When Mo Jian returned to Cloud Veil Ridge and stepped into his cave residence, he found Monk Chanakya gone and Bai Ning waiting for him with palpable eagerness.

  She had not only set out his favored tea set, but had brewed his preferred blend – a first, given her usual disdain for the noble art of tea-making – and also dimmed all the cave’s lights except those illuminating the table. She couldn’t have made her anticipation for the answers he had promised any clearer unless she had carved it into the walls. On second thought, Mo Jian twitched; she very well might have done that, too.

  Well, he had promised. Time to keep it.

  Mo Jian sank into his seat with a relieved sigh, trying to ignore how much like an old man he sounded as tension left his feet. As a powerful cultivator, physical exertion mattered little to him; this was pure mental exhaustion from the day’s events and the revelations he had gleaned from Fan Mei.

  He was still young and in the prime of his life, he reassured himself, though somehow, it only sounded convincing in his own head.

  To distract himself from that inane line of thought, and, though he would never admit it aloud, to wind up Bai Ning, who watched him with painful anticipation, he lifted his cup and took a sip.

  He couldn’t stop the soft sigh of pleasure. Truly worthy of its cost. Bai Ning had a talent for brewing tea when she bothered to apply herself.

  He set the cup down with careful precision, rotating it so the tea swirled in a gentle spiral. The porcelain caught the light in green whorls, and the qi within the spirit tea evened out. Only amateurs set a cup down without ensuring the qi didn’t settle at the bottom like sodden leaves or dregs. That was simply-

  Bai Ning’s palm slammed onto the table hard enough to rattle both cup and pot.

  “Master!” she burst out, trying for seriousness but landing somewhere near a whine.

  Right. He had enjoyed himself long enough. Truthfully, he was still digesting much of what he’d learned from Fan Mei, which was why he was taking his time. But as a teacher, his student should take priority. Of course, a little revenge for all the times she’d wound him up wasn’t entirely unreasonable…

  So, with deliberate solemnity, he looked up and said: “Of course. I haven’t forgotten my promise.”

  Bai Ning nodded eagerly, so he continued, savoring the moment.

  “I should send a note to Chanakya to confirm he reached his cave safely. You saw him off, didn’t you?”

  Bai Ning glared at him, thoroughly fed up. “I had to kick him out. He kept going on and on about qi becoming alive at the Nascent Soul stage, the strength of a foundation being unfit to bear certain secrets, and so on. None of it was remotely helpful. I think half of it might have just been scripture. I understood almost nothing, and when I asked for clarification, he just told me to trust in Buddha and ask you.”

  The humor drained from Mo Jian’s expression. “You mean to say you learned nothing from him?” He rubbed his forehead. “Trust a monk to default to scripture instead of explaining anything clearly… I’d almost forgotten what Chanakya is like, simply because he can be reasonable about some things.”

  He sighed. “Did anything he said make sense to you, or should I start from the very beginning?”

  “I understood the part about qi becoming alive at the Nascent Soul stage, unbelievable as that sounds. But I don’t know why, or how, or what that actually means. Beyond that, nothing.” Bai Ning sounded decidedly unhappy with her meager haul of information, and Mo Jian couldn’t fault her. In both his lives – the one on Earth, and the one inherited from the original Mo Jian – patience had never been his strongest virtue either.

  He pressed his lips together, then decided, “From the beginning, then. Bear with me; there’s a lot to cover, and each part builds on the last. It’ll make sense eventually.”

  He paused, gathering his thoughts, then began.

  “As you know, the early stages of cultivation focus entirely on increasing the quantity of qi in the body, or more accurately, in the dantian and the meridians. Qi Condensation refines gaseous qi. Foundation Establishment condenses it into liquid. Core Formation hardens it into a solid golden core. Naturally, the question arises: what comes after solid?”

  Bai Ning listened with rapt attention.

  Mo Jian gave a small shrug. “The answer is: nothing. That progression, from gas to liquid to solid, breaks down entirely after Core Formation. Qi cannot become denser than solid. A solid golden core is the absolute limit of what the human body can naturally contain. So to advance, one must go beyond the natural limits of the body itself.”

  He tapped a finger lightly on the table. “The dantian and meridians don’t exist physically, they’re structures of the soul. So the only way forward is to refine and transform the soul. The earliest cultivators discovered that the solution was to give life to their accumulated qi. Or more accurately, to reshape their golden core into a new, second soul, one capable of growth where the original soul could no longer advance.”

  Silence stretched for several seconds as Bai Ning processed that. Then she exploded: “That-how does that even work? And why create a new soul instead of strengthening the original one? That has to be easier. And what does any of this have to do with being barred from certain knowledge? You said knowing too much can hinder my path-how?”

  Mo Jian nodded. “Let me answer the why first. The original soul can be strengthened, yes, but not in the way you’re imagining. Strengthening the soul improves qi regeneration, the quality of the meridians, the clarity of qi flow-but none of that solves the fundamental issue: the limit on how much qi the body can contain.”

  He lifted a hand like he was weighing something. “Forging a new soul made entirely of qi is simply superior to trying to remodel the old one. The nascent soul is a spiritual construct with far fewer limits than the human soul. And it has additional advantages. A nascent soul can leave the physical body and exist independently. That’s why Nascent Soul cultivators are notoriously hard to kill – they can survive the destruction of their flesh.”

  Bai Ning’s eyes widened.

  “More than that,” he continued, leaning forward, his voice low and intent, “a nascent soul can cultivate by itself. Once formed, it can absorb and circulate qi continuously without conscious effort. A Nascent Soul cultivator is always cultivating, every moment of their life. It also accelerates spellcasting, qi control, and countless subtler aspects. Most significantly, a nascent soul can store over a hundred times more qi than a golden core, and even that is far from its upper limit.”

  He paused to let her absorb that, and when she didn’t immediately speak, continued.

  “As for how the transformation happens; well, technically, it’s very simple. A peak Core Formation cultivator must reverse the flow of their qi and shatter their core. Once that begins, the process is irreversible. Shattering the core is essentially suicide; death becomes inevitable unless the cultivator succeeds in the next step.”

  His voice dropped to a quiet, steady murmur. “They must imprint every scrap of knowledge, experience, memory – everything meaningful in their life – onto that broken qi. If the imprint is complete and coherent, the qi reforms into a new soul: the nascent soul. If not… the cultivator simply dies. The method sounds straightforward, but the difficulty lies in the weight of one’s life. Only those with a sufficiently grounded, coherent existence can imprint it successfully.”

  He leaned back. “Of those who attempt the breakthrough, most perish. There is a reason there are only three-now four-Nascent Soul cultivators in the Thousand Shattered Islands.”

  Bai Ning opened her mouth, but Mo Jian forestalled her before she could speak.

  “One last part, let me finish this first-why the knowledge can hinder you. You’re already beginning to understand it, I think. When you create a nascent soul, you are forging your life into a new form. Everything you know and believe becomes the foundation for the new soul’s existence. If you know things you can’t fully comprehend, like truths too large for your current stage, then your worldview becomes difficult to reconcile.”

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  He met her eyes. “Simply put, knowing too much too early makes advancement harder. Knowledge learned at Foundation Establishment becomes part of your foundation. If it’s too heavy or too contradictory, your path becomes twisted. Knowing too much too early, truths you can’t contextualize, mysteries beyond your stage; all of that can warp your foundation. Even subtle misalignments can make forming a nascent soul impossible.”

  He didn’t voice the thoughts that followed, that how this was the reason he had never seriously considered the Nascent Soul stage for himself. The original Mo Jian had lacked the confidence, the experience, and the belief that his life had enough weight to survive such a transformation. But for him – the man who carried two lifetimes’ worth of memory, the truth was worse.

  He knew too much: about the world’s future, about the fact that it had once been fiction to him, about the deeper workings of Heaven. His cultivation foundation could never reconcile knowledge like that. A cultivator needed a clear path, a unified understanding solid enough to be forged into a soul. And Mo Jian… Mo Jian did not have that. As for the alternative, he lacked the absolute, unwavering conviction required to dismiss the truths he carried as meaningless.

  If he ever attempted the breakthrough, he feared he would simply die.

  Bai Ning sat very still. The soft light around the table caught in her eyes, reflecting a deep, unsettled intensity. “So… knowing too much can kill you,” she murmured. “Just because your understanding can’t line up properly when you try to form the nascent soul.”

  “It’s not the knowledge itself that kills you,” Mo Jian corrected gently. “It’s the inability to integrate it, to make it part of your foundation. A nascent soul is your life, your beliefs, your experiences; all of it fused into a single coherent truth. Anything that doesn’t fit… anything that contradicts too sharply… becomes a fracture. And in this process, fractures can be fatal.”

  Bai Ning swallowed. “Then… should I not ask questions like this? Should I just stay ignorant?”

  Mo Jian sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, we’re far past that point. If nothing else, Chanakya was right about this: with what is going on in the world, knowledge is better than ignorance. The real issue isn’t knowing, it’s when you know.

  “A weak foundation collapses when too much weight is placed on it, but a strong foundation can bear anything. Knowing this won’t make advancement impossible for you, just more difficult.” He added with a wry smile, “Who knows, you might finally get to experience what advancement feels like for talentless people like me.”

  Bai Ning rolled her eyes at his self-deprecating humor, but she did look marginally more settled. He counted that as a victory.

  “So,” he prompted, “questions? Before we dive into the Heavenly Omen.”

  Bai Ning opened her mouth, then hesitated, clearly torn between asking more and leaping directly into the topic that had started the discussion. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t what he expected.

  “Master… what about the stage after Nascent Soul? How does Immortal Ascension actually work?”

  “Immortal Ascension?” Mo Jian repeated, mulling over her question as he looked at his disciple.

  Bai Ning nodded, her expression resolute. “I understand the earlier stages as you’ve explained them – from Qi Condensation to Foundation Establishment, then Core Formation, and finally Nascent Soul. Each step refines qi: gas to liquid to solid, then beyond density to create a new soul. Or, to put it another way, quantity becomes quality. But what comes after that? How does Immortal Ascension truly work?”

  It was a fair question.

  In truth, knowledge of Immortal Ascension was rare. Great sects knew more than most, having produced supreme elders who reached that realm. Mo Jian himself understood more than he should, thanks to his past-life memories of this world as a story. But to most cultivators, however, Immortal Ascension was as distant as touching the heavens.

  Still, he had already revealed Nascent Soul to her. More secrets would follow soon enough. There was little harm in explaining this, and it might even help her.

  “To talk about Immortal Ascension,” Mo Jian began, “we must first revisit something about the Nascent Soul stage. Based on what I’ve said: if the earlier stages revolve around increasing the amount and density of qi in the dantian, why does a solid core suddenly become a soul?”

  Bai Ning answered without hesitation, echoing his earlier explanation. “Because, as you said, Master, solid qi can’t be compressed any further. The only way forward is to give it form and spirit. Turning it into a Nascent Soul gives it awareness and the ability to store and produce qi independently-beyond what the dantian and meridians can manage. That lets a cultivator exceed natural limits.”

  Mo Jian nodded. “Correct. But there’s another layer. At the Nascent Soul stage, a subtle distinction emerges: the cultivator stops being someone who uses qi, and begins to become someone made of qi. Before this stage, you wield power. After it, you are power.”

  He gestured for emphasis. “Think of it like the difference between casting a fire spell and being a creature that simply breathes fire-no spell or incantation required. That’s the true meaning of ‘Nascent Soul’-it is the beginning of something new. A seed of what you are meant to become.”

  Bai Ning leaned forward slightly, eyes intent.

  “The next step, Immortal Ascension, is when the Nascent Soul fully blooms. The best way to describe the result is… an inner world. Do you remember our first lessons on the difference between jing and qi?”

  “Of course, Master,” Bai Ning recited. “Jing is the raw energy of heaven and earth. Cultivators absorb it and refine it into qi.”

  Mo Jian smiled. “Exactly. But there is a step beyond even that, when qi is refined into xian.” He said the word slowly, letting it hang in the air. “The literal meaning is ‘eternal’ or ‘immortal’… but I believe ‘comprehension’ describes it better in this case.”

  “At Immortal Ascension, a cultivator’s qi transforms into xian, and they become truly formless. Qi no longer limits them. In fact, immortals are said to possess infinite qi, but they no longer use it in the traditional sense. They impose their will directly on reality. They can cut without a sword, burn without fire, craft pills without a cauldron. Cause and effect no longer need to align.”

  Bai Ning’s brow furrowed, clearly wrestling with the implications, but Mo Jian continued before she could speak.

  “That comprehension-that xian-creates a space where their will overrides the natural laws. A dimension born of understanding; a world shaped by insight. This is what’s called an inner world, or an immortal domain. It reflects their path, their dao. Immortals don’t just live in the mortal world – they carry their own realms with them.”

  He leaned back slightly. “And that’s where they prefer to dwell. The mortal realm becomes… abrasive to them. Their very existence conflicts with the natural order, so they must constantly resist the world around them with their xian. Not difficult, but tedious. Annoying.”

  Bai Ning chewed over his words before finally speaking. “How does comprehension actually work, Master? They turn their qi into xian, and just… impose it on the world?”

  Mo Jian’s eyes lit up with approval. Of all the questions she could have asked, she had gone straight to the core.

  “No, not exactly. Most immortals don’t achieve true comprehension in all things-only in one area. Usually, it aligns with their natal artifact or cultivation focus. A sword cultivator becomes a sword immortal. One like me, who uses a ding, could become an alchemy immortal, a fire immortal, or a pill immortal, depending on how the path of comprehension unfolds.”

  He continued, “Their inner world reflects that comprehension. They carry it with them at all times and can enter it at will. Inside, they are sovereigns. A world shaped entirely by their understanding, surpassing the mortal realm in every way. Naturally, they spend most of their time secluded within it.”

  He looked at her steadily. “And again, the mortal world resists them. Their presence is like oil on water-it never blends. They must constantly exert xian to remain here. It’s not difficult, but imagine having to hold your breath every time you walked outside. How long before you chose to stay indoors?”

  Bai Ning absorbed this quietly for several moments. “Then… is that the end?” she asked slowly. “Once someone reaches Immortal Ascension, creates their inner world, refines qi into xian... is that the peak?”

  Mo Jian gave a faint smile. “A natural question. But no. Immortal Ascension is not the peak-it is merely the beginning of a new journey.”

  Her brows furrowed again.

  He gestured as though pointing at a distant peak shrouded in clouds. “Imagine the path of cultivation as a mountain shrouded in fog,” Mo Jian said. “From the mortal realm, the Nascent Soul stage appears to be the summit. But once you reach it, the mist parts, and you realize it was only a foothill. Immortal Ascension opens a door... but the path beyond is vast, steep, and rarely tread.”

  He looked at Bai Ning again, his gaze now solemn.

  “There are levels within Immortal Ascension. The first is the creation of the inner world. That is the foundation. After that comes stabilization: anchoring that world within the fabric of reality through deep comprehension. Those who achieve this are known as Terrestrial Immortals.”

  He let the words settle before continuing.

  “Then comes expansion, or refining that world, enriching it with insight, and expanding its boundaries until it can interact with and move freely through the external world. At that stage, one becomes a Flying Immortal.”

  A short pause.

  “Beyond that,” he said more quietly, “we enter the realm of legends. Stages spoken of in ancient texts, but with no verified records of anyone from Tianxia who has reached them, though of course, there are records of them existing, as a whole.”

  He turned his gaze toward the skylight, as if looking far beyond it.

  “When a Flying Immortal strengthens their inner world to the point that the pull of the mortal realm can no longer bind it, their world gains true independence. It can drift through the stars, navigating the heavens like a vessel in the void. That is the realm of the Void-Travelling Immortals, beings whose domains are self-contained worlds, wandering the cosmos.”

  “And if the inner world continues to grow, becoming as vast and profound as the universe itself, it begins to push against the boundaries of reality. It leaks through the seams of the world into others. Call them dimensions, alternate realities, parallel realms... a Realm-Travelling Immortal, sometimes called a Wandering Immortal, can pass into these places where the laws of existence are utterly alien.”

  He drew a slow breath, then spoke the final words with reverence.

  “Beyond even that lies the final peak: the stage of the Celestial Immortal. No longer bound by the horizontal limits of space, they move vertically-ascending to the heavens, descending into the hells. They are no longer cultivators, but divinities. Eternal. Complete. The culmination of all cultivation.”