As the heavy, intricately carved doors of the Zhēnbǎo Gé closed behind the breathless Xuán Chè, Wu Feng, Yisha, and Linglong, the quiet noise of the market faded behind them, sealing them in a bubble of tense quiet.
Línglóng, her bound wrists now freed, sagged against the nearest wall, her chest heaving. "They… they were sorting us and sending us out one by one," she gasped out, her eyes wide with residual terror. "They waited until the strong were weakened and took them first." She looked at Xuán Chè, her usual sharpness softened by profound relief.
Xuán Líng, accompanied by Qianyi, appeared from behind an exhibit, her energy filling the room. Línglóng was instantly drawn to her, slowly walking over to her as if she could not control her feet.
Qianyi released a smile of relief at the sight of Línglóng whole and unharmed. Xuán Líng gently grabbed her hand, holding it for a few seconds to assess her health. "Línglóng," Xuan Ling said in her usual quiet voice." She gently pat her hand after finding her health in good condition. "You did well, child."
"You…you know my name," Línglóng asked, surprised that the woman, who emitted an unmistakable power.
"Of course," she said as if it were the simplest fact in the world. "When was the last time you've eaten," Xuan Ling asked. Without waiting for an answer, she turned her head slightly. A servant, who had been standing ready, stepped forward. Xuán Líng did not give a complex order. She simply said,, "Bring a bowl of hóngshāo ròu over rice. Extra broth. And ginger tea."
It was a dish of braised pork belly, rich with soy sauce and warming spices, over steaming white rice—a deeply comforting, fatty, protein-rich meal that would stick to the ribs and steady a rattled spirit. It was, instinctively, the kind of hearty, homely food a brave girl from a practical town would crave and remember.
Línglóng's eyes widened slightly, not just at the command, but at the choice. It was her favorite. The simple, profound kindness of it made her throat tighten.
Yisha slyly, playfully, eased her way over to Qianyi, intwining her arm in hers. "Jie, how are you feeling?"
Qianyi grinned. "I'm fine. Mother taught a method to filter out the noise so that it's not overwhelming."
"You sure you're okay?"
"Yes. I promise. I'm fine."
While they spoke, Línglóng's eyes darted around the grand hall, wide with awe. The soaring ceilings, the glow of spiritual pearls set in gold filigree, the silent, priceless artifacts—it was a world away from the modest, dusty lanes of her hometown. She was trying to piece together how she'd gone from a prison cart to a palace.
Once Línglóng had been settled with her meal, her color already improving, Xuán Líng turned the focus back to the dire situation. "You said they were sorting you. Where were you held?"
Línglóng set down her spoon, her expression hardening with purpose. "A warehouse near the western canals. It had the Shěn family crest on the shipping ledgers I saw. It's heavily guarded, but… I know how I got out. I think I can lead you back the same way. There are still dozens of women inside. And… some of them aren't just tired. They're changing. Their eyes… they're going empty."
"Was there a mother and daughter together, they may not be dressed as nobles but from the martial world wearing—"
"Yes! Madam Gu and Miss Gu. They helped me escape. Madam Gu is so smart. And fierce! She created a distraction so I could slip away. I hope they are okay."
Xuan Ling smiled. "That definitely sounds like Madam Gu," she mumbled to herself slyly, knowingly. Xuan Ling stood from the table. She released a long, loosening stretch of her arms and a satisfied smile grew on her face.
"I need some fresh air. Lao Yu, take care of Línglóng. I'll return shortly." And with an adjustment of her robe's sleeve, she was gone, leaving only the faint, but brilliant red of her aura.
Línglóng, mouth wide open, stared at the fading red energy in awe. "Did she just…"
"Línglóng," Xuán Chè whispered loudly. "Close your mouth."
Línglóng made a hilariously menacing biting motion toward Xuán Chè in retaliation, as if threatening to bite him.
Yisha was amused but also had questions. "I thought she told us not to expose our spiritual energy."
"That advice was for us. Not for her," Wu Feng explained. "Even if she were discovered, whoever is pulling the strings would have to think twice before making a move on her."
"I see," Yisha said.
"Although, much has changed since I last saw her. Or perhaps, I just did not know her very well."
"What do you mean," Qianyi inquired.
"She seems to be in the habit of collecting children," Wù Fēng mused, his eyes sweeping over Yisha, Qianyi, then lingering on Xuán Chè and Línglóng.
"Can you tell us about her when you first met her," Yisha begged. Qianyi leaned closer.
"Well, there really isn't much to tell," Wù Fēng began, his voice softening, taking on a distant, storytelling quality. "The very first time I saw her, I was a child. My… friend and I had snuck away from yet another boring banquet. We wandered across a long stone bridge that arched over a lake so clear it mirrored the sky. The bridge led to the other side, a land shrouded in perpetual, gentle mist. It felt like stepping into a dream."
Xuán Chè's breath caught. A stone bridge over a lake. Mist. The image from his dream flashed before his eyes—"Could he mean the beautiful lake, the long stone bridge leading to the bamboo forest of the Yoji Kingdom," he asked himself quietly, his heart pounding.
"But once you passed through the mist," Wù Fēng continued, a warm nostalgia coloring his words, "it was like the world had been painted anew. Flowers in colors that had no name, grass so green it seemed to glow, and an air so sweet it made you dizzy. We were laughing, chasing each other through the dew-kissed grass, thinking we'd found a secret fairyland. I had not seen a place as beautiful. Not even in the celestial realm."
As he spoke, a strange, fuzzy warmth began to spread in Yisha's chest. The description tugged at something buried deep—a sense of boundless freedom, of damp grass underfoot, of shared, breathless laughter.
"And then she appeared," Wù Fēng said, a smile touching his lips. "Not with anger, but with an amused sort of majesty. She didn't scold us. She simply said, 'This is not a place for little wanderers to get lost in,' and pointed us back the way we came. She watched us until we crossed back over the bridge, two chastened but utterly enchanted children."
Qianyi's eyes widened slightly. A memory, long-forgotten, surfaced. Yisha, as a little girl, chattering excitedly about a "secret garden" and instead of marrying The Prince, they would just be friends and go on adventures together. Hers and Yisha's mothers were best friends and neighbors, assigned to the mortal realm together.
But she expressly remembered Yisha's mother had been unusually stern, forbidding her from going back. That was why. She hadn't just wandered into some noble's garden; she'd crossed a border into another realm with her celestial betrothed. Qianyi's eyes studied Wù Fēng's fond, reminiscing face then moved to Yisha's puzzled, intent face. The pieces clicked together with a quiet, seismic certainty.
He's the one. The prince. Her Ā-Fēng. A wave of stunned understanding washed over her, followed not by worry, but by a profound, unexpected relief for her sister. And he knows. After all this time… is this fate?
Yisha, meanwhile, was frowning, "That's it?" she asked, a strange disappointment in her voice. The story felt like the beginning of a familiar song, but she couldn't remember the next verse.
Meanwhile, Xuan Ling walked along a road, using her sense of smell to trace Linglong's movements. It also helped that she was familiar with the city. After all, she had visited the city numerous times over the centuries. Finally, as the sun finally set and the moon hung high, she arrived at the heavily guarded warehouse.
She casually approached the gate and the guards began to form a barrier in front of the door.
"Who wants to live," she said as she continued to slowly approach.
One of the guards, unable to control himself stepped forward. He was overcome with both fear and adoration. "Please," he said as he walked nervously toward her, his voice shaky, but excited. "Let me serve you for the rest of my life."
"Get back here," another guard called to him.
"Why should he?" Xuán Líng inquired calmly, her gaze—now holding a faint, captivating silver glow—sweeping over them. "Let him come be with me. And live."
It was as if a dam broke. Another guard stepped forward, his face alight with sudden, earnest longing. "May I? I… I can cook!"
Then another. "I am a skilled carpenter!"
"I can sing!"
"I will guard your door with my last breath!"
One by one, their will to resist was not broken, but reformed. The desire to please her, to win a sliver of her attention, became the only imperative. They fell over each other to profess their newfound devotion, weeping with joy at the mere possibility, completely unaware that their own minds were no longer their own.
Xuán Líng offered a smile that was both beautiful and utterly chilling. "Would you gentlemen, please show me the way inside?"
They erupted into a chaotic, eager scramble, tripping over themselves to unbar the heavy gate and escort her into the walled courtyard, then to a heavy cellar door set into the ground. The stench of misery and fear wafted from below.
She paused at the threshold, her eyes sweeping over their tear-streaked, adoring faces. The scent of imprisoned women was thick in the air. "How could you treat those inside so poorly?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper of profound disappointment. "I am very… disappointed."
The men didn't just weep; they crumpled. They fell to their knees, sobbing as if their hearts were breaking, consumed by the devastating agony of having failed their goddess before they had even begun to serve her. Their weapons clattered, forgotten, to the ground.
"Do you know what would please me," she teased, dangling a glimmer of hope in the air. "Bring everyone up so they can go home and rest. It would make me very happy."
It was as if she had issued a divine missive. The guards' grief transformed from utter despair into frantic, zealous action. They scrambled over each other to liberate the captives. The heavy cellar door was thrown open. Rough, apologetic hands reached down into the darkness, voices that had once barked orders now cooed gentle assurances.
"Come, come, it's alright now…"
"Step carefully, let me help you…"
"She's here for you. Everything is going to be okay."
One by one, dazed and disbelieving women were guided up into the moonlit courtyard—women whose eyes had begun to go vacant now flickering with confused hope. Among them, standing tall and protective despite their weariness, were Madam Gù and her daughter, their martial stances relaxing into stunned relief as they took in the scene: a circle of weeping, devoted guards, and at its center, the impossibly elegant figure of Xuán Líng, who met Madam Gù's gaze with a slight, knowing nod.
When the last woman was safely above ground, Xuán Líng turned her attention back to the guards. "Thank you," she said, her tone sweet as poisoned honey. "You've been such wonderful helpers. Remember this feeling. And remember—never, ever kidnap or harm others again." Her smile remained, but her eyes hardened. "Doing so would…"
The sky above the warehouse rumbled with a peal of thunder that held no clouds. The ground beneath their feet quaked once, violently. The air around her and the guards grew thick and heavy, pressing down on their lungs. Her eyes glowed with a frightful, hellish red light.
"…displease me greatly."
The guards quaked, a fresh wave of terror washing over them as they prostrated themselves, babbling apologies and promises into the dirt.
She raised a single, elegant finger to her lips. "Shhhh." As one, the dozen guards lay down on the ground, as if going to bed, and fell into a deep, coma-like slumber.
The women behind Xuán Líng watched in confusion and fear.
"Ladies," she said in her cool, commanding voice. "Please come with me."
"She's here to help," Madam Gù contributed immediately, her practical nature cutting through the tension. She rolled her eyes, a gesture of familiar exasperation. "She's an old—," the word 'friend' seemed woefully inadequate and stuck in her throat, "—acquaintance of my husband's."
Without another word, she turned and walked out through the now-unguarded gate. The women, with Madam Gù gently shepherding them, followed in a silent, stunned procession through the sleeping city. After several tense minutes, they arrived at the glowing, secure façade of the Zhēnbǎo Gé. The door swung open before Xuán Líng even raised her hand, as if the house itself had been waiting to welcome its true mistress home.
The grand hall of the Zhēnbǎo Gé hummed with the quiet chaos of a sanctuary. Lǎo Yù and staff gave the rescued women warm blankets, food, and medicinal tea. As they settled, Qianyi and Yisha recognized a pattern under their gentle questioning: not one of them was a native of Yǒngshèng Jīng. They were visitors, merchants' daughters, pilgrims, or women from outlying villages who had come to the capital for market day and never returned home.
"The ones from the city," Madam Gù confirmed grimly, her voice low. "The ones with strong spiritual veins, or from noble families… they were taken elsewhere. Sorted into a different group. We never saw where they went."
With the immediate danger past, Xuán Líng summoned Jīn Fēng and Mù Yǔ, the rabbit-demon brothers. "Take them to the Fāng Huá Gé," Xuán Líng instructed. "Use the old tunnels. Keep them safe and hidden. Tomorrow night, you will guide them out of the city through the drainage canals." The brothers bowed and began quietly organizing the weary women for the covert journey underground.
As the hall slowly emptied, Línglóng, who had been watching everything with the fierce curiosity of a born survivor, finally could hold her questions back no longer. She approached Xuán Líng, who was sipping a cup of jasmine tea while observing the proceedings with detached calm.
"Matriarch," Línglóng began, her voice respectful but bold. "May I ask something?"
Xuán Líng's silver gaze shifted to her. "Go on."
"You're… you're clearly the most powerful person I've ever seen. Maybe the most powerful person anyone here has ever seen." She gestured around the opulent hall. "So why… why doesn't someone like you do something? About all of this? Not just tonight, but… always? Where are the other gods and demons? Why don't they rule, if they're so strong? Why do mortals get to make such a mess of things if there are beings who could stop it?"
Xuán Líng set her cup down with a soft click.
A complex emotion, part amusement, part ancient weariness, flickered in her eyes. "You assume power desires rulership, little one," she said, her voice a soft purr. "It is a very mortal assumption."
She leaned back, her gaze growing distant. "I have seen empires rise from dust and return to it. I have seen gods scheme in their heavenly courts and fall to petty squabbles. To rule is to be responsible for the mundane: taxes, harvests, border disputes, and the infinite, exhausting greed of hearts. It is a cage of endless duty." A faint, genuine smile touched her lips. "I have no interest in cages. I spent enough time in one of my own making."
Línglóng blinked, trying to parse the cryptic statement.
"As for the other gods and demons…" Xuán Líng continued, her tone turning cool and contemplative. "Most of the true gods returned to the heavenly realm when the celestial village was destroyed. The gateway was sealed. They cannot simply come and go as they please." She let that ominous fact hang in the air for a moment. "It is why the presence of a 'Dark God' here is not just a problem… How did they get out? Or were they never sealed away at all?"
She took a slow sip of tea, her gaze growing distant. "As for the demons and spirits of this land… few remain. After the fall of Yan, the righteous cultivator sects of that age hunted those who escaped, calling them evil while secretly coveting their blood and cores for alchemy. I saved who I could."
A flicker of something cold and old passed through her eyes. "And, in time, another power—likely a god who remained behind—wiped out those dark sects in turn. A purge to cover the tracks of a greater sin, perhaps. The world has been… quiet, for a long time."
She looked back at Línglóng, her expression unreadable. "So, you see, the board is mostly empty. The powerful pieces are either gone, trapped behind a locked door, or hiding in the shadows. Which is why," her voice softened to a lethal whisper, "whoever is moving now… has been planning for a very, very long time."
She picked up her tea again, the mundane action a stark contrast to the cosmic scale of her words. "As for me… I rule this house. I rule my family's peace. I find great satisfaction in a well-made cup of wine, a clever business deal, a beautiful song performed in my pavilion, and the quiet company of my children." Her eyes swept over Yisha teasing Wu Feng, Qianyi checking on a rescued woman, and Xuán Chè listening intently. And she thought about Li Wei, who desperately wanted to join them. "I collect antiques, not kingdoms. I make money for the thrill of the game, not the weight of a treasury. I intervened tonight because they touched what is mine—these people under my roof, my city's peace. And because an 'old friend' has overstepped."
She looked back at Línglóng. "Power does not mean one must hold the sword. Sometimes, it means knowing precisely when, and why, to finally draw it. And knowing what you truly wish to protect when you do."
It wasn't the full, bloody history—the war, the betrayal, her qi deviation, the slaughter, the cosmic favor owed to a mysterious goddess. That story was a burden for another time. But it was truth enough: the most powerful being in the room had no desire for a throne, only for a home. And someone was threatening it.
Meanwhile at the Moonshadow Sect Manor...
Unable to be still, Li Wei refused to convalesce. He haunted the Moonshadow Sect's vast archives, his eyes devouring scrolls on advanced demonic physiology, celestial toxins, and spatial theory. He practiced in secluded courtyards, the air cracking with frost as he wrestled with the unstable, instinctual power of his Seven-Tailed Frost-Step. Every failed control, every burst of misplaced energy, was fueled by a single, desperate thought: I need to be there. I need to help them.
Instead of leaving his guest to brood alone, Lord Gù Tiěshān invited him to dinner each evening. Over robust food and strong wine, a wary respect blossomed into something akin to camaraderie. They spoke of their one violent encounter years ago, now reframed as a dark joke.
"I was a fool, thinking my assassins could touch someone under her protection," Gù Tiěshān chuckled, rubbing his stiff leg. "But even fools can learn. She taught me the price of overreaching."
He spoke freely of his complicated life—his unrequited, awe-struck love for Xuán Líng, and his deep, battle-scarred love for his wife. "We argue like sworn enemies," he said, topping up Li Wei's cup, a genuine smile on his face. "That's part of the fun. There's no one else I'd rather argue with. And," he added, his eyes twinkling with dark humor, "no one I'd rather be poisoned by in my sleep, should it come to that. It would be a worthy end."
Then, one night, the old man's sharp eyes softened. He'd observed the way Li Wei's gaze grew distant, the way his fingers would sometimes trace the rim of his cup when the city was mentioned. "And you, Young Master Li… your heart is not here in this library, is it? It walks the streets of Yǒngshèng with someone."
Li Wei stiffened, a rare blush heating his neck. He said nothing.
Gù Tiěshān didn't press. Instead, he leaned back and recited, his gravelly voice softening with the rhythm of an ancient poem:
"The mountain stream runs clear and deep,
Yet dare not whisper to the sea its keep.
A thousand words in silent current flow,
To a distant ocean that will never know."
The words hung in the air; a perfect echo of longing held behind a wall of ice. Li Wei looked down at his hands, his silence was confirmation enough.
Later that night, Li Wei lay in the guest room, the sealed fox-leather journal heavy on his chest. His mind was a tempest: his family in danger, Qianyi's smile, the unopened secrets of his own matriarch, the poem's painful truth. He closed his eyes, but sleep was a distant country.
Qianyi. Her name was a prayer and an ache. "There's so much I want to tell you," he whispered into the dark, quiet room. "So much I need to say."
His breathing slowed. Became deep, steady, rhythmic. As his consciousness hovered on the edge of sleep, his unresolved emotions and unstable qi resonated with a singular, desperate want—the want to be there, with her. Unbidden, the room's temperature plummeted. A fine, beautiful frost crystallized on the windows, crept over the floor, and then, the very air in the center of the room shimmered and ripped.
In the space of a single, silent heartbeat, Li Wei vanished from his bed in the Moonshadow Sect manor.
His eyes opened. He was staring at a familiar, beautifully carved wooden ceiling. The smell of sandalwood and old paper… home. He was in his own bed in the Zhēnbǎo Gé.
Before the wave of shock and disorientation could even crest, a blood-curdling scream erupted inches from his ear.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHH! WHO ARE YOU?!"
Li Wei turned his head. There, in the bed beside him, clutching the blankets to his chest with a look of utter terror, was Xuán Chè.
Li Wei blinked, his own expression one of pure, frozen bewildered astonishment. The frost that had formed in the Moonshadow Sect room now dusted Xuán Chè's hair and eyebrows.
He had successfully performed a Frost-Step.
He had just teleported across the city.
He had apparently teleported directly into Xuán Chè's bed.