The midday sun warmed the obsidian courtyard of the Shattered Heaven Sect.
Mò Tiān gazed at the sea of clouds. It had been days since the dead jade of the Throne Ruins had resonated deep within the pillar. The Astrolabe of a Thousand Bridges had awakened at the Misty Peak. He had not sent his daughter, the Grand Elder, and the disciple Hán Lěi for a simple political agreement. He had sent them to seize the secret of the Spatial Foundation and break the stagnant chains of that mountain.
The Sect Master waited for the black metal board to appear in the sky, bringing the key to the future.
But the sound did not come from the clouds. It came from the main road.
The thick stone gates of the sect opened. The sound of iron wheels crushing gravel tore through the courtyard.
A colossal carriage, pulled by four black beasts, entered the obsidian square.
Mò Tiān frowned. The logic of his world began to fail the moment his eyes focused on the driver's seat of the vehicle. There was no flying board. There was no Hán Lěi in the entourage.
Sitting on the wooden board like a stable lackey, holding the heavy leather reins, was the Grand Elder. The highest-ranking cultivator of the clan was sweating coldly. The old man's spine was bent, and he kept his head lowered, physically unable to raise his face to meet his own Sect Master's eyes.
The carriage stopped in the center of the courtyard with a dry screech of the brakes.
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The boredom of driving the beasts had worn out Yù Méi's patience halfway through the journey. The youngest had left the reins in the trembling hands of the Grand Elder outside and entered the cabin.
Now, she was sitting on Zhì Yuǎn's lap.
The girl's legs wrapped around her husband's waist, and her arms encircled his neck. She kissed his neck and mouth, rubbing her body against his chest.
— You stole my spot, Méi — Yù Qíng commented, reclining against the velvet of the opposite seat. The priestess was not irritated. Her smile was purely amused and provocative.
— The driver's seat is too cold, sister — Yù Méi replied between kisses. She bit his lip and glanced back. — Our heaven's lap is much warmer.
Zhì Yuǎn maintained a calm posture. His hands rested on the youngest's buttocks, lightly caressing them.
The wives' performance had a clear target.
Seated beside the priestess, Mò Yán kept her head lowered and her eyes fixed on the carpet. The diplomat's face burned a vivid red. The silver-gray tunic stretched over her full chest with every uneven breath. Hearing the wet sounds of kisses and the blatant intimacy just a few feet away destroyed what little composure she had managed to regain. The Yin in her lower belly pulsed, responding to the couple's heat.
Yù Qíng noticed the sweat on the servant's neck and smiled.
— Our snow flower is melting — the priestess teased, her voice soft. — Could it be she also wants a spot on husband's lap?
Mò Yán swallowed hard.
— This servant… knows her place, my Lady — she replied, her voice thin and strangled by shame.
Yù Méi laughed against Zhì Yuǎn's neck.
— She says that, but her thighs are crossed and squeezed tight — the youngest mocked.
The jolt of the carriage cut the provocation short. The iron wheels crushed the courtyard gravel and the brakes screeched. They had arrived.
The playful atmosphere ended in an instant.
Zhì Yuǎn held Yù Méi's waist and lifted her, placing her seated on the bench beside him. He adjusted the collar of his gray tunic and looked at the white-haired woman curled in the corner.
— Your father is outside — Zhì Yuǎn said, his voice direct. — Go. Inform your clan.
Mò Yán stood up. She smoothed the silk of her tunic, forcing her breathing back to normal. The diplomat opened the cabin door and stepped down.
In the obsidian courtyard, Mò Tiān held his breath.
His daughter descended onto the black stones. He rested his hand on his sword hilt, expecting her to walk toward him with a report and the formal greeting of the Shattered Heaven Sect.
Instead, Mò Yán dropped to her knees on the stone floor and pressed her forehead to the ground.
She did not look at her father. She did not dare.
— Lower your weapons — her voice flowed firm, though with a slight tremor only she could feel. — My Lords have arrived. Anyone who raises a blade against them… will be treated as an enemy of my Lord.
Mò Tiān felt the world collapse when his daughter knelt facing the carriage, and not toward him.
For a second, he could not process it. Mò Yán, the daughter he had raised to be the perfect successor, was prostrating herself before outsiders in front of the entire sect.
Fury came afterward. He drew his sword with too much force; the steel scraped loudly in the silence of the courtyard.
— Have you gone mad, Yán'er?! — he shouted, refusing reality. — Guards, kill whoever is inside that carriage!
The disciples readied their spears and took the first step forward.
The armored door of the carriage opened fully.
Zhì Yuǎn stepped onto the obsidian courtyard. The midday sun struck his gray tunic.
He simply walked forward and stopped holding back his own weight.
The pressure of his body descended.
Mò Tiān fell face-first onto the obsidian floor. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered against the stone. The Grand Elder, who was still seated on the carriage's driver's seat, collapsed sideways and smashed his face into the gravel. The guards around them dropped to their knees and fell in unison.
The entire courtyard was pressed to the ground. No one could lift their neck. No one could move their fingers.
Zhì Yuǎn did not say a single word to them.
His leather boot passed a palm's width from Mò Tiān's face. He ignored the Sect Master sweating coldly on the stone and continued walking in a straight line toward the heavy doors of the main pavilion. His target was the Throne Ruins deep within the mountain.
The entire courtyard remained in absolute silence.
The gravity left behind by Zhì Yuǎn squeezed the air in their throats. With his face crushed against the stone, Mò Tiān tried to shout his daughter's name. He tried to order her to stop, to fight, to do anything except this. But his lungs lacked the strength to push the sound out.
Mò Yán was the only person the oppressive pressure had bypassed. The diplomat remained on her knees, but now with her torso upright and head lowered, perfectly still, ignoring her father and the elders fallen around her.
Yù Qíng descended the carriage steps while floating. The priestess walked over to the white-haired diplomat.
She held Mò Yán's chin with her index finger and forced her to look up. Her dark eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
— Good girl. You did well — she stroked the servant's chin with her thumb. — Now stand up. I don't want to see you kneeling on the dirty ground of this mountain anymore. Show us where your father keeps the tea. We have a new house to organize.
Mò Tiān had expected to see terror in his daughter's eyes. He had expected to see coercion. But when Mò Yán raised her face, the girl's scarlet irises shone with feverish submission and devoted blush — something he had never seen in her before.
It was not fear. It was not desperation. It was something deeper, almost religious. And that unsettled him in a way he could not explain.
— As you command, my Lady — Mò Yán's voice flowed unwaveringly formal.
She did not look at Mò Tiān on the ground. She rose to her feet, turned her back on her own father, and walked toward the grand doors of the central pavilion.
— The Shattered Heaven is now your garden, my Ladies. Please, follow this servant.
From the carriage's veranda, Yù Méi descended the steps grumbling:
— "Garden"… "Tea"… — She rolled her eyes. — If I have to listen empty-bellied to poetry all day, I'll tear this place down! Hurry up, "snow flower." Show me where you people keep real meat.
The trio of women walked calmly into the stone fortress, following Zhì Yuǎn's trail.
In the sunlit courtyard, Mò Tiān and the army of the Shattered Heaven remained pressed to the ground, abandoned in the dust of their own mountain — humiliated and irrelevant. They could only watch as Mò Yán turned her back on them and guided the outsiders into their own home.