Li Ze Yuan was a man of letters, but his temper burned as fiercely as any warrior's—else he would never have forged such a bond with Zhao Chenglu, whose own spirit blazed with unyielding resolve.
When Zhao Xunan broached the subject of dissolving the betrothal, Li Ze Yuan's face turned crimson with rage. For the first time in years, the usually composed magistrate slammed his fist on the desk, his voice thundering, "You think I'd let my Phoenix daughter marry a nobody like you?!"
Zhao Xunan, leaning calmly against the doorframe, met his fury with steady resolve. "Uncle, the betrothal was never binding—no witnesses, no contracts. And I…" He paused, his gaze softening. "I have no wish to chain myself to a path that doesn't suit me."
Li Ze Yuan's roar shook the room. "You ungrateful wretch!" He lunged forward, seizing Zhao Xunan by the collar. "Phoenix or not, she's my daughter by adoption. This betrothal stands—unless you want me to disown you!"
But as Zhao Xunan stood there, unflinching, Li Ze Yuan's anger faltered. Memories of Zhao Chenglu's kindness, of the scholar's unwavering integrity, flickered in his mind. Finally, he sighed, releasing Zhao Xunan. "You're right. A man is the sky, a woman the earth. To reverse them would unravel the world. The betrothal… it ends."
He sank into his chair, his voice heavy with regret. "The greatest mistake of my life was bringing Qinghan to Kunlun. That child… she's wasted on this mortal realm."
Zhao Xunan's heart lifted. "Uncle, I came today for two reasons. First, to pay my respects. Second…" He met Li Ze Yuan's gaze. "To dissolve the betrothal."
Li Ze Yuan stared at him, then nodded slowly. "You've made your case. But know this—Qinghan is no ordinary girl. She's a disciple of immortals. If you cross her path again…" He trailed off, the warning implicit.
As if summoned, a young woman glided into the room. Clad in a peach-colored gown, her beauty was otherworldly—delicate yet striking, like a phoenix reborn. This was Li Qinghan, the "Phoenix of the North."
"Father," she said, her voice clear and cool. "I heard your shouting. What's this about dissolving the betrothal?"
Li Ze Yuan's scowl deepened. "Qinghan, this is Zhao Xunan. He wishes to end our agreement."
Qinghan tilted her head, studying Zhao Xunan. "Why?"
"Because I am no fit match for a celestial disciple," Zhao Xunan said simply. "A common scholar cannot walk the path of immortals."
Qinghan's lips curved, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You speak of 'fitting' as if we are pieces of a puzzle. But the heavens do not bind themselves to such rules." She turned to Li Ze Yuan. "Father, if he wishes to leave, let him go. Our paths will diverge soon enough."
Li Ze Yuan grumbled, but he relented. "Take the three mountain ginsengs back. They'll aid your cultivation. And here—" He pressed a stack of banknotes into Zhao Xunan's hand. "Five hundred taels. Do not refuse. The capital is expensive."
Zhao Xunan tried to protest, but Qinghan interjected, "Father, you've been unwell lately. The ginsengs are better used for you. And I'll need them for my cultivation when I return."
Li Ze Yuan's face softened at the mention of his daughter. "Very well. But you—" He pointed at Zhao Xunan. "—will stay until I return. We are not finished."
By dusk, Zhao Xunan and Zhao Ping'er stood outside the Li estate, their few belongings packed into three carts. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the courtyard where Li Ze Yuan stood, his wife peeking from behind a pillar.
"What a petty woman," Zhao Xunan muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips. "But I suppose even the loftiest phoenix has her flaws."
Zhao Ping'er frowned. "Master, are you sure leaving is wise? The Li estate has protected us."
"Protection?" Zhao Xunan laughed. "Or chains? No more. This time, I carve my own path." He gestured to the carts. "Besides, we've books, food, and a new home. What more could we need?"
That night, in their rented cottage, Zhao Xunan boiled the three ginsengs—two white, plump, and one dark, shriveled. The latter, he knew, was the rare thousand-year-old root. As the soup simmered, its sweet, honeyed aroma filled the room.
"Drink it, even if it tastes like poison," he told Zhao Ping'er. "A single drop is worth a fortune."
She gagged down the bitter brew, then bolted for the door, clutching her stomach. Zhao Xunan chuckled, sipping his own bowl. The warmth spread through his body, mending his damaged dantian.
As he meditated the next morning, his consciousness expanded—an endless cosmos unfolding before his eyes. Stars, galaxies, and nebulae swirled in a dance of creation. This was the first step of cultivation: envisioning the universe.
Most cultivators saw only mountains or rivers. Zhao Xunan saw infinity.
But his joy was short-lived. At dawn, three figures in yellow robes appeared at the cottage's edge—补天士 (Heaven-Menders), their eyes blazing with malice.
"Aberration!" one hissed. "The stars trembled last night. You reek of chaos!"
Zhao Xunan's grip tightened on his sword. "I've done nothing wrong."
"Lies!" The leader hurled a lightning talisman. It struck the ground, exploding into a bolt that scorched the earth.
Zhao Xunan dodged, his sword slicing through the air. With a cry, he charged.
The battle was fierce. One Heaven-Mender fell with a cleaved throat; another fled, sacrificing himself to let his companion escape. The third met Zhao Xunan's blade square-on, his skull splitting like overripe fruit.
As the last body crumpled, Zhao Xunan wiped his sword. These men had followed orders, but their loyalty to the "heavens" had blinded them to justice.
Behind him, the three soul lamps extinguished one by one. In the distance, a figure in black robes—Mo Yin, the Twelve Star Masters—clutched a tracking talisman, its light faded.
"No trace…" he muttered. "This aberration… he is beyond the stars."
Back in the cottage, Zhao Xunan dressed his burns. The fight had tested his newfound strength, but he felt alive—truly alive.
"Master," Zhao Ping'er said, entering with a basket of herbs. "The neighbors say the Heaven-Menders are hunting someone. Should we leave?"
Zhao Xunan smiled. "Let them come. This time, I do not run."
He picked up his sword, its edge glinting in the morning light.
"Since I dare to laugh at the world,
Why should I fear its wrath?
I am no common weed—
I am the storm that shakes the heavens!"