Suddenly, a little girl with braided pigtails, holding a souvenir from the Celestial Maiden Shrine, pointed at the sky and screamed, "A fairy! It's a real fairy!"
The entire street erupted in commotion. Elderly townsfolk were moved to tears, while the younger ones looked around in confusion.
"Master Song has ascended again!" cried the old paper artisan. He dropped to his knees with a thud and kowtowed to the sky over and over.
The residents of the ancient town folded their hands together and offered solemn prayers to the celestial vision above. Those tourists who couldn't see the glowing sky looked at each other, utterly baffled.
Zhao Huoyan, once a high-ranking member of The SEIU and now mayor of Lingcheng was clutching his phone as he watched the livestream of Xiaozhu Mountain's ascension event. Breathless with urgency, he rushed toward his car. Though the years had softened his stride and streaked his hair with white, his voice remained firm as he barked at the driver, "Head to Xiaozhu Mountain at once. As fast as you can."
But before the car could even start moving, Song Miaozhu had already vanished through the rainbow gate, followed by her paper-crafted companions. The moment they crossed the threshold, the brilliant gate and all the multicolored light that had filled the sky faded without a trace.
At that exact instant, cultivators around the world noticed something strange. In their spiritual platforms, once long withered and drained of energy, the rainbow gate they had always seen high above had also disappeared.
"So that really was the gateway to the Immortal Realm…"
"It's a shame we never managed to reach that height, to see what was beyond the gate."
"This really is the end of our cultivation era. No one else will become immortal now."
"Master Song has ascended, but why didn't her breakthrough trigger a new global wave of spiritual energy? I wish the young ones today could have seen the glory of the cultivation boom from decades ago."
"So her ascension just happened today? Then all those rumors before were fake?"
"She ascended from Xiaozhu Mountain. Has she been hiding there all these years?"
"But that place is swarmed with tourists every day. How did she manage to stay hidden?"
"The biggest question is, where did she even get the spiritual energy to reach ascension? The world's supply has been cut off for years!"
…
Questions swirled without answers, all left unresolved the moment Song Miaozhu vanished into the sky.
As she passed through the rainbow gate, a strange music filled Song Miaozhu's ears.
It was like the sound of an oil-paper umbrella opening in a rainy alley, a crisp pop. It blended with the sharp crackle of Northern Song ceramics exploding in a kiln, and the gentle rustle of raw xuan paper beneath her fingertips. The three sounds wove together into an ethereal symphony that seemed crafted to welcome a new immortal.
A band of radiant light flashed before her eyes. When she opened them, she found herself suspended in a world unlike any she had ever known.
The sky shimmered like brocade from Shu, with clouds glowing like embroidered satin. An arc of Suzhou embroidery stretched across the heavens, every stitch so intricate that even the heirs of Gu embroidery would have stood in awe. The flowing clouds showed dual patterns from opposite sides, like the marvel of double-sided embroidery, and now and then, sharp threads of light—like the glint of a passing needle—flashed between them.
Below, rivers sparkled like Tang-dynasty celadon glaze, their clear surfaces hiding emerald peaks. When the waves splashed, they burst into shards like cracked Ru ware porcelain, only to reassemble seamlessly as they returned to the water.
In the distance, a crimson mountain peak rose high, layered with lacquer like an artifact from the Warring States era. At the edges where the lacquer peeled, one could glimpse engraved taotie patterns, ancient and mysterious. The trees nearby were carved from Huizhou inkstone, their leaves veined with strokes that resembled flying brushwork. When they bore fruit, those fruits fell as movable type characters—each one a lead stamp that arranged itself into lines of perfect poetry upon hitting the ground.
Across this dreamlike landscape, celestial palaces floated in graceful disarray. Their eaves curled upward like cranes in flight, while windows were latticed with clouds cut from red paper. A porcelain crane shaped from celadon preened beside a stream. A phoenix woven from silk tapestry napped in a parasol tree. Embroidered butterflies perched gently on peony blossoms carved from obsidian. Nearby, a set of cloisonné chime bells rang out the "Rainbow Garment Song." The air was laced with the soft scent of sandalwood, as though someone were carving it just moments ago.
It was a realm beyond imagination.
At that moment, from the heavens above, seven-colored threads fell like a weaver's silken sleeves. The needlework gleamed like starlight. Gold and silver filaments danced among ribbons of silk, and in the blink of an eye, they wove themselves into a flowing rainbow robe—her new celestial garment.
A voice echoed from beyond the clouds, soft as wind chimes, strong as bronze bells.
"From mortal hands, a hundred crafts were born, fell into decline, then rose again. Today, we grant you the Authority of Hundred Arts. You shall govern all creation, and sustain heavenly craftsmanship for eternity."
With those words, three orbs of light drifted down into her hands, transforming into three treasures.
A ribbon of brilliant rainbow light followed, piercing into the center of her brow.
Her spiritual platform became utterly clear, and an overwhelming tide of knowledge surged into her mind.
In that moment, a map of the entire realm unfurled in her sea of consciousness. This was the Realm of Hundred Arts and Thousand Crafts, a world forged from the distilled spirit of all earthly craftsmanship.
The brushstrokes of painters, the precision of embroiderers, the vision of sculptors, the balance of chefs—every master's life work had taken root here. Every tile, tree, and riverbank had been born of human skill.
The sky here was no ordinary sky. It was an endless embroidered scroll woven from generations of master embroiderers. The ground beneath her feet was not made of soil or stone, but the embodiment of a thousand earthly crafts.
Celestial palaces stood scattered across the realm—not made of jewels or jade, but of woodwork, papercraft, textile, and stone. The woodcraft palace's eaves curled like birds in flight. The papercraft palace trembled with gentle cut-outs fluttering in the breeze. The embroidery palace's curtains shimmered with Suzhou double-sided stitchwork. The stone palace glowed with the mellow gleam of Shoushan carvings. Every palace was the living form of a craft.
The spirits that moved throughout the realm were not of flesh and bone. A priest formed from a Liangzhu jade cong held ceremonial instruments. Tang-dynasty pottery horses neighed and pranced. A sandalwood crane combed its feathers. Maidens carved from boxwood strolled down the corridors burning incense. These were no ordinary beings, but spirits born from treasures of the world.
The size of the palace reflected the prosperity of its craft. The number of spirits signaled the depth of its legacy.
The papercraft palace gleamed especially bright—for this was the craft that had produced an immortal. Compared to the others, it shone with unmatched clarity.
The spirit artifacts that had ascended with her had gathered there as well.
The little paper servants had become snow-white dolls, splashing beside the Clearheart Lake with the adorable fortune-drawing children.
Zhangli, Yan Feng, Guan Hong, and Yue Lin sat at a table playing mahjong. Yi Heng was curled up nearby with a scroll.
Even the spirit of her paper-crafted residence had shrunk into a miniature house with stubby legs, peeking over a card game.