of heroes forged in the fires of adversity. My spirit root, a furnace. My shame — and my incandescent, all-consuming rage against Jiang Li — the fuel. The impurities of my cultivation burned away in that inferno, forging my Qi into something stronger, sharper. A weapon honed by pure, unadulterated hatred.

It was a beautiful story. A tale worthy of a legend.

Except… it wasn't the truth.

The rational, analytical part of my mind, the part that had spent years in painstaking, meticulous study of cultivation theory, knew it to be a lie.

Rage, shame, hatred… such emotions were poisons to the spirit, not catalysts for stable advancement. They led only to Qi deviation, to madness, to broken meridians and shattered cores. They did not — could not — possibly lead to clean, powerful breakthroughs like the one I now felt singing in my meridians.

Something else had happened to me. Something fundamental had shifted within me since that day in the Hall of Ancestral Admonishment. A change I could feel but could not name. An alteration to my very essence that was both exhilarating and deeply, profoundly unsettling.

A faint, familiar scent of crushed spirit herbs and a subtle, conspiratorial creak of a floorboard pulled me from my dark thoughts.

I opened my eyes.

A slender silhouette was moving with a practiced, cat-like stealth through the gloom of my chamber, a small, ornate jade box held carefully in her hands.

"Mei," I whispered, my voice a dry rasp in the quiet room.

My cousin, Su Mei, froze, a guilty expression flashing across her face, before it was replaced by a relieved, almost mischievous smile.

"Lian-jiejie! You're awake! I didn't mean to disturb you, I was just…" She gestured with the box, her eyes shining with a mixture of pride and conspiratorial glee. "Well… I brought you something!"

She presented the contents with a flourish, opening the lid to reveal a cool, fragrant, jade-green salve that radiated a faint, calming medicinal aura.

"Behold! Jade-Dew Marrow Salve!" she announced proudly, her voice a triumphant whisper.

A genuine smile touched my lips, a rare warmth chasing away some of the morning's chill. In this cold, calculating world, in this family where every interaction was a transaction, Mei's fierce, unwavering loyalty was a singular, precious treasure. She had always been my shadow, my defender, the one person willing to risk the elders' wrath for my sake. And yet, that very loyalty was a source of constant, gnawing worry. This salve… the ingredients required to create a concoction of this quality, one capable of soothing wounds inflicted by something like the Thorned Vine Rattan, must have cost a small fortune. A fortune our struggling clan, and certainly Mei herself, could ill afford. If the Elders discovered she had defied their orders and squandered precious resources on me… the consequences would be severe.

"Mei, you know we're forbidden from using medicines. The punishment…"

"Oh, stuff the elders and their punishments," she scoffed, waving a dismissive hand, her usual optimistic spirit undimmed despite her own ordeal. Her resilience was a small, fierce flame that I found myself envying now.

"They just wanted to make a point, to reassert their authority. Besides," she added, her chest puffing out with a pride that was almost comical in its intensity, "I didn't spend the family's funds on this! I made it myself! I'm a Third-Grade Alchemist now, Lian-jiejie!"

"Truly?" The news was a genuine delight, a small, bright spark in the oppressive gloom of my thoughts. For all her impulsiveness, Mei possessed a genuine and impressive talent for the Dao of Alchemy. "Mei, that's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!"

She preened under my praise, before leaning in conspirationally.

"So, my favorite test subject," she said, her eyes gleaming with a playful, pleading light that was impossible to refuse, "will you just submit already? I need to see if the efficacy of this medicine is up to my new, very exacting standards!"

I sighed, a sound of fond, weary resignation, and relented. The intimacy of her care was a familiar comfort, a small island of warmth in the cold, treacherous sea of my life. Slowly, I sat up, letting the fine spirit silk coverlet fall away, and turned, presenting my back to her.

I heard her sharp, indrawn breath behind me: a sound of pure, unadulterated shock.

"Lian-jiejie… but… your back… it's…"

"Healed, I know," I said, my own voice tinged with the same unsettling mystery. The horrific, bleeding wounds from the rattan, the deep gashes that should have taken months to close, had vanished, leaving behind only skin that was faintly red and a little tender to the touch, as if from a mild, mortal sunburn (not that a cultivator like me would know what a mortal sunburn felt like — so I could only speculate in that regard).

"I think… it might have been the breakthrough. The surge of Qi…"

But it was a weak explanation, and we both knew it.

The lingering poison from the rattan — that insidious, corrupted Water Qi — should have resisted any normal healing, especially any related to my Fire spirit root. The wounds should have festered for weeks.

It was yet another unsettling impossibility to add to the growing pile.

"Let me see," Mei murmured, her voice hushed now with a professional alchemist's curiosity. I felt the cool, shocking touch of the salve on my skin, followed by the gentle, almost reverent pressure of her fingertips as she began to massage it in. Her touch was smooth and delicate, her fingers tracing the lines of my spine with a lingering, almost hypnotic slowness that sent a pleasant, shivery warmth through my core. Her breathing was a soft, ragged sound close to my ear.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to simply enjoy the soothing sensation, the familiar comfort of Mei's presence in a world that otherwise offered so little of it.

"My turn," she half-whispered softly, when she was finished.

I nodded, and she presented her own back. The sight was a brutal, visceral shock.

Her own wounds were a horrific, brutal landscape of torn flesh, deep, angry welts, and dark, coagulated blood, a stark and ugly testament to the Elders' fury. My stomach clenched with a mixture of pity and a fresh surge of cold, hard rage at my family for allowing such a thing to befall one of the few people I genuinely cared about in this world.

As I began to apply the salve to her mangled skin, she shuddered under my touch.

And the maelstrom of fury deep inside me intensified to new heights.

+++

The walk from the Jade Terrace District to the Golden Mandate Quarter was a well-choreographed, even pompous, affair. The Su Clan delegation moved with the quiet, unshakeable dignity befitting our ancient name, the green and silver bamboo motifs on our robes a silent declaration of our lineage.

But I felt like a fraud.

A ghost haunting the ruins of a fallen empire, dressed in the borrowed finery of a forgotten age.

I missed Mei's fiery, supportive presence beside me. She hadn't been allowed to attend the banquet, of course — my cousin had been deemed too impulsive, too much of a liability, to be trusted at an event of this magnitude after the auction debacle.

The loneliness in my heart was a dull, constant ache, a hollow space where her fierce, unwavering loyalty should have been.

The transition to the city's heart did nothing to improve my mood; if anything, it only grew fouler. As we passed through the opulent streets, the symbols of the Jiang family's explosive, almost violent prosperity were everywhere.

Their sigil—that flowing river and three stars—adorned the banners of at least a dozen new shops, their name whispered on the lips of every passing merchant, a new mantra of wealth and power. The injustice of it all, the sheer, galling unfairness of their crass, mercantile success compared to our ancient, noble decline, made the fire in my Dantian burn hotter, a constant, simmering rage that I had more and more trouble consciously suppressing beneath a mask of cool, aristocratic indifference.

Finally, we had entered the Administrative Palace and reached the breathtaking banquet hall: it was a veritable assault on the senses, a symphony of wealth so profound it was almost vulgar. Luminous jade pillars. Glowing night-pearls. Tables of thousand-year-old spirit wood—it was a display designed to cow and impress, and, I had to admit, it succeeded admirably.

I dutifully moved through it all, a dressed-up doll in green silk, my face a perfect, impassive mask.

My gaze was drawn, as if by a magnetic force, to the main table at the front of the hall: a raised dais upon which the true powers of the province were seated. The first thing I sensed — even before the physical sights fully registered — were the powerful auras there.

My eyes immediately found Her Imperial Highness, Princess Long Xueyue. She was a figure of cold, Imperial majesty, her beauty so flawless it seemed almost unreal, a celestial being descended to the mortal realm. Her silver-white hair, her bright blue eyes, her aura of innate nobility—all of it was all exactly as the breathless rumors described.

But it was her power that truly held me captive.

Peak of the Foundation Establishment realm before the age of twenty.

The rumors of her genius were, in truth, not whispers — but a roaring testament to a talent that bordered on the divine. She was famous in the cultivation world. A well-known celebrity without equal. Every young female cultivator in the Empire strived to be at least a little like her.

A bitter, unwelcome thought coiled in my gut.

If I had been born into such wealth, with the limitless backing of an Empire, how close would I be to that level right now?

The question was a poison in my mind, feeding the furnace of my ambition and my resentment in equal measure.

Then, I felt it.

A subtle, yet profound, shift in the very air around the main table.

It was the palpable presence of the Princess' Frost-aspected Qi, and that of Elder Yue Qingxue beside her, resonating with each other: a dual aura of such intense, penetrating cold that it felt like a physical pressure against my own spirit. My Fire Qi, the very core of my being, recoiled instinctively — not in aggression, but in a primal, defensive cringe, like a living flame flickering in a sudden, icy gale. The Frost Qi left a particularly grating feeling across my senses, not unlike fingernails scraping on raw spirit bark. It was a visceral, unwelcome reminder of the principle of elemental weakness; a core truth of the Heavenly Dao that demanded balance in all things: strength offset by a corresponding vulnerability.

I took my seat at the "young geniuses" table, the title a bitter irony in my mouth. Such vanity was ridiculous. Most of these peacocks were here not because of any profound talent, but because their families were wealthy enough to buy them the pills and elixirs necessary to brute-force their way to a respectable cultivation level. Their Qi was bloated and impure, their foundations unstable. They were hollow vessels, their presence an insult to the very concept of "genius," which should be earned through sweat and struggle, not purchased like a common commodity. I glanced at some of the other heirs, the Young Masters of the Zhao and Chen clans, their preening arrogance a thin veneer over their mediocre talents.

Pathetic.

Heavens above, I felt nauseated just looking at them.

But then, I saw the Azure Cloud disciple, Lin Feng, his youthful face flushing as his eyes met mine — and I felt something other than contempt for a change. Here was a true Stage Eight prodigy — a genuine and rare talent for his age… Sadly, he was still just a boy, easily flustered, his emotions an open book for everyone to see.

I felt his gaze upon me, of course, a clumsy, adolescent heat that was as obvious as it was irritating. A quick, sidelong glance confirmed my suspicions: the boy's ears were burning a furious, tell-tale crimson, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and what looked like sheer, mortal terror.

I immediately turned my gaze away, focusing with a sudden, intense interest on the intricate patterns of the fruit bowl before me, making a deliberate show of ignoring him. To acknowledge his reaction would be to validate it, and I had problems enough without… this.

There was no time to indulge in childish things.

Then, the Jiangs arrived.

My first reaction was a surge of pure hatred.

But then…

Almost against my will, I found myself… impressed.

Jiang Li moved with a majestic, almost imperial grace, his presence commanding the room without a single word. I extended my senses, expecting to feel the familiar, weak Qi of the boy I remembered, but instead, there was… nothing.

A void.

A perfect, unnerving stillness.

It had to be a concealment artifact of some kind, my mind rationalized, unable — or, perhaps, unwilling — to entertain the other possibilities that the bastard was either skilled enough to hide his aura or else so strong that he moved beyond my ability to perceive.

My surprise turned into a genuine shock, however, as I sensed the auras of the rest of the Jiang retinue.

The Elders.

Their servant, Lin Ruolan.

All of them.

All of them have reached Foundation Establishment!?!

My mind reeled.

The entire Su Clan, with our Golden Core ancestor clinging to life by a thread, had only three Foundation Establishment experts — and now, this supposedly talentless merchant family of no particular cultivation background was openly displaying six Foundation Establishment experts, with even their servant having crossed that threshold?

Being confronted with this single, impossible fact shattered a lifetime of ingrained belief in the Jiang family's alleged inferiority.

And then, came the final, devastating blow: Jiang Li was escorted not to his family's table, but to the main dais, to sit beside the Governor, and the Princess herself!

My whole world tilted on its axis.

How could my family, my elders, my entire lineage, have been so wrong?

Was Jiang Li right in our conversation in Fallen Star City? Was it possible that it was I who was unworthy of him? The thought caused an almost physical agony, fueling the furnace of my inner rage to an almost unbearable degree.

I then watched, with a new, horrified fascination, as the legendary Golden Core Talisman Master, Wei Long, moved his own chair to engage Jiang Li in what looked — impossibly — like a respectful academic conversation. I deliberately directed my attention away to try to preserve what was left of my sanity.

And so, the banquet proceeded, a tense theater of social realignments.

Then came the moment I had been dreading. I saw my uncle, Su Guangde, his face a mask of grim determination, lead Elder Su Bohai from my family's table. They made a show of walking towards the table where the Jiang Patriarch and Matriarch sat. I watched, my stomach churning with a cold, sick sense of premonition, as they performed a deep, formal bow of apology. It was a public and significant gesture — a clear and disgusting message of submission — and it sent a fresh wave of whispers rippling through the hall.

After a brief, tense huddle between the elders of both families, a conversation conducted in low, inaudible murmurs, my uncle turned towards me. His gaze found me across the room, and he gave a single, curt, and utterly unambiguous nod.

I was being summoned.

The walk across the grand hall felt like a journey to my own execution. Every eye was suddenly on me — a hundred pairs of them, their gazes a physical weight pressing down, dissecting my every movement, my every expression. As a result of countless hours of etiquette practice, I had no trouble forcing my back to remain straight. My head was held high, the mask of cool, aristocratic indifference firmly in place.

But inside, I was a maelstrom of shame and fury.

My uncle's voice was a low, formal monotone, utterly devoid of any familial warmth.

"Su Lian," he began, the title a cruel irony, "after a most productive discussion with the esteemed Patriarch Jiang, we have reaffirmed the bonds between our two great families. To solidify this renewed alliance, and to heal the unfortunate misunderstandings of the past, it has been decided that you will be betrothed to the Second Young Master of the Jiang Clan, Jiang Feng. The precise arrangements will be finalized in due course. In the meantime, please make an effort to get to know your future husband."

The words were surreal.

I felt as if I were floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching a stranger in my body perform the correct, demure, and utterly soul-crushing gestures of obedience.

I heard a voice that sounded vaguely like my own murmur the correct words of acceptance.

But my mind was a distant, silent storm of rage and betrayal.

I felt like a piece of meat, a commodity to be traded away for the sake of a dying, useless ancestor and feckless elders. They placed all their faith in a dying old fossil, a Golden Core ancestor clinging to the last frayed threads of his lifespan, a man I had never even met, whose very existence was nothing but a drain on our dwindling resources. These imbeciles poured every spirit stone, every precious herb, into his seclusion, praying for a one-in-a-million breakthrough to Nascent Soul that would most certainly never come.

They were nothing but old fools, pinning their future on a ghost, on a memory of past glory. Could they not see that it was I—not some dying old fossil—who was the family's true hope! I was the one with the talent! I was the one who reached the Ninth Stage of Qi Gathering before my twentieth year — without the aid of endless wealth or high-ranking patronage. Given the resources the family wasted on that ancestor, I could have already passed the threshold of Foundation Establishment. Given time, I am the one with the potential to reach Nascent Soul and restore our name — not through some pathetic, humiliating "alliance," but with my own two hands, with the fire that burns in my very soul!

Paradoxically, I also felt insulted at being betrothed to the lesser brother.

Jiang Li — for all of his infuriating qualities — was now clearly worthy of me.

But, as for Jiang Feng? He was nothing.

Upon our return to the "genius" table, I wasted no time insulting my would-be fiancé… but the small act of cruelty was a pathetic, unsatisfying release for the inferno raging within me.

The gift-giving ceremony that soon followed brought further torment.

I watched, in a kind of horrified fascination, as my family offered up a relic of our past, a foolish, prideful gesture that only served to remind the Princess of our historical disgrace.

And how could it have been otherwise?

The foolish elders of my Su family were obsessed with our past glories; with the shimmering ghost of a time when the Su name still commanded awe and reverence. They presented the Fang of Calamity as a testament to our clan's ancient power, a symbol of our legacy as protectors of this land.

But what they failed to see, what their minds—ossified by centuries of mourning the past—could not comprehend, was the brutal, unforgiving context of that gift.

Put simply, that sword was not wielded in service to the Tianlong Dynasty.

Instead, it was wielded in the name of the Celestial Phoenix, the very dynasty the Princess' ancestors had crushed in a civil war so bloody it was said the rivers of the Central Plains ran red for a year.

To present this gift to a Tianlong Princess was not the display of strength they believed it to be. It was instead a monument to our subjugation. It was a tactless, almost suicidal reminder that our greatest achievement, the very cornerstone of our family's pride, was accomplished in service to current Imperial family's sworn enemies.

The cultivators at the main table… they are not some mortals with the fleeting memories of mayflies. Golden Core-level experts like His Excellency the Governor and Master Wei can live for centuries. The Great War of Succession took place a mere three hundred years ago—a mere blink of an eye for the true experts present in the hall. For them, the War is a living memory — perhaps, a tale told by their own masters; perhaps even a conflict they witnessed firsthand in their youth!

They would see our gift not as a tribute, but as a clumsy, arrogant attempt to rewrite history, to claim a glory that was forfeited the moment our ancestors chose to oppose the Dragon Throne. My family were rubbing salt in an ancient, still-festering wound, and they were doing it before the very people who had helped to inflict it!

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

In effect, this was an act of a pardoned traitor presenting the new king with the very sword he had once raised against him, then having the arrogance to expect praise for the weapon's fine craftsmanship. I suddenly felt a hot flush of shame; wanting nothing more than to sink through the floor, to disappear, to be anywhere but here, associated with such monumental, tone-deaf stupidity.

Then came the Jiang family's turn to present gifts. I steeled myself for another display of crass, nouveau-riche ostentation, perhaps a chest full of spirit stones or some gaudy artifact. Instead, Jiang Li presented two simple, unadorned Frost Jade boxes.

My initial contempt curdled into a cold, sinking dread as he began to speak. And soon, my fears were realized: the Jiang family's gifts turned out to be something that couldn't be bought with mere wealth.

A Spirit… Crystal? A Frost-aspected one? And one potent enough to be suitable for serving as a Golden Core breakthrough catalyst, to boot? How had the Jiangs possibly gotten a hold of something like that? And this Jiang's Dew, an elixir that could permanently enhance a cultivator's aptitude — it was a treasure that was, somehow, even more rare than the Spirit Crystal!

The world had ceased making sense, and now felt more like a delusional fever dream.

Everything that happened next—the toast, the shared cup, the sudden, impossible violence of Wei Long's intervention—it was all a blur to me.

I watched, transfixed, as the droplets of poisoned wine landed on Jiang Li's hand.

I watched the sickly grey stone creep up his skin.

I watched him fall.

A small, vicious part of me rejoiced at that. Serves that bastard right, it hissed.

But a deeper, more… confusing… part felt an unwelcome pang of pity. To die, just like that? So publicly, and to such a horrific poison? It's so… undignified.

At the very least, I took some small comfort in the fact that the world seemed to be reasserting its fundamental laws. All elemental strengths must be offset by corresponding weaknesses. My Fire is weak against Frost, but Frost is weak against Earth. Such is the way of the Heavens.

Except… I soon discovered that I was wrong about that too.

Jiang Li's miraculous recovery — and his on-the-spot breakthrough to Foundation Establishment — were the final, shattering blow to my sanity. Experiencing the up-close release of his potent Frost aura was a terrifying assault on my senses. My own Fire Qi, the very core of my being, tried to shrink away in primal, instinctual fear — like a cornered mouse before a serpent.

I hated it.

I hated feeling so weak, so vulnerable — especially to him.

+++

The formal, humiliating "investigation" by the Imperial Guards proved to be the final indignity. Enraged, betrayed, my entire reality upended, I fled the banquet's aftermath, getting lost in the city's alleyways.

Hours later, I walked the moonlit streets of the Golden Mandate Quarter; my destination -- the Azure Cloud Sect's compound.

Independence.

That was the only path left to me.

I would beg. I would even grovel if I had to! But I would join the Sect, and I would forge my own destiny — one free from the shackles of my idiotic family and their disastrous politics.

Then I heard their voices.

Jiang Li and Lord Zhang Wei, their conversation a low — but recognizable — murmur in the quiet of the night.

A desperate, consuming need to understand, to unravel the mystery that was Jiang Li, overrode my caution. I ducked into a shadowed alleyway, the irony a bitter taste in my mouth as I swallowed one of the so-called "Jiang Catalog's" stealth pills Mei had acquired through her connections.

To the credit of whichever master created it, the pill was an absolute miracle of alchemy, and it worked with unnerving efficiency. In mere moments, I became a veritable ghost — a silent, invisible shadow in the night.

The moonlit streets of the Golden Mandate Quarter, usually so serene, were now laced with an oppressive, martial quiet. Squads of Imperial Guards, their black and gold armor gleaming under the enchanted street lamps, stood at every intersection, their cold, hard gazes scrutinizing every shadow. Indeed, the air was tense -- but Lord Zhang Wei, trotting along beside Jiang Li, seemed not to notice. He was a relentless, buzzing insect of a man, likely still high on the night's drama, his voice a breathless, excited whisper that carried easily to my concealed position.

"...and the way the stone just crumbled off you, Young Master Jiang! It was as if you were a Heavenly Phoenix hatching from a divine egg! Truly a miracle! The storytellers will sing of this night for a thousand years!"

A Phoenix, I thought, a surge of bitter, proprietary anger rising in me. Preposterous. The Phoenix was my symbol, not his. And yet… I couldn't deny the truth in the City Lord's awed description. What I had witnessed was indeed impressive.

Terrifyingly so.

"And that constitution!" Zhang continued, his voice dropping to an awed whisper. "To devour a Golden Core poison! Is it truly as you said? It can feed on other elements? Even…" He leaned in, speaking in a near-whisper "…even opposing ones?"

That's what I'd like to know too, I thought, my own mind racing. How could Frost Qi, which should have been utterly suppressed by the higher-ranked Earth-aspected toxin, have devoured it instead? The bizarre event defied every principle of elemental cultivation I had ever studied.

"The pursuit of the Dao can be a pathway to many abilities, Lord Zhang, some considered to be unnatural," Jiang Li's voice was calm, non-committal, a placid lake hiding unfathomable depths.

What mysteries have you discovered, Jiang Li? I wondered, a desperate curiosity warring with my hatred for the bastard. What hidden legacy in that gods-forsaken Qingshan did you stumble upon? I must learn more!

"Indeed, indeed, mysterious and profound!" Lord Zhang agreed enthusiastically. "And that breakthrough of yours! On the spot, just like that! I have never seen anything like it! I always thought that sort of thing was just a flight of fancy, something naive aristocratic maidens read about in those trashy romance scrolls!"

I felt a flush of indignant embarrassment — though I had to admit, a part of me had thought so as well.

"...But to have seen it with my own eyes! Incredible! Absolutely incredible!"

Their path was taking them directly towards the Azure Cloud Sect compound—my own destination. What business could Jiang Li and Lord Zhang possibly have with the Sect at this hour?

Despite my better judgment, a desperate curiosity got the better of me. I decided to do the impulsive thing — the foolish thing — and investigate further.

I crept behind them, a silent ghost in the moon-drenched streets.

+++

The guards at the Sect gate, cultivators whose auras marked them as being in the late stages of Qi Gathering, initially stood as impassive sentinels. But as Jiang Li and Lord Zhang approached, their professional stiffness dissolved into a deep, almost fearful reverence. They bowed low, their heads nearly touching their knees, and ushered the pair inside without a single question.

Without a moment's hesitation.

I felt a fresh wave of bitter injustice wash over me.

I, a Su genius, would have had to announce myself, state my purpose, and likely wait for an audience to be granted. And yet, Jiang Li was simply… welcomed inside.

By rights, I should have taken the time to walk in legitimately — but, having come this far, my curiosity was now a burning, consuming fire, and I wasn't about to be stopped by mere protocol. I slipped through the gates right behind them, a silent shadow in their wake.

The Azure Cloud Sect compound was a world of serene, intimidating power. The path Jiang Li and Zhang Wei were led down was an opulent, open-air corridor, its floor paved with luminous moonstone that cast a soft, ethereal light upwards, illuminating the intricately carved pillars that lined the path like a procession of ancient, silent guardians.

The carvings were, admittedly, breathtaking: they were a visual chronicle of the Sect's illustrious history—great, robed figures with faces of serene wisdom battling snarling demonic beasts whose forms twisted with corrupted Qi; cultivators soaring through star-dusted heavens upon swords that trailed ribbons of silver light; and solitary sages meditating amongst stylized clouds, their postures radiating a profound, inner peace.

The very air here was cool and crisp, carrying with it the clean, sharp scent of high-altitude pine, the damp, ancient smell of moss clinging to stone, and a certain… stillness that spoke of centuries of disciplined cultivation.

The group came to a set of massive, solid gold doors, so tall they seemed to reach for the moon itself. The doors were a masterpiece of artistry, intricately carved with coiling motifs of a celestial phoenix on one side, and a celestial dragon on the other. Their eyes, inlaid with flawless jade stones, seemed to watch us with a timeless, unnerving wisdom.

The doors swung open silently at the guards' approach, a silent, grand invitation into the inner sanctum. Said guards bowed and retreated, leaving Jiang Li and the City Lord to their privacy.

I hesitated for only a moment, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs — and then, having already committed to this foolish, reckless path, I followed the two of them inside.

Beyond was another, shorter corridor — and then, a grand office. The room was vast and elegant, dominated by a massive, single-pane crystal window that overlooked a moonlit garden of crystalline, ice-sculpted trees, their branches glittering as if dusted with diamond frost. And there, silhouetted against the moon, a vision of ethereal, almost painful beauty, stood Elder Yue Qingxue.

Beside her was another woman in Sect robes whom I didn't recognize, but her cultivation gave off a steady aura of the Foundation Establishment stage. She stood silently behind her mistress, with her head bowed in deference.

The Elder turned as the guests entered, her glowing aquamarine-green eyes fixing on them with an unreadable, unnerving intensity.

"Jiang Li," she said, her voice a low, silken murmur that seemed to make the very air in the room vibrate. "So, you've deigned to come here at last. I have been expecting you."

What could this possibly be about? I wondered, my mind racing.

What business would Jiang Li have with the Azure Cloud Sect? Surely not to join them?

The very thought was absurd! To reach Foundation Establishment before the age of twenty required a talent that surely surpassed even my own — that was a painful, yet undeniable, truth. The current Azure Cloud was a respected local power, yes — but, at the end of the day, it was still just a Golden Core level, local sect.

What could the mere Azure Cloud possibly have to offer that the Imperial court, with its vast resources and profound legacies, could not?

And, even disregarding the Princess' patronage, a demonstrable genius of Jiang Li's caliber, with that special Frost constitution he had so dramatically demonstrated, would surely — surely — have numerous sects, even those from the wealthy, powerful interior provinces, fighting tooth and nail to recruit him.

What was I missing? What was the true nature of the game being played here?

The air in the grand office grew heavy with unspoken words. From my concealed position, I watched the standoff unfold, a silent play of power and politics.

Jiang Li — infuriatingly — bowed with a perfect, courtly grace that seemed utterly at odds with the crass merchant I knew him to be. He began to speak, his voice a low, earnest murmur, his expression one of profound, almost tragic sincerity.

"Esteemed Elder," I heard him say, his words carrying clearly in the still air. "This junior did not wish to impose, but I felt a matter of such gravity required a direct, personal response to your most generous offer."

The Elder listened, her face a mask of icy composure, her aquamarine eyes unreadable pools of ancient frost.

Lord Zhang, beside Jiang Li, shifted uncomfortably, a single, nervous bead of sweat trickling down his temple, a stark, human detail in this room of transcendent beings.

"Generous, indeed," Elder Yue finally replied, her voice like the chime of frozen bells. "You should know that the Azure Cloud Sect does not extend such invitations lightly. We see in you a potential that has been absent in this province for centuries. A talent that, if properly nurtured, could reshape the very landscape of power in this region."

I felt a fresh surge of bitter envy. Here she was — the likely future Sect Mistress of the Azure Cloud — and she spoke only of his potential. Of his talent. All while I, the true genius of the Su line, was forced to skulk in the shadows.

"And it is for that very reason, Esteemed Elder," Jiang Li said, his voice laced with a sorrow that — remarkably — sounded genuine, "that I must, with the deepest and most profound regret… decline."

The temperature in the room plummeted.

A visible shimmer of hoarfrost bloomed on the crystal window behind the Elder, the air itself seeming to crystallize with her displeasure.

"Decline?" she repeated, frowning, as if the word in her mouth somehow tasted repulsive.

"Yes, Esteemed Elder. The events of the banquet have... altered my path," Jiang Li explained, his expression one of helpless resignation. "An assassination attempt in the presence of royalty is not a matter that can be easily dismissed. Her Highness has seen fit to extend her direct protection over myself and my clan. To refuse such a grace, to turn my back upon the Imperial banner now, would be seen as an act of profound disrespect... an act of treason, even! Sadly, my hands are now tied, Elder. My fate is no longer my own to decide."

It was a masterstroke of political maneuvering, I thought despite myself. After all, Jiang Li apparently wasn't rejecting Yue Qingxue; he was being claimed by a higher power. It was an excuse so perfect, so unassailable, that even I, in my seething hatred for the bastard, had to admire its efficiency.

Jiang Li's performance continued with a gesture of profound, almost tragic regret.

"However," he said, his voice softening, "my inability to accept your Sect's most generous offer does not diminish the profound respect I hold for you, Elder, or for the esteemed Azure Cloud Sect as a whole. The political storm I have inadvertently caused has created… complications. Please, allow me to offer a humble token as a gesture of continued goodwill between us. A bridge, perhaps, even as we embark upon our respective, separate paths."

He produced a small, ornate box from his robes. It was a simple thing, a perfect cube of what looked like polished, star-dusted obsidian, so dark it seemed to drink the moonlight. It was cool to the touch, and radiated no Qi whatsoever, and yet, to my senses, it felt somehow… heavy.

Ancient.

Elder Yue's eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine curiosity in their icy depths. "And what, precisely, is this 'bridge' of yours, Young Master Jiang?"

"A trifle, really," he said with a self-deprecating shrug. "A curiosity I came across in my travels. The ancient records I found described it as a 'Heart of a Fallen Star,' a solidified core of pure, stable energy. It is said that when a cultivator's own inner sea of Qi is on the verge of condensing into a Golden Core, such an aid can provide the necessary… gravity — the perfect seed if you will — to ensure the result is of a highest possible grade given that cultivator's aptitude."

A Golden Core catalyst!

The thought was a thunderclap in my mind, so loud I was certain the room's other occupants must have heard it.

That lunatic is giving away such a valuable Golden Core catalyst? As a... parting gift?

The insanity of it was breathtaking to me. The value of such an artifact was incalculable; after all, it was a treasure that could alter the destiny of a Peak Foundation Establishment expert. It represented the difference between mediocrity and greatness; between staying a big fish in the small pond of Azure Cloud and becoming a powerhouse that would have to be respected regionally -- or even nationally! And he was just... handing it over, as if it were a common courtesy?

I saw the Elder's icy composure crack.

For a single, unguarded moment, a flicker of raw, naked desire — so potent that it was almost a physical force — blazed in her eyes.

It seems, she knew the gravity of what was being offered.

Elder Yue Qingxue looked at the box, then back at Jiang Li.

Then, a slow, almost sad smile touched her lips — a smile that held no warmth, only a profound, chilling regret.

"It truly is a pity, Young Master Jiang," her voice, though still quiet, carried to me easily, as clear as a funeral bell. "Such an offer, made before the banquet, would have been all but irresistible to me. But now… the board has changed. The pieces are in motion…"

"...And the time for such simple arrangements… has passed."

Then, the world dissolved into a blur of motion.

It was an attack of such impossible speed, such utter, contemptuous efficiency, that even my heightened, Ninth-Stage senses barely even registered it. There was no grand gesture, no silly shouting of a technique's name. Just a rapid flicker of the Elder's slender, pale hand.

The very air in the room seemed to crystallize, a sudden, shocking drop in temperature that made my own breath catch in my throat. Three massive, shimmering icicles, each as long and thick as my arm, materialized from the Frost qi permeating the air. They were things of terrible beauty, their crystalline forms refracting the moonlight into a thousand glittering, deadly shards. To his credit, Jiang Li quickly used a movement technique of some sort to evade, appearing behind the Elder in a blur of motion…

Except, the attack was not aimed at Jiang Li.

The icicles shot across the room — swift and silent as death — and plunged into Lord Zhang's chest and neck before he could even register the threat. Before his own Foundation Establishment senses could even scream a warning.

The sound was a series of sickening, wet thuds, like a butcher's cleaver sinking into meat.

Lord Zhang collapsed without a sound, a broken puppet, his fine robes instantly stained a dark, spreading crimson.

I audibly gasped — a small, sharp sound of pure shock — and promptly clapped a hand over my mouth, my heart seizing in my chest.

Jiang Li moved with a speed that defied credulity, a flicker of motion as he attempted to strike at the Elder… but it was just a few moments too late. A complex formation flared to life in the room, the air growing palpably thick and heavy — disrupting his movement technique. A blur of motion from the Elder. An immobilizing spell, followed by a sealing talisman slapped onto his forehead, and Jiang Li slumped to the ground, apparently unconscious.

Then — to my utter terror — the Elder's glowing aquamarine-green eyes turned… and fixed directly on the spot where I stood hidden.

"Nosy little mice," she murmured, her voice a silken, deadly whisper, "should be exterminated on sight before they breed."

A wave of her Qi washed over me as she performed some kind of disruptive technique — and the stealth pill's effect promptly shattered.

Suddenly, I was visible.

Exposed.

The Elder's attendant, a woman whose face seemed carved from an impassive, unyielding heartwood of an ancient tree, stepped forward. Her Foundation Establishment aura, which had previously been a placid, disciplined pond, now began to stir — the calm surface rippling with a deep, green-tinged power that smelled of damp earth and crushed leaves.

"We were wise to request the security upgrades for the office, Elder," she said, her voice respectful, a monotone that held no hint of the violence she was about to unleash. "A most far-sighted precaution."

"Yes, yes, it seems you were right this time, Lu Mian," the Elder said with a sigh of bored impatience, as if swatting away a fly. "Now kill her. Quickly. We have much to do."

The words were a death sentence, delivered with the casual indifference of a woman ordering more tea.

And I was seized by a cold, paralyzing terror.

The chasm between the Qi Gathering and Foundation Establishment realms was not a mere gap one could casually cross; it was the difference between Heaven and Earth, between a river and the ocean. My mind screamed at me to run. To plead. To negotiate. To do anything at all but stand there and die — but my body was frozen, pinned in place by the sheer, suffocating pressure of Lu Mian's aura. I tried to raise my hands, to form words of placation…

But, before I could try, before I could even draw a breath, Lu Mian moved.

In but a blink of an eye, she was no longer standing across the room — but there, right next to me, with only a slight whisper of displaced air and the scent of crushed green leaves to herald her arrival. Her hand, wreathed in a faint, emerald light, was a rigid spear-tip aimed directly at my temple.

There was no time to think.

I reacted on pure, primal instinct — throwing myself backwards with a desperate, clumsy lurch. The blow missed my head by less than a hair's breadth, but I felt the abrasive sensation of its passage as it sliced through the ends of my long, dark hair, the strands instantly withering to dust and drifting away.

Lu Mian pressed the attack — not with a sudden, explosive charge, but with a flowing, almost organic grace. The polished floorboards of the office seemed to groan and warp under her feet as if they were soft earth, providing her with far more traction and maneuverability than they should have been capable of naturally. With another gesture of her hand, a dozen thick, thorny vines, the color of jade and glistening with a sickly sap, erupted from the floor around me, their movements swift and serpentine as they sought to ensnare my limbs.

Wood Spirit Root, I confirmed. By the fundamental laws of the Dao, her element was fuel for mine. A slight spark of hope ignited in my chest. Perhaps I had a chance here?

With a defiant cry, I unleashed my own power.

A torrent of incandescent, golden-red flame erupted from my palms, not as some clumsy fireball, but as a focused, disciplined wave—the Phoenix Talon Strike, one of the first attacking techniques I've been taught. The flames licked at the encroaching vines, and the latter were pushed back with a sound like hissing steam, their sickly sap boiling and turning to black, acrid smoke.

But Lu Mian was clearly a seasoned fighter far, far more experienced than I, and was entirely unphased by my resistance. As I incinerated her initial assault, she was already moving again, her form a blur to my senses. She appeared at my flank, her hand aimed at the acupoints on my neck, her fingers wreathed in that same faint, green light that promised instant paralysis — or worse.

I spun desperately, my own movements fueled by the panicked, adrenaline-laced clarity of my first true life-or-death battle.

Reflexively, foolishly, I met her hand with my own: palm to palm. The physical impact was a jarring shock that sent a tremor up my arm, but it was the clash of our Qi that was truly revelatory. Her Wood Qi was dense, resilient, imbued with the unyielding life force of an ancient forest. It felt like pushing against a living, growing wall. My Fire Qi, though less dense, was hotter, more volatile — a wild, consuming thing that sought to burn and devour. For a barest, glorious instant, I felt my Fire Qi flare, gaining the upper hand. I felt her Wood Qi begin to char and be consumed under the sheer, incandescent heat of my flames.

A surge of triumphant, desperate hope flared within me.

I can win this!

But it was only a cruel illusion.

The chasm between our realms was not one of quality alone, but of sheer, brutal quantity. My Qi was a mere torch; hers was an ancient, unyielding forest. My fire could scorch the edges of a tree or two, but it could never hope to consume the endless, deep-rooted power she commanded — at least, not quickly enough to matter in combat. Her Wood Qi, impossibly dense and implacable, surged forward, utterly overwhelming my defenses.

It was a horrifying sensation.

I felt it breach my meridians: an alien, invasive presence that felt like being drowned in hot soup. My very essence was being violated, contaminated by the viridian, choking energy of her Dao. It was the single most painful experience of my life. A raw, animalistic scream tore its way from my throat. My arm — the one pressed against hers — immediately went limp, the meridians within cracked and seared.

With a desperate, panicked shove, I was able to break contact, stumbling back, my vision going monochrome at the edges, my now-useless arm hanging in a dead weight at my side.

But my opponent didn't give me even a moment to recover, and the rest of the fight became a brutal, desperate dance for survival. I became a whirlwind of flame, a living inferno, unleashing a near-constant barrage of one-handed Phoenix Talon Strikes and Crimson Feather Darts—small, incredibly fast projectiles of condensed fire.

Lu Mian, however, was an unyielding thicket whose thorns drew ever more blood with each exchange of blows. She met my flame attacks with shields of woven, living wood that would briefly char and burn, but reform a mere instant later. She sent waves of razor-sharp leaves whistling through the air, forcing me to constantly evade, as their edges were sharp enough to slice through steel.

Her attacks were relentless.

Merciless.

Each blow I managed to parry sent a jarring shock through my bones.

Each near-miss left a searing phantom pain as her potent Qi brushed against my skin.

In the past, I had considered myself a genius — and perhaps that was even true for my own age group. But my opponent was not only a major realm stronger in cultivation, but also a seasoned combatant. The gap between us was a chasm I could never hope to overcome.

As I felt my defenses being gradually overwhelmed, my movements grew increasingly frantic, my carefully honed techniques dissolving into desperate, instinctual flailing. I was losing ground, and my Qi reserves were draining at an alarming rate. Then, as I twisted to evade a particularly vicious attack, a phantom, agonizing pain flared through my crippled arm.

For a single, terrifying instant, my balance faltered.

It was an almost imperceptible wobble, a mistake that would have been meaningless against a lesser opponent; a brief opening that an average Qi Gathering cultivator might have missed entirely.

But Lu Mian was no amateur. Her eyes, cold and assessing as a hawk's, registered the fatal opening instantly.

She did not hesitate.

A vine-like whip of condensed, emerald-green energy, as thick as my arm and moving with blinding speed, lashed out. It caught me across the chest, and the world dissolved into a brutal symphony of blood, torn flesh, and pure, white-hot agony. I felt my ribs crack, a sickening, grinding sound that echoed in my own ears. The force of the blow sent me flying across the room — a broken doll — to crash against the far wall. Slowly, agonizingly, I slid down to the floor, my vision tunneling to a pinpoint of grey, the coppery taste of my own blood filling my mouth.

As I lay there, bleeding out on the polished floor, the last of my strength fading, I heard her approach and stand over me. For the first time, I detected a flicker of emotion in her voice—not malice, not triumph, but a kind of cool, professional respect.

"What a waste of talent," she murmured regretfully. "You truly are impressive, do you know that? It is almost unheard of for one still in the Qi Gathering stage to manage to not only defend against, but actually injure a Foundation Establishment cultivator. Enter the next life with pride, knowing that you have earned my respect."

I tried to respond, but could manage no words as the strength rapidly left my body.

The darkness closed in: an all-consuming, suffocating shroud.

The cold, moonlit office vanished.

Gradually, the searing pain in my chest, the taste of blood, the chilling finality of Lu Mian's words—all of it dissolved away like smoke. I was adrift, a disembodied point of awareness in a silent, featureless void.

But the cold of death was a fleeting sensation, replaced by a heat so profound, so absolute, that it had no temperature to compare to.

It was the conceptual heat of creation itself.

Suddenly, I found myself adrift in a sea of pure, liquid fire—a vast, churning ocean of molten gold and shimmering crimson that stretched forth to an infinite horizon. The waves were not water, but slow, deliberate swells of raw, creative energy —their crests breaking in silent, brilliant sprays of fiery starlight. The air itself was a shimmering, breathable flame that tasted of primordial, ancient power. Above, the sky was a vast, vaulted canopy of deepest obsidian darkness, punctured by a billion-billion burning stars that felt — somehow — like tangible celestial embers, drifting slowly, majestically, through the void.

I knew, with a certainty that transcended mere thought, that this was the source of my power. The wellspring of my Fire spirit root.

And I was not here alone.

I felt a presence in the heart of that inferno. It was not an external being, but a part of myself that had, on some level, always been with me — but one I had never truly known. It was an ancient, primal consciousness that had slumbered in the deepest, most secret chambers of my soul for a blind, nameless eternity.

It was a will made of pure, unadulterated pride.

An indistinct memory of soaring through boundless heavens between stars.

A power that had once ignited the very sun.

The Phoenix was awake.

I felt it reach out to me — not with hands, but with a torrent of pure sensation, a flood of ancient purpose. It did not speak, but I heard its voice all the same: a silent symphony that resonated in the very core of my being. It embraced me — not with mere arms, but with the totality of its existence; and, in that moment, it began to bleed into me.

And suddenly, I was not just Su Lian anymore.

I was a creature of pure, untamed, primordial flame.

My previous sense of self — the insecure girl who had been shamed and beaten and betrayed — dissolved utterly, her form breaking apart into a billion motes of golden light. Each one a memory. A tear. A flicker of rage and pain.

These motes were drawn into the molten sea.

Consumed.

And then… reborn.

I coalesced once again — no longer as a body of fragile flesh and bone, but as a being of light and flame.

I watched, with a detached, transcendent awe, as new bones — forged from cooling magma, impossibly light yet stronger than any spirit metal — gave me a new, perfect form. My new heart — a star of condensed celestial fire — ignited in my chest, its first beat a silent, explosive shockwave that sent ripples across the infinite, fiery sea.

And then, came the feathers. They did not grow, but erupted from my ethereal limbs — each one a perfect, shimmering filament of pure, incandescent energy; a cascade of liquid gold and burning crimson.

With a silent, explosive roar that was not a sound so much as a pure assertion of will, I emerged from the heart of that inner volcano. I broke through the crust of my own dying consciousness — shattering the encroaching darkness — and soared into the heavens within my own soul.

The world—the petty squabbles of clans, the ambitions of elders, the sting of humiliation, even the cold touch of death—all of it fell away, shrinking into an insignificant, distant speck below.

Instead, a surge of pure, unadulterated pride, an ancient, indomitable power that had slept for generations, filled me.

This has always been my destiny!

My birthright!

Who is this no-name creature of wood and leaf — a voice that was at once mine and not mine, ancient and terrible and beautiful in equal measure, spoke in the depths of my being — that she dares to oppose a Phoenix?

+++

The world snapped back into focus with the violence of a physical blow. The polished floor of the Elder's office was cold beneath my back, the air thick with the scent of ozone and something else—the smell of burning wood.

My eyes flew open.

In an instant, my body was propelled upright as a pillar of the purest, incredibly bright Fire Qi exploded forth from my dantian in an overwhelming upward torrent so potent that it made the very air in the room shimmer and warp with heat. The expensive spirit wood furniture in the immediate vicinity began to smolder, the intricate carvings blackening and curling into ash.

Ghostly wings of flame, vast and impossibly beautiful, unfurled majestically behind me. They were not solid constructs, but woven from threads of pure, golden Fire Qi… and as they beat — once, twice — they scattered embers of that same light across the polished floor, each one burning a tiny, black pockmark into the wood.

The gaping, bloody wound in my chest, the shattered ribs, the violated meridians in my arm—all of it was consumed and remade by the Fire. I felt a pleasant tingle as my flesh sizzled and knit back together, the bones grinding and fusing with impossible speed. Even the invading Wood Qi that had once been a suffocating presence inside me was now nothing more than kindling, a welcome fuel for my… resurrection.

Lu Mian, who had been in the process of turning towards her Elder, whirled back around, her face a mask of sheer, uncomprehending terror. Her eyes had a fraction of a second to widen at the sight of my recovery… but before she could even raise a hand in defense, I was upon her. My hand, wreathed in a corona of white-hot flame that burned with the intensity of a miniature sun, plunged directly through her chest, piercing her heart.

Her dying scream came out as a half-gurgle and half-hiss: a sound that was consumed by the roar of my Fire as I felt her body being burned to ashes from the inside out.

Then, I stood victorious.

Panting.

Exhausted.

My new power a wild, untamed storm within me, the ghostly wings of flame slowly, reluctantly, folding back into my being.

Elder Yue Qingxue raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a flicker of genuine academic interest in her icy eyes.

"I was under the impression that your kind has been fully exterminated… although, I suppose this makes some sense in retrospect. Oh, my… how delightfully… interesting," she murmured.

My newly awakened Phoenix spirit screamed a silent, instinctual warning. The fire within me, the power that had felt so absolute, so indomitable only moments before, actually recoiled.

But there was nowhere to run.

A wave of immobilizing Qi, cold and heavy as a glacier, washed over me with impossible speed. It was not a physical force, but a spiritual one — a pressure that instantly seeped into my meridians, my Dantian, my very soul. The fire within me — that wild, untamable storm — was not exactly extinguished, but… contained.

Smothered.

Forced unceremoniously back into a dormant, slumbering state by a power so far beyond my own that it was not unlike an ant trying to wrestle with a fox.

My limbs grew heavy, unresponsive, as if encased in unseen ice.

The whisps of flame within my meridians sputtered and died.

From the sleeve of the Elder's hand, a single, simple-looking talisman of pale blue spirit paper fluttered forth. It seemed to move with a slow, almost lazy grace, yet it crossed the distance between us in a mere moment. It landed softly on my forehead, and the weight I felt was not that of paper, but of a mountain.

My entire world faded away into a hazy oblivion.