Chapter 5
Rain fell without sound.
Each drop struck the ground and vanished, as if swallowed by the earth before it could exist. Shenping noticed it only after several steps, when his boots remained dry despite the darkened soil.
Time here was unstable.
He moved carefully through the forest, Sang Sang secured against his chest, her breathing light but steady. The old man followed several paces behind, leaning heavily on his staff. His presence felt thinner now, as though part of him had been left behind on the shattered platform.
"Do not stop," the old man said. "The moment you rest, it will find you again."
Shenping did not ask what "it" was.
He already felt it—an invisible pressure trailing them, patient and precise.
The forest changed as they descended. Trees grew twisted, bark etched with symbols that crawled when not directly observed. Shadows lagged behind movement, snapping back into place a breath too late.
"This land was cut loose," the old man continued. "A remnant timeline. A place where discarded possibilities rot."
"Why bring us here?" Shenping asked.
"Because nothing watches it closely," the old man replied. "And because you cannot learn what you must learn in a clean world."
They reached a clearing as night fell abruptly, the sky darkening in a single blink. At its center stood a ruined pavilion, half-collapsed, stone pillars fractured as if crushed by immense weight.
The old man stopped.
"This is as far as I go."
Shenping turned sharply. "You said you would teach me."
"I have," the old man replied. "Everything else must be taken."
He raised his staff and struck the ground once.
The clearing shifted.
Space folded inward, compressing until the forest vanished entirely. Shenping staggered, instinctively shielding Sang Sang. When the pressure released, they stood within the pavilion—whole again, untouched by decay.
At the center lay a stone coffin.
"There is your teacher," the old man said.
Shenping stared. "That's a corpse."
"Not yet," the old man replied. "Not fully."
The coffin cracked.
A sound emerged—slow, deliberate breathing, each inhale dragging against stone as if the world resisted it. The lid slid aside inch by inch, revealing a figure wrapped in faded robes, skin pale as ash.
Eyes opened.
They were not human eyes.
They reflected nothing.
"You brought him," the figure said, voice echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Yes," the old man replied. "And the girl."
The eyes shifted to Sang Sang.
Interest flickered.
"So the bloodline remains intact," the figure murmured. "Even after interference."
Shenping stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The figure sat up, bones cracking softly. "I am what cultivation becomes when time refuses to move forward."
The old man bowed.
"Master Guichen," he said. "The Erased One."
Guichen's gaze returned to Shenping. "You do not belong to any era."
"I know," Shenping said.
"Good," Guichen replied. "Then you will not break when I remove what anchors you."
The air tightened.
Shenping felt something reach into him—past muscle, past bone, past thought. Memories trembled, threatening to scatter.
He dropped to one knee, teeth grinding.
"Stop," he growled.
Guichen tilted his head. "You resist with identity. That will slow you."
The old man slammed his staff down. "Enough. He is not ready."
Guichen considered him for a long moment. Then the pressure withdrew.
Shenping gasped, sweat dripping from his brow.
"You carry war in your bones," Guichen said. "But no foundation. No root. Cultivation without time is suicide."
"What do I do?" Shenping asked.
Guichen rose fully from the coffin.
"You die," he said calmly. "Repeatedly."
Before Shenping could react, Guichen's hand pierced his chest.
There was no pain.
Only absence.
Shenping's vision collapsed inward, the world folding into darkness. His consciousness shattered, fragments scattering across moments he had lived and moments he had not.
He saw himself as a child, watching machines assemble his future execution chamber.
He saw Sang Sang standing alone among corpses.
He saw thirteen faces, thirteen loves, each ending in blood or silence.
Then nothing.
He awoke screaming.
His body convulsed against stone, lungs burning as though filled with fire. He sucked in air violently, heart slamming against his ribs.
Guichen stood over him, expression unchanged.
"One," Guichen said.
Shenping coughed, vision blurring. "One what?"
"Death," Guichen replied.
The second came faster.
And the third.
Each death stripped something away—fear, hesitation, attachment. Each rebirth sharpened what remained. Time blurred until Shenping could no longer tell how long he had endured it.
When Guichen finally withdrew his hand, Shenping lay motionless, eyes open, breathing slow and controlled.
"You now exist between seconds," Guichen said. "Not enough to escape fate. Enough to wound it."
Sang Sang stirred, clutching her chest.
Shenping rose instantly, reaching her side. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head slowly. "It's louder."
"What is?"
"The future," she whispered.
Guichen turned to her. "You are becoming a beacon. Every step he takes will pull catastrophe toward you."
Shenping met the ancient cultivator's gaze. "Then teach me how to end this."
Guichen smiled faintly.
"You misunderstand," he said. "I will teach you how to survive it."
The pavilion trembled.
Outside, something screamed—metal grinding against reality.
Guichen's eyes narrowed. "They adapt quickly."
The old man coughed violently, blood splattering the stone. "You must leave. Now."
Guichen nodded once. "The next lesson will come from loss."
He raised his hand and pushed.
The world inverted.
Shenping felt space tear open beneath his feet. He grabbed Sang Sang, pulling her close as they fell through collapsing light.
The pavilion vanished.
The forest returned.
They landed hard on wet earth, pain exploding through Shenping's legs. He rolled, shielding Sang Sang, then came up instantly, scanning their surroundings.
Silence.
Too much silence.
Then a voice spoke from behind him.
"Target confirmed."
Shenping turned.
A single Enforcer stood at the edge of the clearing, its form imperfect—skin stitched over metal, eyes human and hollow.
It smiled.
"Hello, ancestor," it said.
Shenping stepped forward, fists clenched, the space around him subtly warping.
"Wrong era," he replied.
And struck.