The aftermath took time to sort through.

  The initial steps had been straightforward enough. Mo Jian gathered Bai Ning and the two cultivators from the Golden Marrow Sect—whom she had asked him to help—and brought them back to his temporary cave residence.

  Bai Ning was, for the most part, unharmed. Shaken, perhaps, but already recovering—embarrassed, even, by how rattled she’d been. Her companions, however, were another matter entirely.

  The woman, Yan Qixue, had been struck with considerable force and thrown from a great height. Dangerous, under normal circumstances—but not truly life-threatening for a body cultivator. Mo Jian gave her a healing pill and let her rest, satisfied once he saw it taking effect and slowly knitting her injuries back together.

  No—the real problem was Yan Liang.

  Mo Jian didn’t know why the Ghost King had targeted him so brutally, but the man had suffered a devastating head injury. Half his skull had been pulped, and even Mo Jian’s most potent pills and elixirs barely made a dent. At the moment, Mo Jian was keeping him alive by carefully circulating his own qi through Yan Liang’s body. It was a stopgap at best—painstaking and temporary. He needed something better. Soon.

  In that regard, the commotion he’d caused at the Enigmatic Death Domain was both a curse and a blessing.

  Technically, the Domain still had another half week before it was scheduled to close. But the moment a Core Formation cultivator had begun battling in its heart, most of the other participants had fled. The island was all but deserted now—though the number of cultivators lingering outside had increased dramatically.

  Also, the Harmonious Rain Sect had arrived in force.

  They were the ruling sect in this part of the Thousand Shattered Islands—mid-sized, but powerful. With multiple Core Formation elders and a trio of Late-Stage Core Formation sisters as their leaders, they were no minor presence. They’d sent a single Core Formation elder, Wu Shang, to take charge of the situation, backed by over two dozen Foundation Establishment cultivators. He had already seized control of the grand formation and had assigned his helpers to methodically sweep the Domain to ensure that nothing as egregious as a Ghost King had gone unnoticed again.

  Meanwhile, Wu Shang had stationed himself just outside Mo Jian’s cave and, for now, was politely requesting an audience.

  Mo Jian had initially sent Bai Ning to meet him—an error in hindsight. She had clearly formed a less-than-stellar opinion of the Harmonious Rain Sect somehow, and the conversation had gone poorly. Had Mo Jian not intervened, he suspected the purple-robed elder might have struck her down for her insolence.

  He’d tried to smooth things over afterward, explaining the situation and even offering payment in exchange for a healing pill for Yan Liang. But Wu Shang remained obstinate. He clearly had the means to help, yet refused to do anything unless they agreed to accompany him back to the sect and present themselves to the Matriarchs.

  Normally, an early-stage Core Formation cultivator wouldn’t press so boldly against a late-stage peer—but with the full weight of a powerful sect behind him, Wu Shang was confident. Too confident.

  He had made his position clear: he saw Mo Jian and his companions as the root of the disturbance, refused to believe that the Ghost King had naturally arisen on the island, and insisted they all submit to questioning by the Harmonious Rain Sect leadership.

  In short, things were bad.

  But again, the chaos he’d caused had its advantages. The Harmonious Rain Sect weren’t the only ones drawn to the spectacle. Representatives from dozens of smaller, yet still influential sects had also arrived—curious, alarmed, and seeking answers. Unlike the Harmonious Rain Sect, which seemed more focused on control and covering things up, these other sects were asking questions Mo Jian wanted answered.

  Three days passed. Mo Jian remained in his cave, tending to his charges, until the leader of the Golden Marrow Sect arrived.

  He was a late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator with skin like polished gold and hair that burned like open flame. His personality was as subtle as his appearance—loud, blunt, and unafraid to speak his mind.

  When he presented himself at the mouth of the cave and introduced himself as Gang Rong, leader of the Golden Marrow Sect, Mo Jian let him in immediately—though Bai Ning’s gasp of recognition had already prompted him. Elder Wu Shang had turned an even deeper shade of purple when a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator was admitted before him, but—barely—held his tongue.

  Thankfully, Gang Rong had wasted no time. After bowing deeply in gratitude for saving his disciples, he took over healing Yan Liang. He used a Condensed Blood pill—something unique to body cultivators—to rapidly accelerate the recovery process. Mo Jian had nothing like it. His own pills were powerful, but required a correspondingly high cultivation to use effectively.

  With that burden eased, Mo Jian finally stepped out of his cave to assess the situation and decide what to do next.

  The air outside was thick with tension. He emerged into the narrow clearing that served as his temporary doorstep and found himself face to face with Elder Wu Shang.

  The man stood like a monument—rigid, unmoving, as though rooted into the very stone beneath him. Two Harmonious Rain Sect disciples flanked him, both clearly Foundation Establishment, both with hands resting just a little too casually on their sword hilts. Not openly threatening, but close enough.

  Gang Rong followed just behind, taking his place beside Mo Jian with his golden arms crossed, skin gleaming dully in the wan sunlight. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but his eyes flicked across the crowd with quiet intensity. A body cultivator through and through. Mo Jian had asked Bai Ning to remain inside the cave. Ostensibly, she was tending to the still-recovering Yan Qixue and Yan Liang, but in truth he wanted to make sure she stayed out of the spotlight until he had a better handle on the situation.

  He scanned the clearing.

  More sects had gathered.

  Representatives from the Blue Candle Pavilion, the Iron Petal Sect, and even a few robed monks from the Mistwind Cloister were watching from the edges of the clearing. They maintained a respectful distance, but their faces were marked with barely veiled curiosity. None of them were Core Formation—so none dared meet Mo Jian’s eyes. They lowered their gazes as he looked their way, deferential and cautious.

  Wu Shang stepped forward immediately. His voice was clipped, tight with restrained frustration.

  “Fellow Daoist Mo Jian. Three days. Three days of silence, holed up in your cave, ignoring the summons of our Matriarchs. And now, when you finally deign to appear—still, you refuse to comply. What is the Harmonious Rain Sect to make of this?”

  Mo Jian didn’t respond right away. He understood the position the elder was in. In another context, he might even have sympathized. But Wu Shang’s pettiness—and the transparent attempt to shift all blame for the Ghost King’s emergence onto his shoulders—gnawed at any sympathy he might have mustered up. For a moment, he seriously considered unleashing his full aura, just to remind everyone exactly what kind of power they were trying to corral.

  It would burn bridges and likely make things worse with the Harmonious Rain Sect. But it would also make something else perfectly clear: He wasn’t someone they could bully.

  Instead, he drew a slow breath, let it out, and buried the urge. That was pride speaking. Pride and anger. Not useful now.

  Beside him, Gang Rong gave a short, unamused snort—less patient.

  “Perhaps the illustrious Harmonious Rain Sect would do better to explain why they were willing to let a disciple of the Golden Marrow Sect die from injuries sustained on their land, refusing to lift a hand despite having the means. Are you certain you're still part of the orthodox alliance?”

  A ripple of whispers spread among the onlookers. Mo Jian didn’t need to look to know those words had landed.

  Wu Shang’s jaw tensed, but he ignored Gang Rong entirely, eyes locked on Mo Jian.

  “The Enigmatic Death Domain has existed for centuries without incident. The grand formation that stabilizes it was laid down by our founding Patriarch—a Nascent Soul cultivator. Never, in all that time, has something like a Ghost King appeared. This anomaly could only have come from outside. An invader.”

  He spat the last word.

  Mo Jian tilted his head slightly. “So, you believe I summoned a Ghost King during a trial my own disciple was participating in—for what purpose, exactly?”

  “I don’t know,” Wu Shang said flatly. “But the Harmonious Rain Sect will get to the bottom of it. And your unwillingness to clarify your presence here—your motives—”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I’ve already explained both,” Mo Jian interrupted, voice suddenly cold. “The fact that you refuse to believe me speaks more to your arrogance than to my guilt. I fought a threat that your Sect failed to recognize. Instead of thanking me, you’re trying to pin your incompetence on my back. Do you really think I’ll let you take advantage of me so easily?”

  That silenced Wu Shang—for a breath. A single, short breath.

  Then, with forced calm: “Regardless. You’ll present yourself before the Matriarchs. Willingly—or not.”

  Mo Jian’s hands curled into fists, hidden beneath his sleeves. Until now, he hadn’t been truly angry. But something about those words—the flat way they had been delivered, as if his guilt was already determined and his compliance not a factor—sent a jolt of fury through him. Did Wu Shang really believe that threatening him would work?

  The Foundation Establishment cultivators beside the elder tensed, hands rising, swords half-drawn again—this time with real intent. What exactly did they think they would achieve, against him?

  His anger was picked up on by others. A low hum of powerful qi began to rise, as multiple cultivators prepared to unleash their techniques and treasures against each other. The air grew heavier. Mo Jian raised a hand, about to bring his full aura to bear—

  The pressure in the clearing shifted. Then, the clouds overhead split apart.

  A soft breeze swept across the clearing as a woman descended from the sky.

  She moved with the ease of drifting silk, robes fluttering in the wind, a sheathed sword cradled delicately in her hands. Her features were striking—elegant, serene, effortlessly beautiful. Pale skin, black hair gathered into an intricate knot, the rest falling like a curtain down her back. Her robes were light blue, embroidered with silver cranes in mid-flight.

  The moment she arrived, the building tension vanished—snuffed out as if it had never been.

  Her presence silenced the growing chaos, and even Wu Shang stepped back instinctively.

  Mo Jian narrowed his eyes.

  Core Formation, late-stage. Authority clung to her like frost to glass.

  Mo Jian met her gaze as she descended—calm, composed, assessing him with the same clarity with which one might examine an unfamiliar weapon: not cold, but not warm either. There was a dangerous kind of intelligence lurking behind those eyes.

  She landed with barely a sound, her feet touching the earth like falling snow. The sword in her hands—still sheathed—radiated a quiet pressure, as though it were asleep, but dreaming of blood.

  Wu Shang bowed deeply, straightening only after several breaths. "Matriarch Lian."

  So. One of the three sisters. Mo Jian didn’t know much about them, but the aura rolling off this one was enough to make him wary. A sword cultivator, clearly—and more than that, someone accustomed to being obeyed. Now, he was no longer the most powerful person on the island.

  He inclined his head—not quite a bow, but enough to mark respect. Power deserved recognition, especially when it came with restraint.

  The situation had shifted.

  Matriarch Lian’s voice was soft, like rain striking lacquered wood, but every word carried effortlessly through the clearing.

  “I see the situation has… escalated.”

  Wu Shang stiffened. "He refuses to answer the summons. I was preparing to—"

  "You were preparing to start a fight in front of thirty watching sects," she said mildly, without looking at him. "Yes, I saw."

  She turned back to Mo Jian.

  "Fellow Daoist Mo. On behalf of the Harmonious Rain Sect, allow me to offer my thanks. Without your intervention, we might have lost dozens of young cultivators—perhaps more. The Ghost King was not a trivial threat. You risked much."

  It wasn’t quite an apology. But it wasn’t nothing, either.

  Mo Jian gave a slight nod. “I didn’t do it for thanks. But I appreciate your words.”

  That earned a flicker of a smile—almost imperceptible. “Then allow me to make a request. Come with me and speak before my sisters. Your insight may be key to understanding what truly happened here.”

  Her gaze flicked toward the Domain and the still-intact formation that sealed it.

  “The grand array has suffered no damage. That only deepens the mystery. The appearance of a Ghost King should not have been possible. Since you faced it directly—and defended the region—the Harmonious Rain Sect is prepared to compensate you accordingly.”

  There it was. A hand extended—not in force, but with tact. A softer, more calculated approach than Wu Shang’s—and, unlike him, Matriarch Lian likely had the power to back up her threats.

  Mo Jian glanced briefly at Gang Rong. But the golden-skinned body cultivator was studying the ground, silent. Whatever bravado had driven his earlier exchange with Wu Shang clearly did not extend to Matriarch Lian.

  Mo Jian chewed over his thoughts. “And if I say no?”

  She didn’t flinch. “Then I will thank you again for your efforts—and ask that you leave the Domain by the end of the day. We cannot permit further independent investigation. But you will not be detained.”

  Wu Shang spoke again, bitterness creeping into his voice. “But Matriarch, my grandson—Wu Zhen—died inside. He had a tool I refined personally. There is no way he would have fallen unless it was an outs—”

  Matriarch Lian turned to him, one eyebrow gently raised.

  He fell silent at once, jaw clenched. Mo Jian watched him carefully—something clicked into place. If Wu Zhen had entered the Domain and not returned… grief might explain Wu Shang’s hostility. It didn’t excuse it, but it made it understandable. In Wu Shang’s place, Mo Jian wasn’t sure he would have done much better.

  He turned back to Lian. Her offer wasn’t unreasonable. But…

  He hesitated.

  The truth was, he did want to know more. However, he also had an advantage in knowing about the plot of the story, and he was unsure if anything would come out of investigating this incident. Yes, the Ghost King really should not have formed in the Enigmatic Death Domain, and yes, even more importantly, it should not have come into existence a decade early, but those impossible things had happened.

  However, he had to balance that against the risk it posed to Bai Ning. Was she somehow, through no fault of her own, connected to the Ghost King in any way? Even if not, could this investigation somehow blow open her secret and make her a target? Mo Jain could not answer with any certainty, but there was an unfortunately high chance of both happening, as far as he was concerned.

  So, regretfully, he turned her down.

  “I’d like to leave,” Mo Jian said at last. “I’ve already shared everything I know with Elder Wu Shang. I need to tend to my disciple. If it helps, I’m willing to store my memory of the incident in a jade slip and leave that with your sect. But I don’t believe I have anything else to offer.”

  Matriarch Lian regarded him for a moment, then inclined her head. “Very well. In addition to that, would Brother Mo allow me to speak with the children who encountered the Ghost King? I will not harm them—merely hear their accounts, in their own words.”

  Mo Jian’s first instinct was to refuse. But he hesitated. This wasn’t a demand, and Matriarch Lian had shown patience and restraint. Pushing too hard now would only provoke unnecessary conflict. Besides… her request was reasonable.

  At length, he nodded. “As long as Gang Rong has no objection, I see no reason to refuse.”

  He layered his voice with qi and called out, “Bai Ning. Come and greet Matriarch Lian.”

  Next to him, Gang Rong finally looked up. His shoulders were still tense, but he managed a nod. “Yan Qixue is recovered enough to speak. I’ll call her too.”

  A quiet ripple spread through the clearing.

  The tension that had hung in the air—lessened, but not gone—finally broke. Pressure lifted. The fight had been avoided, and now, the truth would be heard from the source.

  A moment later, Bai Ning stepped into the clearing.

  Her hair was tied back neatly, robes hastily straightened but still faintly rumpled from hours spent tending the wounded. Her posture was composed, and her gaze clear and alert. Behind her came Yan Qixue, pale and slow-moving, each step stiff with healing pain.

  Both bowed in unison.

  “Disciple Bai Ning greets the Matriarch.”

  “Disciple Yan Qixue greets the Matriarch.”

  Matriarch Lian inclined her head in acknowledgment. “At ease. You were the first to encounter the Ghost King, yes?”

  Bai Ning glanced at Mo Jian, who met her gaze and gave the smallest of nods. She straightened, took a breath, and began.

  “We descended into the depths of the Domain and encountered it at the very heart of the place,” she said. “We’d been exploring—Yan Qixue, her husband Yan Liang, and I. We saw no presence of anything, either ghost or otherwise, in the depths, and when we reached the heart, it was much the same. We did not do anything, and were just about to leave, when that… thing revealed itself and attacked us.”

  Murmurs rippled through the gathered sect members. Even Wu Shang narrowed his eyes.

  Matriarch Lian, however, remained still.

  “If someone brought it into the Domain, then I did not see who,” Bai Ning continued. “It gave no sign of intelligence—only blind aggression. It attacked without hesitation.”

  Lian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And how did you survive long enough for your master to arrive? You appear uninjured.”

  Bai Ning hesitated. “Master Mo Jian gave me a fifth-rank talisman before we entered. I used it to wound the creature. That slowed it down. But more than that… it didn’t fight like an intelligent being. It was fast and strong—but erratic. Had it used any proper technique, we wouldn’t have lasted seconds.”

  She lowered her head slightly. “We survived because we got lucky.”

  Mo Jian’s chest tightened at those words.

  Lian regarded Bai Ning for a long, quiet moment, as if she was sifting her thoughts like sand through her fingers.

  At last, she turned to Yan Qixue.

  “And you? Do you have anything to add?”

  The body cultivator’s voice was lower, rasped slightly with strain. “I was struck during the initial part of the fight. I didn’t see much of anything that happened later. But I concur; it fought like a wild beast more than an intelligent being. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have survived.”

  Matriarch Lian gave a soft sigh. “Very well. You are free to go.” She turned to Mo Jian. “Fellow Daoist Mo, the jade slip, if you please.”

  Without a word, Mo Jian withdrew a blank slip from his sleeve, infused it with spiritual sense, and pressed it to his brow. When he handed it over, it was heavy with his memory of the fight against the Ghost King.

  Lian took it and gave him a nod.

  “I will hold to my word,” she said. “You leave as a guest, not a suspect. And should you wish to return and speak further, the Harmonious Rain Sect will receive you properly.”

  Mo Jian offered a respectful salute. She returned it in kind.

  Then, with a final glance over the clearing, Matriarch Lian turned and walked away—her sword still cradled in her arms like a sleeping beast. Wu Shang followed, scowling, but silent.

  As the Harmonious Rain Sect retreated, the remaining cultivators began to stir. Muted conversation rippled through their ranks—questions already forming, speculation rising. But no one moved to stop Mo Jian as he turned toward the edge of the island, Bai Ning falling into step beside him.

  She glanced back twice, eyes wide with wonder as she watched Lian disappear into the distance.

  “Master,” she said softly, “is she stronger than you?”

  Mo Jian raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. Still, he answered. “She’s a sword cultivator. In a direct fight, I’d likely lose.”

  He spoke plainly, without bitterness.

  “The influence of one’s natal artifact can tip the scales immensely. That’s why I always tell you to keep meditating on what resonates most with your core. A ding would be ideal, of course—like mine—but you may be better suited to something else.”

  He hesitated, then added, “Swords are common—and powerful—but cultivation is more than just combat strength. Remember that.”

  Bai Ning nodded in the way he was familiar with—with an earnest appearance like she was diligently listening, but in truth the words were going in one ear and out the other, without sticking around. Mo Jian suddenly had the premonition that he had somehow messed up the future, again. The reason he was pushing Bai Ning towards a ding was because… well, that was what she had in the book. Bonding a natal artifact happened only at Core Formation, so the choice was still distant, but Mo Jian did not like the slightly awed look Bai Ning shot Lian and the sword in her hands. What a headache.

  Behind them, Gang Rong let out a loud, relieved breath.

  “I thought we were going to die at least three different times during that conversation.”

  Mo Jian gave him a faint, tired smile. “So did I.”