A month after returning to Cloud Veil Ridge, Bai Ning was once again practicing the Divine Water Lightning Technique.

  She had first begun learning it back at Qi Condensation, but this was a technique that advanced alongside one’s cultivation rather than remaining static. At mastery, a cultivator could transform into lightning itself, moving at blistering speeds and striking with overwhelming force. Even at the lower layers, the user could summon lightning around their limbs to greatly enhance speed and power.

  It was called the Divine Water Lightning Technique because it required both water-attribute qi and lightning-attribute qi to function properly. As someone who possessed Heaven and Earth Qi, Bai Ning found the process of using the technique slow, cumbersome, and only worth it as a last resort. By the time she had finished converting her qi and activated the technique, the Imperial Flying Step could have already carried her miles away.

  Still, Master Mo Jian insisted she learn it, and master it. It would give her a hidden trump card, a final escape method should she ever face danger. The technique itself wasn’t rare, but reaching its highest summit certainly was. Her master had admitted even he had not achieved the stage of transforming into lightning, but he had also said that if he ever did, even an early-stage Nascent Soul cultivator’s pursuit would be pointless.

  That was his future potential. If she mastered it, then below Core Formation, no one would be able to match her speed. However, that was much easier said than done…

  “Wait, stop-”

  That was as far as Mo Jian got before the qi around Bai Ning trembled, shuddered, and blew apart. Thin, barely visible strands of lightning unraveled from her body and danced around her in a crackling circle. Mo Jian immediately summoned a qi barrier to shield himself, but Bai Ning had no such luxury. She grit her teeth and endured it. The absolute worst part was how it made her hair stand on end like some unfortunate spirit beast startled out of its den.

  She hadn’t struggled this much with the first three layers, but at the fourth, everything became volatile. The slightest imbalance in her qi caused the technique to unravel violently.

  “Ugh. What am I doing wrong?” she muttered, smoothing down her new robes and trying to pat her hair back into place. It was a losing battle after the third explosion, but she refused to go through the rest of the day looking like a Poison Needle Porcupine or a Lightning Devil Rat.

  Behind his barrier, from where he was supervising, Mo Jian shrugged. “At this stage, you’re better off asking yourself that. My skill with water-attribute qi is even poorer than yours, courtesy of the Heaven Enshrouding Ding. All I can say is that your lightning qi is nearly perfect, but the balance between it and your water qi isn’t holding.”

  Bai Ning nodded, though she wished he had something more helpful to offer. It was their first proper lesson in a long while, yet Master Mo Jian had brushed past every one of her hopeful suggestions, only to drag this technique back to the forefront. It would have been far easier if he had mastered it himself, but as he often reminded her, his command of water-attribute qi was lacking.

  On the other hand, as a future sword cultivator, water-attribute qi would be immensely useful for her. Not only was it associated with flexibility and inner strength, but it also supported an entire array of sword techniques. The only elemental attribute with more sword cultivators was wind, and Bai Ning had far more experience with water than wind. So, learning this technique was beneficial to her.

  She just wished she wasn’t struggling with it quite so much. A distraction suddenly seemed very appealing.

  “Master, can’t we work on the Crimson Parasol instead?” she asked, trying, and failing, to sound casual.

  As part of their compensation after the Gu incident, Jin Rong had gifted Mo Jian a batch of dragon scales. Her master had explained that he wouldn’t be adding them to the Heaven Enshrouding Ding since they came from a flood dragon, and had instead given her half to upgrade her defensive artifact. Bai Ning had never been satisfied with the plain copper shield she used; the fact that it still lacked a proper name said everything. She much preferred the idea of improving her earlier tool, the Crimson Parasol.

  At the same time, she was preparing to upgrade her sword. She had recently reached an epiphany regarding her sword arts and realized that a flying sword wasn’t the right fit for her, yet. She needed to improve her mastery first before transitioning to that path. So, she planned to reforge her current weapon to suit her evolving fighting style.

  At the moment, working on that sounded far more appealing than repeatedly smashing her head against the wall that was the Divine Water Lightning Technique.

  Mo Jian gave her a flat look – the kind that said he knew exactly what she was trying to do. His barrier dissolved with a faint ripple.

  “You may work on the Crimson Parasol later,” he said, tone firm but not unkind. “But right now, your foundation in the Divine Water Lightning Technique is more important. Until you reach Core Formation, talismans and artifacts are of limited use. They may save your life once or twice, but true mastery will save it a hundred times.”

  Bai Ning internally groaned. She knew he was right, annoyingly so. But knowing didn’t make the crackling strands of uncooperative lightning any less frustrating.

  Mo Jian grinned and eyed her hair, which was slowly collapsing from its electrified chaos. “Besides, this is fun for me.”

  She glared at him.

  He ignored it with the ease of long practice.

  “Again.”

  Bai Ning drew a slow breath and settled cross-legged once more. “Fine.”

  Mo Jian nodded approvingly and stepped back to a safe distance, but not so far that she wouldn’t notice. She saw that. He was absolutely expecting another explosion.

  She shut her eyes, letting her qi circulate. The problem with this technique was that the balance between lightning qi and water qi was supposed to be instinctive. That was precisely what made it so difficult. She had to feel her way into the balance again and again, as she progressed. So far, in a dozen attempts, all she had managed to do was blow herself up. She hadn’t yet felt the balance, nor even sensed whether she was close.

  She molded her qi, thinning it, splitting it, softening part of it into flowing water while sharpening the other into crackling lightning.

  Her meridians tingled. Sparks skittered across her fingertips.

  Gentle water. Wild lightning. Cycle, don’t collide…

  A ring of pale blue light wrapped around her, brightening with every breath. This time, the lightning threads didn’t unravel; they coiled around her like luminous serpents.

  For three whole seconds, everything held.

  Then-

  The technique failed. Lightning struck. The ground quivered. Her hair shot straight up once again.

  Mo Jian, already behind a fresh barrier, was grinning. “Much better. You lasted long enough that the next attempt should be significantly easier.”

  Bai Ning scowled up at him, still faintly smoking from the dissipating lightning. “Wonderful,” she deadpanned. “I’m thrilled.”

  She drew in a breath, readying herself for yet another attempt-

  -when the grand formation encircling their island trembled.

  Her eyes snapped open. For an instant she thought she had imagined it. But then the entire cave gave a low, resonant groan. Dust sifted from the ceiling in pale ribbons. Bai Ning shot upright, heart thudding. She had never – never – seen the grand formation strain.

  Mo Jian’s spiritual sense swept across the island in a single, sharp pulse. His expression hardened, gravity settling over his features like stone. Bai Ning turned toward him, dread coiling in her chest. An enemy? Impossible. They had secured their safety before they returned; they should have no enemies coming after them.

  She opened her mouth to speak-

  Another tremor rippled through the earth beneath them.

  Mo Jian spun and strode toward the main chamber, his steps taut with urgency. Bai Ning followed, the trembling of the formation echoing faintly overhead.

  They emerged in the central chamber of the cave residence, beneath the skylight Bai Ning had accidentally created years ago. Mo Jian looked up. His face drained of all color.

  Bai Ning lifted her gaze as well, and the breath punched from her lungs. Awe and confusion swelled in her chest.

  The sky was dark. It should have been midday, yet the sun was simply… gone. The heavens had turned pitch-black, save for a single burning golden ring suspended like a brand across them. Its magnitude defied comprehension; it looked as though it encircled half the world.

  Mo Jian staggered back, shock hollowing his features. His pallor went from ashen to bloodless. “No… no, this can’t be happening now. How? It wasn’t even in the-”

  Bai Ning’s pulse spiked. “Master,” she cut in, her voice tight. “What’s going on?”

  Her words snapped him back. His eyes were still wide, but he forced his breath to steady. With a sharp flick of his hand, a protective barrier surged up around them.

  “A Heavenly Omen,” he said, voice gone hoarse.

  A Heavenly Omen.

  For a heartbeat Bai Ning wondered if she had misheard. Then her gaze dragged back upward toward that impossible darkness yawning through the sky. The void alone was unsettling, but the golden halo within it felt worse. It radiated an ancient, terrible stillness, like the gaze of some colossal being fixed upon her… upon the entire world.

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  A shiver wracked her spine.

  Yes. She could believe this was the sign of a Heavenly Omen.

  Then-

  “Should we… be doing something?” she asked, hesitant despite herself.

  A Heavenly Omen was the stuff of legend; she had only ever heard of it in stories and half-forgotten lore, never as something that could truly occur in the present age. All she knew was that such omens heralded unique and irreproducible divine opportunities, and that those who seized them were said to be able to ascend immeasurably closer to the heavens. Even stripped of poetic exaggeration, that sounded like something they should investigate.

  But the look on Mo Jian’s face – raw horror and disbelief – burned in her memory.

  Mo Jian shook his head at once, almost violently. “No. Absolutely not. That thing is visible from anywhere in the world, Bai Ning. The Immortals will move soon. We do nothing except hunker down and pray we survive this. There’s nothing else we can do. Not us.”

  The helplessness in his voice chilled her even more than the Omen itself. It echoed every moment of fear she had ever known, magnified by the fact that she barely understood what she was facing.

  Still… “You mean everyone in the world is seeing that? Then all the powerful people will come here.”

  Mo Jian dragged his gaze away from the skylight and slumped into the seat by the low table. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t reach for the tea waiting beside him. His complexion had regained a hint more color, but deep worry still cut sharp lines across his features.

  “They can see it. That doesn’t mean they can come,” he said heavily. “For the vast majority, the distance is impossible. Only Immortals can travel freely across the world, and even they have limits. No, I expect the Emperor to arrive first. And if fate is cruel, Rahu or Madam Feng will be on his heels.” He shuddered. “Heavens forbid. A clash between Immortals could erase the Thousand Shattered Islands before anyone realizes what’s happening.”

  Bai Ning listened in mounting disbelief and slowly lowered herself onto the seat opposite him. She didn’t even recognize those names. And now one of them might annihilate her home, or worse, the entire region, by accident?

  But if nothing else, this was an opportunity. Master Mo Jian had brushed off her questions about the higher realms for years with nothing but: You are not ready. Perhaps now he would finally explain.

  “If everyone can see the halo, how does anyone know where to go? And what is the Omen actually about? The only things I know come from The Tales of the Nine Immortals, and most of those sounded made up.”

  Mo Jian answered absently, his mind clearly far from the room. “I’ve never witnessed one myself, only read about them. But the ring’s position appears differently to each viewer. It’s directly above us, which means the Gui is descending here, in the Islands.”

  There was a great deal packed into that single statement, but-

  “Gui?” she repeated slowly, already suspecting the answer would not be comforting.

  Mo Jian glanced up at her, finally noting her confusion. Then he scowled. “Forget it. It’s too soon for you to know. I’ll explain later.”

  Bai Ning’s expression tightened, resolve sparking. She opened her mouth to argue; she deserved to know, especially now-

  -when a clear chime rang through the air.

  It rang once, and then again, chiming with a familiar sound.

  Someone was requesting entrance to the island.

  A tiny red spark darted through the mouth of the cave, halting neatly above Mo Jian’s palm. He caught it, examined it with a faint furrow of his brow, and crushed it between his fingers. “Hurry,” he said softly to whoever waited beyond the formation.

  Less than a minute later, Monk Chanakya flew inside, the alms bowl beneath him wobbling precariously as he landed. He barely avoided crashing into the cave wall.

  Bai Ning jumped to her feet, steadying him and guiding him deeper inside. He looked terrible: ashen and shaken, the tranquility he always carried torn away as though ripped out by force.

  “Brother Mo, my apologies for arriving unannounced,” he said, bowing. “But your cave residence has the stronger protections…” His voice trailed off, sheepish.

  Mo Jian waved him off, the ghost of a smile flickering across his strained features. “I would have done the same. What of Liu Hong?”

  Chanakya shook his head and sank into a seat by the low table. His wooden staff, always present and within reach, was conspicuously absent. Bai Ning sat as well, slower; thoughts swirling with half-formed fears. Another worry had begun to gnaw at her now, sharper than the rest: What of her parents? Were they safe?

  “He has more friends than the two of us have acquaintances combined,” Chanakya said with a weary sigh. “I sent a message, but his cave was empty. I suspect he fled north, to seek shelter under one of the stronger factions.” Relief softened his tone, not resentment.

  Mo Jian nodded, and Bai Ning seized the moment to return to her earlier questions.

  “Why is everyone afraid? Is it because the Immortals might come?”

  Mo Jian shot her a sharp look, as though gauging whether she was trying to circle back to the forbidden topic. But Monk Chanakya answered without hesitation.

  “Because the Immortals might fight,” he said gravely. “If they do, we have no recourse but to entrust our lives to fate. Fleeing won’t help. No one here can travel far enough, or fast enough, to escape the consequences of such a clash.”

  Bai Ning nodded, suppressing the chill that crept through her veins. “And what is coming? What exactly is the Omen about?”

  At that, Chanakya hesitated. He glanced at Mo Jian, seeking permission.

  Mo Jian shook his head.

  The monk looked back at her, his expression creased with apology. “If you don’t know, then it may be best to keep it that way. Your master withholds the truth for a reason.”

  Frustration pricked her like needles, but she swallowed it down; scowling wouldn’t get her answers. Before she could speak further, the cave trembled again. All three instinctively looked upward, braced for disaster, but the vibrations faded, and the ceiling held firm.

  Mo Jian exhaled slowly. “You understand my reasoning, Chanakya. Such knowledge is restricted to Core Formation and above for a reason. If she knew, it would… complicate her next step.”

  Another vague answer. And by the next step, did he mean her advancement? Could knowledge alone truly obstruct her cultivation? Could it really be so dangerous?

  Chanakya’s expression suggested he shared her doubts. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d agree,” he said. “But now? The whole region will be buzzing with stories before sunset, assuming we live long enough to hear them. Better she learns the truth from you than from rumor.”

  Mo Jian hesitated, and Bai Ning watched with bated breath. Was she finally – finally – about to hear what everyone was dancing around?

  “Later,” he said at last. “There is too much to teach and too little time for a proper lesson right now. But yes… there is no point hiding anything anymore.” His mouth twisted faintly. “It will make the advancement to Nascent Soul harder for her, though.”

  Bai Ning’s hands tightened in her lap. She wanted to demand everything, wanted every answer dragged into the light, but the promise in Master Mo Jian’s words was enough. Later meant eventually. For now, she would accept that.

  Chanakya shook his head, a wan smile tugging at his lips. “Most cultivators don’t even dare dream of that summit, and here you are, fretting about adding a little trouble to her path, as though her advancement were guaranteed. I don’t know whether that confidence is to be envied or pitied.”

  No one answered, though Bai Ning had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something.

  Silence settled over the cave, broken only by the steady tremors rolling through the stone. Each one came softer than the last, dwindling into a faint, persistent hum.

  At length, Monk Chanakya leaned back and massaged his temples. “Should we head up and watch?”

  Mo Jian turned toward him, incredulous. “Are you mad? Watch?”

  “Bah.” Chanakya waved a dismissive hand. “If the formation fails, we’ll be dust on the wind anyway. Might as well witness the sight of a lifetime.”

  Bai Ning seized the opportunity, nodding quickly. “I vote we go,” she said, trying, and failing, to sound as cheerful as usual. The oppressive weight in her chest twisted tighter, but she forced a smile.

  Mo Jian looked between the two of them, face torn between exasperation and resignation. Finally he exhaled, defeated. “Well,” he muttered, tone fatalistic, “we might as well.”

  Outside, sitting atop the stone roof of their cave residence, the view brought no comfort. If anything, it made Bai Ning feel even smaller than before, like a spark beneath an endless, devouring void.

  The sky was black from one horizon to the other, a seamless curtain of darkness. Above them hung the golden ring: vast, burning, and merciless. Merely looking at it made her skin prickle and her breath quicken. It felt as though the heavens themselves were staring back.

  Far to the west, at the very edge of the world, the source of the continuous trembling finally revealed itself.

  A pillar dominated the western sky – no, devoured it.

  It blazed with a seafoam-blue radiance, stretching from the horizon to the heavens, so tall it would have vanished into the clouds… if the sky weren’t a solid sheet of black. Its base curved strangely, and it took Bai Ning a stunned moment to understand why: it was so impossibly long that what she saw was merely the section still above her horizon. The rest continued far beyond the curve of the world.

  The pillar shifted, and – was that an island near its base? An island, broad and rugged, that crumbled to dust like paper in a flame, collapsing into the waves without resistance.

  Bai Ning’s mouth fell open. The sight was too enormous, too vast, simply too unreal to fit in her thoughts.

  How distant could that pillar be? And how unimaginably colossal, to remain so clear and so monstrous from here?

  A flash rippled through the sky beside it. A mirror emerged. Round, gleaming, and as immense as the pillar itself, it hung like a second moon, yet nearer, so near she could trace its edge, its shifting surface, and its rolling tides of light fully. Dimly, she realized it must be unfathomably far away, its sheer scale the only reason it remained visible at all.

  The pillar tilted. The mirror descended. They collided, light clashing against light.

  The mirror’s surface reflected the sky-splitting pillar back upon itself. Mercifully, no sound reached them. There was not even a shockwave. Yet even without it, Bai Ning’s vision swam with spots, her skull throbbing as though she were trying to read a jade slip far beyond her level.

  The mirror lifted, gliding away.

  And only then did she truly see the top of the pillar, and the rounded protrusion capping it. Something about the shape struck her with immediate familiarity.

  Recognition struck her like a blow, and she gasped aloud. It wasn’t a pillar at all. It was a scroll – an ordinary scroll, the sort she had carried countless times – only magnified to a scale that defied reason. The bulge she had mistaken for a capstone was simply its carved handle.

  “Ancestor Qing is in fine form today,” Master Mo Jian remarked lightly, as if commenting on the weather.

  Monk Chanakya hummed in agreement.

  Bai Ning tore her gaze away, staring at them in disbelief. “Ancestor Qing? Those aren’t the Immortals fighting?”

  Chanakya gave her a sad, bitter smile. “Little Bai Ning, if an Immortal were here, there would be no fight. And if two Immortals were here and fighting, none of us would remain to watch.” He nodded toward the sky. “No, those are Nascent Soul experts squabbling. I recognize Ancestor Qing’s Taichi Scroll… and Old Devil Fu’s Hell-Reflecting Mirror.”

  As he spoke, the sky fractured.

  Golden lines tore across the darkness, spreading like cracks in a shattered vase, tracing the faint outline of some ancient, impossible pattern.

  Before she could make sense of it-

  A hand pressed down firmly on her head, forcing her gaze to the ground.

  “Don’t look too closely,” Mo Jian warned. “It will only hurt you.”

  By the time he released her and she dared look again, both the scroll and the mirror were gone, snuffed out as though they had never existed.

  But something remained. An imprint in the sky, an impossibly intricate afterimage that made her temples throb the moment her eyes brushed it.

  She tore her gaze away, swallowing hard. “Why are Nascent Soul experts fighting? Aren’t the Immortals coming? Surely they don’t think they can seize whatever’s descending…”

  “They don’t,” Mo Jian said. “But they can win it, and present it. And the first to offer the divine artifact to the arriving Immortal… will earn a favor worth more than a lifetime of cultivation. Even the smallest sliver of an Immortal’s attention can strengthen one’s path a hundredfold. It could all but guarantee advancement.”

  “Divine artifact?” she echoed, just as a titanic paintbrush, as vast as the pillar before it, flared into existence for a single breath.

  It drew a character across the sky. Bai Ning tried to read it, but the strokes twisted beyond her comprehension. The next instant, the world ignited, light blazing across the heavens so fiercely she thought the sun had risen anew. She flung an arm across her eyes, stars bursting behind her lids. When her vision cleared, the black sky was already swallowing the radiance again, devouring it piece by piece.

  “Later,” Mo Jian murmured. “For now… just watch.”

  So, she watched. Barely comprehending, barely breathing, witnessing a world far vaster than she had ever imagined. For the first time, Bai Ning understood the breadth of the sky and how distant her current realm lay from the peak. How immeasurably far the path ahead stretched. For the first time in her life, she understood her true insignificance.

  And not for the first time, she felt something stir beneath it. A quiet, unyielding resolve: a determination to climb, no matter how distant the summit.