Ling Feng walked with his hands tucked into his sleeves, the Dragon Arbiter Stage shrinking behind them until it was only another stone platform on another mountain.
For everyone else in the Heavenly Dao Academy, today would become a legend.
For the girl at his side, it was already a weight.
Chi Xiaodie moved in silence, boots whispering over the jade-paved path. The roar of the crowd had faded, but the echo of her blade still rang in her bones—the moment it had cut through Huangfu Feng's defenses, the way princess and genius had fallen in one clean stroke.
Her fingers flexed once, as if still feeling the resistance of flesh and qi.
There was no joy in her eyes. Only a calm, settled resolve that made her look older than she was.
"…Tiger's Howl School and Brilliance Ancient Kingdom will not let this go," she said at last, breaking the quiet. Her tone was level, but her jaw was tight. "Huangfu Feng was their princess. Gui Fushu was highly valued by his kingdom."
Her words didn't linger in the air long. The mountain wind took them and scattered them over the distant roofs and pavilions of the Academy.
Bing Yuxia walked a little to the side, white robe flicking in the breeze like snow at the edge of a cliff. She had her jade fan open, tapping it lightly against her shoulder, peach blossom eyes lazy—but there was nothing relaxed in the way her aura coiled, sharp and alert.
"You've just put yourself at the center of every grudge in this region," she said. "They won't stop at words."
Ling Feng laughed.
It wasn't loud. It was just unrestrained, easy, like he truly didn't see the storm she was describing as anything more than a bit of weather.
"Good," he said. "I was worrying the stage would be too quiet."
He turned his head, glancing between the princess of Lion's Roar and the Ice Feather Palace's prime descendant. Mischief glinted in his eyes.
"How about a bet?" he said.
Both women immediately became wary.
"…Another one?" Bing Yuxia asked, brows arching. "You are very fond of burying pits for yourself, Young Noble."
Ling Feng spread his hands. "This one's simple. Give me a bit of time, and I'll push Yan and Baojiao to nine-star Enlightened Being. When the next wave of idiots comes—Hu Yue, Ba Xia, whatever other dogs Tiger's Howl and those ancient kingdoms send—I'll let those two stomp them instead of doing it myself."
Li Shuangyan, walking just behind them, blinked. Her pure jade eyes cooled a fraction. "You decided that on your own," she remarked, tone dry.
"You don't want to hit them?" Ling Feng asked, smiling sideways at her.
A faint light passed through her gaze, like moonlight behind thin clouds. "…That is another matter."
From somewhere behind, Chen Baojiao's clear, bold laughter floated up. "Nine-star Enlightened Being and Ancient Saint, hm?" she said, lips curling. "Feng, you're spoiling us. If you really deliver that, we'll be the ones bullying the world."
Chi Xiaodie folded her arms across her chest, the Lion's Roar bloodline in her spine making her stand straighter.
"…And if you win this bet, what do you want?" she asked.
Ling Feng's grin eased, softened. He looked at her first—this princess who had just stained the stage with a rival's blood—and then at Bing Yuxia, whose eyes sharpened with curiosity.
"If I win," he said, "you two owe me some time. A date, as they say from where I'm from."
He held their gazes, not flippant, not joking now.
"Not a contract, not a chain," he went on. "A day where it's just us. No court reports, no academy politics, no disguises. Just… you being yourselves, and me annoying you until you smile."
Chi Xiaodie's ears heated instantly. "…That is not how a serious cultivator makes bets," she said, voice a little too fast.
Bing Yuxia's lips curved, fan tilting to hide the quirk. "You really like digging pits for yourself," she said. "If you fail, you'll embarrass yourself in front of half the Academy."
"If I fail," Ling Feng said mildly, "something has gone very wrong with the universe."
He held out his hand, palm up, fingers relaxed.
"Well?" he asked. "Do you dare?"
Chi Xiaodie stared at that hand.
She saw blood on it today—Huangfu Feng's fall, Gui Fushu's broken arrogance, the unspoken declarations of war those corpses represented. She saw her country, the Lion's Roar Gate, the Royal Lord's worn face, the weight of generations pushing her to stand taller than she felt.
And she saw, quietly, the way this man had stood beside her through all of that, never once asking her to bow.
She raised her hand.
Her fingers, callused from the sword, cool from the wind, settled against his.
"…Very well," she said softly. "If you can truly push them that far, then… this Chi will accompany you for a day."
Bing Yuxia eyed their joined hands for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing like a cat watching someone steal her favorite sunny spot. Then she sighed.
"This young master," she said, "is not afraid of stupid bets."
Her hand landed lightly atop theirs, her palm warm.
"If you win," she said, "I will go along too."
Ling Feng squeezed gently—once, a light pressure that promised more than any oath—then let go.
"Deal," he said.
The wind swept down from the higher peaks, carrying away the sound of their voices.
...
The Heavenly Dao Academy buzzed for days.
News in the Eastern Hundred Cities spread faster than any talisman. Rumors flowed through corridors and courtyards like water spilling down terrace fields.
In the Idle Era Hall, low-level disciples crowded around tea tables, slapping them for emphasis.
"A nobody from some small sect, and he walks into the Emperor Era Hall exam like he's going for a stroll," one said, voice full of disbelief. "They say the elders' faces all went green!"
"What nobody?" someone else scoffed. "He's the same one who overshadowed Goodess Mei!"
In the Zenith Era Hall, proud geniuses leaned against railings, expressions dark.
"He's just making noise because no true Ancestor has decided to act yet," a Zenith disciple said coldly. "Let him be arrogant. When the ancient kingdoms truly move, he will learn the difference between a jumping clown and the sky."
From the Sacred Era Hall, which clung to its distance like a mantle, ancient instructors looked over lists with narrowed eyes.
"Grand Era Hall…" one old voice murmured, tracing Ling Feng's name. "The tide at the bottom has shifted. If we ignore it, it will be a storm later."
Names passed from mouth to mouth.
Ling Feng.
Chi Xiaodie.
Xu Pei.
Bing Yuxia.
Grand Era Hall.
They became weights in conversations. Threats. Promises.
And in the middle of that rising noise, the young man people blamed—or praised—for most of it…
…ignored it.
...
The back mountains of the Grand Era Hall were quiet.
A cliff jutted over a sea of clouds, the stone dark and old. Below, the Heavenly Dao Academy spread out like a living scroll: halls and peaks, rivers and bridges, five great halls like organs in a body pulsing with divine light. Faint Dao patterns stitched the entire landscape together in lines only seasoned cultivators could see.
Up here, above the lines, it was just wind, stone, and a young man in black leaning lazily against a boulder.
In front of him lay Chi Xiaodao.
The Lion's Roar prince sprawled flat on his back, arms thrown out as if he had been dropped from a great height. His chest rose and fell like bellows. Sweat soaked his robes, plastering his lion-embroidered hair to his forehead.
Over his body hovered a phantom turtle shell, lines of jade-green dao slowly turning. Sometimes it looked solid, heavy enough to crush a mountain. Sometimes it flickered, as if reality itself couldn't decide whether to recognize it.
The phantom shell dimmed, then faded.
Beside him, Chi Xiaodie knelt.
Her back was straight, posture proper even when she meditated. Both hands rested on the hilt of her sword, the blade planted before her like a personal banner. Her eyes were closed, long lashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks.
Behind her, five Fate Palaces floated in a half-circle—embryonic worlds suspended in her sea of fate. Four were solid, their outlines clear: ancient city-walls of Lion's Roar, banners, battlefields, an unyielding lion roaring at the sky.
The sixth was hazy at the edges. It flickered like a mirage, its form trying to condense and then blurring again, as if some invisible hesitation kept pulling it apart.
Ling Feng watched the siblings, one hand hidden in his sleeve, the other lazily rolling a thin blade of grass between his fingers.
"Alright," he said at last. "That's enough. Any more and Xiaodao's going to roll down the mountain."
Chi Xiaodao tried to lift his head. "I… I can still go a few more rounds…" he panted.
Ling Feng walked over and nudged his side lightly with his foot.
"You say that," he said, amused, "but your turtle's about to hide in its shell and refuse to come out for a week."
In Xiaodao's sea of consciousness, the Heavenly Turtle Fate quivered like a guilty child caught skipping lessons.
Chi Xiaodao coughed, then wheezed laughter. "Turtles… are persistent… Brother Ling…"
"Persistent and stubborn," Ling Feng said. "Just like their current owner. Lie there, breathe. Let the shell digest what we just did."
Chi Xiaodie's eyelashes trembled. She opened her eyes slowly.
Her gaze was clearer now, like a lake after a storm: still, but with trace ripples of what had been stirred.
"…My sixth Fate Palace," she murmured. "It…"
She could feel it. Not just as a vague presence, but as a weight in her destiny, pressing against the barrier of her current self.
Ling Feng sat down in front of her, close enough that she could see the lazy curve of his mouth, the faint boredom in his eyes that somehow never dulled his sharpness.
"It's there," he said. "You're just being fussy."
Chi Xiaodie frowned, lips tightening. "This princess is not—"
He flicked her forehead.
It was not hard. But the sound of his finger striking her skin echoed in her mind, startling her heart more than her body.
"Don't cling to a perfect image in your head," he said, voice mild. "You've been doing that for years. For people. For your country. For yourself. Your Fate Palace is reflecting that. It's trying to form around what you think a 'proper' ruler should be."
He reached out and tapped the center of her chest, just above her heart.
"Let it form around you instead."
Chi Xiaodie stared at him.
"…Me?" she repeated, almost dazed.
"Yeah." Ling Feng's tone went soft, but not weak. "The girl who still gets stubborn over street snacks, who worries about farmers before sleeping, who killed a princess on the Dragon Arbiter Stage without hesitating."
His eyes didn't look away. They didn't give her any path to escape.
"If your Fate Palace can't hold that person," he said, "then it's trash. Throw it away and build another."
Silence fell.
The wind shifted, carrying the distant sound of Academy bells—deep, ancient, like the heartbeat of the sect.
Chi Xiaodie closed her eyes again.
This time, she didn't reach for the image of a flawless imperial hall, shining marble and towering pillars.
Instead, the palace forming behind her changed.
It began as a city wall under a grey sky, stones chipped and worn but still standing. Fields stretched beyond it—some barren, some bright with young crops. The lion banner over the gate was frayed, its threads pulling loose in the wind.
A princess stood alone in an empty throne room, looking at the cracked tiles, the old banners, the heavy throne.
For a moment, she turned her back to it, ready to step onto the dais and sit where generations expected her to sit.
Then she stopped.
She stepped down from the dais instead.
She pushed the heavy doors open with her own hands. The wind rushed in—cold, honest air carrying the smell of earth and people.
The Fate Palace crystallized around that moment.
The edges of the sixth palace solidified, lines of light locking into place. A new world anchored itself in Chi Xiaodie's destiny—not as the ideal her ancestors wanted, but as the path she chose.
Chi Xiaodao, still lying on the ground, cracked one eye open. His vision was blurry, but he saw the palace take shape, saw the lion banner straighten in that new inner world.
"Wow…" he whispered, awe muting even his usual playful tone. "Sis…"
Ling Feng leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky while the palace settled. "Not bad," he said. "You're almost there. A few more days and I'll kick you through the door."
Chi Xiaodie opened her eyes.
Her gaze was calmer now. Something in her had loosened; the invisible chains that had always wrapped her shoulders and throat were gone. She was still standing under weight, but it was weight she had chosen to lift.
"…I trouble Young Noble Ling again," she said softly.
Ling Feng snorted. "Didn't I tell you?" he said. "Friends trouble each other. If you stop, I'll think you don't like me anymore."
Her ears went a shade redder, but she didn't look away.
Chi Xiaodao, having regained enough strength to move, rolled over and grabbed Ling Feng's leg like a drowning man clinging to driftwood.
"Brother Ling," he groaned, "if troubling you leads to this kind of progress, I'll trouble you every day…"
"You already do," Ling Feng said. "Now shut up and breathe properly. Your turtle's still crooked."
Chi Xiaodao laughed weakly, wiping sweat from his eyes. "Heavenly Turtle… is sensitive, okay…"
"Then tell it to toughen up," Ling Feng replied. "The world's not kind to soft shells."
He rose, dusting his hands off.
"Alright," he said. "Xiaodie, keep that sixth palace simmering. Don't rush it; let it cook all the way through. Xiaodao, if you move from that spot before your breathing evens out, I'll roll you down the mountain myself."
He turned, black robe flicking in the wind.
"Next patient," he added, half to himself. "The Ice Young Master is probably freezing a courtyard somewhere."
...
Another peak. Another courtyard.
White pavilions rose like carved snow, their eaves sharp and clear against the sky. Crystalline ponds mirrored the clouds, their surfaces whispering with the gentle ripple of unseen formations. The wind here was different—much colder, carrying a faint trace of snow even though there wasn't a single speck of ice in sight.
This place was reserved for Bing Yuxia.
She sat on the railing of a small pavilion, one leg dangling lazily, the other bent with her foot resting on the rail. Her white robes fluttered around her like a cloud, and the jade fan in her hand tapped idly against her shoulder.
To any casual observer, she was the very picture of a handsome young master—arrogant, elegant, born to point swords and break hearts.
Beneath that façade, her aura was constantly sharpening. The cold around her wasn't just temperature; it was will. It could cut skin and Dao heart alike.
Ling Feng leaned against the opposite corner of the railing, ankle resting on his knee, body relaxed as if this pavilion were nothing more than a balcony on a lazy afternoon.
Between his fingers, he held a thin stone tablet.
Its surface was cracked and dull, the carvings nearly worn away. To most, it would look like some random broken relic dug out from a forgotten ruin. But if one looked closely—if one had the eyes for fate and epochs—they would see a pattern under the cracks: lines that looked like they had once been a sky, split apart by invisible blades.
Bing Yuxia's gaze kept drifting toward it, no matter how much she pretended to be uninterested.
"So," Ling Feng said lazily, flipping the fragment up once, catching it as if it weighed nothing. "How much can you draw out of this thing right now?"
Bing Yuxia snorted, snapping her fan open with a flick. "You ask as if you don't already know," she said. "The Heaven Cutting Tablet is an ancient dao treasure that even my Ice Feather Palace cannot fully unravel. I am just a junior. To borrow a trace of its power is already not easy."
Her tone was light, casual, but hidden under it was a sliver of pride that could freeze seas.
Ling Feng hummed, conceding. "Mm. You're not wrong," he said. "For most people, that'd be the limit."
He flicked the fragment lightly.
A tiny sliver of light rose from the stone—thin, colorless, almost nothing. It floated for a moment like a breath in winter, then dissolved into the air.
Bing Yuxia watched, unimpressed, arching a brow.
"That's all?" she drawled. "You're not going to say something ridiculous like 'this young master can cut the heavens' with that?"
Ling Feng smiled at her, eyes hooded in that way that made it hard to tell what he was thinking.
"Relax," he said. "If I cut the heavens here, your Academy's Realm God is going to wake up and have a panic attack. I don't feel like comforting an ancient divine beast today."
He held the tablet out toward her.
"Come on," he said. "Try circulating your cultivation with the Heaven Cutting imprint the way you normally do. I'll poke around a bit."
Bing Yuxia's eyes narrowed.
"You want to meddle with my Heaven Cutting Tablet?" she asked. "This kind of dao treasure—"
"Yes, yes," Ling Feng interrupted, waving his free hand. "Heaven-cutting, epoch-shaking, world-famous. I know the sales pitch. Just humor me."
She stared at him for a long moment.
She saw the man who made bets in front of half the Academy without blinking.
Trust, for someone like her, was not given. It was won, cut out of stubbornness and tested in blood.
She exhaled slowly.
"Very well," she said. "This young master will let you embarrass yourself."
She raised her hand.
Cold, pure aura surged out from her body.
It wasn't the ordinary chill of water or winter. It was the kind of cold that erased color from the world, that made time itself feel slower. Snow that never melted. Ice that cut sharper than steel.
The Heaven Cutting Tablet fragment in Ling Feng's palm trembled, answering her call like an old sword recognizing the hand that had wielded it many times.
Behind her, the faint outline of her Fate Palaces flickered—worlds of snowfields and endless glaciers, swords buried in ice waiting to be drawn.
A single line appeared in the air over her shoulder.
Just one.
Thin. Pale. Quiet.
Like the first stroke of a blade drawn across the sky.
Ling Feng watched—not the line itself, but how her energy moved to create it. How her true fate twisted to grasp the Tablet's remnant. How that remnant, proud and ancient, refused her just enough to keep her knee-deep in its trial.
"Mm," he said. "As expected. You're still treating it like a separate blade."
Bing Yuxia's eyes flicked toward him without turning her head. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're standing under the sky, pointing up, and saying: 'Please cut that for me,'" Ling Feng said. "The tablet doesn't want that. It wants you to be the cut."
She frowned. "…And that is supposed to mean something?"
Ling Feng grinned.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Just do what I say for a second. Close your eyes."
She hesitated, pride prickling. Then, slowly, she obeyed.
"Now," Ling Feng said, his voice softening, dropping into that low, oddly intimate register he used when he wasn't just teasing. "Forget the tablet for a bit. Forget your palace, your sect, all those Ice Feather seniors nagging in your head."
Her brows twitched in irritation—because he wasn't wrong.
"Think about the first time you wanted to break a rule," he continued. "Not because someone told you to. Not because it would make you look good. Just because the rule annoyed you."
Inside her chest, something stirred.
Images rose without her permission.
A young Bing Yuxia standing at the edge of a forbidden cliff, watching snowstorms tear mountains apart.
An elder's scolding voice ringing in her ears: This path is not for you. Walk where we have prepared the way. Do not try to cut what the Dao has already decided.
Her hand tightening around a practice sword until her knuckles turned white.
Her feet stepping past the boundary marker anyway.
"That feeling," Ling Feng said quietly. "That 'if it's in my way, I'll cut it myself' impulse. Hold onto that."
He lifted the tablet, bringing its cracked surface close to the space between her brows.
Chaos seeped silently from his fingers—not loud, not visible. Just a subtle interference with the world's Dao, smoothing rough patches, opening hidden doors, erasing a few lines of resistance the Tablet had always held against her.
"Now," he murmured, "call the Tablet again. But don't ask it for power. Tell it: we're doing this together or not at all."
Bing Yuxia's energy moved.
This time, it didn't try to wrap around the Heaven Cutting Tablet like a rope binding a stubborn beast. It rushed through it—like a river finding its true bed after years of being blocked.
For a heartbeat, the cracked fragment shone.
Not blindingly. Not with some world-destroying aura.
But a hair-thin cut appeared in the courtyard's sky.
No lightning. No thunder. No screaming Dao.
Just a line where the heavens had been split and then re-knitted, so seamless that if one blinked, they would miss it.
Bing Yuxia's eyes flew open.
"You—" she started, words stumbling, shocked out of her usual composure.
Ling Feng flicked the tablet back into his sleeve and smirked at her.
"Congratulations," he said. "You stopped treating Heaven Cutting like an external crutch for five seconds."
Her hand clenched around her fan.
"How do you know this?" she demanded. "Even our palace's old monsters have not spoken of such a method. The Heaven Cutting Tablet came from a remote epoch—"
He shrugged. "I read a lot."
"Do not insult this young master," Bing Yuxia snapped, anger finally cracking through the icy façade. "You are not 'just reading a lot.' Just now, you altered the resonance of the Tablet. You changed the way it sits in my dao foundation. That is not something just anyone can—"
"Hey," Ling Feng said, amusement brightening his eyes. "Getting angry already? That's cute."
Her ears flushed the faintest pink, disappearing quickly beneath the frost in her aura.
"…This young master is not angry," she said stiffly. "Merely… surprised."
Ling Feng leaned back on his hands again, letting the wind play with his hair.
"Good," he said. "Stay surprised. You'll work harder."
Her fan snapped shut with a quiet crack.
"You're doing this on purpose," she said slowly. "Dangling answers, then pulling them away."
"Of course," Ling Feng replied without shame. "If I just told you everything, you'd get bored. This way, you'll chase it yourself." He tilted his head. "What? You don't like chasing?"
Her eyes met his.
In them was the Ice Empress' cold pride, yes—but also the spark of a girl who had once gone out into the snow alone because the palace walls felt too small.
"…I'll remember this," she muttered.
"Good," he said, voice low and amused. "Next time we play with your Tablet, I'll make you curse me properly."
Her hand tightened on her sword at her waist.
"Do not underestimate this young master's ability to curse people," she said. "When that day comes, you had best be prepared."
Ling Feng smiled, looking away toward the distant peaks where storm clouds were gathering over the Academy.
"Oh, I'm counting on it," he murmured.