The flying sword descended onto Dove Peak with a whisper of steel against stone.
Fang Yi dismounted first, his boots touching ground without sound or flourish—as if the peak itself had been waiting for him.
Lin followed, legs heavy despite the lightness in his dantian.
The main sect area spread before them under the moon's indifferent gaze: wide stone paths flanked by lanterns that burned with eternal Qi flames, courtyards echoing with faint chants from distant halls, disciples gliding like shadows between pavilions.
The air was thick with scents—incense sharp as knife edges, polished jade cool and clean, the underlying hum of circulating Qi that made Lin's meridians twitch.
"Move," Fang Yi said. No more words needed.Lin hurried after him, robe sleeves brushing his sides
. They entered a side hall, its doors sliding open on silent tracks. Inside waited a restroom of warm stone and steam—a deep pool fed by hot springs infused with spirit herbs.
The water shimmered faintly, threads of green and blue Qi swirling within like living ink."Bathe," Fang Yi commanded.
"The ceremony waits for no one."Lin stripped. Sank into the pool.Heat invaded his pores. Grime from the cave sloughed away.
Fatigue dissolved like mist under sun. His dantian responded instinctively, drawing in the water's faint Qi—slow revolutions that left him light-headed, invigorated. He closed his eyes, letting the steam clear his thoughts.
For a moment, there was only warmth. Only possibility.
He emerged. Dried. Dressed in temporary inner robes—plain white silk, rough compared to Fang Yi's gift.Then the maids appeared.
Three women, faces veiled in deference, movements synchronized like parts of a single mechanism.
They bowed as one, guided him to an adjoining preparation room. Bronze mirrors lined the walls, reflecting candlelight in soft pools.
Tables held vials of scented oils, combs of spirit bone, pins shaped like dove feathers.The robe waited on a stand: darkish blue silk with precise red stripes, the small dragon embroidery on the chest coiled in eternal vigilance.
They unfolded it with reverence, as if handling a living thing.Lin stood still as they worked.First the underlayers—smooth, breathable.
Then the outer robe, sliding over his shoulders like water over stone. Sash tied with a knot that promised both freedom and restraint.
Oils applied to his skin, faint and herbal, sharpening his senses without overwhelming. Hair combed, sectioned, styled—long strands bound in sect fashion, falling to frame a face suddenly sharper, more defined.
He stared into the mirror.The boy from the cave was gone.
In his place stood a disciple. Polished. Ready. Someone who could stand beside Peak Lords without immediate dismissal.He shone.
Not with vulgar light, but with the quiet gleam of jade pulled from rough earth.Fang Yi waited outside, arms crossed, expression unreadable
.A nod. No praise.
He seized Lin's arm—firm, guiding—and pulled him toward the main hall.The doors parted.The Peak Lord sat at the hall's heart
.Calm incarnate
. An untouched pond under starlight—surface flawless, depths concealing currents that could swallow armies.
Her robe draped like liquid night, every fold deliberate. She lifted her gaze. Swept it over Lin from hair to hem.
A smile ghosted her lips. Faint. Approving.Relief crashed through Lin like cool rain after drought. He looked worthy.
He had not shamed the robe, or Fang Yi, or her.Then—Thunder cracked the silence.Not sky. Voice
. A roar that rattled rafters and froze blood before words formed meaning.The Peak Lord's hand flashed out
. Fingers closed on Lin's collar like steel hooks veiled in silk.The world inverted.They flew.Hall walls blurred.
Night air clawed at Lin's face.
The Peak Lord moved not as a person, but as condensed will—faster than thought, smoother than shadow.
Ahead materialized the boat.No—vessel. Monument. Golden hull forged in shapes of divine birds: fifty meters tall from keel to crest, a hundred wide at wingspan.
Spirit gold caught moonlight, gleaming with cold arrogance
. Every rivet, every curve screamed sect supremacy—dove wings folded in poised strike, beak piercing forward eternally.Qi auras throbbed beneath the deck, distorting air into heat shimmers.
She landed lightly.
Released Lin into a throne-like seat of cushioned jade.
Sat beside him."This," she said, gesturing with idle grace, "is Dove Peak's sixth-grade transport medium. Powered by refined Qi. Our symbol made manifest.
"Lin nodded, breath ragged. "I… understand, Peak Lord."Lies. Words failed against the reality humming through the deck.She faced forward.
The driver—gray-robed wraith, head perpetually bowed—received her glance like a command from heaven.
"Ceremony ground."The boat surged.Lin's stomach lurched. Landscape smeared: peaks crumbled to streaks, forests to green blurs, distances devoured in heartbeats. Thousands of meters traversed in seconds.
Wind screamed beyond barriers; inside, only Qi's low thrum, wood's faint polish scent, and pressure building in Lin's chest like storm clouds.
His dantian whirled faster. Unbidden. Hungry. Stray Qi from the air funneled into it, threatening overload. He clenched teeth.
Forced control.Not now. Not here.The boat decelerated. Hovered.Below sprawled the ceremony ground.No field. Ocean.
Qi lanterns floated in formations, casting crimson-gold webs across earth that could bury cities. Stalls ringed the perimeter—hawking meridian-cleansing pills, blade-sharpening talismans, wines distilled from spirit fruits
. Disciples swarmed: outer sect in drab gray, inner sect with embroidered sashes, elders looming with beards like petrified lightning.
Thousands—no, tens of thousands—their voices a distant sea-roar.The Peak Lord's fingers closed on Lin's arm again. Cool.
Absolute."Stay with me."She leapt.Freefall seized Lin. Ground rushed up—vast polished platform, encircled by expectant thousands.
Panic ignited—"Light of Undying Peace."Her murmur sliced wind.Radiance unfolded.Pale glow, soft as frost-kissed moonlight, crystalline as jade mist.
It cradled them, slowed descent to poetry. Fall became glide, mortal plunge became immortal arrival. They touched stone with robes settling untouched—grace absolute.The crowd detonated.Claps hammered like war drums.
Cheers crashed like tidal waves: "Dove Peak! Dove Peak! Dove Peak!"The Peak Lord raised a hand.Roar intensified, shaking earth.Lin's ears buzzed.
Legs trembled—not fear, but weight. Thousands dissected him with eyes: admiration, envy, calculation. His first taste of spectacle.
His robe held. His stance held.She glanced back. Smile faint, edged.Relief flooded him."What… was that technique?" he managed.
Laughter rippled from her—light as chimes, sharp as concealed blades. "Qi woven into light. Crafted for entrances like this."Joke to her mastery
.Revelation to his ignorance.First true technique beheld. Not instinct's spark, but artistry's command. Qi as medium, will as sculptor.
Hunger gnawed Lin's core—dantian aching to replicate, to seize.The Peak Lord advanced to the stage. Lin shadowed her, robe silk-whispering against stone.Raised platform. Banners rippled in Qi gusts.
Two jade thrones dominated, dark-veined, authority incarnate.Two men occupied them. Robes heavier, auras denser. Faces patience-carved, eyes judgment-forged.Their prodigies flanked them—the children Lin recalled, sharp-featured, clad in miniature finery. Born to inheritances.
The men's gazes locked on Lin
.Smiles synchronized—courteous veneers over steel.Peak Lords.Not Dove's. Others. Balances of power, veiled in ceremony.Lin halted at stage's lip.Uninvited. Unignored.Spotlight burned.
Murmurs thickened to smoke.
He was anomaly incarnate.The unguided flame.In a world of mapped roads, such sparks invited study… or extinguishing.
To be continued…