"Ren… thank you. Your gift carries the weight of destiny, and I will guard it as sacred. In return, I offer you this blade—it belonged to my father, my master, and now it seeks your hand. Though I've found a sword that walks in harmony with me, this one feels destined to walk with you. Please… accept it."
"Master, I'm honoured. I'll treasure it with all my heart. I must leave—my presence has stirred too much, and silence must follow. But know this: no matter where I tread, if your voice calls, I will return without hesitation."
"Then go, Shen. May your path carve legend into the stars. I believe it will. Farewell… you'll be missed."
"My true name is Ren Blackdragon. You honoured my silence, and so I entrust you with my truth. But know that Mìngjiè Xiānlù quakes beneath new banners. Change is no longer a shadow—it rises. I ask not your permission, but your alliance."
"I felt it in you from the start. I won't stand in the way."
—
Ren's Room
Lady Xuanhe reclined languidly across silken sheets, her robes draped with studied carelessness—more suggestion than concealment. Her gaze followed Ren as he packed with methodical silence.
"So, you're truly leaving this place?" she said, voice like velvet laced with smoke. "You'd do well to remain within the provinces of the Glass Lotus Sect. I've cultivated those lands into brilliance—they'll nourish you, even expedite that little goal of yours in Mìngjiè Xiānlù."
Ren paused. His expression betrayed nothing—still, unreadable.
"Thank you," he replied softly. "A promise binds me. When I step into the divine realm among the heavens of Mìngjiè Xiānlù… I will become your disciple."
Ren gave his farewells, one by one—each parting a stitch in the tapestry of Mìngjiè Xiānlù's shifting fate. Among those who gathered was Gao Yun, the portly cultivator who once scoffed at Ren upon his arrival. But pride had long since given way to humility, and Gao Yun now stood with quiet resolve.
He chose to follow Ren.
His cultivation had once plateaued—mediocre and uninspired—but under Ren's guidance, something ancient stirred within him. His progress, though still modest, held the promise of ascent. More importantly, his family, and even his often-disappointed wife, began to see him anew—not arrogant, but tempered. Not boastful, but gentle. Wisdom clung to him like morning dew, softening the edges of who he'd once been.
"Master Shen, where are we heading first?"
The eagerness in the disciple's voice shimmered like morning dew. "I can't wait to follow you—to walk beside you across all the lands you tread."
Ren smiled, gaze tilting toward the window, where the wind tugged gently at the curtains.
"Wherever the weather pulls us," he murmured. "Let the skies chart our path. Our future isn't etched in stone—it breathes, just like the lands we walk."
—
Jade Beauty Inn
The scent of braised mountain pheasant and lotus-spiced rice drifted through the carved wood lattice as two figures settled into a lacquered booth. One, plain-faced but calm as moonlight; the other, round-bellied and grinning, cheeks flushed with anticipation.
"Order everything on the menu," the plain one said smoothly. "My friend and I have appetites worthy of ten lives."
The waiter, a slim youth with nervous eyes, froze for a beat, then bowed swiftly.
"R-right away, honoured guests. I hope your stay at Jade Beauty Inn is… unforgettable."
He hurried toward the kitchen, casting one last glance over his shoulder at the pair, now steeped in quiet laughter. The fat one had already unbuckled his belt.
The murmur from across the hall had the ring of bemused disbelief, like thunder heard through porcelain.
"By the heavens, those two are eating like a typhoon! Good thing we stocked up—else the whole pantry would vanish, and the other guests would be calling for divine retribution."
The clatter of chopsticks and sizzling woks was nearly drowned out by the quiet gossip bubbling beneath the surface.
"It's fine by me," muttered the innkeeper, wiping his brow with a silken rag. "That plain one's pockets are bottomless. With how much he's ordering, he'll have us bathing in spirit jade by morning."
The inn pulsed with rumour and laughter, steam rising like myths reborn.
The innkeeper's eyes gleamed with mischievous pride. "Well then—it's time to send in all the beauties we've got. We don't call this place the Jade Beauty Inn for nothing!" he declared, clapping twice.
From behind the silk screens and carved columns came laughter like wind chimes. A procession of elegant cultivators glided forward—robes shimmering with the hues of twilight, hair adorned in pearls, steps measured like verses of an ancient poem.
"Three more for the pair at table five," the innkeeper instructed with theatrical flair. "Let's see if they can handle cosmic charm alongside their dumplings."
The room buzzed anew. Some guests leaned in with envy, while others did so with intrigue. Rumours danced like lantern light.
Ren paused mid-sip, the warmth of the liquor dancing in his chest like phoenix fire. Across the table, Gao Yun waved off another beauty who leaned in with playful eyes and a tray of glistening plum cakes.
"Ah… apologies," Gao Yun slurred gently, cheeks flushed with celestial wine. "I already have someone—the only one for me." He raised his cup in a shaky salute to no one in particular. "Most beautiful woman in the world. I'm just lucky she still puts up with me." Then he laughed, a deep, honest sound that cracked through the performance of the evening.
Ren chuckled softly. He knew the drink—they'd chosen the Moon-Veil Brew, forbidden to mortals, brewed from starflower and silent night dew. It clouded a cultivator's focus, but laid bare the heart.
The beauties retreated with graceful bows, as whispers stirred through the inn like rising mist. Some guests smiled; others scoffed.
One elder cultivator murmured, "Loyalty—so rare these days it ought to be immortalised."
Ren sipped his drink quietly, the din of laughter and swirling silks flowing around him like river mist. A half-dozen beauties circled, each practised in elegance, offering smiles layered with intrigue. He returned them with a polite nod—nothing more. His plain face gave nothing away, though his eyes saw too much.
Then his gaze settled on her.
A slender girl stood just beyond the lantern light, her presence muted, her cultivation aura barely a flicker. To others, she was forgettable—a soft blossom in the shadow of flame trees. But Ren narrowed his eyes. That concealment technique… it was masterful. Not suppressed—folded. Only someone with his level of discernment would even notice it, let alone grasp its complexity.
A cherry blossom drifted gently, landing beside Ren's untouched cup like punctuation in a tale that had barely begun.
Across the room, the girl's lashes lifted, her expression serene as a mountain pool. She hadn't met Ren's gaze—not directly. But her posture shifted, just slightly. A subtle sweep of her senses had tickled something faint and watchful.
Her cultivation, though masked, reached out in quiet pulses. Reflexively, she scanned the room. No obvious threat. No spiritual force pressing in. Yet the feeling lingered—a hush in the heart, the sense of being seen not by the eye, but by something older.
She tilted her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as if to listen more deeply.
Someone knows, she thought. But who?
Ren, meanwhile, drank without distraction. His face betrayed nothing. Only in the quiet rhythm of his thoughts did he mutter.
His expression didn't change—still polite, still faintly amused. He'd made no move to invite attention, but the dancer came anyway, drifting across the lacquered floor as if summoned by a thread unseen.
She perched lightly on his lap, her arm folding around his shoulder with practised grace. Lantern light danced on her cheek as she leaned in, smiling warmly.
Ren met her gaze, unbothered. "Quite bold," he murmured, tone gentle but unreadable.
Yet behind the dancer's smile, thoughts churned.
Plain looking… Couldn't be him. No presence. No pressure. But something—something in that moment…
She remembered the pulse. The flicker of cold awareness sweeping past her spirit veil. Like a beast's breath behind a curtain. Too close. And it hadn't come from the towering brutes by the hearth or the silver-robed alchemist at table nine.
Her fingers brushed against her waist, where a charm shaped like a fractured crescent moon pulsed faintly—a silent warning.
Ren sipped calmly, letting her presence settle like rain on wax.
Ren allowed her touch, barely moving. Her fingertip tilted his chin with theatrical grace, and her eyes glimmered with warmth meant to dazzle.
"Might I ask your name, please… handsome?"
Ren didn't flinch, though the word echoed oddly in his ears, wrapped in silk and practised allure. He stared at her, plain-faced, unobtrusive—a figure designed by choice to blend, not captivate.
He took another measured sip of his drink.
And yet she remained. Her smile unwavering. Eyes fixed—perhaps not quite on him, but on what
She became curious.
Ren entered the room without a sound. Gao Yun lay sprawled in sleep, limbs relaxed but breath steady—guarded even in dreams.
On Ren's shoulder, Mianmian hadn't stirred, her tiny form curled close like dusk folded into flesh.
He crossed to the bed and eased down, the mattress dipping beneath purpose and weariness. Outside, the moon hung wide and silver, watching like a silent god.
Ren tilted his head toward it.
His eyes, once dark as void, caught the light. And in its gaze—
They shimmered.
Crimson threaded through the black, blooming like blood beneath ice.
His true colour.
Not for the battlefield.
Not for the ceremony.
Just the quiet, when no one else was looking.
He felt her presence—the jade beauty dancer. He even saw her.
Ren shifted, eyes narrowing as they tracked the room's shadows.
She was watching.
Sharp-eyed. Unmoving. A presence masked in stillness.
Like a hawk on a branch, waiting.
Ren's pulse didn't change. He was drunk. Or at least, he wore it well. Slurred movements. A stagger to the window.
He reached out. Closed it slowly. Deliberately. As if the moonlight were too loud.
She didn't blink.
Ren didn't speak. Didn't react. Didn't acknowledge her presence. Just turned his back.
In the morning, Ren was surrounded by jade beauties once again—as was Gao Yun, of course. Yet Gao Yun sat untouched, his fidelity a quiet marvel in a world steeped in temptation. A faithful husband—rare in any realm.
Ren, by contrast, reclined amid dancers draped around him, sipping his drink with casual elegance. He didn't touch them, yet he didn't send them away either. This was the Jade Beauty Inn, after all—where the women moved like silk given sentience, trained in the subtle arts of charm, distraction, and ritualised desire.
Their laughter laced the incense haze, glimmers in their eyes dancing like polished firelight.
To some, they were companions.
To Ren, they were atmosphere—graceful, hollow, familiar.
He welcomed their presence but lived apart from it.
—
He saw the woman again.
She was still performing mortal—a jade beauty dancer in the Jade Beauty Inn, with moon-pale skin and eyes that curved like questions. Her cultivation was buried deep, folded beneath soft silks and gentle steps. Most would be fooled.
Ren wasn't.
She never once looked directly at him—yet he could tell. Her gaze grazed him sideways, brushed the air near his table, like fingers testing flame without touching it.
She was watching.
Feeling.
Her senses were sharp.
She didn't have proof—just instinct. And instinct told her the plain boy sitting in the corner, the one who looked eighteen and drank like he had all eternity—wasn't ordinary.
There was strangeness to him.
It pressed against her senses like a whisper she couldn't ignore.
She couldn't think of anyone else it could be. Even without certainty, doubt had already curled into her spine.
—
Ren got up, paid one final time, and left the Jade Beauty Inn with his companions: Mianmian and Gao Yun.
By the time the lanterns dimmed, Ren and Gao Yun were already in the sky—cloud-stepping through early dusk. Mianmian was fast asleep on Ren's shoulder, breath steady,
head nestled against his robe.
Gao Yun glanced sideways, brows furrowing. "Why are we leaving now, Master Shen?" he asked, voice low. "Shouldn't we stay a bit longer? We're not in a rush… right?"
They had been there for nearly two months. Ren had said he wanted to enjoy the sights—to linger without battle or intrigue. The Jade Beauty Inn had become familiar: the dancers, the innkeeper's dry humour, the scent of plum wine drifting through its halls.
Ren didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked ahead—past the mountain ridges, beyond the fading clouds. Wherever his gaze landed, it wasn't on the scenery.
Finally, he spoke.
"It's that woman."
His voice was quiet but edged with certainty. "She acts mortal—but she's a cultivator like us. Better, even."
He didn't look at Gao Yun when he spoke; he just kept flying steadily through the sky. "I've already told you who I am and what my plans are. You chose to stick with me. So I'll protect you."
Gao Yun glanced at him, startled by the shift in tone.
"She's stronger than you. Stronger than most," Ren continued. "She's at Peak Step 160. That's not something you stumble into. You know how hard it is—most cultivators get stuck at Step 10. They spend decades chasing breakthroughs that never come."
He adjusted Mianmian gently on his shoulder, shielding her from the wind.
"I let that woman sense my presence," Ren said. "I have my reasons."
Then he flew faster.
"Let's go."
The jade beauty dancer—unclaimed by sect, veiled by memory—had finally found them.
She stood at the edge of the field, breath slow, listening for sound. Yet no matter how close she came, she heard nothing.
Ren. It had to be him.
His cultivation was strange—disruptive. His presence blurred the natural flow of perception. She should've heard their words from this distance. She'd always been able to.
But now?
She stepped forward, ready to speak—to confront, or perhaps join them.
But before her voice reached the air, their space was already empty.
Not vanished.
Disappeared. Instantly.
No motion. No ripple. No trace.
Just pure absence.
The disciple blinked, rattled by the fracture in reality.
"Master… what cultivation technique was that?"
Ren didn't look back. He rarely did.
"Wasn't a technique."
"Just something I can do."
"I go where I want. When I want."
—
Now they walked among mortals.
The market swelled with life—
narrow alleys crammed with silk vendors,
perfumed air tangled with the smoke of grilled lotus roots.
Red and gold buildings rose tall,
draped in imperial sigils and wealth-slicked banners.
This was no border village.
No forgotten sect stronghold.
This was an empire.
And it was flourishing.
Despite their sudden arrival, no one noticed.
Not a glance. Not a whisper.
Ren and Gao Yun moved through the crowds
like they'd always belonged—
wrapped in a myth so quiet,
even fate struggled to mark it.
The pathways were tight.
Movement slow.
The empire pulsed with prosperity—
so thick with life,
it dulled even divinity.
"Plenty of hidden cultivators here. Gods, too, I'd wager," Ren said.
"Just like that jade beauty dancer we left far behind.
Veiled behind mortal pace.
Not shunned. No… more likely, the empire's trying to appeal to them.
Wrap its ideals in a tone they'll tolerate.
Polite of them."
Ren smiled—
not kindly.
Then he noticed something.
A royal carriage, lacquered in obsidian and pulled by myth-blooded horses,
slid through the avenue without challenge.
From its shadow stepped a man and a woman—
The Emperor and Empress.
They didn't need introductions.
Their presence bent the air.
Both striking in their own right—
power laced into posture, elegance sharpened by myth.
The Emperor and Empress turned their gaze toward Ren. He wasn't standing apart. He wasn't glowing. He wasn't even visible at first glance. He stood behind the crowd—half-shadowed, mingling with merchants, beggars, and cultivators who hadn't noticed a thing. And yet… the unease swelled. Quiet. Absolute. They felt it—not in their minds, but in their bones. A presence. Unfathomable. Effortless. It surpassed their own. Not because it flaunted strength, but because it didn't need to. They couldn't figure it out. Who—in this simple market, beneath sun-washed awnings and incense smoke—could carry that kind of weight? They kept searching. But Ren had not stepped forward. He didn't need to. The silence bent toward him all the same.
"This market's simple, to them," Ren murmured with a chuckle.
Gao Yun blinked, confused. "Master… what's so funny? I don't see it."
"Nothing important," he said softly.
He swept his eyes across the vibrant sprawl: relic trading, faded sutras chanted through smoke, cultivators moving like prayers written in flesh.
Gao Yun frowned. "Master… I can't sense any cultivators here. Where are we?"
Ren didn't break stride. "There are cultivators here," he said. "Even gods. And other things… concealed." He paused, letting recognition settle like dust. "They're hiding themselves. Just like that jade beauty dancer we left behind."
"But master… why?"
"It seems to be the rule here," Ren said quietly, "that all beings—cultivators, gods, demons—must walk as mortals, speak as mortals, breathe as mortals." He turned slightly, gaze unreadable. "It's not suppression. It's etiquette."
Ren stood at the edge of the market, veiled not by spell or concealment, but by the sheer indifference of reality to those who do not seek its permission. The Emperor and Empress meandered through silk stalls and incense smoke, playing at mortality with the grace of forgotten gods. Ren watched—not with curiosity, not yet—but with that distant patience reserved for tectonic shifts beneath polished stone.
Then, the shadows stirred. Assassins, cloaked in dust and silence, moved as if fate had promised them success. Their blades poised. Their timing perfect. The moment almost sacred in its precision. But before steel could kiss imperial skin, a boy—not older than sixteen, robed in muted gold and the unmistakable air of royalty—moved like myth remembering its edge. Swift, clean, unhesitating. Blades clattered to the cobblestones. Silence returned, broken and breathless. Ren didn't blink. Didn't intervene.
The Emperor's voice was firm, more concerned than angry. "Son… you did not need to intervene. I have my imperial guard—they exist to protect your mother and me. Where are your escorts? Don't tell me you left them behind again."
The young prince lowered his gaze, one hand still on his blade. "I'm sorry, Father. If you must punish me, I'll accept it. But with Elder Sister away, I swore I'd protect you in her place. I promised her."
Ren glanced down, and there she was—Mianmian, warm and drowsy from waking, pressing her chubby cheeks against his with that absentminded tenderness only she could conjure. Her tiny gesture wasn't practised, wasn't intentional. Just… instinctive. A soft echo of trust. He offered her a nut—simple, rich, slightly honey-glazed—and she nibbled with quiet delight, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking like a sleepy fanfare. Gao Yun observed the scene, still tethered to the crowd.
Ren turned toward a quieter street—one lined with lanterns whose flames hummed with gentle qi, toward guesthouses whose walls seemed woven from silence and shade. Mianmian pressed her little paws against his collar and blinked.
Ren glanced down, and there she was—Mianmian, warm and drowsy, pressing her chubby cheeks against his with instinctive tenderness. Her gesture, unthinking and intimate, drew out a softness in him he rarely revealed. He gave her a honey-glazed nut, which she nibbled with quiet delight, tail flicking in sleepy fanfare.
Gao Yun, still lingering in the market's press, watched with mounting annoyance—and perhaps a thread of envy. "You spoil her too much, Master," he grumbled, his cheeks puffed with complaint.
A sharp thud. Mianmian had lobbed a nut directly at his forehead.
She fixed him with a look—half queen, half gremlin. A silent command pulsed through that gaze: "Shut up. You're my lackey, and Ren is mine. Understood?"
Gao Yun rubbed his temple, chastened but trying not to sulk too visibly.
Ren chuckled and touched the old scar on Gao Yun's head, sending a gentle pulse of healing qi. "Don't I spoil you, too? You eat like a celebration," he said. "Maybe I should stop indulging both of you. Mianmian needs to learn gentleness. You—portion control."
Gao Yun muttered something inaudible. Mianmian resumed nibbling, triumphant.
Gao Yun's face was a swirl of frustration and vulnerability, each word laced with that earnest storm only youth can summon. "I'm your disciple, Master. Not hers. I'm just her servant, and she treats me like it. I can't take it anymore."
But Mianmian didn't even glance at him. She remained curled in Ren's arms, gaze lifted toward her master with unwavering devotion—an adoration so pure it made Gao Yun ache.
He watched the way her soft paws settled against Ren's robe, the way her breath synced unconsciously with his. It was wild.
And yet, somewhere in Gao Yun's twisted thoughts, an idea brewed. A warning to himself, really: "If she ever turns human," he muttered beneath his breath, "she won't waste time. She'll try to sleep with him. Probably even have his babies."
"You should call your wife, Gao Yun," Ren said gently. "She misses you terribly. Loves you deeply—even back when you were still at early Step One. You hadn't achieved much, yet she saw something worthy long before you did."
Gao Yun's eyes lowered, shame softening his voice. "Master… please. Don't remind me. I was naive. Barely scratching the surface of cultivation. I gave her every reason to doubt me—immaturity, arrogance, even neglect."
He exhaled, shoulders heavy with memory. "But she stayed. She believed in me. Never strayed, never once gave up. I'm blessed beyond merit to be loved like that."
Ren smiled with quiet affection, a glint of reverence in his gaze. "That you are, my dear friend. And such loyalty mustn't be taken for granted. Cherish her—not just for the devotion she's shown, but for the man you've become because of it."
"I'll do that now, Master." Gao Yun bowed, not out of habit, but reverence. Then he turned and exited quietly, robes swaying behind him like the tail of a departing storm.
In this realm, there were no phones—but cultivators with steady qi and sufficient memory could use a Spirit Echo Mirror: a translucent crystal bound to the essence of one's beloved. Each mirror resonated through a bond formed at birth, marriage, or sacrifice, transmitting voice and presence like water flowing between two joined cups.
He stepped into a private chamber, lit only by drifting paper lanterns. The Spirit Echo shimmered on a pedestal, pulsing faintly with the energy of the one who waited far away.
Gao Yun placed his hand gently on the crystal. "My love," he said, voice low, aching. "I should've called sooner."
The mirror pulsed once. Her voice, soft and steady, emerged from the rippling light: "I missed you. Every hour, every heartbeat."
Gao Yun closed his eyes, the weight of memory and gratitude pressing against his chest.