High atop one of the Li Clan's ancestral peaks, within a seclusion chamber nearly as grand as Li Tian's own, Ancestor Li Xian's eyes snapped open.
A flicker of irritation crossed his ancient features. That scream – raw, powerful, and utterly disruptive – had pierced his deep meditation. "Which insolent fool dares?" he thought, a surge of protective anger rising within him. Disturbing the ancestral grounds, especially while the clan's pillars were in seclusion, was tantamount to treason.
With the imposing grace honed over millennia, Li Xian rose and stepped out of his chamber onto the wind-swept peak. The air was thin and cold, carrying the lingering echo of that anguished cry. He extended his powerful spiritual sense, tracing the disturbance back to its source, prepared to deliver a harsh reprimand, or perhaps worse. His senses locked onto the origin point, and his expression shifted from anger to sheer, dumbfounded shock.
"Wait... Tian? Impossible!" The energy signature was unmistakable. It was Li Tian, the clan's most prodigious genius in generations, the one currently undertaking a monumental thousand-year seclusion. Li Xian stood frozen for a moment, confusion warring with a dawning sense of worry.
Just then, another figure materialized beside him, coalescing from the mountain mist – Ancestor Li Fang, his face etched with similar concern.
"Xian'er!" Li Fang's voice was urgent. "You felt it too? That sound... it wasn't just loud, it was... fractured. Full of despair. It came from young Tian's peak, didn't it?"
Li Xian nodded grimly, his gaze fixed on the distant chamber where Li Tian resided. "Indeed, Fang'er. I felt it too. Unprecedented. He's been silent as undisturbed stone for centuries now. For him to cry out like that..."
Li Fang stroked his long, white beard, his brow deeply furrowed. "A thousand years aiming for the Half-Step Immortal realm... It's an immense leap, fraught with peril. Could it be? A cultivation backlash? Did he encounter a barrier he couldn't shatter?"
"It's the most logical, if unfortunate, conclusion," Li Xian conceded, his voice heavy. "He is a peerless genius, blessed by the heavens, but even geniuses face insurmountable bottlenecks.
Perhaps the ambition outpaced the foundation, even slightly... or perhaps fate simply decreed this trial." He sighed, a sound like rustling leaves. "To fail at such a critical juncture... the impact on one's Dao Heart can be devastating. Especially for someone like Tian, who has known almost nothing but meteoric success. It can breed demons in the mind."
"That cry," Li Fang mused, recalling the raw sound. "'NO!'... It speaks of utter rejection, of a failure that cut deep into his spirit. He must be wounded, Xian'er, physically and perhaps more critically, spiritually."
"My thoughts exactly," Li Xian agreed. "His pride, his confidence, likely shattered. We must go to him. Offer our support, our guidance. Remind him that one setback, however significant, does not define his entire path. He needs reassurance now more than ever."
"Agreed," Li Fang nodded solemnly. "But let us approach with care. A wounded genius can be… volatile. His pride needs tending as much as any physical injury." With a shared look of understanding, the two ancient figures began their descent towards Li Tian's secluded peak, their minds bracing for the difficult conversation ahead.
…..
Meanwhile, inside the now-silent cultivation chamber, Li Tian remained seated, but the internal storm had given way to a profound calm. The chaotic energies within him had settled, coalescing into a vast, deep ocean of power. He had not failed; he had succeeded beyond measure. His cultivation base at the True Immortal Realm was now utterly consolidated.
A slow smile spread across his face, radiating pure, unadulterated satisfaction. "This…" he breathed internally, savoring the sensation. "This is power. True control over the elements, a connection to the Dao itself that dwarfs everything before." A wave of pleasure washed over him, deeper and more fundamental than any fleeting physical sensation he'd ever known or even imagined from his Earthly memories. "The ancient texts spoke of enlightenment, of bliss… but this feeling…"
A fleeting, almost incongruous thought flickered through his mind – comparing this profound cosmic satisfaction to the base, urgent release of physical desire he'd read about or vaguely recalled from his hormone-driven youth on Earth. A faint flush crept up his neck. "Ridiculous comparison," he chided himself, though a part of him acknowledged the underlying truth – this was the ultimate fulfillment, the peak of existence he'd sought, even if he'd forgotten why. "And yet…" The thought trailed off, highlighting a stark gap in his experience. "Two wives… cultivators describe the joys of dual cultivation… Lin Hua and Chen Lian… goddesses, truly… and I probably know less than a farm boy about actual intimacy."
The names, Lin Hua and Chen Lian, echoed in his mind, suddenly feeling less like titles and more like specific individuals he had wronged. His elation began to temper, replaced by a dawning, uncomfortable self-awareness. "What good is all this power," he wondered, the grand chamber suddenly feeling a bit empty, "if there's no one to share the journey with? No one to protect, truly?"
He grimaced. "A reality check, indeed," he muttered aloud, the words sharp in the silence. His mind flashed back, not just over the thousand years of seclusion, but the five hundred years before that, since his ceremonial marriage to them both.
"I never paid them any real attention," he admitted internally, the truth stark and unavoidable.
"The weddings were formalities, alliances secured. I guided Lin Hua and Chen Lian to their courtyards, ensured the servants delivered top-tier cultivation resources, pills, manuals… everything they needed materially." His frown deepened. "But I never went myself. Not once. Not in fifteen hundred years."
The sheer scale of his neglect struck him with the force of a physical blow. These women, bound to him by sacred vows, partners in life according to tradition, had been utterly marginalized, treated more like honored guests he occasionally sent supplies to than actual wives. A profound sense of remorse began to bloom in his chest, tight and painful. He wasn't just a neglectful cultivator; he had failed fundamentally in his responsibilities as a husband, as a partner.
"This changes," he resolved, the decision solidifying with the certainty of his newfound cultivation base. "This changes now. I need to bridge this distance I created."
A flicker of optimism sparked within him. "Surely, they'll be happy to see me?" he pondered aloud, picturing himself approaching them, perhaps with a genuine smile this time, ready to act like the husband he should have been all along. "Perhaps they missed me? I can finally show them… affection. Care." He imagined Lin Hua's mature grace, Chen Lian's vibrant, tiger-like energy. Maybe now, with his past life's regrets tempering his cultivator's coldness, he could finally appreciate them, connect with them... perhaps even understand the deeper bonds between man and woman, husband and wife…
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips, a fleeting, almost involuntary flicker of long-suppressed, base male desire thinking about the intimate aspects of marriage he'd only read about in dusty scrolls. The smirk faltered almost immediately, vanishing as another memory surfaced, sharp and unwelcome, dousing his nascent optimism like ice water.
Wait. His eyes widened slightly in horror. The letters… their journeys… He remembered Lin Hua's persistent requests years ago – polite at first, then more frequent – wanting permission to visit her home clan, to explore some newly discovered ancient ruins. He recalled his own growing irritation, the impatience of a cultivator focused solely on his next breakthrough. He remembered scribbling those dismissive letters, one to Lin Hua, one to Chen Lian.
"Go where you please," he'd written, or something to that effect. "Your path is your own. Do not bother me with such trivialities again." He'd thought it assertive at the time, establishing boundaries, freeing himself from distractions. Now, the memory made his stomach churn.
He sucked in a sharp breath, the realization hitting him fully. "Holy hells… what have I done?"
The air around him grew palpably colder, the immense power of the True Immortal Realm cultivator unconsciously leaking out, not as ambient energy, but as a razor edge honing itself in the depths of his soul. His earlier optimism curdled into a potent mix of regret and rising dread.
"Fifteen hundred years," the number echoed brutally in his mind. "Not five hundred. Not one thousand. One thousand five hundred years I left them essentially alone." He hadn't just neglected them; he'd actively pushed them away, given them carte blanche to wander a world far more dangerous and treacherous than Earth.
This wasn't a place where vows were always sacred. Adultery, betrayal, schemes – they were woven into the fabric of the cultivation world. Brothers turned on brothers for resources; sects betrayed alliances for gain. And women, especially stunningly beautiful women like Lin Hua and Chen Lian – one a mature, elegant beauty, the other possessing the fierce allure of the Heavenly Tiger Clan – were constant targets.
Talented young masters, powerful older cultivators, opportunistic schemers… Had his wives, feeling abandoned and neglected for centuries, remained faithful? Could anyone resist temptation or coercion for that long, especially when their own husband showed zero interest?
"I gave them freedom," he thought bitterly, "in a world full of wolves, while I locked myself away." The potential consequences crashed down on him. Had they found companionship elsewhere? Had they been coerced? Had they simply moved on, building lives entirely separate from the husband who was a husband in name only?
The cold aura around him sharpened, coalescing into a distinct, chilling killing intent. It wasn't directed at his wives, not yet. It was aimed at the situation, at his own monumental stupidity, and at any potential third party who might have dared to encroach upon what was his, however neglected.
He clenched his jaw, his expression hardening into a mask of grim resolve. The path ahead suddenly seemed fraught with emotional landmines. He had to find them.
He had to face them. He had to uncover the truth of their lives during his long absence. And he had to be prepared to confront the consequences, whatever they might be, even if it meant facing the possibility of betrayal, a betrayal born from his own unforgivable neglect. The weight of his past actions settled upon him, heavy and suffocating.