The ground beneath their feet did not feel real.
Not because it was unstable—but because it was too stable.
The sect master steadied himself, instinctively circulating Qi, only to pause. The spiritual energy here did not rush. It did not surge. It rested, dense yet calm, like water that had never known disturbance.
Clouds drifted below the mountain.
Not mist.
Clouds.
The vice sect master's breath caught.
"We are standing above the sky," he said quietly.
Qingshi stood several steps ahead, already turned toward a stone path that extended forward and upward along the mountain's spine. The path was narrow, its surface pale and smooth, bordered by nothing but open air and distant peaks layered in mist.
"This way," the attendant said.
Neither man moved immediately.
They were cultivators—men who had spent decades standing above mortals—yet here, they felt something unfamiliar.
Small.
Not oppressed.
Not threatened.
Simply… smaller than the place they stood in.
They followed.
Their footsteps made no sound.
The path ascended gently, never steep, never winding sharply, as though designed for walking rather than challenge. With each step, the air grew clearer. The pressure of spiritual energy did not increase, but its order became more apparent.
"This energy…" the vice sect master murmured. "It isn't flowing like ours."
"No turbulence," the sect master replied. "No competition."
Cultivation in their world was struggle—absorption against scarcity, refinement against impurity.
Here, the energy felt… complete.
They passed stone markers along the path. No inscriptions. No symbols. Just standing stones, evenly spaced, their surfaces unweathered.
"Formations?" the vice sect master asked quietly.
The sect master shook his head. "If they are, they are beyond us."
The path crested.
And then they saw it.
The Immortal Courtyard rested upon the mountain's peak.
It was not grand in the way legends described palaces of heaven. There were no golden roofs, no towering spires, no rivers of light pouring from the sky.
It was simple.
A main hall of pale stone stood at the center, its doors open. Stone paths extended outward in measured lines. Low railings bordered the edges, beyond which the mountain sloped downward into cloud.
Everything was pristine.
Not new.
Unaged.
As though time had never learned how to touch this place.
The sect master stopped walking.
So did the vice sect master.
Neither spoke.
Their spiritual senses instinctively extended—then recoiled.
Not repelled.
Restricted.
As if the courtyard acknowledged their presence but did not allow familiarity.
"This place…" the vice sect master said slowly, "…has authority."
The sect master nodded.
Not spiritual pressure.
Not cultivation suppression.
Authority.
They stepped onto the courtyard stone.
The moment their feet crossed the threshold, their bodies reacted.
Qi circulation slowed—not forcibly, but naturally, like a river entering a still lake. Their cultivation did not weaken, yet it no longer dominated their perception.
They were guests.
Qingshi halted near the courtyard's center and turned.
"Please wait here," he said.
The sect master hesitated, then asked the question that had weighed on him since their arrival.
"Are we… worthy to stand here?"
Qingshi regarded him calmly.
"The Heaven of Resting Peaks does not judge worth," he replied. "Only alignment."
Before either could ask what that meant, Qingshi continued toward the main hall.
The doors remained open.
Beyond them, the interior was dim, yet warm with quiet light.
The two men waited.
They did not sit.
They did not dare.
Wind moved gently through the courtyard, carrying no sound.
The clouds below shifted, revealing distant landforms that vanished moments later.
Minutes passed.
Then—
From within the hall, footsteps sounded.
Not approaching them.
Stopping just beyond the threshold.
Qingshi emerged alone.
He stepped into the courtyard, sleeves folded, expression unchanged. Behind him, the hall remained open—but empty, its interior obscured by soft shadow.
"The Lord has acknowledged your arrival," Qingshi said calmly.
The sect master's heart tightened.
The vice sect master lowered his head instinctively.
"He invites you," Qingshi continued, turning slightly toward the hall, "to enter."
No name was spoken.
No figure revealed.
Only an open doorway, waiting.
End of Chapter 15