Chapter 181 - 19

The air cracked.

A flash of blue lightning seared through the canopy, and a spear thrust forward like a god's fury. Opposite it, a flicker of black shadow split the earth, and a sword arced upward in silence.

Boom. Crack.

The two figures clashed again and again in blurs of motion. The forest trembled from the aftershocks. Trees swayed, leaves spiraled down in flurries, and bark split from trunks as if the entire grove were recoiling in fear.

Tao Long's spear twisted mid-air, breaking through the cascade of slashes coming from the dark figure before him. His robes, white with blue trimmings, rippled in the force of their movements, each motion accompanied by the roar of thunder.

Liang Na moved like a living shadow, her sword a whisper of death in the dim underbrush. Her every strike was measured, elegant, and deliberate. She was quick, quicker than most, but not quick enough.

"You're not fighting an inferior," Tao Long's voice came cool and calm as he weaved past her latest strike, his spear reversing with deceptive ease. "You should have known better."

She said nothing, gritting her teeth as she twisted her blade to parry. Their weapons met mid-air with a flash, lightning grinding against darkness.

Then, silence.

The next instant, Liang Na was on the ground, her blade clattering to the side as her knees buckled. Tao Long stood over her, unmoving, his spear lowered but still crackling faintly with residual force.

The forest had fallen still.

The rustle of the last falling leaf seemed louder than it should have been, brushing against the tension in the air.

Tao Long's stance was statuesque and imperious. His eyes narrowed, silver-blue like an oncoming storm, watched as Liang Na pushed herself upright. Dirt clung to her palms and knees. Blood trickled down the side of her mouth, but she neither whimpered nor cried.

Their sparring had lasted only a few minutes.

A blur of shadow and light.

And now… lies her defeat.

Tao Long didn't speak immediately. He let the silence stretch long enough for the weight of failure to settle into her chest. She felt it, just as he had intended.

Then, he spoke, low and cold.

"Take this lesson to heart."

His tone carried no anger, only the quiet disdain of one who had expected more. His gaze didn't waver. "I am sparing your life out of deference to the Lord of Yellow Dragon City. Consider it a gift, as I have no interest in the blood of my fellow warriors, no matter their station."

Liang Na's head dipped. Her breaths came sharp and shallow as she steadied herself on trembling legs. The loss burned, but so did the clarity it brought.

She lifted her eyes, calm despite the sting of pain and pride. "I offer my thanks, Senior Tao Long," she said, her voice steady, humble. "I will learn from this."

He gave a slight nod.

Then he turned, the storm dispersing with him, leaving behind a woman humbled and a forest bearing the scars of their clash.

With a thought, Tao Long crossed hundreds of miles.

"Hmmm… Did she follow me?"

No, she didn't.

The forest was quiet again.

Leaves fluttered in the still air, and the scent of torn bark lingered after the clash. Tao Long stood amidst the broken clearing, his spear lowered, yet his mind far from calm.

His eyes fell to the weapon in his hand, Dra-kon Mar.

It pulsed faintly with a silver-blue glow, casting soft reflections against the dark soil. The shaft was unlike any material Tao Long had ever encountered: neither jade nor steel, but something far older… far stranger.

And the blade… It was razor-thin, curved like a fang, and hummed in resonance with his spirit, as if acknowledging him.

He turned the weapon slowly in his palm, fingers tracing the etched patterns near the base. The intricate carvings shimmered faintly, like ancient runes waiting to be spoken aloud.

A gift.

No… a loan.

The Outsider had given it to him. Da Wei, a man who was not a man. A cultivator who had not crawled through the heavens as the rest of them had, but had fallen from somewhere else entirely, a being of another world, another logic. Thus, the term Outsider.

"Dra-kon Mar," Tao Long's lips curled faintly. "You're not just a weapon, are you?" he muttered to Dra-kon Mar.

The spear vibrated subtly, as if answering.

There was power here. Unstable, unshaped, and dangerous. Tao Long could feel it settling into the marrow of his bones, nudging his instincts. It responded not just to technique, but to will. It was no ordinary tool. It was a mirror of the one who'd wielded it before.

Da Wei.

"Or maybe I am just overthinking it."

However, Tao Long knew better.

"That man is a paradox," Tao Long thought. Too reckless to live long. Too stubborn to die quickly."

He had no illusions about their difference in strength anymore.

When they first met, Tao Long had weighed the man, measured his worth, and prepared for execution. It had been his mission, after all.

The Outsiders had to die.

And yet… Da Wei still lived.

Tao Long exhaled, long and tired. His hand clenched around the spear. "Perhaps," he said aloud, his voice carrying into the trees, "there is more to this Outsider than I thought."

But the thought did not bring him peace.

His gaze lowered, shadowed by the weight behind it. He was not a free man. Not truly. He never had been.

The mission had come from Shouquan, his superior within the Ward. The orders were clear: eliminate the Outsiders and secure the Ward's place as the Empire's indispensable weapon. That was the ideal they sold to the Emperor: a shield to defend against chaos.

But it was never just about protection.

It was about power.

Tao Long had made his choice. When he couldn't kill the Outsiders because of the difference in strength and the fact that the prophecy happened anyway, he instead accepted a bribe: a favor, a treasure, and a promise in exchange for letting fate do the work. That was essentially what Drakon Mar was: a bribe.

So, in a series of unprecedented chances and through deductive reasoning, Tao Long had chosen the path that would benefit him the most. That was why he…

Let Da Wei walk into Hell's Gate.

Let him die fighting the demons.

Let the problem resolve itself.

That was the idea.

And if he succeeded? If Da Wei survived, the world might change for better or worse. If he died, Tao Long could claim the spear, report success, and keep his conscience untouched.

That had been the unspoken gamble. But the gamble had gone wrong.

"He was supposed to die…"

Tao Long's jaw tightened.

"What am I supposed to say to Shouquan?"

Tao Long had failed to bring results. Instead, he had returned with rumors of an Outsider who had tamed the flames of Hell and bore a weapon not even the heavens understood.

What was worse, Tao Long had no more answers than before.

His superiors wanted strength. He had returned with questions. He looked again at Dra-kon Mar, letting its weight settle in his hand. The hum was there again. It was gentle, curious, and beckoning. A reminder that he had touched something beyond his reach.

"I can't contact Shouquan like this…"

He sighed deeply, the breath tasting of regret.

It had never been about gold, or weapons, or favor. Tao Long had wanted certainty, a clean outcome, and a justified end. But the moment he hesitated, the moment he chose pragmatism over principle, the path before him twisted.

"I shouldn't have accepted this spear and made everything so much more complicated."

Tao Long moved through the forest without sound.

His robes were pristine, unmarred by the earlier battle, his gait smooth and steady, but his eyes were distant. The path twisted beneath the shadow of tall, old trees, their branches forming a canopy too dense for starlight. It was the kind of place only those with purpose or fearlessness would tread.

Eventually, he reached it: a hidden alcove, nestled behind a curtain of ivy and a jutting cliff face. It wasn't visible to the naked eye, not unless one knew to look between the angles of natural misdirection. He stepped into it and raised his hand.

"Seal," he commanded softly.

A pulse of energy rippled out from his palm, forming a formation circle along the borders of the alcove. One by one, sigils carved into the earth glowed faintly before vanishing from sight: concealment formations, distortion barriers, and a soft field of temporal delay. He wasn't going to be disturbed. Not even the heavens could scry this place now.

But he wasn't done.

With a quiet breath, he lifted his right hand to the sky.

"Rain."

The word was not spoken with spiritual command, but with divine authority, cultivated through centuries of precise mastery.

Clouds gathered above the forest, thick and heavy. Within moments, the drizzle began, then thickened to a gentle, soaking rain. The sound of droplets on leaves cloaked the world, and the scent of fresh water over soil masked the spirit traces in the area.

Only then did Tao Long finally sit.

He leaned against a moss-covered stone, knees crossed, posture relaxed but ready. The rhythmic rainfall drummed around him like a lullaby, but his mind was anything but peaceful.

The Ward.

His lips twitched into something between a smile and a grimace. He wasn't blind to their flaws, no, not anymore. There had been a time, long ago, when he thought the Ward was pure. A noble force for balance and justice. A necessary weapon against the Greater Universe: the looming unknown, filled with gods and monsters, Outsiders and Eternal threats.

They had to be ready. That was what Shouquan always said.

"Tao Long… if we don't ready the sword, the blade will find our throat first."

It had made sense, once.

He exhaled and reached into his sleeve, pulling free a wooden disk no larger than a teacup. Worn smooth by age, it bore no inscriptions. But when he flicked his finger across the surface, it shimmered with a pale golden light. Tao Long set it afloat before him, and it hovered in the misty alcove, spinning slowly.

From the rain and the fog, a mirage of a man emerged.

Stooped, thin, yet bearing a terrible gravity, Shouquan stood with his hands behind his back. His beard reached his belt. His brows were sharp as blades. His gaze, even through illusion, carried pressure.

He did not waste time.

"How's your mission?" he asked.

Tao Long looked at him without standing. "Terrible."

Shouquan blinked once. That was more than most got from him.

Tao Long didn't bother dressing the truth. "I arrived too late. The Hell's Gate had already opened. The target…" he paused, "the Outsider and his goldfish, had already instigated the opening of the Gate by the time I reached them. However, I am loath to say I don't understand the full picture yet… So far, I am limited by the facts available to me."

Shouquan's brow twitched. "Is that really it?"

"I never got the chance to stop them," Tao Long said, voice dry. "I was prepared to challenge them… but the Gate opened prematurely. I thought it would kill them."

"It didn't."

"No," Tao Long admitted. "Seeing where it was going, I saw it as pointless to engage him in combat. I planned to retreat and convene with the Emperor. But then, the Outsider by the name of Da Wei offered me a deal."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the hiss of rainfall.

Shouquan narrowed his eyes. "What deal?"

Tao Long showed the spear loaned to him. "This, in exchange for escorting the goldfish turned human, Ren Jingyi, to a man called Jiang Zhen."

Shouquan's eyes fluttered closed. He hummed, not unlike a grandfather considering a recipe. But Tao Long knew better than to be fooled by the sound. When Shouquan hummed, nations fell.

"A shame," the old man said quietly. "Da Wei… I've heard his name being whispered in the Greater Universe more than once recently. Strange, he elicits so much interest…."

"This spear was called Dra-kon Mar," Tao Long added, lifting Dra-kon Mar and letting the tip rest against the stone. "It doesn't feel native to this world. It's rare we get Outsider artifacts, so I made the executive decision to promptly accept this deal."

"I see, so do you plan to refine the weapon?"

"It was given," Tao Long corrected. "On loan." 

So he couldn't exactly refine it, lest he risk earning Da Wei's ire. There was no need to step on eggshells around him, but Tao Long just thought of a scheme that would benefit him and his organization.

Shouquan grunted.

"Would you have killed him?" he asked, voice calm, too calm.

"What do you mean?" Tao Long met the old man's gaze, thought about his sudden question, and answered. "I thought I could. Once."

"And now?"

A pause. Then a breath. "No."

Rain rolled off the edges of Tao Long's robes as he leaned back slightly. "If the rumors I am getting are to be believed, he managed to block a Hell's Gate all by himself."

There was no shame in the admission. Not anymore.

Shouquan said nothing for a long time. Then finally:

"Strength is rarely the problem. It's the mind. The will. This… Da Wei. Is he loyal to the Empire?"

"No," Tao Long answered. "He's loyal to the people he loves. The rest of the world can burn for all he cares. But… he's not cruel."

"Mm."

That hum again.

"I need more operatives," said Tao Long. "Preferably someone with powerful defense and someone with speed."

Shouquan's eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "Why?"

"Because I'm not enough," Tao Long said. "Da Wei. I don't believe I can contend with him alone, regardless of what advantages our resources can offer me. Not anymore."

"I'd like to maintain a good relationship with him," Tao Long continued. "Feign friendliness. Maybe gain more information. More leverage. However, if it comes to it, I need to be able to deal with him if I find myself suddenly on the back foot."

A pause.

"This can help Ward in more ways than one… For example, with this venture, we can access more Outsider-class treasures."

That earned the faintest twitch in Shouquan's lips. Disapproval? Amusement? It was hard to tell.

"He's generous," Tao Long added, as if that justified everything. "Unusually so. For someone from the Greater Universe, he parts with sacred tools like one might gift fruit. There's power in that sort of confidence. Or foolishness. That's why you are suggesting this change in approach."

"And your plan is to smile at him until he drops another divine spear in your lap?" Shouquan asked dryly.

"If it works," Tao Long said.

The mirage of the old man gave no reaction.

"As for a strategy when it came to confrontation," Tao Long went on, "I suggest we consider sealing him. Or, if possible, ejecting him back to the Greater Universe. Keep the damage to this realm minimal."

Shouquan shook his head.

"Our exorcism methods won't work on him," he said flatly.

Tao Long narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"He doesn't fit," Shouquan said, "into the categories we've prepared for. Not in essence. Not in signature. He's like a coin from a forgotten empire: foreign to our wards, immune to our scripts. You should not think of him as a clay bodhisattva. Or let your greed for his treasure cloud your judgment."

Tao Long's brow creased slightly, but he remained silent.

Shouquan's tone shifted. It became colder, more formal.

"There is a change in policy."

Tao Long stiffened. His fingers curled just slightly around the haft of Dra-kon Mar.

"Regarding Da Wei?" he asked.

"Yes," Shouquan replied. "Effective immediately, the Ward's protocols for dealing with Outsiders are being amended. Special exemptions will now be considered."

"Exemptions?" Tao Long repeated, incredulous.

Shouquan met his gaze without blinking. "Da Wei is no longer to be hunted. You will not interfere with his movements unless provoked. And you will not attempt to seal or eject him from this realm."

A frown deepened on Tao Long's face. Something was wrong.

"Our stance," he said carefully, "has always been clear. Outsiders must be met with violence, cunning, and without prejudice. No exceptions. No mercy."

"There are now exceptions," Shouquan said calmly.

"Why?"

The old man tilted his head slightly. "Because new intelligence has reached us. Devil-class Outsiders have been detected in the Riverfall Continent. Multiple signatures. Their presence is active. Confirmed. Violent."

Tao Long's expression darkened.

"So we let the Outsider roam free… because we have worse problems to deal with?"

"Correct," Shouquan said. "Your primary mission now is to aid the locals. Protect the region. Reduce public panic. If any of these devils establish a foothold, we may lose more than just territory to the Outsiders."

Tao Long was silent for a long moment.

"And Da Wei?"

"Your second objective," Shouquan said, voice unflinching, "is to befriend him."

The word tasted foreign in Tao Long's ears.

"…Befriend?"

"Yes," Shouquan replied. "Not spy on. Not manipulate. Befriend. Earn his trust. It has to be genuine. Cultivate the relationship. The empire has... interest in him now. If he truly is the one who blocked a Hell's Gate, then there may be greater value in alliance than conflict."

Tao Long's thoughts spun in quiet disbelief.

This wasn't policy.

This wasn't them.

And yet… here was the order.

He nodded slowly, not in acceptance, but acknowledgment. "Understood."

"Good," Shouquan said.

Then, as if he could sense the unease radiating from his follower, the old man added, "I do not expect you to like this. But I do expect you to obey."

With that, the image shimmered and vanished. The wooden disk drifted down and gently landed in Tao Long's hand, its glow extinguishing like a lantern snuffed in fog.

The rain was still falling.

Tao Long didn't move for some time.

His thoughts were a quiet storm. The policy shift unsettled him, not because it suggested change, but because it suggested hesitation. And hesitation, in the Ward, was as dangerous as mercy.

He looked down at the spear across his lap. Dra-kon Mar. An artifact from another world. A token from a man who broke the sky.

"What are you really, Da Wei?"

And what did it mean… that the empire had an interest in him?

120 Tea in the Mist

The hill was cloaked in mist, as though the world itself wished to veil what occurred atop its lonely crown. A stone arch, half-cracked by time and weather, stood solemn at its peak, an ancient relic forgotten by all but a few. Beneath it, silent as the mountain wind, stood an old man.

Shouquan.

Robes of silver white, muted gold, and stormy blue fell in ripples about his aged frame. His white hair was tied in a knot, bound by a pin shaped like a crescent moon. Though time had carved lines into his face, his posture was upright, and his gaze held the weight of centuries.

With a languid wave of his hand, the air before him shimmered. In the blink of an eye, a low wooden table of black sandalwood appeared. A soft couch, cushioned with silver-threaded silk, unfurled behind him like a whisper of memory. He lowered himself gracefully into a lotus position atop the couch, his back straight, his breath steady.

Another wave, and a tea set appeared on the table. Porcelain so white it nearly glowed, painted with runes that flickered faintly with light. Steam curled from the spout of the teapot as though it had been waiting to pour all this time.

He did not speak. He only waited.

And then… it arrived.

A ripple passed through the fog. The hill darkened, shadows deepening like a living shroud. Out of the gloom stepped a silhouette, its form shifting like smoke but anchored by two unwavering eyes, if they could be called that. Twin orbs of violet flame, pulsing with unnatural intelligence, stared back at Shouquan.

"Well now," the silhouette said, its voice like silk torn on thorns, smooth yet unnerving. "Expecting a guest, aren't you?"

Shouquan lifted the teapot and calmly poured two cups, the liquid a deep amber.

"And that guest is you," he said simply.

The silhouette paused, then laughed. A rich, low chuckle that echoed strangely in the mist.

"I'm flattered," it replied, taking a step closer, though it cast no shadow. "Most men flee at my scent. But here you are… offering tea."

"I've shared tea with demons and gods alike," Shouquan said, raising his own cup. "You're hardly the worst guest I've had."

The silhouette's flaming eyes flickered in amusement.

"Then you must be very old, old man."

"I am Ward's anchor. Age is not a burden. It is a record."

A faint hush fell between them. The wind seemed to hold its breath.

"And what record do you write today?" the silhouette asked, finally taking a seat across from him. It didn't truly sit, but instead hovered just above the cushion, as though unable or unwilling to touch the world fully.

Shouquan looked into the mist beyond the arch.

"A changing one," he said. "The world shifts. Outsiders grow restless. The lines blur between invader and savior. I have decided not to chase ghosts… but to receive them, and listen."

The silhouette tilted its head.

"And what if the ghost decides to haunt you?"

Shouquan smiled faintly. "Then I'll offer it another cup."

The mist swirled, the hilltop growing colder. Yet in that moment, there was a strange peace: two ancient beings, neither wholly of this world nor apart from it, sipping tea in the eye of the coming storm.

Silently, the flames in the silhouette's eyes dimmed, thoughtful.

"Very well, Shouquan of Ward," it murmured. "Let's talk."

And the tea, warm and fragrant, steamed gently between them.

Shouquan sipped his tea slowly, the warmth soaking into his fingers through the porcelain, the faint scent of jasmine curling upward with the mist that still clung to the lonely hilltop. Across the table, the silhouette with violet-flamed eyes hovered like a mirage, formless yet palpable, a presence that devoured light and echoed of old disasters.

The silence between them had stretched, taut as a drawn bow, but Shouquan's demeanor remained composed, as if this entire meeting were just another entry in his eternal ledger.

Then, casually, almost as if commenting on the weather, he spoke.

"Shenyuan."

He set the cup back on the saucer with a soft clink.

"Stop with the tricks. I know who you are."

The fog did not stir, but the atmosphere turned razor-sharp. The silhouette froze. Its flaming eyes flared as the air around it twisted violently, stirred by an invisible storm. Aura surged from it in erratic bursts: wild, ancient, and suffocating. Trees at the edge of the hill creaked. The very air felt thinner.

But then, just as quickly, it stopped.

The storm vanished like a breath held too long, and Shenyuan, if that was truly what remained beneath the flame-eyed illusion, let out a slow exhale. He raised a single hand, as though in mock surrender, and let it drop lazily back to his side.

"Well, well…" he said, voice no longer playful but edged with something more, respect, perhaps, or a cautious curiosity. "I'm impressed. Not many can pierce my veil, especially not these days. Seems you haven't wasted your years."

Shouquan didn't respond immediately. He poured himself another cup of tea. Slowly. Deliberately. Only when the steam had fully risen did he lift his gaze.

"Your disguise is clever," he said. "But you never truly left your scent behind. The way you anchor your aura. The subtle twists in your phrasing. I've seen enough monsters try to walk as men."

Shenyuan's flaming gaze flickered again, this time, not in amusement, but in contemplation.

"It has been a long time since I walked beyond the Empire's shadow," he admitted, his tone now devoid of theatrics. "I know little of this age. Names change. Powers rise and fall. And I… I have forgotten how to place the faces I meet."

He inclined his head slightly, eyes burning with a new intensity.

"Tell me, then. Who are you? What do they call the man who sips tea while naming ghosts?"

Shouquan scoffed, the sound dry as cracking leaves.

"Even if I were to give you my epithet," he said, "you wouldn't recognize it. You've been gone far too long. The world moved on without you."

Shenyuan paused, letting the words sink in. A silence passed between them again, longer, heavier.

"So be it," Shenyuan said at last, folding phantom arms across his chest. "Then let us speak without masks. You know my name. And now I know I've been noticed by a man worth exchanging words with."

Shouquan sipped his tea again, his face unreadable.

"Then speak carefully," he murmured. "Because I don't forget the atrocity of monsters."

There was an edge to his voice with a hint of challenge.

The mist thickened around the summit, as if the mountain itself wished to hide the confrontation unfolding atop its sacred peak. Shouquan remained seated beneath the ancient stone arch, steam rising gently from the untouched cup of tea in his hands. His expression, ever calm, betrayed nothing, not irritation, not concern. Only timeless watchfulness.

Across from him, the figure cloaked in shadows and violet flame flared with silent impatience.

"Let me through," Shenyuan said.

The words rang with command, like the cracking of stone, echoing through the stillness.

Shouquan raised an eyebrow. He did not flinch. He did not look up.

"No."

A beat passed. The fog swirled.

Then Shenyuan chuckled, low and cold. He spread his arms, as though presenting himself to the heavens.

"What's your price, Gatekeeper?" he asked, voice dripping with condescension and curiosity both.

Shouquan finally looked at him. He did not blink. His eyes, dark and deep as ancient wells, simply watched. It was not a stare of challenge, but of knowing.

Shenyuan took it as an invitation.

"I was told there is a path here," he continued, stepping slowly around the table, circling Shouquan like a wolf gauging an old lion. "A passage to the Greater Universe. A crack in the world's shell that can be opened. The Arch. Or, as it's rarely known, the Arch Gate."

He stopped, directly beneath the arch, the violet light of his eyes gleaming beneath it.

"And you," he said, pointing a finger at Shouquan, "are its warden. Its sentinel. The last Gatekeeper."

He bowed his head slightly, though there was nothing respectful in the gesture.

"So tell me," he asked once more, "what is your price?"

Shouquan let out a soft breath, as though Shenyuan's words were an old song he'd grown tired of hearing.

"The Arch Gate has not opened," he said, "in tens of thousands of millennia. It will not open now."

Silence followed.

Then, with a snarl, Shenyuan struck.

He slapped the table violently, sending the porcelain tea set clattering into the mist. Tea splashed across the stones. Shouquan didn't move.

Shenyuan leaned forward, face inches from the old man's, eyes blazing.

"Don't you know who you're speaking to?" he roared. "I am the One True Death!"

Shouquan's expression didn't even twitch.

"No," he said flatly, "you are not."

The mist trembled.

"You are a fake, a contingency. A shade, conjured by the original Shenyuan, in case he perished in battle. A resurrection tool wearing a soul like borrowed robes."

Shenyuan's flames flared with rage. But Shouquan stood now, rising slowly with the grace of still water, unshaken and unhurried.

"I was there," he said, his voice low but clear, cutting through the fog like a blade. "To be precise, I watched it all happen. I saw the ritual. I saw the blood offerings. I saw you form, like a wound that refused to close. Back then, I was unable to do anything, since my cultivation was at a very sensitive period, but not so much now."

He stepped forward.

"To call you 'Shenyuan' would be far too generous. That name belonged to a man who feared death so much, he fractured himself."

Shenyuan bared spectral teeth. "You…"

But Shouquan spoke over him, not loud, but impossible to ignore.

"Tell me, fake… what deal did you make with the Outsiders?"

The hill went silent. Even the wind seemed to vanish.

The flames in Shenyuan's eyes dimmed for the first time.

Shouquan stared into them, unblinking.

"You reek of them. Their madness coils around your every breath. So answer me: What did they promise you? Power? Completion? A name of your own?"

The silence that followed was not peace, but dread.

And somewhere, far beyond the clouds, the Arch Gate pulsed. Once.

Then all was still again.

The mist swirled like serpents around the ruined arch as silence reigned atop the hill once more. The shattered teacups lay forgotten on the stone floor, fragments glinting faintly in the gray light. Shenyuan stood tall and blazing, though his flames flickered no longer with arrogance, but with something darker. Calculating. Hesitating.

Then he spoke, and his voice was almost gentle.

"They promised me a place."

Shouquan's gaze narrowed.

"In their pantheon," Shenyuan continued, hands lifted slightly, as if offering peace. "A seat among them, as one of their own. The Great Ones do not forget loyalty, Gatekeeper. If you cooperate… they might show you the same grace."

A long pause followed.

Then came Shouquan's reply, not in words at first, but in sound.

A snarl.

Not bestial, but ancient. A sound carved from contempt too deep for civility. It rumbled low from his throat like distant thunder.

"If there's one thing I hate more than the Outsiders…" Shouquan growled, his eyes gleaming with fury that rarely broke the surface of his ageless calm, "it is your kind."

He raised his hand and formed a seal with his fingers, the motion as fluid as the turning of a page.

"Betrayers."

Shenyuan flinched, then screamed.

His shadow, once slithering beneath him like a second skin, unraveled.

Tendrils of darkness tore apart like threads of silk, unraveling into violet wisps of flame that twisted and screamed, writhing as if alive. Shenyuan stumbled backward, clutching at his chest as the ground beneath his feet shuddered.

"No—NOOOO—!"

But Shouquan did not move. He simply watched, his gaze surgical, mind already dissecting the unraveling being before him.

"Shadow Inversion," he murmured, as if reading from a long-forgotten text. "A technique born of sacrilege and stolen fate. That was your secret art, wasn't it? It took a bit of effort, but I managed to dissect it."

Shenyuan gasped, shuddering violently, his form flickering as his essence unraveled.

"In essence, it's a possession technique," continued Shouquan, "Swallow their existence. Twist fate, karma, and destiny, all to serve your own hollow self. As a side-effect of that power, unable to create powerful enough clones, but that's besides the point."

He took a step forward. The Arch Gate behind him pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat buried beneath stone.

"Your Shadow Inversion does not work on me."

Shenyuan's face contorted.

"Just what are you? Are you... An immortal? That's impossible!"

"No," Shouquan replied, voice cold. "I am not. I stopped being immortal long ago. If it's a question of who we are, then we are merely… old monsters, who have too much time on their hands."

His eyes gleamed, reflecting the pale outline of the Arch behind him.

"Let me see a fraction of Shenyuan's power, pitiful clone."

Shenyuan turned, tried to flee, but his form staggered. A rune flared beneath his feet, then another, and another. Glowing script, carved into the stone long before either of them spoke, now activated like a trap waiting for its prey.

The hill itself had become a cage.

Shouquan had sealed the hill!

"You're not going anywhere."

Shenyuan howled, a monstrous echo of fury and desperation, but his flames dimmed. The trap gnawed at his form, draining his essence, pulling his soul apart piece by piece.

"You will speak," Shouquan said, eyes like blades. "You will tell me everything about the Outsiders. Their plans. The deals you struck."

Shenyuan writhed, his limbs dissolving into ash and fire, but he could not escape.

"And when I have all I need…" Shouquan's voice dropped to a whisper, chilling and cold as the grave, "I shall delight in your suffering."

The battle began in silence, as many ancient wars did, without witnesses, without drums, and without time.

Shenyuan's scream echoed into the fog, twisting into a storm that swallowed the sky. Violet fire lashed across the hilltop like a tide of annihilation, devouring clouds, burning runes into the very air. Shadows from other worlds bled into the soil, pulling monstrous shapes from the gaps between dimensions. Wraiths of fate—dead gods, forgotten names, warped echoes—rose and fell in his wake.

Shouquan met it all in silence.

He did not roar.

He did not chant.

He merely moved, his fingers drawing seals in the air, his breath steady, his steps like flowing water. With every attack from Shenyuan, Shouquan responded not with equal force but with perfectly tailored counters. As if he had fought this battle before. As if he had already seen every outcome.

Days passed like minutes.

Weeks bled into months.

The world outside the hill forgot the two titans entirely. The fog never parted. The sun did not rise. All light bent around the place as if unwilling to bear witness.

Shenyuan grew more desperate as time wore on. He burned through vessels, consumed lives bound in karmic chains, and shattered his own essence again and again to try and touch the Arch Gate. And Shouquan? He stood still in the storm, unmoved, unchanging, his robes unsoiled, his aura calm as an undisturbed sea.

"Why!" Shenyuan had roared in one of his many final moments, voice broken, form flickering like a dying flame. "Why won't you fall?!"

Shouquan only answered once.

"Because I've already fallen to the lowest I'd ever go."

And then, at last, Shenyuan crumbled. His form, twisted beyond recognition, collapsed before the Arch Gate. What remained of his soul, a flicker of violet, dim and tattered, drifted upward like the last breath of a dying star.

But just before he vanished, he moved.

A final twitch. A last curse.

A fragment of his inverted karma, coiled and silent until now, lashed out.

It struck the Arch.

And the Arch groaned.

Stone cracked, not physically, but in ways that could not be seen. The seal of the Greater Universe buckled, however faintly. Invisible fault lines spread through the gate's essence, like a spiderweb of doom across eternity.

Shouquan stepped forward too late.

He placed a hand on the Arch. It pulsed faintly, but the wound was already there. A scar that would not fade.

And in that moment, he felt it.

His cultivation, once vast as the sky, dipped. A sliver of it, gone. Not destroyed, but redirected, bound now in the act of containing the Gate's wound. Like a man pressing his body into a breach to stop a flood.

He staggered, just slightly. A first in eons.

Shouquan clenched his jaw. He did not curse. He did not mourn.

But he looked up into the heavens, where the Greater Universe slumbered beyond the veil, and whispered:

"The Gate is cracked. The locks weakened. The storm will come sooner than expected."

He turned, eyes dim but resolute.

"I won this battle… but I do not know if I can win the next."

The hilltop, scorched and quiet, returned once more to silence. Only the wind remained, howling through the broken arch, whispering secrets into a world not yet ready to hear them.

121 Dream Walking

After the final stroke of my brush, I let the tip linger, trembling ever so slightly as if the painting itself didn't want to end.

Nongmin and Xin Yune stood together beneath the bodhi tree, still and eternal on the silk scroll I'd stretched across the wooden frame. The mother's smile, the son's weary eyes, the way her hand curled around his sleeve like she was holding him back from fading… I'd captured it all, or so I hoped. Art never got you the full truth, just the shadow of it. But maybe that shadow was enough.

I bowed my head to the painting. Then, without a word, I rolled it up, sealed it in a jade tube, and left it leaning against the tree where Xin Yune had vanished into lotus motes.

"That's some magical pigments, Your Majesty… They dry rather well…"

My poor attempt at casual conversation was met with silence.

Nongmin didn't look at me when I left. He stood motionless in the garden, wrapped in moonlight and silence, his back to the world. I could've said something,I don't know, maybe a condolence, maybe a prayer. But in the end, I figured he needed the night more than my company. Even someone like him should have the right to mourn in peace.

So I walked.

The palace stretched vast and quiet under the stars. I let my feet carry me, eventually climbing onto the tiled roof of the eastern pavilion. No guards stopped me, though I sensed them. Divine Sense bloomed in my mind like ink in water: four presences nearby, light-footed but alert. Watching. Waiting. Professionals.

I sat down cross-legged and gave them a lazy wave.

"Don't worry," I said into the breeze. "I'm not here to defect or explode. Just looking."

None of them answered. One of them shifted slightly on the western tower, but that was it. Good. I didn't feel like explaining myself.

So I tilted my head back and looked up.

The stars here were different. I'd noticed before, in passing, but tonight it really hit me. I couldn't find a single constellation I knew. No Orion, no Big Dipper, no Cassiopeia. Just endless scatterings of silver light, cold and sharp and unfamiliar. They were beautiful, sure, but they weren't mine.

Back on Earth, I used to teach kids how to find the North Star. Simple stuff, really. Draw a line through the two outer stars of the Big Dipper's bowl, go five lengths, boom, Polaris. Anchor point of the northern hemisphere. Some of the kids thought it was magic. Some of them couldn't care less. I used to joke that it didn't matter where you were; so long as you could find the stars, you could always find your way home.

Turns out that was a lie.

Because now I was staring at an alien sky, under the eaves of an imperial palace in a world full of sword cultivators and spirit beasts and emperors who moved nations like pieces on a Go board. The stars above me were silent. Not one of them told me where I was or how far I'd fallen.

I let out a breath. Cold, clear air filled my lungs.

"So this is it, huh?" I murmured to the sky. "Whole new world. No constellations. No compass. Just me and the absurdity of surviving it all."

It didn't answer. Just shimmered.

A breeze rolled across the rooftop. I leaned back on my hands and let it wash over me. There was a strange sense of finality to it. Like something had ended, and not just Xin Yune's life. Maybe it was the way she faded. Maybe it was the look on Nongmin's chibi face. Or maybe it was just the quiet.

I wasn't naive. I still had beef with the Emperor. Big ones. The kind that didn't go away with a pretty sunset and a tearful goodbye. But even so, even in the middle of my grudge, I couldn't bring myself to interrupt his grief. Not tonight.

A mother had died. That counted for something, even in a world like this.

I scratched my head and sighed. "I'm too sentimental for a cultivator. No wonder they find me weird." Somewhere below, a bell chimed softly. Midnight.

Above, the stars refused to rearrange themselves into anything I recognized. And yet… I kept watching.

Because even if I couldn't find home in the sky anymore, maybe I could find it somewhere else. Maybe, not tonight, not yet, but eventually.

For now, the rooftop was quiet. And the stars, though foreign, were still beautiful.

I leaned back, letting the cool night air settle into my skin as the stars above continued to mock me with their unfamiliarity. Then I closed my eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I could feel the weight of my cultivation stirring beneath the surface of my skin, like a vast ocean waiting for a command. So I gave it one.

With a flex of Willpower, sharp and clean, I shut down the nervous hum of my nerves, the tension in my shoulders, the restless thrum of my spirit. I didn't just sleep. I commanded my body to obey.

It was like guiding a river with my bare hands, but I had fine control now. Mind Enlightenment might not be flashy, but it gave me clarity where others had chaos. Add to that the sheer brute force of my stats and training, and sleep came not as a thief in the night, but as a soldier under orders.

"Divine Word: Rest." The skill triggered, echoing faintly in the hollows of my consciousness.

It was overkill. Absolutely. But I didn't care.

The world blurred.

Then… nothing.

When I opened my eyes, it wasn't with my real ones. The dreamscape unfurled like a canvas dipped in memory and warped by longing. Fog drifted across unseen paths. The colors were inconsistent, saturated in some places, bleached in others. Imperfect.

I could tell. The Cloud Mist Dream-Walking Technique had its uses, sure, but my understanding of it was still shallow. I'd cobbled it together from a few notes and firsthand improvisation. It worked, but like a house of cards in the rain. Shoddy.

If the Emperor ever gave me access to his library, his real library, not the polished garbage he let the Inner Court shuffle through… if Xin Yune's witness accounts were to be believed, I was confident I could build a true dreamwalking method, something stable and refined. But that was a problem for another day.

Tonight, I was chasing something different.

I wasn't here to be haunted. I'd had enough of those memories.

I was here for the good ones.

The fog thinned, and in the distance, I saw her. Gu Jie, blunt as a hammer, eyes like frost-covered steel. She stood with her arms crossed, just like when we first met.

"You've got a death wish," she'd said back then. "But at least you've got manners."

She gave me a look even now, in memory, that said don't get soft on me.

"I can't believe the dream version of her was more snappy than the real one though…"

The vision shifted, and suddenly I was in that wind-blown cliffside courtyard, standing across from Jiang Zhen. His sleeves fluttered in the breeze, hands folded behind his back, that signature smile on his face, half-amused, half-wary.

"I thought you were a beggar at first," he'd said with a laugh. "Turns out, you're worse."

Another flicker, and then I was at a pond.

My fingers dipped into the water, and a tiny goldfish swam circles around my hand, glinting with rainbow hues. I remembered that moment too well. I'd wanted the fish because I felt like the world owed me one gentle thing.

Then Lu Gao's tent reappeared, its old patched cloth flapping in the desert wind, that absurd self-styled stew bubbling over a fire. Why desert? Because my dream decided it to be one… He'd shared everything with me: stories, food, names of stars he couldn't even pronounce properly.

"People think you gotta be strong to survive," he said. "I say you just need someone to eat with."

Ren Xun's voice cut through next. Not harsh, just clear.

"Don't let them twist you, Boss. You're not like them."

His hand on my shoulder. His conviction. The first person who looked at me and didn't just see a fool or an opportunity. Ren Xunw as strangely perceptive like that.

And then… Joan. Alice. My girls.

I hadn't seen them in years. Back on Earth, Joan used to be my online girlfriend, and Alice was an NPC crush of sorts. It was… complicated… I kind of wished to see my fellow gamers in this dreamscape though. For some reason, it was Alice and Joan appearing who had become quite a duo, huh?

Joan was still chewing on something. "Weird monsters again? Ten bucks says they explode."

Why was she talking like that? Of course, she was talking like that, because that was how I remembered her.

Alice adjusted her gloves. "You still owe me from last time."

It was absurd, seeing them here. But comforting.

The dream pulsed and shifted again. The air got heavier.

Now I stood in front of Hell's Gate.

Darkness. Pressure. Screams muffled behind stone. The remnants of the Shadow Clan stood at my back, blades trembling in their hands. We were too few. Too tired. Too broken. But I remembered gripping my sword and saying,

I let the dream ripple, soaking in those fragments. It wasn't all of it. Not even close. But it was enough.

A lot had happened.

Escalation after escalation. No real breaks. Just reaction after reaction, until I barely recognized the face in the mirror. I was stronger now, sure. Wiser, maybe. But also heavier. Like every victory came with a toll.

Still… those memories reminded me why I kept going.

It wasn't for glory. Not revenge. Not even survival.

It was for them. The ones who stood beside me. The ones who smiled, who joked, who shared their fire or a bowl of soup when nothing made sense. The ones who looked at me and didn't ask for anything but honesty.

My dream-self sat in the middle of all those moments like a traveler resting beneath the stars.

I didn't know how long I'd stayed like that.

Maybe it was only a minute.

Maybe a lifetime.

But for once, I didn't want to wake up.

And then there was her.

Xin Yune.

Even in this makeshift dreamscape, the memory of her wasn't foggy. It was clear. Painfully clear. Like she'd just left the room, and the air was still warm with her presence.

I didn't conjure her into this dream. I didn't have to. Her memory walked its own path, just out of sight, just beyond reach.

She sure was… an experience.

Challenging, sharp-tongued, and unexpectedly kind. The kind of woman who could stitch your soul and gut you with the same hand, depending on her mood. I still remembered the way she laughed when I told her I summoned her son by threatening to make her pole-dance. I should've known she'd take that in stride.

Sigh.

So why was I here, really?

Yes, alright, part of it was to relieve myself. Dreams were useful for that: clearing the gunk and softening the emotional static. But there was something deeper I was digging for, even if I couldn't put it into words just yet.

The dream fog thickened, and as I stepped through it, I found myself standing before a mirror.

Except it wasn't me.

It was him.

Dave.

Full plate armor. Silver gleaming with divine inscriptions, etched into the Wandering Adjudicator's design like war poetry. The cross insignia pulsed faintly on his chest. He stood atop a mound of corpses: warriors, monsters, devils, and even a few familiar silhouettes of fallen enemies.

"Dave," I said, folding my arms. "What the hell are you doing?"

He didn't answer. Not verbally.

He raised Silver Steel, that bastard of a sword, and in a flash of motion, used Flash Step, as he appeared right in front of me. The air cracked like lightning, and he brought the blade down.

Instinct kicked in. I met the strike with a bare fist.

CLANG.

The flat of the blade met my knuckles. I channeled raw intent as a Critical Hit triggered, and the sword shattered like glass dipped in sunlight.

Fragments disintegrated mid-air.

It wasn't the real Silver Steel, thus its fragility.

"Really?" I stared at him. "That how it's gonna be?"

Dave's face was expressionless beneath the helmet. Just glowing eyes and radiant intensity. He didn't talk. He never did. But I'd known him long enough to understand his silence.

Then he lifted a hand and cast:

Compel Duel.

"Of course you did," I muttered.

Then:

Designate Holy Enemy.

Me.

Great.

A second sword formed in his grip, pure light this time, crackling with holy energy. He came at me again, this time channeling Divine Smite.

The air howled.

I sidestepped, invoked Flash Parry, and caught his blade with two fingers. The sword trembled with cracks spreading… and then, boom. It shattered again under the force of critical hits compounded by Hollow Point.

Dave stepped back, recalculating.

"…Alright," I muttered, rolling my neck. "I think I get what's happening."

He was lashing out.

I should've seen it sooner. He'd been quiet for weeks. Too quiet. Dave, my trusty holy spirit, was unraveling. Not out of betrayal. Not out of hatred.

But from a kind of… internal collapse.

"You're deviating," I said softly, watching him pace around the dream battlefield. "Qi Deviation."

He paused.

"You idiot," I pointed at him. "You're a Paladin. A Paladin, Dave. How the hell do you end up going demon? Or going psycho? Do you know how counterproductive that is?"

His shoulders rose, tense and confused. Like even he didn't understand it.

Of course. It made sense now.

I'd made him study qi. Used Divine Possession on a piece of Puppet Armor to give him a vessel, something he could move independently in the real world while I was occupied. And it worked. Kinda.

But qi wasn't his language. Dave was forged in the logic of faith and divine judgment, not internal energy cycling and meridian theory. The moment I shoved a new system into him, I was asking for a malfunction. He was a holy program forced to run a demonic operating system.

Okay, calling qi 'demonic' might be too much, but that was the point… It didn't help that Dave just got stomped by Shenyuan.

"This is my fault," I admitted. "I thought you could handle it. But I didn't consider the cost."

Dave didn't answer. But his light dimmed slightly. He dropped the hilt of his conjured weapon, letting it vanish.

Then, slowly, he knelt on one knee. A silent plea.

Not for forgiveness.

For help.

"Alright," I sighed. "I'll fix you. But you better not swing that holy stick at me again unless it's to save my life."

He looked up, and even without a face, I could tell he was relieved.

"…Also," I added, "you owe me for that cracked knuckle."

The battlefield shimmered and began to dissolve. The corpses faded. The stars returned, distant and foreign.

And me?

I stood there, watching my spirit, my partner, kneeling in the void, a flickering spark of a Paladin who'd lost his way.

We'd get him back.

I'd make sure of it.

"I failed my Lord… my friends… my family..."

The words came as a whisper, soft as breath but heavy as stone.

Dave's helm shimmered out of existence, vanishing like mist beneath sunlight. What lay beneath wasn't a stranger, wasn't some ghostly apparition of a long-dead knight.

It was me.

My face.

Staring back at me with bloodshot eyes, cheeks streaked with soot, and that same damn crease between the brows that I never liked in the mirror.

"Great," I muttered. "One problem after another."

Seriously. They just kept coming. Like the universe was running a buy-one-get-one-free trauma sale, and someone had accidentally clicked auto-renew on my subscription.

I took a breath. Deep. Controlled. Focused.

This wasn't new. I'd seen worse.

Hell, this reminded me of that time I had to exorcise the Heavenly Demon's fragment out of Gu Jie. Now that was a mess. We barely got out with our soul intact, and Gu Jie nearly bit my hand off from the backlash. Calling it 'barely' might be overselling it, but that could have happened if I failed at that time.

I sighed, stepped forward, and pressed two fingers to the mirrored me, Dave's forehead.

"Hang in there," I whispered.

And then, with a flick of intent, I cast Divine Possession.

The shift was immediate.

One moment, I was in the dreamscape void, the next I was blinking into a new world: a harsh, wet wind slapping my face as I stepped into chaos.

The sky was blood-red for some reason. The air, thick with fog and the sharp sting of metal and qi. Screams echoed from all directions, some human, some very much not.

This wasn't how I remembered our fight with Shenyuan..

I was standing on the fractured cliffs of an island. One I recognized.

Shadow Clan territory.

A battlefield stretched before me, undead clashing against Shadow Clan cultivators, both sides bleeding darkness and fury. Yin qi curled in thick tendrils, clinging to the stone like oil slicks.

"Of course," I muttered, narrowing my eyes. "We're back here again."

My gaze swept the battlefield. I didn't care about the fighting. Not really. I was looking for him.

Shenyuan.

That pompous, scheming, walking can of ancient evil.

I cracked my knuckles, heart pulsing with anticipation. "Maybe I'll wreck him a second time. Could be fun."

Then I saw it.

Dangling in the air like a broken puppet.

Shenyuan.

Or… a fragment of him.

He wasn't standing proud or cloaked in darkness this time. No smug smile. No elegant robes.

Just… horror.

His foot was hoisted into the air, held fast by a slick, roiling tentacle made of pure shadow. His lips were stitched shut with black thread that pulsed like veins. His eyes?

Gone.

Just empty, gouged sockets.

His hands flailed weakly, as if he was trying to claw at the nothingness, trying to scream.

Wrapped around him was her.

Hair like writhing tentacles. Eyes shimmering with eldritch hunger. A smile too wide, too still.

The damn thing in my head.

The eldritch entity I'd tried to forget. The one responsible for my transmigration. The one that whispered in the back of my skull when I meditated too deeply. The one I kept sealed behind reinforced layers of willpower and denial. 

And she was hugging him.

Like a lover.

Like a predator.

"…Fucking hell."

She turned her head toward me then, ever so slowly, her gaze piercing through the dream, through the illusion, through me.

Her lips didn't move. But her voice echoed in my mind like a hundred voices layered atop each other.

"Mine."

I took a step back.

Not in fear.

In caution.

Because whatever that was, whatever that thing had become, it wasn't bound by the same rules as the rest of us. Not anymore.

And if it could devour a fragment of Shenyuan like that…

Then I wasn't the only one with skeletons trying to claw their way out.

"Dave," I muttered under my breath, even though I knew he could hear me from inside this shared dream. "Next time you decide to go haywire, warn me if you're dragging me into some godforsaken horror dimension."

I clenched my fists and took another step forward, eyes locked on the eldritch woman as the battlefield howled behind me.

"Let's see what you want, you nightmare bitch."

122 Welcome Back, Dave

I had to admit. Shenyuan was one sneaky bastard.

Always had a backup plan. Always one step ahead. Always wriggling out of death like some smug, undead cockroach.

I scanned him with my Divine Sense, piercing through the layers of eldritch corruption that tangled around his form like barbed wire made of thought. And just as I feared, there it was. A faint, frayed tether that connected him to Dave.

"Of course," I muttered, brow furrowing. "Unfortunately for you, pal, something else called dibs on Dave…"

Shenyuan had left a fragment of himself in Dave during their fight. A piece of soul or memory, hiding deep in the seams like mold between tiles. It made sense. Dave was forged from will and divine principle, but he wasn't invincible. And when I'd made Dave study qi, something far outside his original design, it probably tore a gap wide enough for Shenyuan to slither through.

In my youth, I'd been taught to expect the unexpected. And in some twisted, paranoid part of me, I had expected something like this to happen. Still didn't make it any less annoying.

As I stood there, watching the horror unfold, Shenyuan suddenly jerked violently. The black stitches on his mouth writhed like worms before snapping, and he screamed.

"HELP!"

His voice was raw, panicked, and human. The first time I'd heard that from him. And possibly the last.

Because he didn't last long.

The eldritch woman, the thing with tar-slick skin and tentacle-like hair, let out a delighted hum as she swallowed him whole. Not with her mouth, but with the folds of her body. Like a nightmare consuming a bad memory. He vanished, twitching hands and all, without even a trace.

Then she turned to me.

And changed.

Her inky flesh smoothed into pale skin. Her wild, writhing hair coalesced into a sleek, dark curtain that fell down her back. Her shifting robe became silver, embroidered with a white lotus pattern that gleamed like moonlight. Her smile, Gods, that smile. It was hers.

Xin Yune.

She even tilted her head the same way.

"Join me," she said. Voice soft. Almost tender. "Let's become one."

It hit me harder than I wanted to admit. My chest tightened. My breath caught halfway up my throat.

But I wasn't stupid.

"No thanks," I said.

Unlike the time I had to claw my way through Gu Jie's soul during the Heavenly Demon incident, I wasn't operating under limited conditions anymore. This wasn't the Heavenly Demon's dream. It was mine. And I had authority here.

I focused.

The air rippled with intent as I mentally conjured a longsword, six feet of shining steel, runes carved down its length in radiant lines of power. No weight. No drag. Just a purpose.

Then I called upon my Ultimate Skill: Heavenly Punishment, its evolved version at least.

The blade lit up, no, it ignited, infused with the will of judgment itself. Blue and golden fire crackled along the edge, screaming with righteous fury. The ground beneath my feet cracked, unable to withstand the pressure.

"Sorry," I said. "But I already have a lot on my plate. So I'll finish it quickly."

I stepped forward with Zealot's Stride, the dreamscape blurring into streaks of red and black as I closed the distance in a heartbeat.

The thing that wore Xin Yune's face smiled until my blade met her.

I slashed.

The moment my sword carved through her torso, she didn't bleed. She screamed, not with sound, but with memory. The kind of shriek that tore at the edges of sanity and clawed at childhood fears. Her form incinerated under the divine fire, burning from the inside out. Tentacles flailed, her face peeled away, and that smile twisted into something… real.

Fear.

I watched as she collapsed inward, reduced to a smear of shadow, then nothing at all.

Gone.

I stood there, breathing hard, the hilt of my dream-forged sword still warm in my hand.

"Yeah," I muttered to myself. "Next time Dave acts weird, I'm checking him for parasites."

The lingering echoes of the eldritch entity faded like smoke, but I knew better than to assume that was the end of it. Something had slipped away, escaped. The woman with Xin Yune's face hadn't died. Not really. She was just hiding again.

So I stretched out my Divine Sense, threading it through the dream, feeling for the slightest pulse of wrongness in the seams of reality. She couldn't hide from that.

And there she was.

A spark. A sliver. An afterimage riding on dream logic. She darted away, slinking into the scenery like a shadow escaping the sun.

I didn't wait.

With a single breath, I activated Zealot's Stride and took off after her, moving faster than thought. The world bent and blurred around me, landscapes shifting in a fever dream of places I'd walked in this foreign world.

First, the Imperial Capital, golden roofs glinting under moonlight, now twisted with ghostly outlines of people I'd never saved.

Then, Yellow Dragon City flickered between its past prosperity and the blood-stained aftermath of Brukhelm's attack. I passed the approximate of an academy, still smelling the ink and ash of my earlier days.

Ironmoor City came next, its forges glowing red with both metal and memory. Lu Gao's laughter echoed faintly as I rushed by, a brief reprieve in a torrent of scenes.

But then… nothing.

I stopped. Dead in my tracks.

The trail vanished like it had never existed.

I looked around, frowning. She was gone. The scent, the imprint, and the echo was scrubbed clean. Something had blocked me, or maybe someone.

"Da Wei?"

I turned.

It was Gu Jie. She walked up, composed as always, eyes curious but calm. Beside her was Ren Jingyi, approaching with a hesitant smile.

"You alright?" Gu Jie asked.

"Yeah," I muttered, eyes narrowing. "Just lost something important."

Ren Jingyi tilted her head, concern knitted into her expression. "What did you lose?"

"A shadow," I said absently.

And then I looked at her, really looked at her.

My Divine Sense flared. Not a single strand of 'ominous' out of place. Her form was perfect. Too perfect.

"Great, you are gaining intelligence…"

It wasn't right.

I stared at her, then asked, "Jingyi… Who's your favorite person?"

Her smile widened just a little too much. "You, of course."

A beat passed. A breath. Then…

Lie.

It echoed through my soul like a gong. My heart dropped, not because she didn't mean it, but because something was pretending to. My sword was already in my hand before I could stop myself.

"Sorry," I whispered. "But you're not her. She'd at least answer, it's Big Sister Gu Jie, of course!"

The blade ignited, Heavenly Punishment surged through it, turning it white-hot with righteous fury. I slashed in one fluid motion, divine light tearing across the dream.

"Stop perverting my memories, you darn little thing!"

I spent the rest of the night chasing that damn entity across the infinite stretches of my subconscious, swinging my glowing slab of divine steel like a madman chasing fireflies.

Every time I thought I had her, as I slashed, burned, and purged, she slipped through. Like ink between my fingers. Like memory after waking. No matter how fast I moved or how hard I struck, she was always just one breath too far. And every now and then, she'd laugh. Not loudly, but just enough to crawl under my skin.

I hated how familiar she sounded.

Even in a dream, the rules of power applied. Skill mattered. Intent mattered. And I was starting to realize I needed more than just my current set of tools. I had Willpower, yes. Martial Tempering? Mind Enlightenment? Will Reinforcement? Sure. Even my Ultimate Skills. But my dreamwalking was crude, scratched together from fragments of Cloud Mist scrolls, various knowledge, and wild guesses.

I needed something sharper. A proper technique. If the Emperor wasn't too deep in mourning, I'd probably ask for access to his vaults right now. Not that I liked the idea of owing him.

Eventually, I gave up the chase. Not because I wanted to, but because the world around me began to crack like shattered glass.

Time to wake up.

My eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, I didn't feel like myself. My thoughts felt like echoes. Not broken, just… distant.

I wasn't okay.

But I wasn't broken either. Relevant sanity maintained, as I liked to say. A small win.

The rooftop was still cold beneath me. I sat up slowly, stretching my arms out until my joints popped. The early morning sun peeked over the palace walls, casting long golden shadows across the tiled surface.

Honestly, the rooftop probably wasn't the most logical place to fall asleep. Especially not in a place like this. But logic didn't apply anymore. I had used Willpower, brute control of my own body, and a splash of sheer cultivation stat-mashing to make myself dream on purpose. Not because I needed sleep, I hadn't required that in a while, but because it was pleasant.

To rest. To remember. To be human.

Even if only for a few hours.

My gaze drifted up to the fading stars above, remnants of a night that refused to be forgotten.

"…Sentimental," I muttered to myself. "I am getting sentimental."

I chuckled lightly, rubbing my eyes. "God, I'm getting soft."

It was her fault. Xin Yune. That mad, brilliant, too-honest woman.

She made me feel things I hadn't let myself feel in years. Not just grief or guilt, but appreciation. For all the messy, painful, beautiful things tied up in mortality. She reminded me that being human wasn't just about pain… it was about meaning.

I yawned, the morning warmth coaxing me back to reality.

Then I focused, casting Voice Chat with a thought. I linked to my Holy Spirit, my faithful, if occasionally unhinged, companion.

"Dave," I said, "you there?"

A pause. Then his voice came through, echoing through our bond.

"Here, my Lord. Ready to serve."

A beat.

"Though… if permitted, I request additional rest. The last engagement taxed me deeply."

I snorted. "Rest granted, Knight of my Sleep-Deprived Heart."

"...That title is not officially recognized," remarked Dave with a snap.

"Neither is 'sane', but we're rolling with it."

He didn't respond, but I felt his energy dim slightly, slipping back into recovery. Good. He needed it. I closed my eyes, expanding my Divine Sense and enjoying the moment.

I remained still on the rooftop, the sun climbing higher, the capital waking up below me.

"The Emperor wishes to see you," said a deep voice.

I opened one eye and stared up at the hulking figure now standing at the edge of the rooftop.

He hadn't climbed. He had leapt, landed without cracking the tiles, which meant either immense lack of control or ungodly strength. Maybe both.

The man was a giant, tall and broad-shouldered, not the kind of muscle-bound oaf you see in martial tournaments, but the kind carved out of battlefield legend. His armor was thick, obsidian-colored with golden trims, though the upper arms were left bare, showcasing hard, corded muscle. His long, dark hair was tied behind him like a battle banner, and his sharp jawline could probably cut a gemstone.

"I am Zhu Shin," he announced, voice thunderous but refined. "General of the Western Watch. Servant of the Imperial Throne."

I gave him a once-over.

"Nice entrance," I said as I stood up, dusting my robe. "Didn't stab me in my sleep. That's one in your favor."

He didn't react to the sarcasm. Maybe he wasn't used to it. Maybe he just didn't care.

Still, the fact that I'd been left unbothered throughout the night, even in the middle of the Imperial Palace, told me something. At the very least, the Emperor didn't want me dead. Yet. Maybe with enough pranks, he'd start hating my guts... I mean, he was welcome to try...

Not that I'd mind if he tried. Between my skillset and Dave's divine belligerence, we'd probably leave a crater or two. But I wasn't suicidal, just skeptical.

Especially of emperors.

"Alright," I said. "Lead the way, General."

I took a step forward, intent on walking past him.

And then, clack, a hand clamped down on my shoulder like a vice.

I turned, blinking up at him. "...You know, it's kinda rude to just grab someone like that. No consent. No warning. Zero points for etiquette."

"You will show proper respect to His Majesty," Zhu Shin said, his voice like grinding granite. "This is not Riverfall. This is not your sect or whatever loose institution you came from. This is the Imperial Capital."

I narrowed my eyes. My Divine Sense enveloped him, subtle and unseen. Immediately, I got a read on him.

Ninth Realm. Same level as Xin Yune.

And now that I was using both Divine Sense and Qi Sense in tandem, I could see more clearly: his cultivation was stable, deep-rooted like an iron oak. There was a unique pressure on him: polished, disciplined, and forged in blood. Like all powerful cultivators, he exuded a unique spiritual signature, a sort of vibration or "color" that told you everything about what kind of force they were.

It was a thing among cultivators. A kind of unspoken canon. You don't always need to fight someone to know if they can kill you. That was how they could measure cultivation realms, too.

Thus, I could tell… Zhu Shin was a dangerous person. To me? I couldn't say, unless he tried first, but my money was on him dying…

I took a slow breath, jaw tight. My fingers twitched. I could've snapped his wrist. Could've shattered the rooftop beneath us. But I kept it in check. Barely.

"Get your hand off me," I said, tone level.

For a second, I thought he'd test me.

Then, with a grudging grunt, he let go.

But the look in his eyes didn't change. Still intense. Still watching me like I was a blade pointed at the throne.

Smart man.

"Follow me," he said.

And I did. Not because of orders.

But because I had unfinished business with an Emperor.

Nongmin still owed me a slap or two.

That thought sat real comfortable in my chest as I followed Zhu Shin down the winding steps of the Imperial Palace. The general walked like a glacier with purpose: slow, controlled, but every step sounded like it could flatten a small army. I walked a step behind, arms folded behind my back like some casual noble, though my Divine Sense was spread out like a net. Old habit. Never trust a walk into the lion's den, no matter how friendly the lion pretends to be.

I mean, sure, we painted his dying mother under a bodhi tree. Shared a quiet night, let some grief breathe, offered closure even. That counted for something.

But.

It didn't erase the fact that Nongmin had pulled strings behind the scenes like a master puppeteer. Had watched my friends die, or nearly die, just to move pieces across some divine board. Had manipulated me, even if for what he thought was a good cause.

So yeah.

He still owed me a slap or two. Minimum.

And I wasn't about to let him forget that.

123 Daddy Issues

The palace halls were a quiet kind of vast. Silent, but not peaceful. Like the place had seen too much to pretend otherwise.

General Zhu Shin walked beside me. He was a quiet storm of righteousness wrapped in steel and discipline. I liked him more than most of the Emperor's people, at least Zhu Shin didn't hide his contempt. That made him honest, in his own blunt way.

We reached the final gate, towering gold-inlaid doors carved with dragons and phoenixes locked in eternal combat. Zhu Shin stopped, shoulders squared, eyes forward. I stopped too, turning slightly to catch his expression.

"This is as far as I go," he said, voice gruff. "No man treads further unless summoned, and even then, few walk out the same."

"Appreciate the send-off," I said.

He didn't laugh. Of course, he didn't.

"Da Wei." He turned to me fully now, lips tight. "If I learn you've disrespected His Majesty… I'll kill you myself."

I snorted. "You're not the first to say that." If I could, I'd share with him my chat logs.

He narrowed his eyes. "I mean it."

"So do I," I said, then tilted my head. "Tell me something, Zhu Shin. Can you fight a Hell's Gate by yourself?"

He blinked. The briefest moment of confusion flickered across his face. "What did you say?"

"Huh. So you have heard of it."

"You… That was you?"

I didn't answer. Didn't need to. His silence stretched like a drawn bowstring. But I caught the little twitch in his jaw as the realization settled in.

"Interesting that you knew what a Hell's Gate was, though," I said, stepping past him. "Go on. You've seen enough. Please kindly fuck off."

He didn't move to stop me. That was good. I wasn't in the mood to start a fight in the entryway of the palace. Once I was sure he was gone, I placed both palms on the massive golden doors and pushed.

They groaned open like the world itself was holding its breath.

The Imperial Throne Room was as theatrical as ever. Sunlight filtered through glass murals high above, painting the marbled floors with golden lotus patterns. Pillars lined the hall like silent judges, and at the end, seated on the throne wrapped in living starlight, was the Emperor.

Not the doll-sized and chibi version that existed last night. No, this was the real one. Full adult form. Regal. Stoic. Cold.

I walked with no bow, no kneel, no courtesy. Just a tired man striding across polished floors like he'd misplaced something in the room.

"Good morning," I said.

His cheek twitched. Barely, but I caught it.

"What's with the cold reception?" I asked, spreading my arms. "Come on, call me Daddy, little Nongmin."

The silence after that was damn near holy. Like the throne room itself had stopped breathing.

The Emperor inhaled slowly and deeply, as if meditating, as if suppressing some divine urge to smite me into a pile of morally grey ashes.

His golden eyes met mine.

"Da Wei," he said slowly, voice low and even, "You test me."

"I'm a teacher," I said. "It's in my job description."

Another breath. A longer pause.

He was trying so hard not to explode, I swear I could see a vein forming on his forehead.

"You've come," he said.

"Surprised I made it?"

"No." He stood now, descending the steps with all the grace of a god who was used to being obeyed. "But I had hoped you'd come back a little less… insufferable."

"Aw," I smiled. "But then I wouldn't be me."

He didn't answer. Just stared. Silent judgment woven into the rise and fall of his breathing.

I could feel it, the weight of him. He wasn't posturing anymore. This was him, bare and burning behind the mask.

I met that pressure with a smirk.

"You missed me," I said.

This time, his other cheek twitched.

And that, I decided, was a win.

I probably should have stopped after the "call me Daddy" line. But that's the thing about me, once I get going, it's hard to stop.

"You know," I continued, casually strolling closer to the throne, "I fucked your mommy. So does that technically make me your daddy?"

I swear the silence in that throne room shattered like glass.

Nongmin, His Radiant Majesty, Lord of Ten Thousand Lights, Blinding Glory of the Heavenly Eye, etcetera, etcetera… stiffened. Not a twitch this time. A full-body shudder. His composure cracked just enough for me to see something underneath: mortification, barely concealed rage, and maybe, maybe, a whisper of panic.

"Such crass language," he snapped, "is not permitted in my court."

"Oh please," I said, waving him off, "your mom's so hot it'd be disrespectful not to be a little crude. A crass compliment is more honest than a thousand poetically-induced metaphors. Xin Yune would probably agree."

That did it. His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

"Enough," he said through gritted teeth. "Let's get this over with."

Oho~! Victory. Again.

I grinned. "That's a win. You didn't even deny it."

He exhaled hard through his nose. "Three strikes. None on the face."

I gasped. "Three slaps! Correction is important, little Nongmin."

He glared at me, face blank but twitching at the corners like he wanted to stab me with his eyes.

I folded my arms, stepping in until we were just a breath apart. "And I won't budge. It's either three slaps to the face… or to the rear."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I dare. You must be disciplined. It was your mother's dying wish. Her final command, sealed with lotus motes and tears of love… 'Slap my son, Da Wei. Slap him hard.'"

"There was no such dying wish," he snapped.

"Maybe not in those words," I said, "but she did give me permission to hit you. Said you might need it. And don't act like you weren't listening in. You heard her. You know what she said."

His jaw clenched. His teeth were grinding. I could almost hear the Imperial Molars turning into powder.

Half furious, half embarrassed. It was a beautiful look on him.

"You are a disgrace," he muttered.

"Hey," I said, tapping his chest lightly. "You're the one who invited me back."

"And I regret it every moment you open your mouth."

"Too bad," I smiled. "You still got three slaps coming."

His hands trembled, fingers twitching like he was debating whether to unleash a world-ending technique or just scream into the void.

He didn't deny it though. Not really.

Which meant... we both knew the slaps were happening.

"You know," I said, pacing in front of the throne like it was a classroom and he was the troublemaker with gum under his desk, "just to make it fair, how about you slap me three times too?"

Nongmin, Emperor of the Grand Ascension Empire, wielder of celestial intent and unshakable dignity, narrowed his eyes at me.

"I'd break my hand."

I raised my eyebrows. "Come on, I'll turn off my reflect ability. Hell, I won't use any abilities at all. No intent, no body reinforcement. Just me. You don't get to use yours either, obviously."

He stared at me. Hard. Like he was trying to peer into my soul and find the exact point where I broke the rules of the universe and replaced divine decorum with whatever this was.

Then, he muttered, "I don't want to humiliate myself further."

That gave me pause.

What had he seen? What vision, what prophecy, what divine script foretold that even slapping me might end in embarrassment?

I gave a casual shrug. "Well then," I said, clapping my hands together, "shall I start?"

He exhaled like a man about to face his taxes and a tribulation at the same time.

"Fine," he said, closing his eyes. "Three slaps. On the rear. No abilities. That's my condition."

I blinked. I genuinely wasn't expecting him to fold.

"…Kinky," I said slowly, lips twitching. "Never thought you'd want your daddy to slap you on the ass."

His eyes snapped open. "I am the Emperor. I have a responsibility to my people. I cannot risk a swollen face in front of my subjects."

"Ah yes," I nodded solemnly. "But a swollen butt is fine?"

He ignored me. Of course.

With all the grace of a man preparing for execution, Nongmin descended the steps of his throne. His robes whispered with every movement, golden silk gliding over his frame until he stood before me like a condemned man walking the plank.

Without a word, he turned, held his hands out in front of him, and then pointed his rear at me.

"Let's get this over with," he said, stiff as a stone pillar.

I stood there, arms folded, staring at the most powerful man on the continent offering me the royal ass.

This world was insane.

But damn if I wasn't going to enjoy every second of it.

Right, no abilities.

But I did say I wouldn't use any active abilities.

So, like any stubborn old man with too many cheat codes etched into his bones, I quietly switched to TriDivine: Divine Might.

It was passive.

Didn't count.

I raised my palm, stared at it for a second, and immediately realized how deeply awkward this was. I mean… just look at this situation.

We were alone in the throne room. Just the two of us.

The Emperor, in full formal robes, was standing stiff with his arms out, back turned, rear presented like I was about to perform some sacred rite.

And in a way, I was. A sacrament of discipline. A ceremony of karmic balance.

One palm. One ass.

"I should not have suggested slapping the rear," I muttered to myself.

I took a breath. This was about perspective. Framing. Spiritual alignment.

I was technically—soulfully, mentally, and physically—an old man. A tired teacher. A man who had once spent his mornings keeping fourth graders from stabbing each other with pencils.

And Nongmin?

Nongmin was… not really an adult. He looked the part now, yes. But in cosmic time?

He was a baby. No, worse. A naughty child.

Slapping an infant on the bum normally only made sense if you were resuscitating them or checking for a rash.

This wasn't that.

And yet… I raised my hand.

The Emperor didn't flinch, but his shoulders tensed. A bead of sweat traced down the back of his neck.

"Discipline is love," I muttered under my breath. "This is for your own good."

And just like that, I swung my palm.

SMACK.

The sound echoed through the throne room like thunder trapped in a jar.

Nongmin grunted, the breath caught in his throat. His spine stiffened like a snapped tree. A faint shudder passed through him, dignity cracking, if only slightly.

I stared at my palm.

Opened it.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

The skin was warm.

There were a lot of things I expected to feel in that moment: triumph, amusement, childish glee.

But mostly I just felt weird.

Deeply, profoundly weird.

"...Two more to go," I whispered.

For some reason, after that first slap, I felt like I was the one being punished.

It wasn't the motion or the sound, and certainly not the contact. It was something deeper. Like somewhere in the vast tapestry of fate, a celestial judge was shaking his head at me in disappointment. I was a grown man, slapping another grown man's rear, inside the most sacred hall of the empire. What had my life become?

It was tough to visualize it otherwise.

I sighed, letting my hand fall to my side.

"Nongmin," I said, my voice quieter now, "tell me something."

"What is it?" he asked, still standing stiff as a pole, rear dutifully presented.

"What was your mother like? Or your father?"

There was a moment of silence. Just the soft hum of the Imperial throne room, that eternal, quiet pressure in the air. I half-expected him to ignore me or toss back a sharp retort.

But he didn't.

He spoke, voice calm, measured, but… softer than usual.

"My father," he began, "was a farmer. A mortal, through and through. No cultivation, no great aspirations. Just a man who tilled the earth and kept his hands calloused and his back bent."

I blinked.

He continued, "He died of old age. Peacefully. No glory. No great funeral. Just a simple burial, beneath a plum tree he planted."

I waited, unsure of what to say.

"And my mother," Nongmin said, "was a runaway princess. From an inferior Empire whose standards would never match the bigger powers out there. She abandoned her titles, her responsibilities, everything, because she wanted to live a quiet life. She met my father in the fields. They fell in love in the most mundane, mortal way. With dirty hands and stolen glances."

That painted a picture.

Nongmin stood there like a statue, but his voice carried memory. Pain.

"I used to be disappointed in him," he admitted. "My father. I was… ashamed. As a child, you dream of heroes. Of fathers who command legions or split mountains. And instead, I had a man who grunted more than he spoke and couldn't wield a single thread of qi."

He paused. The weight of that silence hung heavy.

"But… when my father's time came, when his breath grew short and his body frail, she never once left his side. Not for a second. She cooked, she cleaned, and she carried him. She sang to him when he couldn't sleep and held him when he cried."

There was no emotion in his voice, but I could feel the truth of it.

"And I realized," Nongmin finished, "that there was nothing shameful about him at all. That love he shared with her, in its simplest form, could be stronger than any technique. All lives end, yes. But the truly important thing is what we make out of it."

I stared at him.

Then I lifted my palm again.

SMACK.

He grunted, staggering slightly from the second hit.

"One more to go," I said, my tone less playful now. "But finish the story."

I wanted to hear the end.

"The rest," Nongmin said, still turned away, "was history."

He didn't look at me. Just stood there, the air of royalty clinging to him even as his royal rear had just been smacked twice by a wandering outsider who used to teach gym class.

"You don't need to hear the ending," he added. "You've already been part of it."

There was a pause, then he turned, facing me properly again, his imperial bearing intact.

"Thank you," he said, and even now it felt surreal hearing it come from him. "For giving my mother a good time in her last days."

I looked at him for a long moment, then broke the silence with a sigh. "She deserved it."

I meant it.

But my tone shifted as I met his gaze again. "Now you tell me something."

His eyes sharpened.

"What happened in Deepmoor Continent?" I asked. "What really happened with Shenyuan?"

He didn't flinch.

"You engineered our meeting," I said, taking a step closer. "You dragged me in. And people I cherished, people I cared about, they died because of it."

The heat in my chest hadn't gone away, no matter how much we joked or how many slaps I gave him. I could joke about being his daddy all day, but at the end of it, this weight had been sitting inside me like a blade. Cold. Heavy. Embedded.

He held my gaze for a moment, then said, "You're right."

That alone made me pause.

He continued, "Your anger is justified. I would not forgive someone who orchestrated such a thing, either. But I must clarify, Deepmoor was… unplanned."

I raised a brow.

"I foresaw traces of Shenyuan," he said, "but not the exact outcome. He found a blind spot, an actual blind spot in my Heavenly Eye. I had to react. Last-minute. Desperate. The convergence that led you to him was an improvisation… not manipulation."

I wanted to believe that. I really did.

"And Xin Yune?" I asked. "Was that an improvisation too? Or did you send her to me just to play with my temper?"

He didn't hesitate.

"I sent her to you because I wanted her to leave this world happy."

That made me go still.

"She knew she didn't have much time," he said. "And when she asked about my plans… when she learned your name, she laughed. She found your name to be amusing. She asked if she could see you. I arranged it."

Wow… so Da Wei had hidden rizz, was that it?

"And I thought," he continued, "if she had someone who could bring her peace, even if only for a little while, it would be worth any risk."

I stared at him. The anger didn't vanish, but it dulled. Blunted.

He bowed his head, not in some dramatic display, but with enough gravity to make the air still.

"I am sorry," Nongmin said. "For the ones you lost. For what you suffered."

My hand, already lowered, lost its strength. I helped him back up. There was no anger in the gesture. No tension.

Just tiredness.

"I'll help you," he added. "Whatever resources you need to resurrect them: treasures, rituals, people, I'll grant them."

I looked at his face, and the strange thing was… I believed him.

I patted his shoulder. "Seems I didn't have much of a choice to stay mad at you, huh? You really schemed your way right out of my wrath."

The faintest twitch played at the corner of his mouth.

I let my hand drop. "In memory of your mother, I won't interfere with your Empire. I won't be your ally, but I won't be your obstacle either."

He nodded once, solemnly.

"But," I added, "if those Seven Imperial Houses try anything stupid, even a toe out of line, I will rain down chaos on them like a divine toddler with a paintbrush and zero impulse control."

His eyes flicked up to meet mine. "Understood."

A moment passed, and then he asked, "What about the final strike?"

I smirked. "I'll save it."

He blinked.

"If you misbehave," I warned, "I'll slap you good in front of all your ministers and concubines. Real loud. Make sure they know who raised you."

He exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a quiet huff of disbelief. "That will not happen. My interest remains the betterment of the people."

I nodded slowly. "Maybe. Maybe not."

He looked at me sharply. "My Heavenly Eye sees…"

"Doesn't matter," I interrupted. "You still won't know everything. Not about people. Not about yourself. Heavenly Eye or not."

He didn't respond to that.

But he didn't argue either.

So I took a step back, looked around the throne room once more.

Two strikes down. One to go.

And maybe, just maybe, one step closer to forgiving him.