The jade pavilion was quiet, save for the soft whistle of wind through the lattice.
Haotian stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze level, while the man in dragon-embroidered robes studied him from his seat. The tension between them wasn't hostile, but it carried weight — the kind of weight that could crush kingdoms if it fell.
"You didn't hesitate," the man said, his voice calm, smooth. "You called me Emperor the moment we were alone. You saw through the act, and you didn't flinch."
Haotian's tone was steady. "Respect doesn't mean pretending I didn't notice. A Sovereign's presence presses down. Yours bends the air itself. Only an Emperor could carry that weight."
The man smiled faintly. "And yet you still stand tall in front of me. Do you know how rare that is?"
Haotian's lips curved the slightest bit. "I don't measure myself against what's rare. Only against what's right."
The Emperor laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Direct. Honest. And stubborn." His eyes narrowed slightly, though not with anger. "Then let's not waste time with pleasantries. Tell me, Haotian — what do you think of the Blood Trial in the north?"
Haotian's golden eyes sharpened. "It's slaughter disguised as a proving ground. A grinder that chews through Sovereigns and spits out the bones. Nothing more."
The Emperor tilted his head, watching him carefully. "You don't mince words."
"I don't need to," Haotian said flatly. "I know what they're trying to do. They want my disciples thrown into that chaos to weaken us. To let the demons eat us alive while the Central Continent stays untouched. I won't allow it."
The Emperor leaned back, resting his elbow against the arm of the chair. "And if refusing paints you as defiant? As a threat to the balance of the world?"
Haotian met his gaze without wavering. "Then so be it. Better a threat than a pawn."
Silence stretched, heavy but alive. Then, slowly, the Emperor's lips curved into a smile.
"Good," he said softly. "That's the answer I wanted to hear. Because if you had said otherwise—if you had bent your head and agreed—I would've lost all interest in you."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "But you're right. The Blood Trial isn't what they claim it is. It's not just about survival. Not just about Sovereigns fighting demons."
Haotian's brow furrowed. "Then what is it?"
The Emperor's smile thinned. He stood, not to leave, but to close the distance between them, his presence filling the pavilion like a tide rising.
"The truth," he said, his voice low, "is far worse."
The words hung in the air like thunder just before a storm.
Haotian's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak. He waited.
And the Emperor's silence promised that the next words would change everything.
The jade pavilion felt heavier, as if the walls themselves braced for what was about to be spoken.
The Emperor's smile faded. His voice dropped lower, every word sharp.
"Things aren't what they seem, Haotian. The Blood Trial isn't just about demons, or even about the north. The truth goes beyond the five continents you know."
Haotian's brow furrowed. "Beyond the five continents?"
The Emperor nodded. "Far to the east lies a vast land. A land ruled by immortals. Compared to them, our struggles here are… meaningless. Emperors, Sovereigns—at best, we are servants to them. A child born of immortals already has an immortal body from birth. Their sects are all immortal sects. And their politics…" He let out a dry laugh. "…their politics make ours look like childish games."
Haotian's golden eyes narrowed, his fists tightening at his sides. "Immortals… then why haven't we seen them?"
"Because we are cut off." The Emperor's expression hardened. "A veil isolates our five continents from their world. We are like prisoners locked in a corner of the realm. For what purpose? No one knows. Some say we are livestock. Some say we are experiments. Others believe we were forgotten."
Haotian's jaw clenched. "And the demons?"
The Emperor's eyes darkened. "That's the part we can't confirm. The demon invasion may not be natural. It may have been orchestrated by the immortals themselves. For what reason—again, no one knows. But the timing, the scale, the persistence…" He shook his head. "It reeks of someone's design."
For a long moment, silence held the pavilion. Haotian's mind churned. Immortals, veils, prisons, invasions—all painted a picture far larger than anything the sects had believed.
He finally asked, his voice low. "What proof do you have?"
The Emperor's gaze met his, unflinching. "None that I can show you. Only whispers, fragments, and the endless drain of resources the Central Continent is forced to send east. Gold, medicines, rare treasures—all disappearing across the veil. That much, I know."
Haotian's chest rose slowly, the weight of it settling over him. Immortals pulling strings… the invasion itself a game played with our lives.
He exhaled. "So what do you want from me?"
The Emperor leaned forward, eyes sharp. "One day, the Blood Trial may become the only chance to break this cycle. To end the invasion. When that time comes… will you join it?"
Haotian was quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Right now, my Pavilion Sovereigns are newborns. They need time to stabilize, to learn their Daos, to wield their strength. If I threw them into that chaos now, it would be nothing but waste."
The Emperor studied him for a long while, then smiled faintly. "A careful answer. A responsible one. I can respect that. Still—consider it. I hope one day we'll meet again, on the battlefield instead of across this table."
Haotian inclined his head. "If that day comes, then I'll be ready."
The Emperor rose. His presence pressed against the walls one last time, then withdrew like a tide.
Haotian bowed as he left, his voice steady. "Farewell, Your Majesty."
The Emperor's footsteps faded, leaving Haotian alone in the pavilion, his thoughts heavy.
Immortals. A veil. Prisoners. And a war that might not even be theirs.
The training square was packed. Seven hundred and fifty Sovereigns stood in rows, their auras flickering with excitement and tension.
Haotian stood at the front, Starsever sheathed at his back, his arms folded as he let his golden eyes sweep across the field. The three sisters sat off to the side, watching with quiet pride. Xiangyin, as always, observed from above, her silver eyes sharp as a blade.
"You've all broken through," Haotian began, his voice steady, carrying to every corner of the mountain. "But strength without control is nothing but noise. The Ten Elemental Body Physique isn't just power stacked on power. It's discipline. Balance."
He raised his hand, letting golden energy pour into his palm. Flames burst to life, then were smothered by water. Lightning crackled, grounded instantly by a ripple of earth. Wind tore through, contained by a shell of metal. Shadow and light intertwined, neither overpowering the other.
And then, when the balance was perfect, he closed his hand into a fist—releasing a pulse that cracked the stone floor in a clean circle around him.
"That," he said, "is the foundation: Yin and Yang. Harmony. You cannot brute force ten elements into one body. They'll tear you apart. Yin tempers Yang. Yang drives Yin. Without that rhythm, you'll collapse under your own strength."
The disciples exchanged nervous looks, but their eyes shone.
"Now," Haotian said, stepping back. "Try."
Chaos erupted.
A Sovereign on the left shouted, channeling fire and water at once—only for the clash to explode in his face, sending him flying into a stone pillar. Smoke curled off his hair as he groaned.
On the right, another tried lightning and wind together. The blast launched her straight into the sky, her scream echoing before she crashed through a pavilion roof.
"Medic!" someone shouted, though the girl staggered up herself, coughing smoke and muttering, "I'm fine!"
In the middle, three disciples tried combining wood and metal. The result? A tree sprouted instantly out of the stone floor, then collapsed into rust before their eyes, leaving them standing awkwardly in a pile of rotting bark.
Haotian pinched the bridge of his nose. The three sisters laughed openly. Xiangyin sighed from above, muttering, "My poor sect grounds…"
But Haotian didn't let it slide. He walked among them, sharp and precise, correcting mistakes.
"Fire isn't just about burning—it's life and death. Balance it with water, not drown it. Try again."
"Lightning without grounding is suicide. Pair it with earth before you touch wind."
"Wood and metal are opposites. Force them, and you'll break yourself. Start small. Find their rhythm."
His words hit hard, direct, no nonsense. Disciples gritted their teeth, bowing, then tried again.
Days blurred into weeks.
Every dawn, Haotian stood with them, demonstrating, correcting, drilling the same truths into their heads. Disciples collapsed in exhaustion, only to be dragged back up by their peers. The sect square became a field of smoking craters, shattered stone, and accidental geysers.
By the end of the first week, some had managed to merge two elements cleanly. By the second, a few dared to attempt three. By the third, entire groups could strike with combinations—water-ice-light, wind-fire-lightning, earth-metal-shadow.
Progress was slow, painful, chaotic… but real.
On the twenty-first day, Haotian stood once more at the front. The disciples unleashed a wave of strikes across the field: twin-element bursts of flame and water, triple-element arcs of lightning, wind, and earth. The square shook, but it no longer felt chaotic—it felt coordinated.
Haotian nodded once, pride flickering in his eyes.
"Not bad," he said. "Three weeks, and you've gone from flailing children to Sovereigns who can merge two, sometimes three Daos. It's not enough—but it's a start."
The disciples straightened, their faces flushed with pride despite the exhaustion weighing them down.
Haotian's expression sharpened. "And now that you've learned to walk… it's time to see if you can run. Tomorrow, you'll face me. All of you."
A ripple of shock ran through the square. Some disciples gasped. Others grinned nervously.
The three sisters smiled knowingly, already guessing what was coming. Xiangyin simply muttered under her breath, "He's going to break them."
Haotian's eyes swept across his disciples, his voice final.
"Get ready. This is where the real lesson starts."
The training square trembled with power.
Three weeks of relentless drilling had reshaped the Pavilion. Where once chaos and explosions reigned, now order and harmony pulsed in the air. Seven hundred and fifty Sovereigns stood in formation, their auras burning bright.
When they struck now, it wasn't with one Dao or two—it was with five, sometimes six, elements woven into their bodies and blades. Lightning lashed within storms of wind, fire wrapped in earth's stability, frost laced with shadow and light. Each disciple radiated strength that only weeks ago would have been unimaginable.
But Haotian knew better.
He stood across from them, his arms loose at his sides, golden eyes calm as a still lake. The three sisters stood off to the side, smiling with quiet confidence. Xiangyin, from her high seat, narrowed her eyes, her Sovereign senses already bracing for what was about to happen.
"Today," Haotian said, his voice cutting through the mountain air, "you stop practicing alone. Today, you fight me."
Gasps and nervous laughter rippled through the disciples. Some grinned, eager to test themselves. Others swallowed hard.
"All seven hundred and fifty of you," Haotian added. His tone never changed.
Silence.
Then the disciples straightened, determination flashing in their eyes.
"Senior Brother!" they roared together, voices shaking the clouds.
The ground shook as seven hundred and fifty Sovereigns surged forward. A storm of elemental power crashed toward Haotian, so dense the sky dimmed under its weight.
Firestorms roared. Rivers of lightning split the air. Frost spread like glaciers, wind howled sharp as blades, light and shadow twisted in tandem.
The square became a battlefield.
And Haotian walked into it.
He raised his hand. His fist clenched.
One strike.
The storm collapsed, snuffed out like candlelight.
Gasps erupted as disciples staggered back, their combined attack unraveled as if it had never existed.
Again they charged, fusing elements, layering strikes, shouting in unison. Seven hundred and fifty Sovereigns striking with everything they had.
Haotian moved like the center of the storm, every motion effortless. His palm cut through fire, his fist shattered frost, his foot grounded lightning, his aura swallowed shadow and light alike. Every element they hurled at him was dismantled, dissolved, negated.
Minutes passed. The disciples' breathing grew ragged. Haotian never faltered.
Finally, he stopped, lowering his arms. The battlefield fell silent.
"You've done well," he said, his voice steady, carrying to every corner. "Five, six elements—balanced, controlled. For most, that would be a lifetime achievement."
He let the words hang, then added quietly, "But I have already mastered all ten."
A wave of shock tore through the disciples. Some froze in place, their mouths open. Others dropped to their knees, eyes wide. Even the elders watching from the Orchid Sect's walls went pale.
Xiangyin, high above, gripped the armrest of her seat. Her thoughts spiraled. All ten…? Even Emperors struggle to balance that many. And he's already mastered them into his attacks…
She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. For the first time, she wondered if she should make the choice she had resisted until now. Should I place the entire Eternal Yin Orchid Sect under his training? Even… myself?
On the field, Haotian's golden gaze swept across his disciples.
"This," he said, "is the difference between reaching and arriving. Between holding power and becoming it. You think you've climbed high—but the peak is still above you. Don't stop here."
The silence broke into a roar, disciples crying out in awe, respect, and determination.
"Senior Brother!"
Their voices thundered into the heavens.
Haotian stood unmoving, letting their cries wash over him, though his eyes softened faintly. He had shown them the gulf. Now it was up to them to climb it.
The training square was alive with noise again, but this time it wasn't cheers. It was groans, curses, and the crack of uncontrolled elemental backlashes.
After the spar, Haotian had given his disciples a new order:
"Push beyond six. Reach for seven, even eight. If you want to stand on my battlefield, you can't stop at halfway."
At first, confidence burned in their eyes. They had reached five and six—why not more?
The answer came quickly.
A disciple in the front row cried out as lightning and frost clashed in his body, sending him sprawling with smoke curling off his skin. Another tried forcing light, shadow, and fire into harmony—the clash detonated like a bomb, blowing him off his feet. Entire groups collapsed as wind spirals tore into earth walls, water warped into boiling steam, or shadows tried to devour the very Daos meant to support them.
The ground of the square was pockmarked with craters, cracked pillars, and more than a few disciples face-first in the dirt, groaning.
"Five worked fine!" one shouted in frustration, clutching his side.
"Six nearly killed me—why do we need seven?!" another cried.
"It's impossible!" a third yelled, his sword snapping under the strain of clashing elements.
But Haotian stood at the center, his expression calm. His voice cut through the chaos like thunder.
"Did you think climbing higher would be easy? If six was your limit, you'd die against demons who wield seven. If seven breaks you, what will you do against ten?!"
The words silenced them, though their faces still burned with frustration.
Hours turned into days.
Disciples pushed themselves to the edge. Some collapsed, carried away half-conscious. Others kept trying, teeth gritted, refusing to give in even as blood trickled from their lips.
The gap became painfully clear. Even those who could juggle five elements perfectly found themselves collapsing at the seventh merge. The gulf between their progress and Haotian's effortless command of all ten weighed on them like a mountain.
Whispers spread through the camp.
"He makes it look too easy…"
"It's like he was born with them."
"No, it's worse—he is the elements. How are we supposed to catch up to that?"
On the tenth day of pushing for seven and eight, Haotian called them together again. Their faces were pale, their robes singed, their eyes heavy with fatigue.
He looked across them all, his gaze steady, sharp.
"You've felt it now—the weight of the gap. That's good. Despair shows you where you stand. But don't let it break you."
He raised his hand, and ten colors surged into existence at once. Fire blazed, frost froze, lightning split the sky, earth rumbled, wind howled, light burned, shadow curled, wood sprouted, water flowed, and metal gleamed—all merging into one pulse of power.
"But understand this—mastery isn't about talent. It's about balance, patience, and will. I didn't reach ten overnight. And neither will you. But step by step, you will climb."
The disciples trembled, their frustration bending into something else—determination.
"Senior Brother!" they shouted together, their voices hoarse but strong.
Haotian lowered his hand. His golden eyes softened faintly. Good. They haven't broken yet.
Above, Xiangyin exhaled slowly. Her heart beat faster as she whispered to herself, "If they keep following him… maybe even the impossible isn't beyond their reach."
The training ground was scarred and broken, but the fire in the disciples' eyes was burning brighter than ever.
The air was still thick with the tension of failure. For days, the disciples had collapsed under the strain of seven and eight-element merges. Their pride had been stripped bare. But now, as dawn broke, Haotian summoned them all again into the square.
Seven hundred and fifty Sovereigns stood in silence, waiting. The scars of their training littered the grounds—broken tiles, charred craters, frozen pillars of ice that had refused to melt.
Haotian stood at the center. His golden eyes swept the crowd.
"You've felt despair," he said, his tone level. "You've seen the wall between where you are… and where I stand. Now I'll show you why that wall exists."
He raised his hand.
Fire bloomed, fierce and steady. Frost laced it instantly, locking it in crystal. Lightning burst across the frost, and wind carried the sparks in a spiraling storm. Earth grounded the strike, metal sharpened its edges. Water flowed, light flared, shadow curled, and wood sprouted green life between them all.
Ten Daos at once.
The ground shook as every element clashed, not in chaos, but in harmony—woven seamlessly into a single pulse of power. It wasn't a storm. It was a symphony.
Disciples gasped, their bodies trembling from the sheer pressure radiating from him. Even Sovereigns who had fought demons dropped to their knees, unable to resist the weight of it.
Then Haotian moved.
One strike, a simple palm.
The pulse of all ten elements shot outward. It didn't explode. It didn't rage. It flowed, cutting a clean path through the ruined square, carving into the mountain wall beyond. The rock split smoothly, like paper torn in silence.
Gasps filled the square.
"This…" one disciple whispered, his voice shaking, "…this is mastery."
Haotian lowered his hand, his expression calm.
"You see it now," he said. "Ten elements, balanced. Not power against power, but every Dao supporting the others. That's why I can stand against armies. That's why your strikes failed against me."
He let the silence stretch, then added:
"And if I can do it—so can you. None of you are forbidden from climbing this peak. You only need the will."
The disciples' eyes blazed with renewed fire. For a moment, even exhaustion was forgotten.
Above, Xiangyin leaned forward, her lips parting as she whispered, "Ten elements… in harmony. Even Emperors cannot do this so cleanly. Just what is he becoming…?"
The square roared as one, voices shaking the skies.
"Senior Brother!"
Haotian stood tall among them, his figure outlined against the rising sun.
Now they've seen the peak, he thought. The only question is who among them will climb to it.
The next morning, the disciples stood in the square, still shaken by what they had seen the day before. The image of Haotian wielding all ten elements in perfect harmony replayed endlessly in their minds. Some felt inspired. Others felt crushed. But none could forget it.
Haotian stood before them, arms folded, his gaze sharp.
"You've seen the peak," he said. "Now climb it."
The disciples spread out across the training grounds, pairs and groups forming naturally. Where before each had struggled alone, now they began watching one another, learning, correcting.
A young Sovereign who had nearly burned himself to ash the day before hesitated, his flame flickering unstable. His partner steadied him, saying, "Balance it—remember what Senior Brother said. Let water temper it." The flame shrank, calmed, and held steady.
On another side, two women struggled to merge wind and earth. One laughed breathlessly through the sweat dripping from her chin, "We're going to break the ground again, aren't we?" The other shook her head and dug in her heels, "Not if we anchor first." This time, the wind didn't scatter—it fused, carrying the earth like a moving wall.
All around the square, the chaos of failure began to change shape. Progress spread like fire catching dry grass.
Hours stretched into days. Days blurred into weeks.
By the end of the second week, many disciples could hold four elements in harmony. By the third, more than a hundred had reached five, even six. The strain that once broke them now tempered them instead.
And what shocked the elders most wasn't just the power—it was the cooperation.
Disciples shared breakthroughs openly. When one figured out how to stabilize fire-lightning against collapse, he shouted the solution for others to copy. When another learned how to weave shadow and light without implosion, she demonstrated it for anyone watching. Rivalries dissolved into unity.
The Moon Lotus Pavilion had become more than a sect. It was becoming an army.
The three sisters led by example.
Yinxue's frost merged seamlessly with fire, creating frostfire spears that blazed blue-white. Ziyue guided others in weaving shadow and light, her calm patience holding them steady. Shuyue's laughter rang across the square as her strikes exploded in perfectly timed harmonies, pushing groups to break past hesitation.
Wherever they went, progress followed.
Haotian watched quietly, his expression unreadable, though pride flickered in his eyes. He moved through the disciples, correcting stances with a sharp word, cutting off a surge before it exploded, or steadying a faltering Dao with a single tap of his finger. His presence was constant—a pillar at the center of their growth.
By the end of the month, the change was undeniable.
Where once the training square had been a battlefield of smoke and broken stone, now it glowed with waves of color. Elemental Daos merged and flowed in patterns that no longer clashed but sang together.
Seven hundred and fifty Sovereigns stood not as scattered cultivators, but as one.
Xiangyin stood above them, her lips parted slightly, her eyes wide. For the first time, she saw not just potential—but harmony. They're no longer individuals chasing strength. They're a force. A legion in the making.
On the ground, the disciples roared as one, their voices echoing through the mountains.
"Senior Brother!"
Haotian stood at the front, his gaze sweeping across them, and nodded once.
"You've taken your first step into harmony," he said. "Remember this feeling. Hold onto it. Because from here on, you'll need it."
Their voices thundered again, shaking the heavens.
And in that moment, the Moon Lotus Pavilion crossed a threshold—from chaos into unity, from Sovereigns into a single beating heart.