Mo Jian woke to pain.

  He was lying on his back atop the Heaven Enshrouding Ding, half inside it and half out. The great cauldron bobbed gently on the water, sloshing with seawater that had filled it halfway. Above him, the sky stretched a wan, washed-out blue, a few thin clouds drifting lazily across his blurred vision.

  It took a moment for realization to catch up to consciousness. He had been fighting… no, he had been struck by the Gu.

  What… what had happened?

  He tried to rise, fingers slipping uselessly against the ding’s rim before he collapsed again with a groan. The rocking motion made his stomach twist. His thoughts were sluggish and thick, as though mired in mud.

  He had to… he had to do something. But what?

  Slowly, his qi stirred in response. The spell to control objects with his mind was usually as effortless as breathing. He hadn’t needed to think about it in years; now, even that simple act demanded painful concentration.

  After several pounding heartbeats, the technique took hold. A pill floated shakily out of his storage pouch. Mo Jian caught it between his lips and swallowed dry.

  A wave of cool energy spread from his core through his limbs, easing the heat behind his eyes. He exhaled shakily, then let his head fall back against the ding’s rim, floating there amidst the waves. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t even want to look at his wounds. All he wanted was to close his eyes and let sleep take him.

  But the thought came, unbidden: the others were still fighting. And Bai Ning… Bai Ning was still down there.

  With clenched teeth, he forced himself upright. Pain flared through his torso, his limbs trembling in protest, but he managed to sit. He dragged a hand across his face; his fingers came away red and gritty. Dried blood.

  Not good.

  He forced his qi to obey once more, drawing out another pill. Taking more than one in quick succession was reckless, but he was far past caution now. This one had no immediate effect, but it would hasten his recovery.

  He had to take stock. Where was he? What exactly had happened?

  The where was easier to answer. He was floating on the open sea, with nothing in sight but endless blue, except for the colossal storm raging on the horizon before him. Even at this distance, its fury was unmistakable: black clouds churned like a vast whirlpool in the sky, and lightning fell like rain, striking the sea in a blinding barrage. The ocean itself rose in towering walls of water, a heaving fortress encircling some unseen heart of chaos. Just to behold it was humbling; nature, raw and unrestrained.

  And that made things clear. He had been blasted away by the Gu, thrown clear out of the cosmic bubble, and hurled back to the ocean’s surface. It was sheer luck that he’d survived at all.

  How much time had passed? Hopefully not much. The battle must still be raging; his qi hadn’t even completed more than two or three natural cycles through his meridians. A few minutes, then, no more.

  His situation, however, was dire. There was no gentler way to put it. His body ached as though crushed under a mountain, and his spirit felt hollowed out, gnawed by exhaustion. Worse still, the Heaven Enshrouding Ding had been damaged. One entire side of the cauldron was caved in, the metal folded inward like softened clay. It hadn’t torn, thankfully, but repairing it would take months of patient refinement within his core. The very thought chilled him: he had reinforced the ding with Star Iron, and still, the Gu’s power had almost shattered it.

  How long until he could return?

  The pills were already taking effect, and he drew out another of Jin Rong’s mid-grade spirit stones to replenish his qi. He didn’t have the luxury of rest; if he did, he would have waited a few days to heal properly. Right now, he only needed to be able to fly.

  A few minutes, then.

  Mo Jian focused on his breathing, letting his qi circulate, trying not to dwell on the fact that he had almost died.

  It was the closest he had come since his transmigration. None of his previous brushes with death compared. A part of him, small but shamefully real, wanted to run. Just grab Bai Ning and flee. The thought was cowardly, but fear had already begun to creep into his hands, making them tremble.

  He scowled at himself and gripped the rim of the ding until his knuckles turned white. Harder. There, at least they weren’t shaking now.

  Still, the fear did not go away.

  For the first time in years, he felt less like Mo Jian, the cultivator, and more like-

  The name surfaced unbidden, a ghost from another lifetime, but he pushed it away. He hadn’t thought about his life on Earth, his personal life, in some time now. He was no longer that weary corporate salaryman, living with his parents because he couldn’t afford a home, trudging through the gray sameness of each day.

  It hadn’t been a bad life, not really. There had been triumphs and disappointments, laughter and tears, joy and quiet sorrow. Life as it always was: ordinary, yet uniquely his. He had never truly mourned it. To do so would have felt hollow.

  What could he have made a shrine to? His parents? They were most likely still alive, still living their quiet lives somewhere beneath the same sun. He had been the one torn away, not them. The things he’d lost; well, there hadn’t been many, and none he regretted deeply enough to enshrine. Memorials were for the living to mourn the dead. But in this case, he was the one who had died.

  And though a part of him would deny it, he had also felt free. From struggle to strength, from anonymity to power, and most of all, from isolation to the fragile bonds of companionship; his transmigration had changed him in ways he could scarcely name. Sometimes he felt guilty for it, as though he were betraying the man he once was. But the truth was simple: he liked this life more than the one he’d left behind.

  Yet now, memories of that other self crept back. The smallness. The helplessness. The constant, gnawing fear; not of death, but of the slow erosion of purpose. Fear of unpaid bills. Of layoffs. Of a future that never quite arrived.

  He breathed in, then exhaled slowly, letting the thought drift away like mist. He didn’t like the taste of it.

  But one thing hadn’t changed. Whether in that world or this, no matter how high he’d risen, he still remembered how to move through fear. Everyone learned it; you had to, otherwise you stayed frozen forever.

  So, he set the fear aside. He refused to let it win.

  Instead, he forced his mind to more pressing concerns.

  How was the battle faring without him?

  It was still raging, the storm made it clear enough, but what of Jin Rong, Li Deng, and Chi Shen? Had they managed to hold their ground? And Bai Ning-

  His heart twisted.

  He had left a sliver of his spiritual sense with her, but after being flung so far, and in his current condition, he couldn’t be sure he would feel it if she called for him. No; she was clever, resourceful and strong. She would endure. She had to.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Still, the thought gnawed at him. He wanted to rush back, to tear through the storm and reach her side.

  But he knew better. Not yet. Not like this. If he went now, he’d only be a burden.

  He let his qi circulate, letting the pills knit together his internal injuries, while he drew in the abundant spiritual energy pouring from the mid-grade spirit stone. Slowly, painfully slowly, his condition began to improve. He might not have noticed the change at all if he hadn’t been fixated on every flicker of his own breath and pulse.

  His breathing steadied. Moving brought only a wince now, instead of the grinding agony of broken bones scraping against one another.

  He lifted his gaze toward the horizon, where the storm had grown. It was no longer just a distant wall of cloud and fury. It was alive, a god of wind and water devouring the sea beneath it. Lightning forked downward in blinding chains, bleaching the world white with each strike.

  He pressed his palm against the ding’s rim and sent his qi flowing into it. The cauldron shuddered, its damaged side groaning in protest.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “Just a little longer.”

  That was more for himself than for the ding. It wasn’t alive; it had no spirit to hear him.

  The ding glowed weakly, and with a reluctant groan, began to rise. Water streamed from its sides as it lifted off the waves, the ocean falling away below. Mo Jian swayed, caught between dizziness and determination, as the wind tore at his robes. With a wave of his qi, the seawater sloshing inside the ding rose in a twisting column and spilled overboard, cascading back into the sea in glittering trails.

  The Heaven Enshrouding Ding surged forward.

  The air grew colder as he neared the storm. Activating his protective barrier, a comforting layer of azure light wrapped around him, sealing him from the roaring winds. The storm was saturated with violent energy, the echoes of countless high-tier techniques clashing, their unleashed power twisting the very heavens.

  He reached the storm’s edge, and it swallowed him whole.

  Wind screamed. Seawater rose in jagged spires. For a heartbeat, there was only chaos, with light, and shadow, and violence braided together. Then, through the deluge, he saw the center.

  A vast, gaping pit yawned open in the sea. Bolts of lightning plunged into it one after another, like a tunnel swallowing the fury of the heavens. The waters around it were shoved aside, heaped into mountainous waves that crashed against each other in a never-ending struggle.

  The cosmic bubble had to be beneath that pit.

  Mo Jian steadied himself and then dove.

  Lightning struck his barrier the instant he entered. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then again, faster than he could count. He grimaced, reinforcing the barrier as he plunged deeper. The air reeked of ozone; the sea tasted of salt and metal. Thunder roared all around him, a ceaseless drumbeat.

  A blue comet tore through the storm, diving into the heart of the waves.

  ……………………

  “Fellows,” Li Deng said through gritted teeth as their barrier shuddered under another impact, “I’ll go out and stall it as long as I can. One of you should take my Amber Dripping Vial. Once I die, fuse it into your natal artifact. That should give you enough power to either land a decisive strike on the Gu, or flee. Either way, one of us will live.”

  Next to him, enclosed within the same battered barrier and struggling to withstand the Gu’s relentless assault, Jin Rong and Chi Shen didn’t dignify his words with a simple reply.

  Instead, they shouted.

  “You old fool!” Chi Shen bellowed. “If you’ve got breath to waste on nonsense, use it to reinforce the damn barrier!”

  Jin Rong’s voice followed, louder than usual, but steady. “I may be old-fashioned, but I don’t abandon comrades while the battle’s still undecided. The three of us can hold if we focus our strength together. We may not be able to counterattack, but we can endure for a time. That’s enough to find a plan.”

  Li Deng looked at them, helpless and grateful all at once, unsure what to say.

  After Mo Jian had been blasted away, the three had immediately regrouped, weaving their qi into a single defensive formation. They’d abandoned all thought of offense, pouring everything into survival as the Gu’s monstrous strikes fell upon them like a storm of divine wrath. The barrier held for now, but it was shrinking layer by layer, as their spiritual power bled away.

  They had already consumed the last of their qi-replenishing spirit stones within minutes. Now, only their raw cultivation sustained them.

  Li Deng’s proposal had come from desperation, from the simple desire to break this suffocating stalemate. He had already steeled himself for death, and this would have been a worthy way to meet it. Yet his companions had refused him outright, not even entertaining the thought.

  Who would not be moved by such loyalty? Who would not feel sorrow?

  The barrier screamed.

  The Gu had grown again, from the size of a serpent to something monstrous, tall and thick as the trunk of an ancient tree. It slammed into them, bending their protective dome inward until cracks of raw light spidered across its surface. The pressure was unbearable; spiritual energy warped the air, and even the sea below, at the bottom of the bubble, buckled and heaved in frenzy.

  Chi Shen cursed, blood running down his chin. “I’m running dry!”

  “Cycle your qi faster,” Jin Rong barked, both hands gripping the Strom King Trident tightly. “Feed the barrier from your core, not your meridians-”

  “I am feeding it from my core, you pedantic bastard!” Chi Shen spat, pouring another desperate surge of qi into the construct. The barrier steadied for an instant, then shuddered again.

  Li Deng’s shoulders trembled. His wrinkled skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, and every exhale came with a faint hiss of pain. The Amber Dripping Vial, floating beside him, pulsed weakly with dusky light as it siphoned the remnants of his spiritual reserves to reinforce the formation.

  Another strike came.

  The Gu’s distorted silhouette loomed beyond the barrier, and now black carapace was forming over its pus-riddled flesh. Its shriek tore through the air, a sound that stabbed straight into their souls. The next impact hurled the three cultivators across the bubble, their qi flickering like dying stars.

  Li Deng coughed, scarlet blooming on his lips. “We won’t last another hit.”

  “Then let’s make our last hit count,” Jin Rong said, voice grim. He released the trident, and it floated before him, aimed squarely at the Gu. “Chi Shen, when I say now, collapse the barrier and redirect all power to me. We’ll strike together-”

  “Not happening,” Chi Shen growled, shaking his head. “You’ll die.”

  “We’re all dying,” Jin Rong replied, his gaze hard. “I’d rather do it fighting back.”

  Li Deng managed a weak, breathless laugh. “I suppose you’re both bigger fools than I am.”

  The Gu slammed into them once more. The barrier splintered further, light fracturing like glass. The three cultivators braced themselves, straining to hold it back. Cracks spread wider and wider; the Gu shrieked, sensing victory.

  Then the heavens split open.

  A bolt of blue light descended from above like the fist of a god, slamming into the Gu and driving it back. The creature screamed in rage and pain, vanishing into the shadows as the entire sky ignited in silver and blue. A million lightning bolts cascaded downward, their fury shaking the very foundations of the enclosed world.

  Li Deng’s vision went white, and then black. When he blinked again, the sky was clearing. He knew what that light, and that qi, meant.

  “Mo Jian…” he breathed, voice barely more than a whisper.

  Moments later, a familiar figure broke through the storm, streaking toward them like a falling star. Mo Jian came to a stop beside them, and his qi instantly interwove with theirs, the barrier roaring back to life, stronger than ever. Three mid-grade spirit stones hovered in orbit around him: the last of Jin Rong’s gift.

  Jin Rong, Chi Shen, and Li Deng let out gasping cries of relief as they began to replenish their qi.

  “Brother Mo!” Chi Shen shouted, half-laughing, half-choking on exhaustion. “How in the heavens did you survive? We thought you were dead!”

  “Luck,” Mo Jian answered distractedly. His focus was elsewhere, his spiritual sense fully unfurled, sweeping across the rocks below. Only when he found what he was searching for did some of the tension leave his shoulders. She was safe. In fact, she seemed to be doing far better than he was.

  “May the heavens curse me with your kind of luck, Brother Mo,” Jin Rong said tiredly, though a faint spark of life had returned to his eyes.

  Mo Jian turned his attention back to the three Core Formation cultivators before him. They looked as battered as he felt, each of them pale, bloodstained, and visibly exhausted.

  “Don’t be too eager for my luck, Jin Rong,” he said wryly. “I took quite the beating. But moving on, did my eyes deceive me, or has the Gu actually grown stronger?”

  Li Deng chuckled bitterly. “It has. It gained nothing from devouring Hua Duzi’s remains, for there was no qi left in him, but it seems to have grown by consuming our attacks instead. Every strike we landed only fed it. Not that we had much of a choice. If we stopped attacking, we’d have been crushed outright.”

  Mo Jian shook his head. “I’m more amazed you three managed to hold it off without serious injuries. I felt the force of that blow. It nearly broke the Heaven Enshrouding Ding. It’s still badly damaged.”

  To his surprise, all three cultivators exchanged faintly amused glances; even Jin Rong’s stern expression softened.

  “It was actually thanks to you, Brother Mo,” Chi Shen said, grinning despite his ragged breathing. “When the Gu struck you, you lashed out with a burst of retaliatory lightning. It hurt the beast badly enough for Li Deng and me to regroup with Jin Rong and form a joint barrier. Without that, we’d have been torn apart one by one.”

  “Huh,” Mo Jian murmured. He didn’t remember that at all, but then, he’d been on the brink of unconsciousness. It wasn’t surprising it had slipped his mind.

  He exhaled slowly. “What now?” he asked instead, focusing on the moment. The Gu had been driven back for now, but it wouldn’t stay gone for long.

  Jin Rong straightened, the Storm King Trident hovering above his head and humming faintly. “Now, we return to our initial formation and press the attack. If we coordinate, we can force it into a corner and hold out long enough to find a weakness in its defenses.”

  He sounded grim, resolute, heroic, even. But Mo Jian’s heart sank all the same.

  Li Deng and Chi Shen didn’t look particularly convinced either.

  So, that was their plan. No secret technique, no hidden trump card; just endurance and grit. Either a miracle would appear… or they’d have to grind the Gu down the long, ugly way.