Broken Heaven, Heaven of Chaos, Celestial of Glory, and the Spring Serene—each with their own dome, their own sky that stretches above the other like veils layered in eternity.
Up high, where the clouds drift as though alive, where the stars dance in patterns too complex for mortals to decipher, and where spiritual energy exhumes in thick streams, the three heavens interlace yet remain apart, each guarding its own mysteries.
The most enigmatic of these is the Spring Serene.
It is said to be the gentlest, yet the most treacherous. An endless land of valleys and peaks, veiled in light that changes with the seasons, scented with blossoms that never wither. The Serene is divided into six paths, six ways of cultivation, each called a Serene. They are known as:
Serene of Peace – cultivators here focus on calming the body and mind, channeling energy like flowing rivers. Their techniques are defensive and healing, bending spiritual currents into shields and barriers. They are the guardians of stillness, their breathing methods said to quiet storms.
Serene of Hope – these disciples wield techniques of light and renewal. Their cultivation style is like seeds pushing through soil; fragile yet unstoppable. Hope cultivators are said to restore qi in withering lands and hearts, carrying energy as though carrying dawn itself.
Serene of Harmonies – they train in resonance: the unison of body, weapon, and environment. Their cultivation style is musical, often accompanied by instruments or chants. They believe every clash of swords carries a note, every strike of palm reverberates like a drumbeat in the world.
Serene of Accommodation – these cultivators bend and flow, adapting to their surroundings. They can alter their qi to match elements—becoming fire, water, earth, or wind. Their cultivation is often called the art of many skins. They are diplomats in peace, but terrifying shapeshifters in war.
Serene of Truce – the cultivators of restraint and balance. They are fighters who seal bloodlust, warriors who end wars before they ignite. Their cultivation is based on suppression—suppressing demonic qi, suppressing curses, suppressing even the heart's rage. They are peacekeepers with chains made of willpower.
Serene of Fate – the most feared. They study destiny itself. Using stars, divinations, and bloodlines, they cultivate by gambling against Heaven's decree. Some call them blasphemous; others, wise. It is said those who master this path can glimpse threads of the future, though doing so shortens their life.
Together, the six Serene form the Spring Serene Dome, encased by invisible walls—barriers so clear they cannot be seen, yet so powerful that no intruder may enter without being stripped of body and soul. These walls are made of condensed spiritual energy, humming faintly with the rhythm of the heavens.
And within the Serene, cultivation flourishes like nowhere else. Elixirs are rare, but when consumed, their power can shatter bottlenecks, granting strength rivaling gods. The path to immortality begins here.
Every ten thousand years, the Celestial of Glory descends, selecting disciples from the Serene to ascend toward true immortality. But to be chosen, one must be acknowledged as a disciple within the Serene itself. Without that, immortality is but a dream.
Yet, not all leaders walk the path upward. Many sect leaders pass their position to disciples when they ascend. But a few refuse, clinging to their thrones. These are called the Supreme Leaders—cultivators who abandon the chance of immortality to rule their sect forever. They are rarely seen, but when they die, they are not ascended. Instead, the gods of the Celestial of Glory bury them, their bodies hidden deep in divine earth, awaiting reincarnation after another cycle of ten thousand years.
Thus, to reject ascension is a choice of staggering rarity.
The six sect leaders of the Serene are:
Sect Leader Jin, Serene of Peace.
Sect Leader Wangwan, Serene of Accommodation.
Sect Leader Chu, Serene of Hope.
Sect Leader Bing, Serene of Harmonies.
Sect Leader Huang, Serene of Truce.
Sect Leader Zhang, Serene of Fate.
Together, they serve to balance Broken Heaven and protect it from the lurking claws of the Heaven of Chaos.
The Hall of Accession stood at the heart of the Spring Serene, known also as the Middle Serene. A palace of white jade and gold-veined pillars, where the air shimmered with qi so dense that mortals could not breathe in its presence.
Here the six sect leaders gathered, joined by their head disciples. The room was silent, heavy with anticipation, until two presences stepped in—Supreme Leader Huang of the Truce Serene and Supreme Leader Zhang of the Fate Serene.
They sat, separated by the Orb of Light, a mysterious sphere that glowed violet-green with shifting hues. Its power was ancient—it could sound alarms when danger approached, or act as a mirror to reveal hidden truths. But to monitor or spy required vast amounts of spiritual energy, draining even sect leaders.
Supreme Leader Zhang stroked his long white beard and cleared his throat, his voice deep yet steady.
"So far so good, everyone is in attendance, is that correct?"
The leaders and disciples bowed deeply. "Yes, Supreme Leader Zhang."
He nodded once, allowing them to rise. Reports began—disciples spoke of training, of progress, of ways to strengthen morale, even of introducing minor leisure activities to ease young cultivators' burdens.
Then, Sect Leader Chu rose, hands folded. His tone was respectful yet urgent.
"Supreme Leaders, I have an important message to relay."
Supreme Leader Huang inclined his head. "Speak."
"Our spies report that the annual selection is underway. Six disciples have been chosen. They are prepared for the second trial."
The room hummed.
"Mnn. Good to hear. The cycle continues," Zhang mused, his eyes sharp beneath his serene demeanor.
Chu bowed and sat again.
Sect Leader Wangwan soon stood. "But troubling news reaches us. At Qingshan, a disturbance has been sensed—dark energy. Many disciples have already been dispatched to investigate."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
Then, RongTong, head disciple of the Serene of Harmonies, rose to add his own tidings. "It is said the Iron Breaker Dao will return today. He has been absent three years, subduing feral ghouls beyond the valleys. His message confirmed his return."
Excitement stirred. Iron Breaker Dao was no ordinary cultivator. He was of the Truce Serene, the son of Supreme Leader Huang himself. Yet here, blood meant nothing—only strength commanded respect.
The mood shifted from tense to expectant.
Meanwhile, in Broken Heaven, Zhao Lian and Zhao Mei remained at home. For the first time, Mei had chosen to study from home, her stoic presence quiet yet commanding.
The maids, however, were not spared. Lian, now armed with the cunning of her two lifetimes, supervised them with sharp eyes. Some begged to resign, others wept at her tasks.
"You must suffer for what you've done," she warned, voice low but firm. "If not, the Village Chief will hear about it."
The threat silenced them. Mei, watching from the side, merely smiled faintly. She did nothing to stop her sister. They reap what they sow, she thought.
Days later, the sisters wandered into the bustling streets of Broken Heaven.
The markets were alive with color and noise—merchants calling out prices, children weaving between stalls, the aroma of roasted chestnuts and candied plums drifting in the air. Silk banners rippled overhead, embroidered with talismans. Street performers clashed cymbals, while cultivators bartered rare herbs and talismans. It was chaos, but a chaos of life, bursting with vitality.
And then—
Ding!
A mechanical chime echoed only in Lian's mind.
[Mission: Perform the Longing Dance at the market square.]
Her eyes widened. "The Longing Dance? But I don't even know how to play—"
[Player fit@up: Special Ability Unlocked → Guqin.]
"What?" she whispered in disbelief. "You can't just—"
But before she could argue further, her eyes fell on a girl passing by, carrying a lacquered case. A guqin case.
"Excuse me!" Lian called, jogging over. "Could I borrow that for just a moment?"
The girl blinked, clearly surprised. But something in Lian's earnest eyes made her nod. "Alright... but be careful."
The weight of the guqin settled in her hands, and she almost trembled. She had never played music—not in this life, nor the last. But the system said it was her ability. She had to try.
Finding a quiet corner in the square, she placed the guqin gently on her lap. The crowd around her barely noticed at first—until the first notes spilled from her fingertips.
Slow, deliberate, like water dripping in still caverns. Each pluck carried longing, echoing through the air.
The Longing Dance was not just melody, but memory—it stirred feelings of departure and return, of yearning unfulfilled. The notes rose, weaving into patterns that pulled at the heartstrings of even strangers.
The market grew quiet. People gathered, swaying, eyes softening. Some clapped softly in rhythm, others simply closed their eyes and let the music wash over them.
Zhao Mei's usually unreadable expression flickered. Surprise. Wonder. She had never known her little sister capable of this.
When the final string quivered into silence, the square erupted in applause. Cheers and claps filled the air, children jumped in excitement, and even merchants left their stalls to listen.
Lian herself was stunned. She hadn't known she could do this. But the joy, the praise, the warmth—it was intoxicating. She had never been celebrated in either of her lives. For once, she let herself bask in it.
But in the shadows, Zhao Yue stood hidden, her eyes burning.
Surprise. Jealousy. Rage.
Surprise that her sister, her supposed shadow, could hold such talent.
Jealousy that the attention, the admiration, the applause… all belonged to Lian.
Not to Mei. Not to the proud first sister.
Hers alone.
And the envy twisting in her chest was enough to make her seethe.