A New Routine
The days passed like ripples across a still pond.
Each morning, Karma woke in the guest palace Su Liana had assigned him. It was grander than anything he'd ever imagined on Earth: rooms carved from jade-veined stone that held a soft night-glow; spirit lamps that burned without oil; gardens where star-lit blossoms breathed sweetness into the air and pearl-bright dew perfumed the paths. Meals arrived like clockwork from silent-faced servants—meats that melted on the tongue, fruits that warmed the belly, teas that cleared the mind. And yet, more nights than he'd admit, he found himself missing late-night truck food and greasy paper boxes.
But it wasn't luxury that shaped his days. It was training.
At dawn, he sat cross-legged and cultivated, sinking into the single idea that had opened his path: Devour. Each breath tugged at the ambient energy like a tide. Since Karma had broken the mortal shell, Mira no longer held back—she siphoned her share cleanly and sent the rest through his bones and marrow, refining muscle fiber, sharpening nerves, polishing perception. It hurt in places he couldn't name and healed in ways he couldn't explain.
By midday he was in the courtyard, working through the basic methods Su Liana's maids had left: stances to anchor the core, breath patterns to steady flow, wooden-blade drills to etch direction into muscle. He was clumsy at first. His stance wobbled, his grip slipped, and spiritual energy sluiced off him like water off polished stone. But Karma was stubborn. He repeated the same motion until complaints in his forearms became a steady burn and then a patient strength.
Mira heckled without mercy. "Too slow, Master." — "Your grip is off again." — "You'd lose against a crippled chicken."
He gritted his teeth through it, and the pain became a familiar friend, a quiet promise of strength. He felt the subtle shift as his movements became less like a clumsy imitation and more like a practiced rhythm.
The movement technique, Silent Flowing Steps, taught him to pour his weight like water from one foot to the other. For days he clipped pillars, skidded over wet stone, and tripped his own ankles. On the fifth morning the balance clicked; the stone stopped arguing with him. His steps thinned to whispers.
The martial art, Iron Serpent Fists, was harsher—twist, coil, snap. Knuckles split. Forearms throbbed. The coiling taught him to store force in the waist, the release taught him to strike without telegraph. Mira watched his circulation and nudged it back into the proper channels whenever it strayed. He went to sleep aching and woke with new threads of strength woven into old weakness.
The sword art, Azure Moon Cleave, looked simple: raise the blade, breathe with the world, then cut. Simplicity was a lie. The timing had to meet the breath, the breath had to meet the pulse under the earth, and spirit had to lean into steel without spilling past it. He had no teacher, only a scroll and his own ear for rhythm. By the seventh day, servants swore they felt a faint pressure with each arc of his blade; Karma felt nothing but sweat and a line of fire across his shoulders that meant he was almost doing it right.
Evenings found him collapsed under his veranda, watching luminous rivers wind through pavilions and bridges like folded starlight. Every bruise meant a little less helpless, a little more possible.
The Clan's Judgment
While he labored, the estate whispered.
Word that Su Liana had taken a mortal under her wing could not stay small. It reached the Hall of Authority by the third day. There, Patriarch Su Qingyuan listened with his eyes half-lidded as the steward relayed each detail: the fruit that bridged their tongues, the pledge of protection, the boy's unbroken routine from dawn until dusk.
"Summon no one else," the Patriarch said at last. His voice was low and even, but the jade armrest under his fingers went silent at his touch. "I will consider it."
A soft shuffle of robes followed. An elderly man who had been silent at the Patriarch's side stroked his silver beard, eyes bright with a scholar's curiosity rather than a courtier's fear. This was Grand Elder Yuan, Su Liana's master, and a quiet blade the Pavilion preferred sheathed.
"A mortal boy returns from a Sage Suppression array with his mind intact," he mused. "And the fruit of tongues was given without him choking on it. Curious patterns." The old man's gaze drifted toward the distant mountains. "Elder Zuo's report about the blue world hangs over us all. Earth stinks of old hands. If the Pavilion chooses silence, then silence protects the long game."
"Do we sever the mortal," the Patriarch asked, "or feed him until we learn his pattern?"
"Neither." Yuan waved a sleeve lazily. "Let him sit in your daughter's shade. Give him crumbs, not jewels. If he is a key, he will turn himself in the lock. If he is a knife, he will sharpen himself against your stone and show his edge. And if he is merely a boy, he will tire. The Pavilion moves when certainty ripens, not before."
He glanced sideways, amusement flickering. "Besides, Liana's heart is knotted around her missing brother. Tugging on this string too hard will only tighten it."
Su Qingyuan's eyes cooled. "You ask me to leave my clan's gates open to chance."
"I ask you to leave one gate cracked and several spears pointed at it," Yuan said, still smiling. "Call it a test. For the boy. And for Liana."
The Patriarch was quiet for a long breath. Then: "As you wish. He stays under Liana's care. If fate wants to test us, we won't flinch. But if he strays…" The rest he left unsaid. He did not have to say it.
A Quiet Apology
That evening, as the moonstone lanterns lit her private palace, Su Liana found herself wandering aimlessly through the gardens. Her silk slippers traced the white bridges without thought, her reflection following her across glowing waters. The weight of her brother's absence, a constant ache in her chest, had become a physical thing. He went because of me.The words had been a brand on her heart since she had told him about the Falling Star Sky—a place where asteroids dragged strange metals and stranger opportunities across the heavens. He had gone chasing heat and light and had never come back. She had gone looking for him and returned with a stranger, an innocent mortal.
Each rejection from her father was a new, deeper cut. "Elder Zuo spoke plainly. Earth is no simple world. If the Pavilion elders choose silence, then silence we must maintain." The guilt of bringing back Karma instead of her brother felt like a heavy stone. She let her steps carry her until, unknowingly, she reached the guest palace where the mortal resided.
The sound of steel striking air broke her reverie.
Inside, Karma was practicing diligently. His metal sword cut the air in steady arcs. His breath came in measured rhythm, guided by the anchoring patterns Mira had pushed him to refine. Each strike echoed with stubborn determination.
For a moment she only watched, seeing through him and then, unexpectedly, seeing her brother—the reckless grin traded for quiet grind, the refusal to stop the only thing they shared outright. Her chest tightened.
Karma saw her and lowered the blade, suddenly aware of sweat and scuffs. He bowed, awkward but sincere. "Lady Su. You honor me with your presence. Would you… come inside for tea?"
Her brows rose slightly. Because of her status both in the family and in the Pavilion, barely anyone had the audacity to invite her. Still, something about his earnestness tugged at her. She inclined her head. "Very well."
Inside, Karma worked with a familiarity that made him look like someone else for a moment, someone from a smaller world: kettle on a spirit stove, leaves into a pot, milk warmed and stirred with sugar. He had asked the kitchens for spices and oils and a handful of vegetables and tubers that weren't quite potatoes but crisped the same way when cut thin and kissed by heat. He roasted a mix of nuts and seeds until they shone. He set the tray in front of her and stepped back.
The fragrance filled the room—warm, rich, and utterly alien to Su Liana's senses.
She took a cautious sip of the tea.
Her phoenix eyes widened.
"This taste…" She took another, slower sip, as though committing it to memory. The milk tea's warmth spread down her chest, soothing her like no spiritual wine ever had. She tried one of the snacks and nearly forgot her composure. Crunchy, spiced, comforting—it was unlike the refined delicacies of the Astral Vein World. It was… human. Simple, yet profound.
Karma smiled faintly. "Just something simple from my home. I thought… you could use a moment to breathe."
For the first time in weeks since her brother went missing, Su Liana felt her chest ease. She set the cup down, her gaze lingering on the steam.
Then, softly, she spoke. "Karma… I must apologize. I wronged you. I mistook you for my brother and dragged you from your world. And now… you may never return."
Her words were steady, but her eyes flickered with guilt. She had braced herself for the explosion of emotion, the accusations she deserved. Instead, Karma's expression remained calm, though a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. An apology from someone like her was unheard of. He took a slow breath, his posture softening.
He leaned forward. "Lady Su… you don't need to carry that guilt forever. You made a mistake, but you've given me a chance to live here, to grow. For that, I'm grateful. If you truly feel sorry, then… I accept your apology."
The words were simple, but they struck her deeply.
Her shoulders loosened, a weight lifting she hadn't realized pressed so hard. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to smile—not the cold, distant mask of a Core Disciple, but the quiet smile of a young woman.
And once her heart loosened, the words began to spill.
"My father will not allow it," she said, her voice thinning with frustration, her fingers tightening around her cup. "I begged him twice. Elder Zuo fears Earth, and the Pavilion elders' counsel is to wait in silence. To my father, that silence is an order." A soft desperation entered her tone. "But my brother… he is still there."
She took a slow breath, her gaze distant, as if reliving the moment. "Elder Zuo reported that Earth... it is a world with hidden spaces no mortals can reach. It stinks of old hands. It has cycles of destruction and rebirth that nature should not repeat. There is a veil over everything that feels like an intentional design. It's a world that swallows cultivators and spits them back as dust or legend." She looked at him then, her eyes pleading. "It is a world unwise to touch without a plan older than a life."
Karma listened silently, letting her spill the weight she had carried.
When she finished, he spoke carefully. "Lady Su… you've done all you can. Sometimes fathers don't see what children do. But you haven't failed your brother yet. If he's anything like you, he's strong. He's surviving, somewhere. Don't give up."
Her phoenix eyes lifted in genuine surprise, and a breath she didn't know she was holding escaped her lips. The words soothed her, not because they promised miracles, but because they believed in persistence.
The silence that followed was no longer heavy with guilt. It was quiet and accepting, filled with the aroma of steaming tea and the soft scent of lotus carried on the night wind. As she looked at Karma, she saw not the mortal she had taken by mistake, but a quiet determination, a steady spirit already walking a path cultivators would envy. He had endured a world-shattering change and found his footing.
Su Liana set her teacup down and felt a strange warmth spread through her chest—a quiet, simple comfort she hadn't known she was missing.