Ren smiled—not broadly, but with that subtle, knowing curve reserved for storms that wore silk.
She was one of many.
Not merely beautiful, but patterned with mystery—like elegance braided with threat.
His mind turned inward then—toward wives, lovers, companions.
The constellation of souls who had walked beside him in different eras.
Where were they now?
He approached the restored courtyards of the Glass Lotus Sect, each petal and stone brought back by Lady Xuanhe's divine reach.
What had been shattered was not merely repaired—it was reimagined.
Even the air tasted fresher, as if the realm itself was taking a second chance.
Xuanhe had healed all who lived.
But elevation? That was earned.
Only those who hadn't looked at her with lust or arrogance found their cultivation rise.
The rest were left healed—but motionless in their spiritual path.
Grace was not blind, and Lady Xuanhe's gaze separated sincerity from desire with cruel elegance.
Fairy Jin, seated beneath a spirit-soaked plum tree that hadn't existed before the battle, watched Shen Wuyin quietly.
She had fought bravely.
She had bled absurdly.
But even in chaos, her eyes had hunted for her disciple—tracking him not just with concern, but with caution.
During the battle, for a flickering instant, she had seen his truth.
Not the plain-looking youth with black hair and black eyes that now bowed before her.
But a vision that refused explanation:
Hair: white, thick, flowing like storm-fused silk.
Eyes: rimmed in crimson, black at centre—like dusk torn open.
Presence: undeniable. Impossible. Imperial.
Fairy Jin said nothing.
She sipped her wine.
Scratched a formation rune onto her slipper with the end of a chopstick.
Pretended to forget.
But she remembered.
Not just the change.
The kiss.
Lady Xuanhe had kissed Shen Wuyin.
On the lips.
Before every sect elder, disciple, spirit beast, and gossip archivist in existence.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't ceremonial.
It was myth in motion—a claim, a recognition, a divine seal placed where no one could ignore it.
Even the wind paused to rethink itself.
Ren showed respect to his master, Fairy Jin.
With the same goofy smile.
Fairy Jin looked at his cultivation, which had reached peak Step Thirteen.
What amazing luck.
Then again, so was she.
She had reached peak Step Twenty because of Lady Xuanhe.
Lady Yueh stepped onto the courtyard, her robes still steeped in divine residue.
Flanking her were Liáng Xu and Fei Yan—two disciples who no longer carried the same arrogance, but not yet the clarity that might redeem them.
They looked at Ren differently now.
The rivalry hadn't disappeared.
The jealousy hadn't softened.
But something colder had settled behind their gazes: fear.
The kind born not from guilt,
but from witnessing something they couldn't explain.
Only four within the Glass Lotus Sect had truly seen Ren—his real form, stripped of glamour and guise:
Lady Yueh.
Fairy Jin.
Liáng Xu.
Fei Yan.
What they saw was not a powerful disciple.
But a truth too ancient to rationalize.
Eyes threaded with dusk.
Hair like storm-forged silk.
A presence that bent spiritual perception itself without permission.
Liáng Xu and Fei Yan hadn't spoken of it.
But their silence carried tremors.
They had learned something. Maybe.
Not wisdom—yet.
But caution.
Restraint.
The beginning of survival instincts.
Lady Yueh looked at them without illusion.
They hadn't been among the lucky few elevated by Lady Xuanhe's divine intervention.
Their cultivation remained where it had stalled.
But they were her disciples.
And for that—and only that—she still held a thread of hope.
Thin. Wavering.
And if that thread snapped?
If their intent darkened beyond repair?
She would kill them.
Cleanly. Personally.
Without ceremony.
Not because she hated them.
Because she had trained them.
And some errors a master must erase by her own hand.
Still… she gave them a pill.
A seed of ascent.
Crafted from Lady Xuanhe's own gifted Qi—blessed, concentrated, dangerous.
If they used it well, they would rise.
If they misused it?
Well, mercy ends when cultivation begins to rot.
They had finally reached Ren's level.
Peak Step Thirteen.
When they looked at him, Ren smiled.
Goofy. Kind. Unassuming.
But that smile felt wrong.
Too relaxed.
Too quiet.
Liáng Xu and Fei Yan felt their hearts tighten—not from awe, but from recognition.
They'd seen him once.
His true form.
Hair white as storm silk.
Eyes torn from dusk.
Presence sculpted by inevitability.
And now this smile?
It wasn't cheerful.
It was a warning dressed as a joke.
Speak out of turn, it said. And I'll erase you.