The fighting only subsided a couple of hours later. The black sky and the burning golden ring emblazoned across it vanished, and, little by little, the tremors rocking the islands faded away. By then, Mo Jian, Bai Ning, and Monk Chanakya had already retreated inside.
Mo Jian and Chanakya exchanged uneasy looks, each wondering the same thing: why had no one else arrived to intervene? Or had an immortal already come without them sensing anything, and that was why the fight had ended on its own?
Whatever the reason, the world settled back into an almost unsettling normalcy. The sky returned to a clear, bright blue, with the sun hanging like a merry gold coin overhead. Birds reappeared, cawing as they circled the beaches, while fish darted through the sea below. Looking at it all, one could be forgiven for mistaking the past few hours for a vivid dream.
Mo Jian was just deciding what to do next, whether to head to the Greater Dharma Sect to make sure everyone there was fine, reach out to his contacts for information, or simply hunker down, when another voice-transmission talisman came barreling into the cave.
Unlike Chanakya’s talisman, this one burst mid-air into a red sphere, releasing its message to everyone present.
Fan Mei’s voice rang out: “Your favorite time of the day.”
The transmission ended and the red sphere simply faded from existence. That was the entirety of the message.
Bai Ning turned to him, slightly bewildered, while Chanakya very deliberately neither looked nor asked, likely trying to grant him a measure of privacy. Not that it was necessary. Fan Mei had taken care to make the message meaningful only to him.
It took him a moment to parse it. His favorite time of the day?
Then he remembered. It had been early in their rekindled friendship, right around the time he had taken Bai Ning in as a student, and they had decided to meet on Hanshan Island. The island was a well-known little place, home to a mortal academy devoted to the four arts and celebrated for its poetry tradition. One of its poems, A Night by the Maple Bridge, was famous even on the mainland.
In any case, when they’d met there, the best restaurant on the island upheld a particular tradition: only those who could recite four lines of a poem deemed acceptable by the owner were allowed to enter.
Fan Mei had passed easily, of course. Mo Jian, however, both because the memories he had inherited from the original Mo Jian did not contain much knowledge of local poetry, and also because he’d been struck by a wave of homesickness, had attempted to translate a poem he liked from Earth, rendering it from English into the local tongue.
The result had been… unfortunate. Fan Mei had laughed herself breathless, while the owner of the Plum Blossoms Restaurant had been singularly unimpressed. If Fan Mei hadn’t vouched for him, he likely wouldn’t have been allowed in at all. She had teased him about it for a full hour afterward, and in the midst of that teasing he had offhandedly mentioned that the poem he’d chosen actually reflected his favorite time of day.
It surprised him a little that she even remembered.
“The day is brushed in elder hues,
Its soft, worn grace is gently cast;
Half in love with night’s dark blues,
And thrush-song echoing from the past.”
Dusk. And the meaning behind that was clear as well. The Island of Eternal Twilight, where the hours of the day were frozen. Dusk lay a third of the way from the west, exactly where day surrendered to night.
This was a request for a private meeting.
“Master?” Bai Ning’s voice pulled him back to the present.
He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. Fan Mei is asking for a meeting.” He didn’t bother to hide it; there was no reason to. And besides, he trusted Chanakya. The man was affable to a fault, even if he did enjoy prodding people whenever the opportunity arose.
He demonstrated that now, shaking his head in mock wonder. “I will never understand how you’ve managed to maintain a friendship with Fairy Fan Mei, Brother Mo. She is known for being… highly discerning in her associations. Truly, this humble monk is enlightened by your ways.”
Mo Jian rolled his eyes. “If you’re quite done poking fun at me,” he began dryly, “may I ask you to look after Bai Ning for a while? This will take me most of the day.”
Predictably, he was immediately met with protests.
“I can look after myself just fine, Master,” Bai Ning said, though she turned apologetically to Chanakya: “Not that you’re unwelcome company, Master Chanakya.” Not satisfied with that alone, she tossed her hair back and gave Mo Jian a dazzling smile. “Why don’t I come along? You promised me answers too, so this works out perfectly.”
Chanakya’s objection was more subdued. “Going out right now is too dangerous, Mo Jian. Who knows what the situation is like? Four Nascent Soul cultivators just clashed before our eyes. It’s better to wait.”
“That’s why I am going,” Mo Jian replied firmly. “If anyone has a clear understanding of the situation, it’s Fan Mei, given her closeness with Ancestor Qing. I’ll rest easier knowing the answers to the questions plaguing me right now. And” -he added pointedly before Bai Ning could respond- “I promise to explain when I return. It’s going to be a long trip anyway. Perhaps Chanakya can tell you why I was initially hesitant to give you answers.”
Chanakya exhaled heavily. “If you’ve made up your mind, Brother Mo, then this humble monk wishes you the best. As for disciple Bai Ning”-his eyes flicked to her, a hint of geniality returning-“I am happy to teach her what little I know about advancing to the Nascent Soul realm. I’ll leave the stories of the Heavenly War and the concepts of Gui and Shen to you. Also, the Shattering, I suppose.” He scowled as he said the last words, but that was a common enough reaction to that event.
Mo Jian nodded, even as Bai Ning pouted at being denied her wish. “Right,” he said, fixing his disciple with a look full of unmistakable meaning. “Behave.”
Instead of being offended, she merely waved him off – an action that filled Mo Jian with an immediate and disproportionate sense of foreboding. Was he going to return to find another hole blasted into the cave? Or perhaps a sworn enmity with all Buddhist cultivators forged in his absence? No, surely not, he reassured himself. He was being ridiculous.
Still, he hesitated before handing over the formation plate and control of the Grand Effervescent Formation to Bai Ning. But no, it was better that she have full command over the formation in his absence. He was just being silly.
Then, he departed.
Unlike on his usual trips, Mo Jian traveled with his guard fully raised. He kept the Heaven Enshrouding Ding deployed, it’s still damaged surface glinting faintly as it served as a shield, while maintaining an invisibility spell around himself. His skill with that particular magic, like most illusion techniques aligned to water qi, was mediocre at best. But it didn’t matter. Better safe than sorry.
In fact, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he stopped flying forward and angled upward instead. He pierced the clouds in a heartbeat, rocketing through them and emerging above in a burst of vapor. Few cultivators ever flew up here. For Foundation Establishment cultivators, every moment spent at this altitude meant burning qi to stave off thin air and biting cold; for Core Formation ones, the novelty of the view wore off quickly. And besides, navigating was more difficult when all the land below was replaced by an endless ocean of clouds.
Hovering in the open air, Mo Jian took in the sight. A vast, rippling sea of clouds stretched before him, rising like mountain peaks in some places and sinking into deep, shadowy valleys in others. All of it glowed softly under the gold-and-blush light of the midday sun. His robes billowed in the high winds, which also tugged at his hair. For the first time since witnessing the Omen, some of the tension coiling in his chest began to ease.
Maybe it was the exhilaration of flight, or the clarity that came with distance, but he could admit: he was starting to feel a little better. His reaction when he had seen the Omen had been… raw. It had shaken the certainty he’d built: about his knowledge of this world and its supposed trajectory. A Heavenly Omen had not appeared in the novel, at least not this early. The first time Ye Chen saw one, he hadn’t even been on this world. This… was a complete divergence from the story Mo Jian thought he knew.
It was deeply unsettling.
He had already been worried about the consequences of his actions, but was this the butterfly effect in motion? The smallest change spiraling into sweeping, unrecognizable differences? How frightening.
And then there was the opportunity this event represented. Depending on what divine treasure descended, it could trivialize the entire plot. If it were something on the same level as the Three-Headed Spear or the Diamond Snare, then the Immortal of Slaughter might as well not emerge at all; his threat would become meaningless. The final villain, reduced to irrelevance, before he could even appear on screen.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
On the other hand, if any of the current immortals obtained such a treasure… that was equally alarming. For him personally, the Emperor would be the most tolerable choice – at least Mo Jian lived in the Empire – but if Rahu, or heavens forbid, the Mad Monk secured it, wouldn’t they become calamities greater than even the Immortal of Slaughter? What a disaster waiting to unfold.
That was why he hurried. He needed answers.
Above the clouds, Mo Jian concealed himself as best he could and shot forward at top speed, aiming straight for the Island of Eternal Twilight.
Among all the islands that made up the Thousand Shattered Islands, the Island of Eternal Twilight was one of the strangest. There, the time of day was fixed in place. In the east, it was always dawn. Traveling westward, the hour progressed; noon, afternoon, evening, until, two-thirds of the way to the far coast, one reached eternal dusk. The far western edge was locked in perpetual night, even though the sun still hung in the sky.
Small villages clustered along the eastern coast, but their numbers dwindled the farther west one traveled. Locals called that direction Grimward, and east Grinning. It was the kind of pun Mo Jian could respect, even if he internally groaned every time he heard it.
His destination lay in the west, at the point where the last light faded and the sky – at least as seen from the island – became a blend of shadowy blue and blazing orange. He alighted down on the island at that point, and paused to watch the twilight for a moment, breathing in the crisp wind and sea salt, before heading north. Traveling north or south didn’t shift the time of day, which meant he had the entire length of a fixed-dusk strip of land to search for Fan Mei.
Or so he thought.
Barely a minute after alighting on the island, Mo Jian spotted a bull-headed seahorse frolicking among the bushes. Pearlescent white and faintly translucent, it nosed happily through the leaves with its stubby little horn. The sight arrested him for a heartbeat; at dusk, the creature’s appearance lent the scene a distinctly ghostly, Halloween-like air.
He shook it off and approached. “Congratulations, Fairy Fan Mei. I see you’ve succeeded in turning the Niumowang’s soul into your artifact spirit.”
The ghostly bull-seahorse looked up, and Fan Mei’s voice issued from its lips. “Many thanks, Brother Mo. I am glad to see you arrived so promptly. Please, follow me.”
The Niumowang rose into the air and drifted down a narrow path, and Mo Jian followed close behind. They moved in silence for a time, the ghostly seahorse gliding just ahead of him. Its translucent scales rippled despite the stillness of the air, casting faint, wavering reflections of dusk-light across the ground.
After a while, they emerged into a clearing shaped like a bowl of stone, its edges rising steeply to meet the horizon. Here, the eternal dusk was at its deepest; the sky was painted in molten orange and indigo, the colors bleeding together in slow, liquid waves. The sight was beautiful, and at the same time, unsettling.
The Niumowang’s ghostly form hovered to a halt.
“Here,” Fan Mei said, and the seahorse dissolved into light.
A moment later, Fan Mei stepped out of a fold of space like someone parting a curtain. She wore traveling robes the color of stormclouds, her hair tied loosely behind her, though her usual serene expression was touched by something sharper: urgency, perhaps, or caution.
Mo Jian bowed. She returned it.
“You chose a place with a good view,” he commented lightly, glancing at the horizon.
“I chose a place far from eavesdroppers,” she corrected.
She lifted her sleeve, and the air shimmered around them. A dome of pale gold formed around them, and Mo Jain recognized the sound blocking technique for what it was.
“Now we can speak,” Fan Mei said, exhaling softly. “Brother Mo… you must have seen the Heavenly Omen.”
Mo Jian didn’t even try to deny it. “Hard not to. If I understand correctly, the whole world must have seen it.” He hesitated. “…I assume no one was expecting that?”
Fan Mei gave a short, wry laugh. “As if. If something descending from the Heavens could be predicted, the world would be a far different place. No, this took even Lord Qing completely by surprise. I imagine the same is true for every other power.”
Mo Jian nodded slowly. There were dozens of questions he wanted to ask; the outcome of the battle he’d witnessed, whether any immortals had intervened, who had fought whom, but one question pressed harder than the rest.
“Do you know which divine treasure it was?”
To his surprise, Fan Mei met his gaze with an expression that was half amusement, half exasperated despair. “And now we reach the heart of the matter. You’ll understand the problem the moment you hear the name: it was the South Pointing Chariot.”
Mo Jian frowned. He didn’t recognize it immediately, which meant it wasn’t one of the major treasures from the novel. He sifted through what he knew instead: fragmented legends from Mo Jian’s childhood, knowledge he had gained after stepping into the Core Formation realm, anything that could clarify the name.
Then the answer clicked.
“You mean General Han’s Chariot? The one the legends say always pointed south, the same one mortal compasses are based on?”
The image formed clearly in his mind: a small wooden chariot that fit in the palm, topped by a carved immortal figurine with an outstretched finger forever pointing south. Mortal versions relied on weighted wheels and lucky alignments; qi-empowered ones were reliable tools for seafarers. All traced back to the ancient legend of the Heavenly Navy’s general, who had used the original Chariot to direct fleets across the stars.
But in those legends…
“…isn’t it one of three interconnected treasures? And only useful for navigating the Primordial Sea? Without a corresponding divine shuttle, what use does it have?”
Fan Mei’s smile was a masterpiece, equal parts amused and theatrically tragic. “None,” she said with relish. “Absolutely none. This might be the only useless divine treasure I’ve ever heard of.”
“No divine treasure is truly useless,” Mo Jian said automatically, though even as he spoke, he knew the protest sounded hollow. Without access to the Primordial Sea: the roiling void between worlds in the Three Thousandfold World System, the South Pointing Chariot might as well be a fancy toy. On Tianxia, it was a treasure with no function, no threat, and no hidden potential.
“So, who got it?” Mo Jian asked. Despite everything, he still had a thousand questions lined up behind that one.
Fan Mei sighed. “You’re not going to like the answer, Brother Mo. No one did.”
“…what?”
“The immortals understood what it was first, and once they did, none of them bothered to intervene. The risk wasn’t worth the reward. So, the Nascent Soul cultivators fought over it instead. But they also realized its nature soon enough, and suddenly their enthusiasm vanished as well. To complicate matters, three foreign Nascent Soul cultivators arrived, so the fight stalled entirely.”
She folded her hands behind her back.
“As of now, no one has claimed it. The parties involved have begun negotiating a way to establish ownership without further conflict. After all, holding the treasure grants no advantage; this is purely a matter of prestige.”
Mo Jian absorbed that in silence. A Heavenly Omen that shook the world, only to reveal a treasure no one actually wanted. It felt almost surreal.
“A way to establish ownership?” he asked finally, curiosity tinged with disbelief.
Fan Mei nodded. “Most likely, it will be decided through a tournament. I haven’t seen Lord Qing since his last message to the household, but I find it hard to imagine they would agree to anything else. The Old Devil, for one, will insist on that, with great ferocity. A tournament limited to cultivators at the Foundation Establishment stage would favor him immensely; his grandson is rumored to be the most accomplished cultivator in that realm in the Thousand Shattered Islands.”
Mo Jian’s mind had been methodically processing Fan Mei’s words, piecing them together with what he already knew to construct a clearer picture of the situation. He had a thousand questions forming in his mind, but the mention of the tournament wiped them all away. A tournament restricted to Foundation Establishment cultivators. His blood ran cold.
“Absolutely not,” he snapped, anger flaring at the very thought that Fan Mei had even suggested it.
She didn’t flinch. Turning to face him fully, she said, “Put aside your anger, Mo Jian, and consider the opportunity this presents. Bai Ning may be the only person in the Islands with talent surpassing Fu Zhan. The Old Devil assumes victory is assured with his grandson’s skill, but Bai Ning could win. Imagine the leverage she could gain with Lord Qing if that happened. Even if the secret of her hidden bloodline spreads across the land, so what? Lord Qing would still move to protect her. This is a chance to put that fear behind you.”
Mo Jian’s lips curled into a bitter sneer. “And grant you an advantage in Ancestor Qing’s eyes,” he said sharply. “After all, if you are the one to reveal a champion capable of fighting, and winning, on his behalf, your own standing would grow. I expected better of you, Fan Mei.”
Her jaw tightened, her anger unmistakable. “Don’t,” she warned, voice low and icy, “put words in my mouth. I have revealed nothing to anyone. I came here out of respect for our friendship and concern for Bai Ning, to tell you of an opportunity. You can throw it back in my face if you want, but never suggest that I would jeopardize my friends over something as trivial as ‘standing.’”
Mo Jian clenched his hands, caught between anger and guilt, the tension coiling inside him like a living thing.
After a long breath, he managed, “She isn’t even aware of the situation right now. I promised to tell her the higher truths after I returned. A tournament… I wasn’t prepared to hear something like this.”
It wasn’t an apology; he wasn’t ready for that, but it was the closest he could come to bending right now.
Fan Mei’s gaze gentled. “I know it’s sudden. But we don’t have the luxury of time. Teach her what she needs to know, and let her choose for herself if you find it difficult to make the decision. You fear for her, anyone can see that, but fear alone won’t protect her.” Her voice softened further. “You’ve taught her how to fight, how to think, how to survive. If she is to become her own person, she must face challenges herself. That is the only path to true strength.”
“And if something goes wrong?” Mo Jian asked. His voice was quieter now, rougher, and almost a growl. “If it’s all for nothing? If the others decide not to honor their word?”
Fan Mei tilted her head, the faintest smile curving her lips. “Three Nascent Soul cultivators from the mainland intervened. All from the Song clan, incidentally. With them present, this tournament will be as close to sacrosanct as anything in the Thousand Shattered Islands. The result will be honored, no matter who wins. This isn’t another skirmish between orthodox and unorthodox factions.”
Her smile faded into something steadier, more serious. “And that is precisely why it must happen quickly. The longer the delay, the more foreign powers will arrive. The Song clan has some influence, yes, but not enough to keep away nobles from the capital or the regional houses if they decide to meddle.”
It was reasonable. Painfully reasonable. It matched the urgency Mo Jian had felt in the air. Still-
“Do you think she’ll agree?” he asked, though half of him already knew the answer. Of course she would.
Fan Mei’s grin broke through, unrestrained and knowing. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I thought otherwise. And certainly not if I believed it was bad for you or her. She has fire in her blood, Mo Jian, the same stubbornness I see in you.” Her eyes glimmered with something like fond exasperation. “The girl wants to test herself, to prove she belongs among the strongest. It’s time you accepted that she is not a child anymore.”
He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he let his gaze drift to the twilight stretching endlessly around them, the dusky light washing the world in gold and shadow. It felt symbolic: a reminder that the calm before the storm never lasted. And for Mo Jian, the storm was only beginning.
He needed to pry every detail from Fan Mei before making a decision. The choice would ultimately be Bai Ning’s, but if he was going to entrust her with the truth, he needed to know everything about the tournament before bringing it to her.
If anyone wants to read the full poem, let me know, and I can share it. And, yes, I was reading Rothfuss when working on this chapter. ??
