Xiu Mei's chest heaved, her sweat-slicked skin glowing faintly in the dim light. For a long moment she simply stared at him, lips trembling between a smile and something heavier. Her thighs quivered, and when she finally shifted, a soft wince escaped her throat. Crimson lingered along her inner thighs, proof of what she had just surrendered.
She wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, as though holding in the flood of emotions. Her breath hitched. "It hurts a little," she admitted softly, cheeks flushed but eyes unyielding. "But… it's not just pain. It feels like I've crossed something I can never return from."
I guess this is where my fun ends, Shi Yang thought as the mood waned. He grabbed his robe, casting a glance over the elemental mess scattered through the room. I'd rather not push my luck and end up with my manhood turning into silver.
With a quiet sigh, he draped the robe over her shoulders. "Let's stop here."
Shi Yang reached out, brushing his thumb against her cheek. For once, his gaze wasn't sharp or calculating—it was steady, grounding. "You've stepped through the gate of womanhood bravely. That alone is enough."
"No, I want to keep going… but it…" Her lips pressed together, eyes shimmering with unspoken conflict. She looked down at her trembling hands, then back at him. "Uncle Shi, I… don't know if it's safe for you if I continue." Her voice cracked on the words. "Now that I'm this close, if I push any further, my tribulation will come. If I face it while weakened from… from this…" her cheeks burned as she glanced downward, "I might not survive. Worse, I could drag you into it too."
The mist of their mingled Dao still clung to the room, shimmering faintly. Shi Yang tilted his head, studying her. "So, even now, you're thinking about me."
She nodded slowly, though her body leaned toward him, torn between instinct and reason. "I want to continue. I want to give myself to you fully again. But if I force it and squander my breakthrough, I might lose my chance at Foundation forever… and then all of this would be meaningless."
Her hands clenched in her lap as she rambled, eyes darting nervously. "Not the part with you—that will always be worth it, even if I suffer hidden injuries. I wouldn't regret it. I-I'm speaking only about cultivation."
"Don't worry, I won't take offense," he murmured. "A cultivator's greatest pride is their realm. I understand."
His fingers slid forward, lacing gently with hers. She stared at him, lips parting and closing, palms damp with sweat as she struggled to find her words.
"Would you… wait for me? Until I return from my tribulation?"
Shi Yang chuckled low in his throat, warm and amused. "Xiu Mei, I'd cut down the heavens themselves before I let them steal you from me. Go. Face your tribulation. Break through and return stronger." His grin sharpened, wolfish. "Then you'll have no excuse when I demand the rest of what you owe me."
Her cheeks deepened to crimson, but she managed a shaky laugh. "Greedy as ever…"
Still trembling, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his—lingering, tender, edged with urgency. Then she pulled back, straightening his robe even as the evidence of their act stained her thighs.
"I'll be back soon," she whispered, her tone steadying with resolve. "Don't forget me, Uncle Shi."
Her eyes gleamed silver-blue as Qi surged around her, the air trembling with power. She stepped lightly to the window, the mist parting in her wake, and in the next heartbeat she was gone—streaking skyward toward the place where her tribulation would descend.
Silence settled in her absence, broken only by Shi Yang's steady breathing. He lay back against the wreckage of the bed, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Greedy, am I? Hmph. You've no idea."
His gaze drifted toward the curtains. "…Damn. I forgot to tell her I don't have enough silver to cover the damages…" He groaned, remembering his ill-fated gambling earlier that morning.
Falling flat against the bed, he stared at the ceiling. His length stirred again as he recalled breaching Xiu Mei's sacred gate, plunging into her cherry garden. His hand shifted, eyes narrowing toward the garment she had left behind.
—
Ten minutes later
The room was quiet again, save for the faint drip of condensation trailing down the walls. The bedsheets lay discarded, and the garment Xiu Mei had left behind was no longer pure. By the time his breathing steadied, the storm in his body had dulled into a heavy, satisfied ache.
Shi Yang exhaled, rolling his shoulders before settling cross-legged on the floor. He shut his eyes and sank inward, forcing his restless thoughts into silence. I've indulged enough.
Time to refine myself, he thought, gazing inwardly into his spiritual sea.
"First I need an image to latch onto," he murmured. He thought about using the mental image of a swirling lake like his predecessor. "If I blindly follow what this body used to, then I won't have my own path forward in this world."
"If I have to make an image from scratch…" he paused, "then there's only one thing I can envision." Shi Yang searched through his mind and smiled as he found the memory that truly kick-started this day.
He envisioned a waterfall tumbling from an endless cliff, the water crashing and foaming as it struck the rocks below. Streams branched outward, flowing down valleys and cutting paths through the land, every rivulet eventually merging back into the current. His Qi followed the image, winding through his meridians like water finding its course, fusing with the strength of his Dao.
The torrent grew louder in his mind. His breath slowed, his body heavy as stone. Waterfall, stream, current—rushing, endless, eternal. The world slipped away, and at some point, so did wakefulness.
When he stirred again, the sun had nearly set and the whispers of the night began to creep in. He stretched, joints cracking as he rose from the mat. His body felt lighter, as if the meditation had smoothed the knots of fatigue. He turned, glancing idly back toward the spot he'd been seated—
—and froze.
His body was still there.
Seated cross-legged. Eyes closed. Breathing in rhythm.
Shi Yang's pupils contracted. His gaze flicked around the room, searching for some trick of light, some distortion of Qi—but all seemed ordinary. Until his eyes landed on the old bronze mirror leaning against the far wall.
The surface creaked. A sound like old wood straining under weight.
His reflection rippled.
From the warped silver, a pale hand pressed outward. Fingers stretched thin, clawlike, followed by a face half-shrouded in shadow. The glass bent as though it were soft clay, and a ghostly figure began to push its way through.
His eyes darted back to his seated body—only for that body's eyes to snap open. The sight shocked him, and in the same instant, his spirit was yanked violently back into flesh.
"The fuck!?" he shouted, staggering to his feet, his gaze snapping toward the mirror.
The mirror exploded, shards scattering as a chilling whisper cut through the air. The boards groaned and cracked—something was running across them.
Shi Yang lunged for his blade, instincts flaring. He ducked low just as the presence swept past him from behind.
"White River—Sword Dance!!!" he bellowed, Qi flooding into his steel as he carved a crescent slash through the air. Swish! The strike split the air clean—but his sword bit nothing. Instead, force slammed into his chest, knocking him sprawling.
Thud!!
His skull smacked the floor, rattling his vision. But he didn't stay idle. Twisting sharply, he swung the sword's hilt backward—and felt it connect.
"Skriiiiiii!!" Something shrieked, shrill and agonized.
Shi Yang's lips curled in a snarl. "Featherless Palm!!!"
Qi condensed into his tendons and bones, his strike crashing forward with force greater than iron. His palm smashed into the unseen figure's face with a sickening crunch—blood and teeth splattering hot across his arm as he drove it deep.
"Haa… haa…" His chest heaved, heart pounding, skin clammy as he stayed frozen on the floor, palm outstretched and dripping crimson. Nothing visible remained—only whispers, curling like smoke in his ears.
Slowly, his gaze turned back toward the bronze mirror.
And instead of lying shattered, the shards reformed—glass reweaving, cracks sealing—until the mirror stood whole again, silent, as though nothing had happened at all.
Shi Yang's hand trembled as he wiped the blood from his arm. His eyes flicked between the reformed mirror and the empty air, his thoughts a storm.
What the hell was that? Was it a ghost clawing its way through the bronze? A backlash from fusing his Dao into Qi? Or… had someone tried to assassinate him, using illusions to mask their strike?
His jaw tightened. Whatever it was, he couldn't leave it here.
He yanked the mirror from its stand, the surface cold and slick beneath his grip, and shoved it aside. Striding to the closet, he grabbed a plain outer robe and shrugged it over his shoulders, the weight grounding him. One by one, he cleared his own clothes from the wardrobe, bundling them together into a tight knot of fabric. He tied it fast with his sash, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the door.
The hallway creaked under his boots as he descended to the lower floor. The clerk at the desk froze when he appeared, bundle in one arm, mirror under the other.
Shi Yang dropped a pouch of silver onto the counter. "For the damages upstairs. And the mirror—" he set the bronze relic down with care, though his eyes were sharp and restless—"dispose of it. Thoroughly. Smash it, melt it, I don't care. Just make sure it's gone."
His gaze swept the lobby as he spoke, every shadow suspicious, every patron a potential threat. His instincts gnawed at him. If this wasn't a haunting, then it was an enemy's hand.
The memory of the market flickered across his mind—Han Jie's hairpin, the corpse it left cooling in the dirt. A weight settled in his chest, heavy and bitter. Could this be tied to that?
His mind returned to earlier that morning, and the combative nature of the couple they had bid against.
Tch. He clicked his tongue, his hand now free of the mirror gripping tightly around his blade's hilt. I was a fool to think nothing would come from that.
The unease sharpened into dread. Without another word, he strode into the night, the streets echoing under his steps. His figure blurred, leaping from tiled roof to tiled roof, paranoia pushing him faster.
The city lights dwindled as he neared Han Jie's courtyard. His breath misted in the cool night air, his heart thudding like a drum. The bad premonition swelled, pressing down on his chest like stone.
When he landed at her gate, the sight stole the air from his lungs.
The front door hung open.