The northwestern sky was covered by gray clouds. Above the main courtyard of the Misty Peak Sect, dozens of disciples in white robes flew on swords, crossing the air in organized routes.
Space tore open in the middle of the sky with a dry crack.
A silver rift opened in the heights. Zhì Yuǎn stepped out of the void, stopping in the air above the mountain.
He did not draw any weapons. He simply stopped holding back the weight of his own foundation.
The man's pressure collapsed onto the courtyard.
The disciples who were flying lost control of their swords at the same instant. The air weighed down on their shoulders like an invisible mountain. The cultivators plummeted from the sky, slamming into the white marble with brutal force. Bones snapped. Swords broke. Screams of pain and confusion filled the square. No one understood what had pulled them down.
Zhì Yuǎn descended and landed in the center of the square.
On the main staircase, the Grand Elder Lín Wújiàn widened his eyes. The old cultivator drew his sword, ran down the steps, and brought the blade down in a direct arc toward the neck of the man in the gray tunic.
Zhì Yuǎn didn't even turn his face to look.
The steel blade, the old man's right arm, and half of his chest crossed the invisible barrier surrounding the man. Flesh and metal simply ceased to exist.
There was no explosion, nor the sound of breaking bones. The silence of annihilation was absolute.
What remained of the elder's body hung in the air for a fraction of a second before falling. The left half of his body hit the white marble with a wet thud. His organs, sliced in half with impossible precision, lost the support of his ribcage and spilled out of the gaping wound, pouring a thick pool of blood and warm intestines over the boots of the fallen disciples.
The entire courtyard froze. The guards stared at the dust and blood, unable to move.
Zhì Yuǎn ignored the body. He walked to the exact center of the square, crouched down, and placed his right hand on the white marble floor.
Part of the energy he had stored over the past weeks flowed down his arm and sank into the dead rock.
The ground trembled. The stones cracked beneath his knee. The ancient inscriptions deep within the mountain drank the energy, and a massive pillar of light tore through the ground, pierced the sea of gray clouds, and shot toward the southern sky, connecting to the axis of the Shattered Heaven.
The first matrix had been activated.
Zhì Yuǎn stood up, raised two fingers, and tore space open again. He stepped into the silver rift, and the hole closed behind him, leaving the Misty Peak Sect in ruins and silence.
The silver rift opened in the center of the beaten-earth arena of the Iron Abyss Sect. Zhì Yuǎn stepped onto the dry gravel. Three hundred warriors were training with heavy hammers. For a second, they all froze. Then the troop advanced in a single, noisy block of muscle and steel.
Zhì Yuǎn continued walking. He simply raised his hand and released a clean wave of energy.
The invisible pulse swept across the arena. The three hundred men stopped mid-step. Their eyes rolled back, their weapons fell, and the entire troop collapsed into the dust like puppets with their strings cut. The man in the gray tunic walked across the field of fallen bodies, entered the mining cave, and placed his hand on the dark green jade matrix. The rock drank the charge. The second pillar of starlight tore through the southern clouds.
The job was done. He pointed two fingers and split space once more.
The rift spat him out into the courtyard of the Stone Cauldron Sect. The local alchemists noticed the invasion and panicked. Dozens of glass flasks flew through the air. A cloud of purple and corrosive gas quickly covered the courtyard, blocking the path.
Zhì Yuǎn released his pressure again. The poisonous cloud was flattened against the limestone in a fraction of a second, pressed until it became nothing more than a harmless liquid sludge on the slabs. The physical force hit the cultivators immediately after. The sound of dozens of Dantians cracking and bursting echoed across the courtyard. The alchemists dropped to their knees on the stone, coughing up dark blood and bile.
Ignoring the fallen bodies, Zhì Yuǎn walked to the base of the great stone furnace and rested his palm on the embedded rock. The third pillar of starlight shot toward the ceiling of the world.
The logistics were complete. Zhì Yuǎn raised his hand, opened the final portal, and stepped into the void to return to the Shattered Heaven.
------
The storage pavilion of the Shattered Heaven smelled of camphor and old wood dust. Heavy chests lined the stone walls, storing the finest silks collected as tribute from the southern cities.
In the center of the room, Yù Qíng discarded two rolls of blue fabric and pulled a heavy black silk and a white one from inside a cedar chest.
Mò Yán stood on the carpet with her arms raised. Her silver-gray tunic was already unbuttoned at the collar. Yù Qíng passed a measuring tape across the diplomat's back and pulled it forward, wrapping it around the woman's waist and the base of her full chest.
"Breathe in deeply, snow flower," Yù Qíng ordered, her voice practical and direct.
Mò Yán obeyed. Her chest rose, stretching the tape between the eldest's fingers.
"Perfect," Yù Qíng noted, releasing the tape. She looked at the rolls on the table. "I'm going to sew a black and white Hanfu for you. It will highlight the volume and curves that this old puritan tunic of yours always tried to hide. We're not going to the new world dressed like widows."
Mò Yán slowly lowered her arms. The priestess's impersonal and logistical touch planted a doubt in the diplomat's chest. She looked at the expensive fabrics, and anxiety ate away at her servant etiquette.
"My Lady…" Mò Yán's voice came out thin and hesitant. "Will I ascend with you?"
Yù Qíng stopped arranging the silk rolls.
The woman in blue turned her face. The eldest's dark and lethal gaze pierced Mò Yán's face. The apathy disappeared, replaced by a cold and territorial possessiveness.
"Isn't it obvious?" Yù Qíng's voice cut through the air of the pavilion, low and sharp. "Why else would I tolerate you even looking at my husband? If I didn't want you for him, I would've already ripped your eyes out in the carriage."
The brutality of the sentence struck Mò Yán's uncertainty head-on.
Instead of fear, a thick and comforting warmth spread through the diplomat's chest. She had spent days swallowing her own shame, envying the warmth they shared, feeling like discarded trash waiting to be punished. Hearing Yù Qíng confirm that she truly had a place here broke the last barrier in her mind. She finally belonged to that domain.
Mò Yán's scarlet irises shimmered with a layer of tears. She dropped to her knees on the wooden floor and lowered her head, letting the first tear of gratitude fall onto the ground.
The air tore open beside Yù Qíng's shoulder with a dry crack.
Zhì Yuǎn stepped onto the cedar planks, the space closing instantly behind him. The man didn't need maps or warnings to know where they were; the connection of his own internal void anchored him directly to his wives' presence anywhere in the world.
Yù Méi crossed her arms. The youngest completely ignored the dimensional surprise and looked at her husband.
"So fast?" Yù Méi asked, her voice breaking the tension in the room. "I thought we'd spend at least one more day down here before ascending. I haven't even finished choosing my silks for the trip."
Zhì Yuǎn adjusted the collar of his gray tunic.
"The three border matrices have already been activated," he replied, his voice deep and direct. "The energy I poured into the other peaks is already in sync. The central axis of this mountain is pulling the main charge right now. The portal is ready to tear open the ceiling of the world today."
The man turned his face. His dark gaze descended onto Mò Yán.
The white-haired diplomat was still kneeling on the cedar planks. Her face was wet with tears of relief that Yù Qíng's cruel words had pulled out of her minutes earlier. She lowered her head, trying to hide her loss of composure, but Zhì Yuǎn read the girl's state clearly.
He saw a servant who had just thrown her own clan away to follow his family.
"Your loyalty to your mountain is dead," Zhì Yuǎn said, his tone practical and cold, devoid of any affection. "But a mind with regrets becomes dead weight in the new world. And the only dead weight I carry are my wives."
Yù Qíng gave him a sharp elbow to the stomach without even looking.
"Shut up," she grumbled, but the corner of her mouth lifted.
From the side, Yù Méi let out a muffled "pffft," turning her face away and covering her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders shook.
Yù Qíng shot a sharp glare at the youngest.
Mò Yán held her breath. She decided she should ignore the strangeness of her Lords.
"Go find your father outside. Your grandfather is in the city of Qīngshí," Zhì Yuǎn continued, without even blinking. "I'll put you in front of him as soon as you say goodbye to your father. Don't leave any loose ends. After that, your past ends and your life is ours."
His permission, granting her the chance to close her own story with her family before being dragged away as a mere servant, struck the core of the girl.
Mò Yán touched her forehead to the wooden floor. Her heart beat unevenly. There was no romance in his words, only utility, but for a woman who expected to be treated like trash, that cold concession was absolute mercy.
"This servant… thanks for my Lord's mercy," Mò Yán's voice came out thin and choked, overflowing with devotion.
Yù Qíng, who was still holding the silk measuring tape, smiled with satisfaction.
"Go quickly, little snow flower," the eldest murmured, gently stroking Mò Yán's white hair with the tips of her cold fingers. "My husband doesn't like to wait. And we still have an entire ceiling to break today."