The library's eighth floor was cloaked in silence, broken only by the faint hum of sealed jade slips. Haotian sat cross-legged at one of the long carved dragonwood tables, a lantern glowing faintly above him. Lianhua sat nearby, her head resting against her hand as she watched him work.
Scroll after scroll passed through Haotian's hands. Each one, when touched, lit faintly as though recognizing his presence. He did not simply read them—he opened the Eyes of the Universe, golden irises flaring into concentric rings of light that rotated with quiet precision.
Through those eyes, the arts revealed themselves differently than they did to others. Words became flowing diagrams of qi. Movements unfolded as living phantoms dancing in the air. Even contradictions embedded in the manuals glowed like fissures in glass.
He studied Thousand Mirage Steps first. As the diagrams unfolded, his eyes flickered, tracing hundreds of possible pathways. "This technique relies on overloading the body's shadow with afterimage qi… flawed. The strain would shatter tendons for most. But if reinforced with void-threaded breathing… it becomes seamless."
Lianhua leaned closer, spellbound by his voice. "You can see that… just by reading?"
He smiled faintly. "Not reading. Seeing. These eyes strip away the false and reveal the truth."
Next, he turned to Heavenly Void Rend. His pupils dilated as if staring into endless space, diagrams of swords tearing through layers of dimensions unraveling before him. For hours, he studied, dissecting, comparing. Scrolls piled in neat rows, each one scanned into his mind.
Lianhua never interrupted. Instead, she sat quietly, chin on her hands, simply watching the glow of his Eyes of the Universe. The lanternlight reflected in his gaze, golden rings pulsing with celestial rhythm. To her, it was mesmerizing—those eyes she loved most, the symbol of his path, his gift, his truth.
Night descended. Disciples left. Elders dimmed the lanterns on the lower floors. But Haotian remained, still devouring knowledge as though afraid a moment wasted would dissolve eternity.
And slowly, something changed inside Lianhua.
At first, it was only warmth—watching him, feeling his diligence stir something tender. But then warmth became ache, a restless yearning in her chest and lower belly. She pressed her knees together beneath the table, heart racing. Why now? Why… just from watching him study?
But she knew. It was his eyes. The Eyes of the Universe she adored, glowing in the lantern's stillness. Every time the golden rings pulsed, her heart seemed to pulse with them. Desire twisted through her like silk threads pulled taut.
Her breath quickened. Her body trembled faintly. She hugged herself, but it was useless. The yearning grew sharper, heavier, until her lips parted with soft, uneven gasps.
Haotian suddenly shivered, as though a chill had climbed his spine. He looked up from the scroll and froze.
"Lianhua?" he asked softly.
She sat across from him, trembling, her cheeks flushed deep crimson. Her body shifted uncomfortably as if resisting something overwhelming. Her gaze was locked on him—on his glowing eyes—with raw, unguarded hunger.
He rose, concern overtaking him. "Are you alright?"
No answer. Only her ragged breathing.
He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Lianhua—"
She lifted her head sharply, eyes wide and contorted as though holding something back. Then, without warning, she surged forward, throwing her arms around his neck.
Her lips crashed into his.
The kiss was desperate, trembling, yet filled with heat that set his heart racing. He stiffened at first, caught in surprise, but the softness of her lips and the fire of her need quickly drew him in. His hand cupped the back of her head instinctively as he returned the kiss, and within seconds the hunger flared between them like wildfire.
But before the fire could burn out of control—
BOOM.
Elder Renshu's voice thundered from below, shaking the shelves. "You two better not try it here! The library is for study, not for shaking the floors! Go home!"
Haotian and Lianhua jolted apart, their hearts leaping into their throats. She buried her face against his chest, mortified. He stood frozen, every hair on his body on edge.
For a single breath, silence hung. Then the two bolted—grabbing scrolls, scattering parchment, and stumbling toward the exit in a clumsy panic.
By the time they reached their quarters, both were breathless with embarrassment, faces blazing red. Lianhua didn't hesitate—she rushed inside first, untying her robe with shaking fingers. Haotian barely had time to close the door before she pounced, pulling at him, laughter spilling from his lips as her teasing hands roamed his body.
He stripped his pants as she kissed his skin, her warmth driving him wild. Then, with no words left between them, they embraced fully.
That night, beneath the veil of their residence, they began once more to make love—entering the rhythm of their dual cultivation method.
Morning mist clung to the peaks of the Azure Dragon Sky Sect, draping the mountains in veils of silver light. The residence where Haotian and Lianhua stayed was still, save for the faint flutter of robes swaying on the balcony.
Haotian adjusted his sleeves and stepped out quietly. Lianhua stirred slightly under the covers but made no move to rise. Her breathing was soft, but her body still carried the faint ache of the previous night's dual cultivation. More than that, she knew the truth—she could not sit beside him in the library without being overwhelmed. Every time those golden concentric rings of the Eyes of the Universe pulsed, she would lose herself in him. She would become a distraction.
He paused at the doorway, looking back once. Her figure lay curled in the sheets, serene and radiant even in rest. A faint smile touched his lips. "Rest, Lianhua," he whispered. "I will carry the weight of the scrolls for us both."
Then he slipped away into the morning light.
The Azure Dragon Library opened its vast gates to him once more, its silence deeper in the early hours. Haotian ascended directly to the eighth floor, robes brushing against jade steps that hummed faintly beneath his stride. Here, the shelves greeted him like old companions, heavy with the aura of Sky-Grade arts.
He sat cross-legged before the sealed case of Heavenly Void Rend, his fingers hovering just above the plaque. Again, his Eyes of the Universe awakened, concentric rings blazing as the technique's secrets unraveled before him. Diagrams danced in his vision—swords cutting through layers of dimension, collapsing time between intent and strike. Where another cultivator might take decades to scratch the surface, Haotian dissected line after line as though peeling silk from a cocoon.
The hours passed like heartbeats, the lanterns burning steadily. He opened Dragon Vein Collapse next, watching streams of draconic qi coil through imagined meridians in his sight. Then Thousand Mirage Steps, comparing its illusions to his own footwork until he saw where it faltered. His eyes devoured, catalogued, and dismissed flaws, piecing together threads that even the Sky-Grade masters themselves had missed.
Knowledge was his battlefield now, and he wielded it as surely as his sword.
Meanwhile, back at their quarters, Lianhua rose at last. She dressed in white training robes, tying her hair high to keep it clear of her face. Her chest still tightened when she thought of Haotian's eyes glowing in the lamplight. That power, that diligence, that brilliance—it was too much.
So she chose a different path for the day.
She stepped into the courtyard where mist curled low around the tiles. With one deep breath, she centered herself, then leapt forward—her body light as drifting silk.
Cloud-Sundering Steps.
Each stride bent the mist beneath her feet, scattering it in ribbons as she crossed the courtyard. Her figure blurred, vanished, then reappeared an instant later, every movement as fleeting as dawnlight through clouds. Over and over she practiced, until her breaths came in short bursts, until her steps left sharp eddies in the air itself.
Then she drew her sword.
Voidpiercer Sword Art.
The blade hummed as she slashed, each strike sharp, direct, unadorned—thrusts meant to tear through barriers, illusions, and distance itself. She repeated the form, her wrist steady, her intent honed. With each thrust, faint ripples shimmered in the courtyard mist, as though the void itself trembled at her piercing strikes.
Sweat beaded her brow, but her spirit surged. She wanted to master these arts not simply for herself, but so she could stand beside Haotian as an equal, not merely as someone watching him from the side.
Her eyes narrowed, her thrust sharper. "I won't let myself fall behind."
Two paths, one under the lantern glow of the library, one beneath the pale mist of the courtyard.
Haotian delved into the wisdom of ages, dissecting arts with his Eyes of the Universe.Lianhua danced through clouds and pierced the void, carving her strength with every step and strike.
Though apart, their hearts beat in rhythm, pushing each other onward—even in silence.
On the eighth floor, silence ruled. The shelves loomed like sentinels, each guarding the legacy of past masters. But to Haotian's golden eyes, none of those secrets remained sealed.
The Eyes of the Universe pulsed, concentric rings of light spinning with steady rhythm. A Sky-Grade art unfolded before him—Thousand Mirage Steps. His sight peeled apart every glyph, every stroke of qi pattern. The afterimages fluttered through his vision like petals in the wind.
"Flawed," he whispered, fingers brushing across the jade slip. "Each afterimage costs ten breaths of qi. Useless in prolonged combat. The masters of old compensated with speed, but that leads only to exhaustion."
He shifted the scroll aside, placing another—Celestial Thunder Palm. Lightning rippled through his vision, radiant and feral. He studied its internal rhythm, noting where it spiked, where it dipped.
"Again flawed. The delay before release is half a breath too long. Against an equal opponent, it would never land."
One by one, the arts revealed themselves. Dragon Vein Collapse—overly rigid, requiring too much preparation. Heavenly Void Rend—glorious, but dependent on a sword-draw, leaving openings at the wrist. Each technique, no matter how powerful, carried within it fissures invisible to normal eyes.
Haotian sat unmoving, scrolls scattered around him in precise order. Then, slowly, a thought began to form—threads weaving together.
"These flaws… they are not errors. They are markers. Every Sky-Grade art struggles against the same limits." His voice was quiet, but the lantern seemed to lean toward his words. "Qi control… meridian resilience… the weight of spirit upon technique. These are the walls the ancients struck. Each found a way to climb, but none broke through."
The rings in his eyes spun faster, diagrams from a dozen arts overlapping. Afterimages, thunderstrikes, dragon veins, void rifts—different skins, but the bones were the same. And in that moment, Haotian glimpsed something greater:
"The Sky-Grade is not an end. It is the mark of those who reached the wall but could not break it."
A faint smile touched his lips, rare and sharp. "But I will."
The scrolls pulsed once in resonance, as though even the echoes of past masters acknowledged the one who sought to surpass them.
At the same time, in the courtyard below their residence, Lianhua carved her own path.
Her body blurred through the mist, each step scattering clouds beneath her feet. Cloud-Sundering Steps was a movement art of elegance and speed, but she was not content with elegance. She wanted dominance—motion so swift that even Haotian's eyes would sharpen to follow.
Her breaths deepened. Her steps grew sharper. The mist beneath her cracked into rippling eddies with each footfall, until she was no longer simply stepping through clouds—she was rending them apart.
"Again!" she hissed, sweat dripping down her cheek.
The ache in her limbs flared, but she ignored it. Each repetition refined her balance, each misstep corrected with sharper instinct. Slowly, the movements smoothed, her body becoming weightless, almost untouchable.
Then she drew her sword. With Cloud-Sundering Steps carrying her forward, she thrust in perfect unison—Voidpiercer Sword Art, its edge shimmering with intent. Mist shattered like glass before the thrust, the courtyard echoing with a low crack.
Lianhua froze, chest heaving, eyes wide. The technique had leapt to a new threshold.
"Clouds scattered, void pierced…" she whispered, lowering her blade. A small, breathless smile curved her lips. She was not only keeping pace—she was surging forward too.
Above, in the lantern glow of the eighth floor, Haotian's eyes dimmed at last. He leaned back, exhaling. His mind burned with revelations, but his lips curved upward. Below, in the misty courtyard, Lianhua wiped her brow and tightened her grip on her sword, pride steady in her heart.
Two cultivators, walking different paths that wound together like dragon and phoenix. One dissected the flaws of heaven's greatest arts. The other carved her steps against the clouds.
And though apart, their progress resonated as one.
The lanterns of the eighth floor still burned when Haotian finally rose from his seat. His golden eyes, dimmed now from prolonged use of the Eyes of the Universe, lingered on the shelves one last time. Yet even as he gazed upon those Sky-Grade arts, his thoughts had turned elsewhere—not to himself, but to the girl training below.
He descended from the library like a shadow, each step silent, robes brushing softly against the jade stairway. When he reached their residence's courtyard, the mist had mostly cleared, scattered by countless repetitions of Cloud-Sundering Steps. Lianhua stood in the center, hair plastered to her cheeks, sword trembling in her hand, her breathing ragged but her spirit burning still.
Haotian's chest tightened. She was pushing herself too hard.
"Lianhua," he called softly.
She blinked, turning in surprise, sweat glistening against her pale skin. "Haotian? I thought you'd still be buried in scrolls…"
"I was." He approached slowly, his voice low. "But seeing you like this, I couldn't sit still. I've come to understand something—something that changes everything."
Her brows furrowed, but she lowered her sword as he came closer. "What is it?"
Haotian's gaze softened. "There are flaws in even the Sky-Grade arts. All of them. And not just in those—your Cloud-Sundering Steps, your Voidpiercer Sword Art… they carry flaws as well. You struggle because you are walking on broken stones, not because your steps are weak."
Lianhua froze, stunned. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Haotian reached for her hand, gently lowering her to sit upon the cool stone table in the courtyard. He poured water from a gourd, set down a small pouch of dried fruits and nuts he had picked up on his way. Then he sat beside her, calm and steady, as though to anchor her.
"Rest," he said quietly. "Let me show you."
From his sleeve, Haotian drew out two scrolls, unfurling them across the stone table. The glyphs of the Cloud-Sundering Steps and Voidpiercer Sword Sutra glowed faintly in the dim morning light. He breathed once, and then his golden eyes shifted—rings of light blooming into brilliance.
The Eyes of the Universe opened.
The scrolls came alive. Lines of qi twisted into diagrams above the parchment, footsteps scattering across drifting clouds, sword thrusts piercing through shifting voids. And then—fissures appeared. Thin cracks of dark light, invisible to ordinary sight, each one a flaw buried deep in the techniques.
"Look," Haotian murmured. He pointed to the first. "Your Cloud-Sundering Steps has seven flaws. Here—the transition between the second and third steps bleeds energy instead of conserving it. There—your final stride scatters qi outward instead of pulling it into the dantian. No matter how hard you train, those inefficiencies will weigh you down."
Lianhua's eyes widened. She saw the phantom afterimages he revealed, the hidden waste of her energy. "So… it wasn't only me. The technique itself…"
Haotian nodded, his voice calm, certain. "Yes. And your Voidpiercer Sword Art is worse. Twenty-one flaws. Here—every thrust leaks intent into empty space. Here—the recovery stance leaves the heartline exposed. Even if you practiced for a hundred years, these flaws would hinder your perfection."
Her jaw dropped slightly. She pressed her hand against her chest, breathing faster, her heart pounding. "…That explains everything. That's why no matter how hard I pushed, it felt like I was running against a wall."
"Yes." Haotian rolled the scrolls slowly, eyes dimming as he sealed his sight. He turned to her, voice quiet but firm. "If we can correct these flaws—rewrite the techniques, make them whole—then they will not only be easier to learn. They will be stronger. As much stronger as our dual cultivation has become when perfected."
Lianhua stared at him as though he were something beyond mortal comprehension. The exhaustion in her eyes was still there, but now it was joined by a flicker of awe… and hope.
"You… can do that? Rewrite arts that masters themselves failed to perfect?"
Haotian allowed himself a faint smile. "With these eyes… I believe I can. And with you beside me, I will."
The mist curled faintly around them again, as if listening. For the first time since she began practicing that morning, Lianhua's shoulders loosened, her sword hand unclenched. She leaned slightly toward him, voice softer. "Then… let's do it together."
Haotian nodded, his golden eyes glowing once more. "Together."
And on that stone table, beneath the quiet sky, the heirs of Saint Dragons began not only to cultivate—but to reshape the legacy of flawed masters into something greater.
Haotian leaned over the scroll of Cloud-Sundering Steps, golden rings flaring in his pupils as the glyphs shifted under the light of the Eyes of the Universe. To any other cultivator, the script was fixed and eternal. But to him, the flaws glowed like fractures in glass, begging to be realigned.
"There," he murmured, his finger tracing the air. "The third stride leaks qi into the legs instead of spiraling back to the dantian. I'll rewrite the flow here—redirecting the current upward, conserving half the expenditure."
The characters shifted under his gaze, the parchment rippling as his insight bent the script. A new pattern formed, smoother, seamless. He leaned back and exhaled. "Try this version."
Lianhua hesitated only a breath, then rose, adjusting her robes. She drew in qi, stepped forward—and her body lightened. Mist scattered underfoot, clouds rolling aside as her stride lengthened effortlessly. She pivoted into the next sequence, energy flowing more naturally, her breath steady where once it strained.
Again. Again. Again.
By the fifteenth minute, she moved like silk weaving through sky. Her figure blurred, then reappeared, each step smooth and controlled. At last, she stopped, eyes wide, chest rising and falling not with exhaustion—but exhilaration.
"…Minor success," she whispered. Her lips parted in disbelief. "In only fifteen minutes…! Haotian—this technique was torment before. Now it feels like it was made for me!"
She rushed to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders in a sudden, joyous embrace. Haotian steadied her instinctively, surprised by her fervor. When she pulled back just enough to look at him, she froze, struck once more by the glow of his Eyes of the Universe still active, rings turning like golden galaxies.
Her heart clenched. The warmth in her chest surged into something she could no longer contain.
She leaned in, lips trembling with anticipation, and kissed him.
Haotian returned the embrace, one hand sliding to her waist as he drew her closer. The kiss deepened, fierce yet tender, their breaths mingling in the quiet courtyard. Then—
THUD.
Haotian stomped his foot. A pulse of golden light burst outward, layering upon itself in expanding rings.
First, a Chi Gathering Array, drawing the world's essence into their space.Second, a Concealing Array, cloaking their presence from even the sharpest elder.Third, a Defensive Array, solidifying their courtyard as an impregnable bastion.Fourth, a Killing Array, woven like a hidden fang should intruders dare trespass.And fifth, a Soundless Array, sealing every whisper, every breath, every cry.
Fivefold protection. A sovereign's private world.
There, in the open courtyard beneath the morning sky, their embrace became more than a kiss. Their robes loosened, hearts pressed close, desire igniting like wildfire.
They began to make love, their dual cultivation flowing as naturally as breath, as passionately as their bond.
The arrays shimmered like a dome of golden light, sealing them away. Day passed into night. Lanterns flickered out across the sect, but their residence remained sealed, the formations glowing faintly through the hours.
By the next morning, the arrays had not lifted. Nor by evening.
On the second dawn, disciples whispered as they passed by, glancing at the glowing dome.
"They haven't left for an entire day…""And the formations never dimmed…""Could it be…? Were they…?""Don't say it aloud! But… yes. Probably."
Gossip rippled like wildfire, speculation running rampant. Yet none dared to breach the arrays, none dared confirm. All they could do was wait.
And so, the sect whispered, laughed nervously, and wondered what kind of storm would emerge when Haotian and Lianhua finally stepped outside once more.
On the second morning, when the sun rose like a golden disk over the Azure Dragon Sky Sect, the fivefold array that had cloaked Haotian and Lianhua's residence finally shimmered, fractured, and faded. The last runes dissolved into motes of light that scattered into the breeze.
The courtyard doors opened.
Haotian stepped out first, his robe neat and his bearing composed, golden eyes calm as though the entire world had bent to him. Lianhua followed at his side, her white robes fluttering softly, her hair tied back with quiet elegance. There was no hesitation in her step, no blush on her cheeks.
The gathered disciples who had "happened" to linger nearby—whether sweeping paths or delivering scrolls—pretended to busy themselves, though their ears strained with unashamed curiosity.
"Two whole days…""Eighty-three cycles, someone swore they counted the flow of chi!""Did they—?"
The whispers were sharp as knives, but Haotian walked as though they were the rustling of leaves, not worth a breath of attention. His aura was unshaken, sovereign in its calm.
Lianhua, however, turned her head slightly. A younger disciple, too bold for his own good, stammered, "S–Senior Sister, forgive me, but… about you and Senior Brother Haotian…"
Her gaze settled on him, clear and unflinching. "Yes. He is mine, and I am his. There is nothing more to ask."
The disciple froze, face red, before bowing furiously. The other eavesdroppers scattered like startled birds, half in awe, half in terror. The rumors that had been whispers the past two days transformed in that instant into truth stamped by her own words.
But Lianhua felt no shame, no embarrassment. After eighty-three cycles of dual cultivation, she had shattered mental walls again and again until there was nothing left to hide. All she had now was love for him—boundless, unshaken. Her heart was steady as her sword.
Haotian gave her a sidelong glance, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though he said nothing. She returned his smile, the warmth between them stronger than any rumor.
And then, together, they turned away from the watching eyes and refocused.
In the courtyard that afternoon, Lianhua returned to her training. She took her stance, breath steady, qi flowing through her meridians with new clarity. When she stepped forward into Cloud-Sundering Steps, the difference was profound. The corrections Haotian had made had carved away wasted effort. The mist split beneath her stride like silk before a blade, her figure drifting yet sharp. Every repetition drew her closer to mastery.
Haotian, meanwhile, sat at the stone table once more. The scroll of the Voidpiercer Sword Sutra lay unfurled before him, glowing faintly as his Eyes of the Universe activated.
The flaws lit up immediately—twenty-one in all, scattered like cracks in jade. His gaze focused, concentric rings turning faster as he mapped each imperfection.
"This thrust," he murmured, "too much reliance on forward momentum. Here—the recovery stance leaves openings. And this one—the qi flow is wasteful, bleeding from the heartline into the wrist."
His fingers traced across the parchment as the glyphs realigned under his will. Slowly, the sutra shifted. One flaw sealed. Then another. Then another.
Above him, the courtyard filled with the sound of Lianhua's footfalls, clouds scattering with each perfected step. The rhythm of her progress mingled with the rhythm of his corrections, two symphonies playing as one.
The disciples might gossip, the elders might wonder—but for Haotian and Lianhua, the world was narrowed to this: perfecting their path, side by side.