The three of them exchanged glances as they moved, the same thought passing between them without needing to be spoken aloud. If his own master had to intervene personally, the situation looked worse than any of them had dared imagine.
Jin Bao's usual chatter had vanished entirely, his fists clenched at his sides throughout the walk. The corridor seemed unusually long, each step echoing louder than it should, each heartbeat pounding audibly in his ears.
Finally, they reached the last door. Two Inner Court disciples stood outside. Seeing the twins approach, they stepped aside. "Senior Sisters." "Senior Brother."
The door remained closed. Lianyan didn't knock. She pushed it open.
The medicinal fragrance grew stronger the moment the door swung inward. The room itself was larger than the one they'd woken in, its walls covered with stabilising formations that glowed faintly beneath the polished wood. Spirit Jade lamps illuminated every corner with gentle light, and several jade bowls filled with medicinal liquid rested on nearby tables, clearly prepared and waiting.
At the centre of the room stood an empty bed.
"He isn't here."
Lianyan's heart lurched.
The three of them looked around, then turned to the attendant who'd followed them. "Where is he? Didn't you say he was here?"
The attendant looked confused, glancing toward the other two waiting nearby.
One of them finally spoke. "His master took him away moments ago. He said his condition is somewhat different." He faced the twins and Jin Bao directly. "He asked us to tell you there's no need to come check on him. When he's fine, you'll naturally see him."
Their expressions shifted — from concern, to a dawning realisation, and then to something deeper and heavier still.
What state must Mo Xuan actually be in?
Deep within a quiet bamboo grove, Han Long stood outside a secluded chamber, a jug of wine in hand. Inside, Mo Xuan sat listless, his eyes unfocused, his breath uneven, his skin pale. His body no longer trembled, but his mind had clearly not returned from wherever it had gone.
His lips moved faintly, muttering the same words over and over. "I killed them... I killed..."
Han Long exhaled slowly, his gaze softening as he watched from the doorway. He had expected this, if he was honest with himself. Though his disciple was undeniably a genius, he had entered the cultivation world too recently. He certainly hadn't experienced its uglier truths firsthand until now.
This boy came from a family of artificers and rune makers, not warriors, not killers. Even carrying a mutated Cosmic Soul, he hadn't grown up surrounded by bloodshed the way so many cultivators did. After hearing Mo Xuan's father recount exactly how his son had obtained that Cosmic Soul, Han Long understood more than he ever let on. It made sense, in the end, that the boy's first kill would shake him this deeply.
...
At that same moment, far beyond the recovery chamber, inside the Sect Master's pavilion, the Sect Master stood before a suspended water mirror, its surface perfectly still.
An elderly Formation Elder beside him passed over a recording jade talisman before speaking quietly. "Everything the three witnessed is recorded within. The teleportation talisman that brought them back was consumed in the process."
The Sect Master nodded. "I know." He paused. "The coordinates?"
The Formation Elder shook his head. "Whatever secret realm they entered has vanished entirely."
Silence settled briefly between them.
Finally, the Sect Master spoke. "Pass this information to the other sects. Warn them about a bait map being used by some organisation to lure people as sacrifices. They should be on the lookout."
The Formation Elder nodded before withdrawing, and the Sect Master turned toward the open window overlooking the Inner Court, his expression unreadable as he watched the grounds below.
...
Three more days passed. Then four. Mo Xuan remained listless, still trapped somewhere inside the echo of that single moment. Finally, Han Long stepped inside the chamber.
He placed a hand on Mo Xuan's back and pushed a wave of stabilising energy through his meridians, clearing some of the fog clouding his mind, though not enough to fully wake him. Then he tapped several acupoints across Mo Xuan's chest and temples, not forcing him awake outright, but pulling him just far enough from the abyss that his senses began to resurface on their own.
Mo Xuan's body flinched. His eyes moved, unfocused but unmistakably alive.
Han Long grabbed him by the collar. The world blurred, and they vanished.
The first stop was a forest clearing. Bandits surrounded a merchant caravan, swords raised, pleading voices echoing off the trees. Then blood splashed across broken wagons as entire families were cut down without hesitation, without mercy.
Mo Xuan's eyes widened faintly.
Han Long whispered beside him. "This is the cultivation world. No fairness. No mercy. No reasoning. Just strength."
In a blink, they vanished again, reappearing atop a rooftop overlooking a city alley below. An assassin leapt from the shadows, stabbing a man in broad daylight and snatching a ring from his corpse before disappearing into the crowd without anyone so much as looking twice.
Greed. Profit. Death. One heartbeat after another, indistinguishable from the last.
Mo Xuan's breath hitched.
Han Long's voice remained calm beside him. "The weak die. The strong take. Whether they are good or evil means little in the end."
Again, they vanished, this time appearing atop a grassy hill. Two cultivators clashed over a glowing herb below, blades ringing through the air in a fierce exchange. One man barely prevailed, wounded and panting — and chose to spare his opponent rather than finish him.
The defeated man bowed deeply before limping away, and Mo Xuan's eyes softened at the sight, a trace of relief flickering through him, a small flicker of hope that not everything in this world had to end in slaughter.
Han Long shook his head. "Watch."
The world blurred forward to the next day. The spared cultivator returned — not alone this time, but with dozens of armed men standing behind him. They stormed the victor's small home, screams filling the valley as an entire family was wiped out, the ground dyed red with blood.
The one who had shown mercy perished along with everyone he'd tried to protect.
Mo Xuan's heart clenched painfully.
Han Long finally looked at him directly, his eyes unusually sharp. "This is the world you walk in." He placed a heavy hand on Mo Xuan's shoulder. "It is not mercy that is wrong."
"Weakness is."
"If you wish to spare your enemies, become strong enough that even if they resent you, they never dare act."
The words cut cleanly through the fog still clouding Mo Xuan's mind.
Han Long's tone softened only slightly. "And if you must kill, kill cleanly, without hesitation. Better your enemy dies than you."
With that, he dragged Mo Xuan away one final time.
Back in the courtyard of his residence, Han Long released him and stepped back. "I've shown you enough. The rest is for you to comprehend." He paused, his voice carrying an unusual weight. "Above all, stay true to yourself, and don't forget your original intention."
His voice lingered faintly in the air a moment longer. Then he vanished, leaving Mo Xuan alone in the quiet courtyard.
A single leaf drifted down and settled across his knees. His trembling slowed. His breath steadied. His eyes began to sharpen for the first time in days.
Images flooded his mind all at once — Yu Lianyan poisoned, Yu Lianxue collapsing, Jin Bao struggling for breath, the three attackers closing in around them. His sword cutting through flesh. Blood, everywhere.
His heart recoiled instinctively.
Then the memories returned — the spared cultivator returning with an army, the family that died screaming, the assassin taking a life for nothing more than a ring, the caravan slaughtered for whatever supplies it carried.
His fingers clenched.
Han Long's words thundered through his mind. Be so strong that they dare not act against you.
Mo Xuan's lips parted, and his voice, rough but steadily awakening, escaped in a whisper. "...Strength."
He looked down at his hands, still sensing the phantom warmth of blood long since washed away.
He inhaled slowly.
The phantom warmth of blood no longer made him flinch.
This time, he did not recoil.
Mo Xuan looked up. The world looked the same as it had yesterday. Yet it no longer felt like the same world at all.
For the first time, he truly understood what Han Long had meant years earlier when he'd first mentioned going out into the world. It hadn't just been a suggestion. It had been cultivation itself — because beyond the confines of his master's teachings, every choice out there carried the full weight of life and death.
Mo Xuan remained in the courtyard long after Han Long had disappeared, letting the quiet settle into his bones completely. As his mind cleared, something within him shifted. His eyes became sharper, more focused than they'd ever been before.
But the change wasn't merely a shift in his state of mind. It reached deeper — into his consciousness itself, the unseen root of perception, awareness, and spirit that most cultivators spent entire lifetimes barely touching.
Most cultivators never walked this particular path at all. Even among genuine prodigies, only a fraction ever broke past its very first layer. Spiritual consciousness itself was divided into several distinct realms — each realm stripping away another limitation of the mortal mind until one's perception approached that of Heaven.
Spirit Perception — sensing spiritual energy, life, and intent beyond the reach of ordinary senses.
Spirit Awakening — fully opening the Sea of Consciousness.
Heavenly Foresight — glimpsing threads of cause and effect; perceiving danger and killing intent, and resisting illusions.
Spirit Projection — extending consciousness beyond the body, allowing one's awareness to roam.
Boundless Consciousness — casting perception across vast distances, unhindered.
Beyond that lay only legend: realms where a single thought could span worlds.
Mo Xuan closed his eyes.