The Alchemy Commission was a place of ordered chaos.
From afar, its towering structures curved like ribs around a massive central cauldron that vented pale streams of vapor into the sky. The air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs, scorched talismans, and something faintly metallic that lingered at the back of the throat. Spiritual furnaces thrummed beneath jade walkways, their rhythmic pulses resonating through the soles of one's boots like the steady heartbeat of some slumbering giant.
Dan Heng stood at the edge of a broad platform as Sushang marched ahead with exaggerated confidence, her posture straight and her steps loud enough to announce her presence long before she spoke. Luocha followed at a measured pace, golden hair catching the filtered light that spilled down from translucent canopy panels overhead. The white casket remained strapped across his back, pristine and incongruous amidst the Commission's utilitarian severity.
Cloud Knights were everywhere.
They stood in tight formations along the walkways, their armor polished and their expressions stern. Some tended to wounded comrades. Others barked orders, directing the flow of personnel toward containment zones and reinforced barricades. The recent chaos that had engulfed the Luofu had not spared this Commission, and tension coiled through the air like a drawn bowstring.
Sushang halted before a cluster of armored figures and spun around dramatically, pointing at Dan Heng and Luocha as if presenting priceless trophies.
"These two were under my protection. I led them to safety… right?"
Dan Heng did not respond. He merely watched.
Luocha, on the other hand, offered a faint, polite smile.
"Before coming to the Luofu, I consulted a diviner."
Sushang blinked.
"A diviner?"
"Yes. I asked about my fortune."
His tone was mild, almost conversational, as though they were discussing tea rather than a crisis.
"The diviner told me not to worry about the destination, but to follow the current to the path that reaps the greatest harvest."
Sushang frowned, clearly attempting to extract meaning from the statement.
"What does that even mean?"
Luocha inclined his head slightly.
"It means I am grateful for your guidance, Miss Sushang."
Her suspicion lingered for a moment longer before she huffed.
"You're weird, you know that? Anyway, I'll go speak to the nearest captain and report in. Don't move. The Cloud Knights will come check your identities soon."
She jabbed a finger at them for emphasis before striding away, twintails swaying behind her.
Dan Heng watched her go, then shifted his weight. His patience was thin.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, glancing at the screen. Several messages remained unsent, each marked with the same small icon indicating a failed transmission. The network across the Luofu was unstable, perhaps intentionally restricted in light of the turmoil.
He exhaled softly and slid the device back into his pocket.
Beside him, Luocha adjusted the strap of his casket and regarded the bustling Commission with mild interest.
"You appear restless."
Dan Heng did not deny it.
"Staying here will only complicate matters."
Luocha nodded.
"The Cloud Knights will verify our identities. If you have somewhere else to be, perhaps you should go. I, too, have lingered longer than intended."
Dan Heng turned his gaze toward him.
"And where are you going?"
Luocha's lips curved faintly.
"I am a traveling merchant. Where do you think?"
There was something deliberately evasive in the answer, but not enough to provoke confrontation.
Dan Heng nodded once.
"Then we part here."
"As the current wills."
They separated without ceremony.
Dan Heng moved immediately, blending into the edges of the Commission's ordered movement. His steps were quiet, his posture relaxed, his presence diminished to the point of near invisibility. While not an assassin, he had long since mastered the art of passing unnoticed.
Cloud Knights were vigilant, but their attention was divided. Patrol routes overlapped in rigid patterns, leaving brief gaps that Dan Heng exploited with careful timing. He slipped past barricades under the guise of purposeful movement, adopting the stride of someone who belonged.
Ahead, the massive cauldron dominated the horizon.
It rose along with the artificial sun, its curved surface inscribed with flowing characters that glowed faintly beneath the sheen of spiritual condensation. Pillars of vapor spiraled upward from its vents, carrying with them the scent of medicinal compounds refined for purposes both benevolent and martial.
Dan Heng clutched his head, a faint ringing in his ears.
'This aureate cauldron is driven by the cloudhymn magic of our people — the Vidyadhara. It drinks the water of the ancient sea like a whale swallows the tide, and refines it into medicinal pellets...'
He ignores the feminine voice, just as everyone in the vicinity did.
As he navigated a narrow walkway overlooking a lower courtyard, a presence brushed against his senses.
Dan Heng slowed imperceptibly.
It was not overt. Not aggressive. But it was distinct.
A Master.
He adjusted his path slightly and allowed his gaze to drift, searching without appearing to search.
Then he saw him.
A boy stood near a balustrade overlooking the same courtyard, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He appeared no older than fifteen, his features sharp yet still carrying the faint softness of youth — though, as he was likely a Xianzhou native, he was probably double his apparent age. His attire bore the unmistakable markings of the Cloud Knights, though it was tailored more elegantly than standard issue.
The air around him felt honed.
Refined.
Dangerous.
Dan Heng's eyes narrowed slightly.
He recognized him.
'They say that you are Long's power incarnate. Is that true?'
Talent was not something earned — you either had it or you didn't.
The Dream Tournament had been a spectacle broadcast across numerous systems, its finale impossible to ignore. At the very end, there had been a duel — one that had sparked endless debate.
Yanqing.
The prodigious swordsman of the Xianzhou.
The boy who had crossed blades with Mongrel.
Whether he had faced the true Stellaron Hunter or an imitator remained a matter of contention, but the skill displayed had been undeniable. Even through a screen, Yanqing's sword intent had been palpable.
And now he stood only dozens of meters away.
Dan Heng assessed him silently.
Yanqing's posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was no slackness in it. His balance was perfect. His breathing steady. His awareness extended outward in subtle waves, brushing against the surroundings like invisible threads.
If they fought…
Dan Heng did not finish the thought.
He did not know the answer.
That uncertainty was enough.
He shifted his route again, choosing a lower path partially obscured by hanging talismans and suspended alchemical apparatus. Each step was deliberate. Each movement calculated to avoid drawing attention.
Yanqing's gaze lifted slightly.
For a fraction of a second, their eyes almost met.
Dan Heng felt the faintest tightening in his chest, but he did not break stride. He allowed a pair of passing alchemists to cross between them, using the momentary obstruction to adjust his trajectory further.
The presence did not intensify.
Yanqing did not move.
Dan Heng continued forward.
Only when the Master's presence faded behind layers of structure did Dan Heng allow himself a measured breath.
He had no desire to test his strength here.
Not now.
Not while the Luofu balanced on the edge of internal collapse.
Dan Heng did not slow as he descended toward the lower tiers of the Commission, but the air around him seemed to grow heavier with each step.
At first, it was only a faint distortion at the edge of his perception — like heat rippling above stone. Then came the ringing again, subtle but persistent, threading through the steady hum of alchemical furnaces and distant marching boots. The sounds of the Commission dulled, as though muffled beneath a great depth of water.
'High Elder…'
The whisper was soft.
Dan Heng's jaw tightened.
He continued forward, boots striking jade with controlled precision. The docks were not far now. He could smell brine beneath the medicinal vapors, the faint mineral tang of seawater siphoned through hidden channels that fed the great cauldron.
'I see you have returned.'
The voice overlapped the present, folding time inward.
Blurry images flickered across his vision.
A towering structure of coral-white stone. Vast waters stretching endlessly beneath a sky the color of molten pearl. Figures kneeling in reverence.
'High Elder…'
Dan Heng's breath grew shallow.
He did not break stride.
The walkway curved downward in a gentle arc, leading toward the Commission's outer docks where smaller vessels bobbed against tethered moorings. The artificial sun glinted against the surface of contained seawater that pooled in wide channels, reflecting fractured light onto the undersides of bridges.
The whispers grew louder.
'You cannot abandon your duty.'
'The tide awaits your command.'
'High Elder…'
He pressed his fingers briefly to his temple, forcing his breathing into a steady rhythm. Emotional volatility. That was all this was. His proximity to the waters likely aggravated him.
He did not answer the voices.
He would not.
The docks came into full view.
Several small wooden boats were tethered along the edge, their lacquered hulls worn smooth by years of travel. Lanterns hung from posts at irregular intervals, their glow faint beneath the growing brilliance of dawn.
Dan Heng stepped onto the lowest platform.
The ringing peaked.
Then—
A figure stood before him.
Blurry.
Indistinct.
As though carved from mist and memory.
Dan Heng halted.
The shape was humanoid, draped in flowing garments that shifted like currents in deep water. The features were obscured, dissolving at the edges no matter how intently he focused.
Yet the presence felt… familiar.
Concern radiated from it, sharp and immediate.
"Something terrible is happening in Scalegorge Waterscape. Please don't go any further. Your enemies… your enemies are waiting for you."
Dan Heng's eyes hardened.
"Best not to keep them waiting, then."
A faint tremor passed through the air.
"You carry burdens that should have drowned you long ago, and yet you insist on walking into the tide."
Dan Heng's expression did not change.
"I am not who you think I am."
The words tasted hollow.
The figure regarded him silently.
"Names change. Titles are stripped away. But the current remembers."
The mist-like form began to unravel, edges fraying into translucent strands.
"Be wary, High Elder. The waters ahead are not calm."
Then it was gone.
The ringing ceased.
Only the distant crash of contained waves against reinforced stone remained.
Dan Heng stood alone at the dock.
For a long moment, he did not move.
Then he stepped forward and untied one of the smaller boats, pushing it gently into the water before stepping aboard. The vessel rocked beneath his weight, wood creaking softly.
He hesitated.
The surface of the water reflected his image back at him — dark hair stirred by the breeze, eyes steady yet shadowed by something older than memory.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Then, quietly, he extended his will.
The water answered.
It shifted beneath the hull, gathering in a subtle swell that nudged the boat away from the dock. Another pulse followed, stronger this time, carrying him forward along the channel that led toward Scalegorge Waterscape.
Mist rose around him as the boat picked up speed, gliding smoothly across the controlled current.
Dan Heng did not look back.
Whatever waited ahead — enemies, echoes, or truths long buried — he would face it directly.
The tide carried him onward.
The boat scraped softly against pale sand.
Dan Heng stepped off without ceremony, boots sinking slightly into the damp shoreline as Scalegorge Waterscape stretched before him in quiet, deceptive serenity. The waters here were clearer than those in the Commission's channels, their surface reflecting the artificial sun in fractured bands of silver and jade. Limestone outcroppings rose like ribs from the shallows, and distant stone archways marked the entrance to the deeper sanctum beyond.
He took two steps forward.
Then stopped.
A faint scowl creased his brow as his gaze lifted toward the ridge overlooking the beach.
Two figures stood there, silhouetted against the light.
"You can't be serious…"
Kafka regarded him with casual amusement, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other lazily adjusting the hem of her coat as if they had run into each other by coincidence rather than design. Beside her stood Blade, motionless and silent, his dark hair stirring in the breeze. His eyes were fixed on Dan Heng with an intensity that felt less like sight and more like pressure.
The air thickened.
Blade's fingers twitched.
Then he abruptly lifted a hand to his head, clutching at his temple as if something inside him were clawing to escape.
"It's… welling up… Kafka."
She smiled faintly.
"Then go wild."
Without another glance at either of them, Kafka flicked her wrist. A string shot outward, anchoring somewhere beyond the ridge. She leaned back into it and zipped away in a blur, vanishing over the rocks with effortless grace.
Blade began to laugh.
It was not pleasant laughter. It was raw, fractured, spilling from him in jagged bursts as an oppressive aura rolled outward, pressing down on the sand and water alike. The tide receded several inches as if intimidated.
"Dan Feng…"
Blade's tone wavered between mockery and something far more unstable.
"Do you really think changing form will let you escape?"
Dan Heng's expression hardened.
"I have told you again and again. I am not that person."
Blade's eyes widened with madness, the whites showing stark against the red that bled into his irises.
"Even after changing your name. Even after changing your face."
His voice dropped, trembling with manic fervor.
"You should have experienced death for your sins."
The suffocating pressure intensified.
"I will force the pain of death onto you."
A sudden shriek split the air.
Steel descended from the heavens.
Dozens — no, hundreds — of blades rained down in a violent storm, slamming into the beach and detonating plumes of sand and dust. The barrage engulfed Blade entirely, burying him beneath a forest of metal.
Dan Heng instinctively stepped back.
From above, a staircase of floating swords materialized, each blade aligned edge-to-edge to form a descending path. A young figure walked down it with measured calm, boots landing lightly atop sharpened steel as though it were polished marble.
"Nobody will be getting murdered today."
The dust settled.
Yanqing snorted.
Blade stood upright.
Every inch of his body was pierced — shoulders, torso, limbs, even through the skull — yet he remained standing, head tilted slightly as though bemused by the inconvenience. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and began ripping the blades free. Flesh tore.
No blood fell.
The wounds sealed in seconds as red spider lilies bloomed from the places where steel had exited, their petals unfurling grotesquely before dissolving into nothing.
Blade grinned.
"Jing Yuan's lapdog… How has the Abundance been treating you?"
Dan Heng's eyes flicked sharply toward Yanqing.
A disciple of the Luofu's General. Associated with the Abundance?
Yanqing shrugged, as though the accusation were beneath notice. Behind him, a myriad of weapons shimmered into existence, suspended in the air with their points aimed toward Blade's heart.
Yanqing shot back:
"Weren't you ever taught not to bring up a guy's mother? No wonder you were disowned."
Dan Heng stared at him.
Was he insane?
Provoking Blade like this — when he was, at best, a Master facing a Saint?
Blade's laughter ceased.
Without warning, he lunged.
The rain of suspended swords converged instantly, forcing Blade to parry mid-charge as steel met steel in explosive succession. Sparks erupted with each deflection. Instead of retreating, Yanqing sprinted forward to meet him head-on.
Teal sparks burst in his palm.
A weapon formed.
Dan Heng's breath hitched.
It was identical to Blade's sword — the same length, the same curve — yet laced with golden seams like kintsugi tracing deliberate fractures along the blade.
The last of the descending weapons dissipated as Yanqing and Blade clashed.
Their swords collided with a crack that split the air.
Dan Heng's eyes narrowed.
Yanqing was keeping up.
Not through raw physical power — Blade still moved with monstrous force — but through something sharper. Each dodge came at the last possible instant, as though Yanqing could see the attack before it was born. His movements carried suicidal intent, stepping into arcs that should have bisected him, yet he emerged untouched by margins so thin they bordered on madness.
Yanqing leapt back, holding up the replicated sword.
It shattered.
Fragments hovered midair, magnetically bound by invisible force, rotating slowly without falling.
A crimson aura seeped into the cracks.
"Is this how you do it?"
Yanqing asked casually.
He raised the broken blade overhead and slashed downward.
A whirlwind of malicious red wind tore across the beach, twisting sand into spirals as Abundance energy surged forward. Blade flipped through the storm with eerie precision, weaving between arcs of cutting wind that shredded rock behind him.
Yanqing whistled softly, examining the fractured weapon.
"A sword that absorbs the Abundance and releases it, both from its victims and its wielder. I'll be sure to keep this."
Blade scoffed.
"Counterfeit."
Yanqing grinned.
"There's no rule that says a fake can't beat the original."
Blade's expression flattened.
Without warning, he hurled his sword sideways.
It cut through the air not toward Yanqing — but toward Dan Heng.
The attack was so sudden that even Yanqing blinked in disbelief.
The blade struck true.
It pierced through Dan Heng's chest, impaling him cleanly and emerging from his back. The impact knocked him off balance as air fled his lungs in a wet gasp. He felt the cold intrusion in his chest, the collapse of a lung, the metallic taste rising in his throat.
Yanqing cursed under his breath.
Water surged.
Dan Heng's hand slipped beneath his robes, fingers closing around a Soul Shard. The world blurred as liquid spiraled upward, encasing him in a cocoon of churning water that drowned out sound and light alike.
Within the swirling depths, thoughts erupted unbidden.
So what if thousands were refined into Soul Essence?
How could any of their lives be worth hers?
So what if Yinxing was cursed with immortality?
'He should be thanking me — otherwise he'd be dead.'
So what.
So what.
So what.
The words echoed.
Blade's voice pierced the cocoon.
"You are none other than the traitor of the Xianzhou, Imbibitor Lunae. Drinker of the Moon."
Yanqing stiffened.
Blade's gaze shifted to him, murderous delight flashing.
"And since you are clearly her student… you will pay in her place."
The cocoon shattered.
Water exploded outward in a violent wave, forcing both Blade and Yanqing to brace themselves.
Dan Heng emerged transformed.
His garments had changed, replaced by flowing Transcendent armor that resembled layered robes in green, white, and black. His hair cascaded down his back, lengthened and stirring with unseen currents. Emerald horns curved from his forehead, gleaming faintly.
The orb from his spear floated above his open palm, detached and humming with restrained power.
The wound in his chest was gone. The remnants of the Soul Shard disintegrated into dust.
The pressure shifted.
He now radiated the unmistakable presence of a Saint.
Yanqing gaped openly before forcing his expression into a scowl, glancing between Blade and the transformed Dan Heng.
Dan Heng's gaze remained fixed on Blade.
"I have no reason to fight you. I only wish to find my friends."
Yanqing's grip tightened. He was outmatched. Horribly outmatched.
His retreat calculations formed rapidly—
Then stopped.
A new presence settled between them.
Mongrel.
The Stellaron Hunter stood casually at the center of the three-way standoff, body-sized odachi looped over his shoulder. The blade's length dwarfed him, its surface forged from the same hellish onyx as the armor that encased his frame. His mask's three horns cast long shadows over unreadable eye sockets.
He tilted his head slightly toward Yanqing.
"Leave them to their lovely reunion."
The tip of his odachi lowered, pointing directly at the young Master. His voice echoed, carrying no distinguishing characteristics.
"Let's do this, Yanqing of the Cloud Knights. Tell me, do you have enough weapons in stock?"