Yao Xian was bored.
Not unusual. Boredom had been her companion for centuries—a dull ache pressing against her mind like fog on glass. She moved through her days expecting nothing, content with the grey monotony.
These past three years had been particularly empty.
She lay on a couch in what had become her quarters—technically Xīng Hé's manor, though the girl had never objected to her presence. Yao had long stopped pretending she would leave. The crystalline ceiling above scattered light in patterns she had memorized long ago. Four thousand seven hundred twenty-three facets. She had counted them—not because it mattered, but because there was nothing else to do.
The manor had grown silent since Xīng Hé departed for her first mission four months ago. Before that, there had been at least distant sounds of training—the girl pushing herself against the mirror's simulations, failing and trying again with stubborn persistence. Now there was only silence, and servants who knew better than to disturb her, and the slow crawl of hours that refused to pass any faster.
Most divine existences spent free time comprehending—deepening understanding, pushing toward evolution. Others played politics, forging alliances, undermining rivals, positioning for decades. Yao did neither.
Comprehension required engagement with her concept, and engagement meant feeling things she had spent two thousand years learning not to feel. Politics required caring about outcomes. She cared in very little.
So she ate. Slept. Stared at ceilings. Counted facets. Let the years slip past like water over stone.
What should I try today?
Half-heartedly, she rose. Cooking, perhaps. Precision, attention, the transformation of raw into sustenance—it was the rare task that held her interest beyond a few minutes.
She was halfway to the kitchen when the voice entered her mind.
Yao Xian.
She stopped.
Familiar. Terrifyingly familiar. Pressing against her consciousness with the intimacy of absolute authority. She had not felt it in months, had assumed he was occupied elsewhere.
But it could not be a hallucination.
The voice came again: You are getting bold, defying me. Cold, controlled, cutting through her dismissal like a blade through silk.
Yao Xian went very still.
Heiyun Jue was summoning her. And he was not pleased.
She abandoned the kitchen and ran. In seconds, the teleportation stone deposited her at the castle entrance. Guards materialized—not to challenge, only to escort. Heiyun had planned this.
What does he know?
She followed silently, moving through corridors she had walked a thousand times. The castle was unchanged: dark wood polished to a mirror sheen, artwork depicting landscapes that existed only in memory, oppressive grandeur designed to remind visitors of their insignificance.
What has he seen?
She had been careful—kept her observations about Xīng Hé to herself, avoided questions that might reveal too much. But careful did not mean invisible. Heiyun's perception extended across his entire realm. If he had been watching, he had seen everything.
The guards stopped before familiar dark-lacquered doors inlaid with silver dragons. His personal chambers. Not a throne room, not a formal space, but private. Sensitive. Dangerous.
"Yao Xian is here," she announced.
"Enter."
The word carried weight that had nothing to do with volume. She pushed the doors open.
Heiyun Jue sat at a small table near the window, a cup of steaming tea in hand. He looked exactly as she remembered—impossibly beautiful, eternally young, features transcendent. Dark eyes held centuries of accumulated experience. Calm. Terrifyingly calm.
"How have you been?" he asked, casual, conversational. Polite small talk that was anything but.
"Perfect, Your Eminence," she said, bowing slightly.
"Good."
Silence stretched.
"Give me a report," he finally said. "On everything since I last summoned you."
Her mind raced. He had been silent for months. In that time, she had made choices. Protected secrets. Avoided exposing Xīng Hé's true concept. Refused to report observations.
It was a thin defense. All she had.
"The two groups merged as planned. Training proceeded according to schedule. The abstract concept wielders showed remarkable progress—one hundred seventy-eight of two hundred reached Resonance stage, far exceeding historical averages."
Heiyun nodded. Indicating she should continue.
"The first missions were assigned four months ago. Teams deployed to various retrieval sites. Casualty rates within expected parameters for initial operations."
"And Xīng Hé?"
The name fell like stone into still water.
"She is on mission. Has been for four months."
"You were assigned to guide her development."
She nodded. "I was."
"And how did that guidance proceed?"
Here it comes.
"She was too advanced for conventional instruction. Her instincts surpassed what formal training could instill. I judged that independent development would yield better results than forcing her into a framework designed for lesser talents."
"So you let her learn on her own."
"Yes, Your Eminence."
"And she's on mission now."
"Yes."
"What are her odds of survival?"
Casual tone. As if asking about the weather.
Yao's throat tightened. "Twenty percent."
Silence.
"Explain."
"During teleportation, her coordinates revealed rival life-forces—survivors from past conflicts, hidden and waiting. The team was unprepared for combat. They trained for extraction, not confrontation. Mission parameters were set before detection occurred. Recalling them would have caused spatial disruption—potentially fatal to all."
Heiyun studied her.
"Go to her. Now. Stay hidden. Observe. Only intervene if her survival becomes impossible through her own efforts. Then, save her."
"The others on her team?"
"Irrelevant. Xīng Hé is the priority. Everything else secondary."
"As you command, Your Eminence."
She bowed and left, heart pounding, mind racing. Twenty percent odds. And she was the reason they were that low.
⸻
Heiyun Jue sat alone. Tea had gone cold, but he drank it anyway. Habit.
Everything is a mess.
He had almost regressed. The Tome of Origin had demanded too much. Knowledge pressed against the limits even a Transcendent could contain. One more hour, one more page, and he might have crossed the point of no return.
Now he paid the price. His soul was weak, damaged invisibly, felt in every breath, every thought, every strain of his once-effortless power. Each use of Space drained him further, each manifestation widened the cracks the Tome created.
He waited. Healed. Hid his weakness behind calm authority. No one could know.
Xīng Hé wouldn't die. He knew this, even if she didn't. Protected by forces he barely understood. And yet, her ignorance was useful. Let her believe she had nearly died. Let her feel gratitude, obligation, the debt of survival. Bonds forged in crisis were stronger than bonds forged in comfort. He needed her bound to him.
He stood at the window, watching the artificial sun trace the sky. Thousands of lives unfolded in the pocket realm he had carved. Fragile. Dependent on strength he no longer fully possessed.
Heal. Recover. Return to what you were before the Tome. Pray no one strikes before you're ready.
The tea sat cold behind him. He did not refill it.
⸻