The walk back from the Xiao Clan manor was a starkly different experience from the journey there. The vibrant chaos of Wu Tan City, which had been so overwhelming an hour ago, now felt like background noise. The shouts of merchants and the swagger of mercenaries faded into a dull hum as my mind raced, replaying the scene on the grassy hillock over and over.
We had confirmed it. We were not just in a world like Battle Through The Heavens; we were in the genuine article, timeline intact, protagonist in place, and the golden old man accounted for. The feeling was a terrifying cocktail of dread and exhilaration.
Zhao Ming, walking beside me, was practically buzzing with the latter. The discovery of Yao Lao's spiritual signature had lit a fire in him. His usual Gojo-esque swagger was now infused with a excited, purposeful energy.
"Can you believe it, Qing-er? He's really there!" he murmured, his voice a low, excited thrum. "The ultimate cheat item, just sitting on some kid's finger, and we're the only ones in the world who know. The possibilities are insane."
"Stop calling me that," I automatically retorted, though my protest lacked any real heat. The pet name "Qing-er," which had been gratingly familiar before, now sent a strange, warm jolt through me every time he said it. It was a reminder of the beautiful, feminine form I now inhabited, a form he was addressing with an infuriatingly casual intimacy.
"Why not?" He turned his blindfolded face towards me, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "It's a good name. It suits you. 'Young Miss Bai Qing' is so formal. 'Qing-er' is better."
Before I could form a proper argument, a rickety cart pulled by a bad-tempered looking horned boar careened around a corner, threatening to spray us with a wave of muddy street water. I flinched back, but I wasn't nearly fast enough. In a movement too quick for me to properly track, Zhao Ming's arm shot out, his hand closing around my waist and pulling me flush against his side. The muddy water splashed harmlessly onto the spot where I had been standing a second before.
The entire event took less than a second. I found myself pressed against his firm, lean frame, one hand on his chest to steady myself. The scent of clean linen and something vaguely like fresh rain filled my senses. His hand was still resting on the curve of my waist, warm and solid through the fabric of my dress. For a heart-stopping moment, I wasn't Yang Qing, the college bro, being saved by his best friend, Zhao Ming. I was a woman being held by a tall, powerful man.
My face erupted in a blush so hot I was half-surprised my latent fire affinity didn't set my hair alight.
Zhao Ming seemed to realize the awkwardness of the position at the same time I did. He quickly released me and took a step back, clearing his throat. "Uh, watch out for the traffic," he said, his usual smoothness gone for a fraction of a second. "These boar-drawn things have no brakes."
I smoothed down my dress, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Thank you," I managed to squeak out, refusing to meet his gaze.
We continued the rest of a walk in a charged, awkward silence.
Back in the serene opulence of our borrowed pavilion, the tension slowly began to dissipate, replaced by the weight of the decisions we had to make. We sat across from each other at a low-slung pearwood table in the main hall, a pot of fragrant, steaming tea between us. The silence stretched on, filled only by the gentle burbling of the koi pond outside.
I poured the tea, my hands still feeling alien and delicate as they handled the fine porcelain. The simple, methodical action helped to center me, to push away the confusing flutter in my chest. Taigong Wang's 1% influence was a whisper of calm in the back of my mind, urging me to focus on the strategic reality of our situation.
Zhao Ming broke the silence. "So," he began, leaning forward, his usual bravado returning. "The big question. What do we do about Xiao Yan?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "I say we help him. The kid's about to hit rock bottom when Nalan Yanran shows up. He's going to need money for the auction, he's going to need cultivation resources, he's going to need everything. We have the ultimate advantage: foreknowledge. We can be his mysterious benefactors. We 'accidentally' drop a pouch of gold where he can find it. We 'anonymously' send him a rare herb. We give him the boost he needs to get the ball rolling faster."
I listened, taking a slow sip of tea before I responded. His plan was exactly what I expected: direct, impulsive, and full of a noble, shortsighted desire to play the hero.
"No," I said simply.
He blinked. "No? Qing-er, this is a golden opportunity! We can make his life easier!"
"And in doing so, we might ruin him completely," I countered, setting my cup down with a firm click. "Think about it, Zhao Ming. What is the core of Xiao Yan's character? What makes him the Flame Emperor? It's not just the Heavenly Flames or Yao Lao's teachings. It's his unbreakable will, forged in three years of humiliation and scorn. It's the desperation that drives him to risk his life over and over. It's the ruthlessness he develops because he knows that no one will help him but himself."
I leaned forward, my eyes locking onto his blindfolded face. "You give him a pouch of gold? Maybe he doesn't feel the burning need to risk his neck in the Demonic Beast Mountain Range. You give him an easy path? Maybe Yao Lao doesn't see the tenacity he's looking for in a student and decides to stay dormant. The entire foundation of his legend is built on struggle. We cannot, and we must not, interfere with that crucible. The butterfly effect is too great a risk."
He was silent for a long moment, processing my words. My argument was sound, a cold, logical assessment born from my own personality and amplified by the nascent strategist within me.
"But just letting him suffer..." he started, his voice lacking its usual confidence.
"Is essential for his growth," I finished. "And, more importantly, essential for our survival. Let's be brutally honest. What are we right now? You're a 3% Gojo Satoru who's basically a walking 'miss me' sign with no real offense. I'm a 2.5% Yang Guifei who can light a candle with her finger. We are, in the grand scheme of this world, less than nothing."
I let that sink in. "What happens if we draw attention to ourselves? Nalan Yanran is coming soon, and she'll have a Dou Grandmaster with her. What if they notice us? What if the Xiao clan becomes suspicious of these mysterious benefactors? What if someone from the Primer or Galeo clans decides to investigate the two strange newcomers with a bottomless pit of money? We'd be dissected in a back alley before we could even spell 'Hollow Purple'."
Zhao Ming slumped back in his seat, the energy draining out of him. He ran a hand through his white hair. "When you put it like that... it does sound like a monumentally stupid idea."
"It's not stupid," I said, my voice softening. "It's heroic. And being a hero right now will get us killed. Our number one priority isn't fixing Xiao Yan's life. It's ensuring we survive long enough to have one of our own."
A new sense of purpose settled between us. Not interfering wasn't a passive choice; it was an active strategy. Our focus had to shift from him to us.
"So, the new plan," he said, sitting up straight again, his focus renewed. "How do we get stronger? Staring at our system menus isn't going to raise our sync rates."
"I've been thinking about that," I said, calling up my own interface in my mind. "I don't think it's like a video game where we just grind experience points. The system said 'synchronization'. That implies we need to align ourselves with the core concepts of our templates."
I looked around the elegantly furnished pavilion. "Yang Guifei's power in the lore isn't just about fire; it's tied to her passions, her art, her music, her dance. Taigong Wang's strength is strategy, planning, and understanding the flow of battle. Tang Sanzang's is discipline and faith. I can't just throw fireballs. I need to... embody them. Maybe if I practiced music or studied tactics, the synchronization would increase."
"So you need to become a scholar-artist," he mused. "What about me? Gojo's power is all about the pinnacle of Jujutsu sorcery. It's a deep, almost instinctual understanding of space and energy. I can't just go to a library for that."
"But you can practice," I pointed out. "Refine your control over the Infinity. Test its limits. Try to feel out the principles of 'attraction' and 'repulsion' that form Blue and Red. Even if you fail, the attempt itself, the act of trying to comprehend the incomprehensible, might be the key. Your path is practice and insight. Mine is study and expression."
A determined grin returned to his face. "The long game, then. I like it. But all this practice and study requires a safe place and resources. We can't live off the charity of our mysterious host forever. We need money."
"Exactly," I said, a plan already forming in my mind. "And we're going to use our meta-knowledge to get it. Not for Xiao Yan, but for ourselves. We know a major auction is coming up at the Primer Clan's auction house. And we know some of the key items, like the Foundation Elixirs, will cause a massive stir. If we can acquire capital now, we can play the market."
"How do we get the starting capital?" he asked. "Rob a bank?"
I rolled my eyes. "Don't be an idiot. You have the Six Eyes. You can walk through any market in this city and spot a dusty, overlooked piece of jade that's worth a fortune, or an herb that's been misidentified. We can buy low and sell high. It's foolproof."
The plan was simple, elegant, and low-risk. It used our unique advantages without creating massive waves. It was a Taigong Wang-approved strategy.
Zhao Ming snapped his fingers. "Operation: Get Rich or Die Tryin' is officially a go. Tomorrow, we hit the markets."
The tension in the room finally broke, replaced by a shared sense of purpose. We had a goal. We had a plan. We had a chance.
As the afternoon sun began to dip lower, casting long shadows across the pavilion, we stood up, the meeting concluded.
"Good work today, partner," Zhao Ming said, his tone light and easy again. He started to walk towards the hallway leading to his room, then paused and turned back. His expression was more serious, the usual smirk absent.
"Get some rest, Qing-er," he said, his voice softer than usual. "You looked... pale, after seeing that kid get bullied. Don't let it get to you too much."
I was caught completely off guard. It wasn't teasing, it wasn't a joke. It was a moment of genuine, simple concern. He was seeing past the bravado and the strategic planning and noticing the toll the day had taken on me. He was seeing me not as his bro in a dress, but as a person under an immense amount of stress. And it completely shattered my defenses.
I couldn't think of a snappy comeback. I couldn't tell him to stop calling me that. All I could do was nod, my throat suddenly tight. "You too," I managed to say.
I turned and fled to my room, my heart doing a chaotic, treacherous flutter that I refused to acknowledge or analyze. I closed the door behind me and leaned against the cool wood, my face burning. Through the door, I could almost feel him still standing there. "Stupid" i murmur.
Outside in the hall, Zhao Ming stood for a moment longer, a thoughtful, almost gentle smile touching his lips before he finally turned and walked to his own room.
The sun set on our first full day in the world of Battle Through The Heavens. We had a plan, a purpose, and a whole new level of awkward, confusing tension between us that was far more dangerous than any Dou Shi. And tomorrow, our new lives would truly begin.