Beyond the two open, weatherworn wooden doors of Suibian Temple, the view was nothing like an ordinary mountain wilderness.
Just a few steps away, on a relatively flat patch of cliffside ground, stood a cable-car station leading straight into the Leimnian Hollow.
It was so close to the ancient Daoist temple that it felt almost wrong—like two completely different eras had been crudely stitched together.
Thick metal frames were driven deep into the cliff rock, anchoring several steel cables as thick as a man's wrist. They stretched outward like giant serpents, vanishing into the distant sea of chaos—Ether fog and unknown miasma swallowing the Hollow beyond.
The cable car sat quietly at the platform. Its shell bore a stark red-and-white paint scheme, and the words WEI FEIDI printed on the side reflected a hard, industrial sheen in the thin daylight.
Yixuan led Qianye out of Suibian Temple—barely a handful of steps—and they were already standing inside the station.
It was so near that the cable car felt less like a transport into a death zone and more like a side door of Yunkui Mountain: inconspicuous, practical, and permanently open.
Qianye's emerald eyes still held a trace of anticipation.
He'd half expected his master to use some profound secret art—tear space open, summon a spirit beast, slip into the Hollow in a manner befitting a true grandmaster.
Instead, Yixuan didn't even slow down.
She walked straight to a small ticket booth with modern, minimalist design.
Inside wasn't a grimy, exhausted worker like he'd imagined, but a polished urban woman—immaculately made up, dressed in a tailored gray business suit. Her manicured fingers, painted in a soft, tasteful shade, tapped idly as she stared at the latest smart terminal on her wrist.
She looked like the front desk of a high-end office tower—not someone stationed on a barren cliff edge next to a Hollow.
"Two tickets. One-way," Yixuan said flatly.
"Scan here," the attendant replied without looking up, voice drained with unmistakable corporate fatigue—so saturated with "working life" it made Qianye wonder if she'd been forced into a week of nonstop overtime.
"It's already paid," Yixuan said.
The attendant finally looked up, pasted on a standard professional smile, and began operating the terminal with practiced efficiency.
"Understood. Please wait a moment."
Despite the deadened tone, her voice was crisp—completely mismatched with the low moan of steel cables in the wind outside.
Once she finished, she handed over two faintly glowing tickets.
"Enjoy your trip. Please follow Hollow safety regulations."
The whole process was smooth, fast, and saturated with modern order—utterly puncturing every dramatic fantasy Qianye had built about the "ominous prelude" to an expedition into danger.
He stared blankly as his master accepted the two light, flimsy ticket slips.
The last bit of wonder he'd been holding on to deflated like a balloon pricked by a needle.
So… even grandmasters traveled like this?
Yixuan didn't seem to notice his micro-expression at all. She shoved one ticket into his hand and walked toward the already-open cable car door.
Inside was cleaner than the exterior suggested. Cold metal seats were covered with deep-blue synthetic fabric. The air smelled like disinfectant mixed with a faint artificial fragrance—an attempt to cover something underneath.
"Master! Little junior brother! Wait for us!"
A shout came from behind just as Qianye was about to step in.
Ju Fufu came sprinting over like a golden cannonball, tail raised high, panic written all over her face. Jane followed a step slower, but her teal eyes cut sharply across the platform before landing on the closing door.
"Apologies. This car has reached maximum occupancy," the booth attendant said in the same tired, unbothered manner. She pointed at the red indicator light glowing by the door. "The next departure arrives in twelve minutes. Please wait."
"Only Master and junior brother and it's still 'full'?!"
Ju Fufu refused to give up. She grabbed at the narrowing gap of the closing door and called into the cabin, ears trembling with urgency.
"Master! Let me come too! I can help! I can protect junior brother!"
Yixuan merely turned her head and gave the platform a calm glance.
Nothing in that look was harsh—yet it carried the weight of an invisible barrier that made Ju Fufu's pleading feel like it hit glass.
Qianye looked back through the tinted reinforced window.
Ju Fufu's green eyes were full of worry. Jane leaned against the railing with arms folded, gaze still locked on the cabin like she was calculating something.
Qianye could only offer a small, apologetic look that meant: It's fine. Don't worry.
The airtight door sealed shut with perfect finality, isolating the inside from the outside.
The cable car jolted softly, then began sliding down the steel cables at a steady pace.
For the first few seconds, Qianye could still see the platform shrinking—Ju Fufu growing smaller, Jane's silhouette still watching.
Then the outside world vanished.
Darkness swallowed the windows.
The Leimnian Hollow revealed itself—oppressive, immediate.
This was not simply "dim." In Qianye's eyes, it felt like an entirely different dimension.
The light was warped and sickly—not pure black, but a muddy blend of gray-purple, dark red, and oily green, like someone had stirred a spilled palette into dirty water.
The cable car seemed to glide along a fragile ribbon of light. Beneath it was a bottomless void.
Now and then, massive shadows writhed far below—shapes like dead vines or twisted bundles of nerves—pulsing with faint, phosphorescent glow.
Miasma Addiction. The very sight of it made people's throats tighten.
Even through the cabin's filtration, Qianye could swear he smelled something—sweet, cloying, and rotten at once.
A fragrance that was not meant for humans.
Wind screamed outside, but the sound wasn't clean.
Within it, he kept catching hints of something else—thin, fragmented whispers and sobs with no meaning, appearing and vanishing, brushing at his eardrums and his nerves like fingers.
In the distance, a distorted light sometimes flared—an eye-shaped blot in the dark. Sometimes a black shape streaked past so fast it barely registered.
Ether currents… or something worse.
Qianye instinctively clenched his fist. His knuckles went pale.
The petty disappointment he'd felt about taking a cable car had been erased completely—replaced by tension, alertness, and the subtle, uneasy throb of the strange power inside him responding to this environment.
Then a cool, soft hand settled over his clenched fist.
Qianye froze.
Before he could react, a gentle but irresistible force tugged him sideways, and he stumbled into a fragrance-cleansed softness.
Yixuan…
She had pulled him into her arms.
He could feel the smooth texture of her robe, the steady warmth beneath it, and a faint pulse—subtle energy moving with calm control.
The sudden closeness hit him like a shock.
His body went rigid. Heat rushed to his cheeks. His emerald eyes widened, and even the stubborn cowlick atop his silver hair seemed to stiffen in alarm.
Then Yixuan leaned down slightly. Warm breath brushed his sensitive ear.
Her voice—usually clear and cold like struck jade—came low, close, and inexplicably laced with a lazy hint of amusement.
"Disciple… today I'll teach you Yunkui Mountain's first lesson."
Qianye's heartbeat quickened. He braced himself, ears pricked, fully expecting mystical doctrine at last.
Yixuan continued, unhurried, word by word:
"A technique that solves problems efficiently and with minimal effort… is a good technique."
"Walking down the mountain wastes time and strength, and risks wandering threats on the perimeter."
"Using movement arts consumes too much and disturbs the unstable Ether here."
"Only this method—buying a ticket and riding—borrowing another's labor to accomplish your own purpose—safe, convenient, time-saving, effortless."
"This is the way of going with the flow. Have you memorized it?"
Qianye: "…"
He felt as if invisible lightning had struck him square in the forehead.
This… was Yunkui Mountain's secret art?
This was ordinary life wisdom even street vendors understood.
A strong urge to laugh and cry at once surged up. His refined face twisted into a helpless expression—half dazed, half offended, half resigned.
But master's orders were master's orders.
He lowered his eyes, swallowed every complaint, and answered meekly through gritted dignity:
"Your disciple… has memorized it."
Then he tried to wriggle out of the too-intimate embrace.
Respecting one's master was one thing. Being held this closely was another. It made him feel like he was crossing a line—like he was insulting her with impropriety.
The moment he moved, Yixuan's arm tightened slightly around his shoulders.
Not harsh. Not painful.
Just absolute.
"Don't move," she said evenly. "Stay."
"Master…?" Qianye lifted his head, eyes full of confusion. In the cabin's murky light, his emerald gaze looked like clear spring water.
"This… isn't proper, is it?"
Yixuan didn't answer immediately. She simply looked at him in silence.
Outside, wind screamed. Inside, the whispers lingered.
Just when Qianye thought he might have genuinely displeased her, a faint sigh drifted down from above his head.
It was so light—like snow settling.
But within it was something he couldn't quite place.
A trace of… loneliness?
A trace of… grievance?
"Could it be…" Yixuan's voice lowered, and for a split second, something fragile slipped into it—so uncharacteristic it nearly scared him more than the Hollow.
"…that my little disciple dislikes that I am older, and does not wish to be close to me?"
"What? No—of course not!" Qianye panicked, immediately shaking his head. His face burned hotter.
"Master is… in her prime. Your cultivation is profound. I only respect and admire you—how could I ever dislike you? I just—this feels… disrespectful. I fear damaging your reputation…"
"Reputation?" Yixuan let out an almost imperceptible laugh—ice beads tapping jade.
"The opinions of the world are not worth hanging on your heart."
"Once you have entered the mountain gate, you are my disciple. Like… family."
She paused ever so slightly on that word.
"Between family, how can there be talk of 'taint'?"
Then she added a reason that sounded perfectly sensible, perfectly grounded:
"Also—this place's miasma runs beneath the surface. You are new. Your aura is unstable."
"Stay close. It will keep your mind clear."
So Qianye could only swallow the turmoil and remain stiffly, obediently, in Yixuan's warm, faintly scented embrace.
He felt her hand move now and then through his silver hair—so gentle, so careful, almost like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.
So unlike the stern master he'd imagined.
He couldn't know what was in Yixuan's eyes at that moment.
Her gaze was lowered, resting on his disciple robes—simple, clean, pale.
The way the cloth framed the slender line of his neck.
The obedient, soft-browed tilt of his face.
The silver hair…
For reasons she couldn't fully name, it overlapped with something deep in memory—an image of herself as a child in new clothes, tucked close beside her sister Yijiang; and her sister's side profile, warm and unbreakable.
Was it a distant echo in blood?
Was it the robe itself pulling up old ghosts?
Or was it the long solitude of inheritance, the mind's secret hunger for warmth that had been lost too early?
Even she couldn't tell.
It didn't arrive as a clear thought, but as a flood—nostalgia, bitterness, and a thin, unexpected comfort.
Her past flashed like faded film:
A stolen char siu bun and Yijiang's mischievous smile.
Sweat shared in training.
A strict teacher's gaze that still held care.
Then the white light that swallowed everything.
And Yijiang's final emptiness—eyes lost, asking, "Who are you?"
Emotion churned behind Yixuan's orange-green pupils, and for the briefest moment, her face softened—almost imperceptibly.
Perhaps it was only because he looked like a child in those robes—like someone who had once needed shelter… and had once been sheltered.
Perhaps it was simply that after all these years, she finally had someone she could protect and teach, openly and lawfully.
Her arm tightened around him again, unconsciously, as if anchoring herself through the warmth of a real living body.
The cable car continued descending in silence and a delicate, unspoken atmosphere.
And Qianye—despite the monstrous scenery outside—no longer felt afraid.
The Hollow's visuals stayed grotesque: twisted shadows and sick phosphorescence composing a death-land's peculiar "scenery."
Now and then, he saw distant silhouettes like the bones of prehistoric beasts—ruins of the old ZENITH Aerospace City, silent witnesses to ambition and collapse.
Yet something unsettled him.
As soon as he'd fallen into his master's arms, the wind's faint howl had shifted in his ears… into something like a woman's sobbing.
As if an invisible presence was watching him—heartbroken that he had chosen someone else's embrace.
Time blurred.
Then the car jolted again and began to slow.
The darkness outside gave way to dim, yellow industrial lighting, and a vast mechanical rumble rolled in—closer and closer, like a giant breathing.
With a heavy clang, the cable car docked at a massive internal platform.
The door slid open.
A wave of heat blasted into the cabin, carrying the thick smell of refined Brightporcelain, machine oil, and underneath it—faintly—miasma's sweet rot.
Yixuan released him.
All softness vanished instantly. She returned to her usual cold, distant grandmaster composure, as though the warmth during the descent had never existed.
She rose first and stepped out with unhurried grace.
Qianye followed, shaking out stiffness from his limbs.
He lifted his head—and the sight before him stole his breath, wiping away every lingering thought.
The space was enormous in a way words struggled to hold.
The ceiling was so high it felt like it supported another world, disappearing into a dim canopy of pipes, steel, and drifting dust.
At the center stood several Brightporcelain smelting furnaces like mountains—glowing red-hot, radiating brutal heat, staining the whole space in dark reds and molten orange.
Thick energy conduits coiled over them like arteries, feeding torrents of Ether power into these industrial beasts.
Far in the distance, gigantic mechanical arms moved endlessly under automated control—pouring molten Brightporcelain into molds, hauling cooled components, repeating, repeating, repeating.
This place had clearly been repurposed from a core facility of old Zenith Aerospace City—perhaps a rocket engine test platform or fuel synthesis factory—and now served as one of Huijing Mech's key Brightporcelain production bases within the Leimnian Hollow.
What confused Qianye was this:
It was Sharo Golden Week—a legally mandated holiday.
So why was this place still running like a furnace-fed war machine?
Workers in thick, filthy protective suits swarmed like ants through the machinery forest. Their motions were mechanical, numb. Even behind visors, exhaustion and suppression seeped out in every posture.
The air wasn't just noise and heat—it carried an invisible pressure, like an unseen hand was driving everything forward.
Yixuan's gaze swept across the abnormal bustle with detached calm.
No surprise. No pity.
Only familiarity.
She didn't stop to explain. She simply tilted her head—an understated signal—and led Qianye swiftly through the blazing main production zone toward darker, more neglected edges.
The farther they went, the sparser the lighting grew, and the cooler the air became.
Metal floor grates gave way to rough concrete, caked in dust and oily stains. The walls were stained and cracked, layered with faded aerospace-era warnings and slogans—overpainted with newer, rough Huijing Mech markings.
Time itself felt stitched wrong.
At last, Yixuan stopped near a sealed, abandoned ventilation junction.
This corner was relatively dry, far from the main corridors. Only the distant rumble of machines persisted as a constant background drone.
Rusty ducts cast warped shadows. The air smelled of old iron and faint mildew.
Yixuan turned to face him. Her orange-green slit pupils glowed quietly in the dim—serious, focused, weighty.
"The miasma interference is weaker here," she said, voice crisp in the stillness. "Temporarily safe."
"Now—steady your mind. I will formally teach you Yunkui Mountain's foundational breathing method."
"And… how to hold your heart steady in this sea of memory and obsession. How to distinguish truth from illusion."
She watched him as if reading beneath his skin.
"You may wonder why I did not choose a tranquil chamber atop Yunkui Mountain, rich with spiritual energy."
"Why not a bright courtyard beneath clear skies—why bring you here, to the Hollow's edge, to teach you your first step?"
Qianye snapped into discipline at once. His emerald eyes met hers.
"I understand," he said earnestly. "Master once said cultivation must fit the person. Different people require different methods. That is teaching according to aptitude."
"Good." Yixuan nodded. A flicker—almost approval—passed through her eyes, then vanished too quickly to catch.
"You are not foolish, if you understand that."
And in the instant her words ended, she moved.
She didn't posture. She didn't chant. She didn't "prepare."
Her right hand—gloved, fingers exposed—cut through the air in a casual arc.
And the world changed.
From her fingertips surged a dense black-gold flow of light—pure will and energy condensed into something heavier than mercury, yet freed from gravity's law.
It moved like living ink, like a waterfall of darkness gilded with metal.
A low, resonant hum rose with it—as if countless ancient runes were singing at the same time.
The black-gold "ink" didn't lash wildly.
It traced precise, unfathomable paths—gliding over concrete walls, wrapping rusted ductwork, weaving a web through the air.
In seconds, it formed a half-transparent spherical barrier around them.
Along the inner surface, tiny sigils swam like tadpoles, drifting and flashing.
The moment the barrier completed—
The outside noise vanished.
The heavy mechanical rumble. The whispering wind. The subtle pressure of miasma. The sensation of being watched—
All cut off, erased, as if an unseen hand had wiped reality clean.
Inside the sphere was absolute quiet.
Only two breaths remained: master and disciple.
The barrier's black-gold sheen slowly circulated, painting Yixuan's calm face and Qianye's astonishment in solemn light.
Qianye could feel it clearly:
This wasn't a simple physical wall.
It was something deeper—space isolation entwined with Ether purification.
Inside, the Ether became unusually gentle and orderly, utterly unlike the chaos that had greeted him when he first entered the Hollow.
So this was what a true grandmaster was.
A gesture… and a domain was born.
Yixuan withdrew her hand as if she'd brushed dust from a sleeve.
She looked at him again.
In that sealed silence, her voice landed with stunning clarity—each syllable carrying weight.
"Now. The first step, my disciple…"
A pause—brief, deliberate.
Her slit pupils held his expression without blinking.
Then she said, calmly, as if stating the most ordinary fact in the world:
"…Take off your upper garment."
Join here to read ahead.
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