The wind on Mount Zhenyuan was colder the higher one climbed, thin enough that even sound felt sharpened. High on the slope beneath the peak, where the clouds moved like a slow white sea, sat a solitary courtyard nestled into the stone. Its walls were lacquered dark, its tiles the color of dried blood. Hanging from each eave were delicate vermilion lanterns that did not flicker in the wind.
This was Vermillion Rose Abode.
From below, it looked like a quiet place. From within, it felt like standing before a sealed furnace. A narrow stair of pale jade led into the courtyard. The gate itself bore no plaque, no boastful inscription, only a single carved rose—its petals sharp as blades and its stem coiled like smoke.
Inside, the courtyard was immaculate. No ash lay on the ground, yet the air carried the faint scent of warm iron and dried flowers. A pool of clear water rested at the center, its surface unbroken.
Beneath a canopy, a woman sat with perfect stillness.
Liu Yunlian.
She wore simple robes of white with vermilion threading along the hems. Not ornate, but every stitch was placed with intention. Her hair was pinned high with a plain golden needle, and in her lap rested a jade slip.
She was a Dao Imprint cultivator. One of only three in the Liu family. At this unfathomable realm, every action—however minute—was filled with authority.
Behind her, a figure approached along the stone path. He stopped three paces away and dropped to one knee. "Immortal Master," he said, voice steady. "This subordinate greets you."
Liu Yunlian did not answer immediately. Only when the kneeling cultivator's forehead began to bead with sweat did Yunlian speak. "Report."
"Reporting to the Immortal Master, a 'Liu Chenming' from a mortal branch family tested for an Earth-grade spiritual root. This incompetent subordinate begs for direction."
"Oh? An Earth-grade root from mortal parents? Interesting," she said. "Zhenyi, you're the family head. Do you need me for this?"
The kneeling man—Liu Zhenyi—felt his heart tighten. "This subordinate only fears that whether he cultivates an 'Abyss Water' or 'Ember Fire' technique, or even a miscellaneous technique that is related, various elders will be upset that the resources to cultivate him won't be going to Dao Imprint seeds from their respective branches."
"Which branch is he related to?"
"Reporting, his grandfather descends from the Xu Branch."
"Hmmm…" this was indeed a minor problem. The Liu family had long been dominated by the Xu and Zhan branches, descended from the two eldest living Dao Imprint cultivators, Chengxu and Chengzhan. Liu Yunlian herself was a granddaughter of Liu Chengxu, giving the branch multiple Dao Imprint cultivators, causing some unrest and insecurity within the family. Giving Liu Chenming, a potential Dao Imprint seed, to the already strong Xu Branch would make the Zhan Branch unhappy. Having Chenming cultivate a family technique that took resources from direct descendants would make everyone unhappy.
"Change his name to the current generation name to indicate his change in status. We'll send him to the Sect in a few years so he avoids politics. He does need a cultivation technique that can impact the Dao Imprint realm… have him cultivate the technique that points to 'Destiny-Name Anchor' that we obtained a few years ago. We have Dao Imprint seeds cultivating here already. If he can't reach that realm, it's fine. The Sect is severely lacking mid-level talent. If he is a strong Foundation Establishment, that will be satisfactory.
"Keep him in the Far Lantern Courtyard until he goes to the Sect. We don't need elders trying to mislead him."
Liu Zhenyi felt like that last sentence was aimed at him, and he felt a chill run down his spine. He bowed humbly, and then left to retrieve a cultivation technique from the treasury.
….
Eight months later.
Far Lantern Peak was cold in the mornings.
Not the clean, refreshing cold of Willowbank's winters—this was a thin, biting chill that seeped into the bones. It made even breathing feel heavy.
Liu Chenming stood barefoot on the training ground. The stone beneath his feet was etched with faint formation-lines, the grooves filled with something dark and metallic. Even when the sun rose, the training yard never fully warmed. It seemed as if the ground was designed to drink heat.
"Straighten your back!" Instructor Zhao barked. "Do you want to cultivate, or do you want to crawl back down the mountain and plow fields until you die?"
A few children flinched. But none spoke.
Chenming's calves trembled. His legs already felt swollen, as if packed with wet sand. But he didn't dare shift. Because he wasn't standing naturally, he was standing under weight. Each child wore a gray vest stitched with iron-thread runes. The cloth didn't look heavy, but the moment it was tied, it became a mountain. Chenming could feel the weight press through his shoulders, down his spine, into his marrow.
Weighted tempering was the first lesson of Far Lantern, and every child started together. The goal was to temper the flesh, and then the marrows, so that the body could begin to draw in qi.
When Chenming first found out he had an Earth-grade spiritual root, he assumed he'd get special treatment, but that hadn't happened, at least not yet. The one perk he got was a new name.
Liu Yuming.
It was currently the Yu/Yi generation of the Liu family, so having this character in one's name was a sign of a direct descendent, not a member of the numerous minor branches that orbited Mount Zhenyuan. It seemed like other children were wary of Chenming—no, Yuming's status, and so he found himself spending time with the other few direct descendent children, who didn't seem as intimidated by him.
The Liu family had all children with spiritual roots—direct descendants and branch members, talents and wastes—begin their training together in order to foster camaraderie and a sense of closeness to the family. How long their paths would remain intertwined, no one could say.
The children took another step.
Stone scraped softly under bare feet. Iron-thread vests creaked. A few kids' breathing became ragged, but the line held.
Instructor Zhao paced along the rows like a prison warden. Every time a child's posture drooped even slightly, his bamboo rod would tap their shoulder or spine—not hard enough to injure, just enough to remind them.
After the third circuit, Zhao finally raised a hand. "Stop."
The collective relief was immediate. A dozen children nearly collapsed on the spot. A few stubborn ones remained upright, but their legs shook so hard their knees clicked.
Yuming exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself.
He did not sit. He had learned something on Far Lantern Peak: the first person to sit was usually the first person to cry later.
A girl stepped beside Yuming like she'd been waiting for the exact moment his legs stopped shaking.
Liu Yiling.
She was a year older than Yuming, but small and wiry, her cheeks flushed red from the cold and from effort. Unlike everyone else—who looked as if they were trying not to exist—Yiling looked as if she'd been waiting two months for permission to speak.
She leaned close and whispered rapidly, "You didn't sit. Good. That's good. If you sit first, Zhao remembers you. Zhao remembers everything. Also—your breathing's wrong."
Yuming blinked. "It is?"
"Yes." Yiling's finger jabbed lightly into his ribs like she owned him. "Too high. You're lifting your shoulders. That's why you're shaking. Here—like this."
She inhaled sharply, then forced it downward, belly expanding. Her breath came out slow and controlled.
Yuming tried to copy it. The pain didn't lessen, but it stopped spreading into his chest. Seeing this, Yiling puffed her cheeks proudly. "Even though you have an Earth-grade root, I'm still the older one!"
Yiling stood confidently with her hands behind her back as the children all dispersed.
The other children—most of them distant branches—kept instinctive distance from her. They all carried the surname Liu, but very few bore generation names.
Yiling noticed everything. When a boy without a generation character bumped her shoulder by accident, she turned her head slowly. "Watch yourself," she said, voice light. Then she turned to Yuming and regained her cheerful expression. "He smells like spirit caddies!" she quipped.
Yuming wasn't sure if he should take offense to that or not. Before he could respond, another boy approached quickly.
Liu Yuren.
He had sleepy eyes and a smile that looked friendly enough, but didn't reach his gaze. Yuming had seen him during stance training: when other children trembled, Yuren trembled too—he was just better at hiding it.
Yuren stopped a step away and clasped his hands with exaggerated politeness. Before he even looked at Yuming, Yuren gave Yiling a lazy smile. "Still talking?"
Yiling didn't miss a beat. "Still eavesdropping?"
"I'm not eavesdropping," Yuren said smoothly. "You're just loud."
"That's because you're slow," Yiling replied. "If I speak quietly, you won't catch up." Then, as if she'd had enough fun with Yuren, she suddenly turned to Yuming and blurted: "It's annoying."
Yuming blinked. "What?"
"You," Yiling said, pointing at him. "You're improving too fast. It makes the rest of us look bad."
Yuren clicked his tongue, eyes half-lidded. "Don't be ridiculous. You always looked bad."
Yiling glared at him. "Speak for yourself."
Yuren shrugged. "I am." Yiling ignored him and circled Yuming once like an elder evaluating livestock, then said brightly, "It's really not fair, now that you've sensed your Earth-grade root more qi condenses near you, so you temper faster."
Yuming smiled and said, "I'm surprised to see you complaining about fairness."
Yiling didn't quite know what he was talking about and was unsure of what to say, while Yuren laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "At this rate," he said, "you'll probably reach Marrow-Tempering soon."
Yuming nodded. "Yep, the elder is checking me after this."
The Spiritual Opening realm of cultivation, the first realm of cultivation, was divided into four stages: Flesh Tempering, Marrow Tempering, Meridian Unblocking, and Dantian Awakening. Strictly speaking, Flesh Tempering and Marrow Tempering weren't even cultivating—the body never actually circulated qi through meridians. Instructors liked to say the kids were cultivating because it got them excited and encouraged them to work hard, even though they were basically lifting weights.
Still, sensing a spiritual root and drawing surrounding qi nearby towards the body had the effect of dramatically shortening the time it took to complete these stages; it was very hard to achieve late Marrow Tempering without a spiritual root. Thus, even the least talented of cultivators who could never achieve Meridian Unblocking were still more useful than mortals.
After a few more minutes of chatting, Liu Yuming headed to the Instructor Hall.
The Far Lantern Courtyard didn't have real palaces—only stone buildings made to endure cold, wind, and countless years of children grinding their bones into something usable. But there were still places the children avoided instinctively: the punishment pavilion, the medicine storehouse, and most of all the elder's residence.
Yuming's footsteps slowed as he approached. He swallowed and stepped through the courtyard gate.
The courtyard wasn't large, but it was undeniably refined. A crescent pond sat to one side, lotus leaves unmoving despite the breeze. A small rock garden formed a miniature mountain range. Even the lanterns were different—no soot, no smoke, only pale flame that didn't flicker.
And standing at the center, perfectly still, was a woman: Liu Xuehan.
She wore a palace-style dress—layers of pale silk with silver threading that caught the light like frost. It was absurdly elegant for Far Lantern Peak, as if someone had dropped a court lady into a training yard. Her face matched her name: cold, beautiful, expressionless.
Yuming froze for half a breath. He had seen paintings of the Foundation Establishment cultivators before, but he had never stood so close to one.
Instructor Zhao stood off to the side beneath the canopy. Normally Zhao looked like a warden who could bark a child into obedience with a glance. Now his posture was still, his hands behind his back, face expressionless, and his jaw filled with tension.
Xuehan didn't acknowledge Zhao at all. Her gaze landed on Yuming like the weight of winter. "Liu Yuming," she said.
"Ming'er respectfully greets the Ancestor," Yuming answered quickly, bowing and cupping his hands.
Xuehan's eyes flicked over him once. "You are close to Marrow Tempering," she said. Zhao cleared his throat as if preparing to speak and immediately stopped, swallowing the words before they could leave his mouth.
Xuehan put her palm to his head, and Yuming felt a chill reverberate through his entire body. Xuehan's eyes flickered slightly as she said, "Not bad, you've already reached the baseline of Marrow Tempering."
As she spoke, Instructor Zhao silently put away the jade tray holding Spirit-Reflection Dew that was originally meant to test his progress, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"Ming'er was only lucky," Yuming responded politely.
Xuehan turned her gaze to Instructor Zhao. "He can begin Marrow Tempering tomorrow. You are dismissed."
Instructor Zhao bowed and hurried out of the room, leaving Yuming and Xuehan alone in silence. This is Liu Xuehan from the portraits! Xuehan, Generation Xue, that means she's at least one hundred years old… Yuming thought to himself.
"Tell me," began Xuehan, "what is cultivating?"
"This incompetent one-"
"Cut the flattery, we're family," Xuehan interrupted, but her expression remained unchanged. "What do you think cultivation is?"
Yuming thought seriously for a moment. He was aware that the exercises they'd been doing so far weren't really cultivating—despite what the instructors said—so he responded with what he knew: "Cultivating is the act of drawing qi into the body, cycling it within your dantian, and refining it into a condensed form."
"Indeed, for low level cultivators, cultivation is merely the act of cycling qi. But you will be a future pillar of our Liu family. You need to know not just the how, but the why."
Yuming gulped, afraid he was about to learn some horrifying secret.
"I'm an old lady," continued Xuehan, "I've seen a lot of things in my life. I've even seen Golden Core True Monarchs take action."
Those words stunned Yuming. He had already learned about the cultivation realms: Spiritual Opening, Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment, Dao Imprint, and Golden Core. But even Dao Imprint was legendary—just possessing one would give a family the title of "Immortal Clan"—the Golden Core realm was beyond that. Even uttering the two words 'Golden Core' was taboo.
"I've seen a Golden Core True Monarch emerge from his Grotto-Heaven and fill the world with his dharma body. His body was ethereal and it unfurled across the sky like a second firmament, half-hidden in cloud and starlight, its limbs woven from flowing scripture and golden mist. Mountains seemed like pebbles beside him, and his robes depicted tigers bowing and dragons paying homage. His gaze turned day into dawn. I stared until my eyes bled, yet still could not see his whole form.
"And with his outstretched arm, he reached towards the Heavens, with all of space seemingly contracting itself to fit into his palm. As he tugged his arm down, a star fell, and an extraterrestrial Realm-Heaven descended into our world."
Yuming's heart was filled with both terror and exhilaration. He'd known that cultivators lived long lives and were very powerful—strong enough to make mortals prostrate themselves in their presence, but his understanding of their power was limited to flying swords and fancy spells. This was plucking a star from the sky!
"Tell me," Xuehan said calmly, "do you think that someone can overturn the heavens merely because they've absorbed lots of qi?"
Yuming shook his head decisively.
Xuehan looked at him for a long moment, then nodded faintly.
"Good," she said. "At least you understand that it isn't just swallowing more qi. Qi is not power. Qi is only material. The kindling. The clay."
Yuming blinked. "Then what is power?"
Xuehan's eyes did not soften. "Power," she said, "is the right to exist as yourself."
The words struck him strangely—too heavy for something spoken so lightly.
Xuehan's gaze sharpened. "The world you live in is not built on rock. Not truly. Rock, rivers, clouds, even space—those are only the surface."
Her voice dropped. "Underneath is the foundation of reality itself."
"The Sea of Suffering."
Yuming's mouth went dry. "It isn't an ocean," Xuehan said. "And it isn't made by mortals."
Yuming was startled. "Not made by mortals?"
Xuehan shook her head. "Before the first beast ever drew breath, before the first mortal ever cried, even before Heaven first spun its stars—there was already the Sea."
She raised a finger and pointed downward.
"The Sea is not emotion," she said. "Emotion is only foam on its surface."
Yuming swallowed hard. "Then what is it?"
Xuehan's answer was immediate. "It is indeterminacy," she said. "It is what exists before things are decided, before they are named, before they are one thing rather than another. In the surface world, a stone is a stone. A tree is a tree. A man is a man."
Her eyes narrowed.
"In the Sea, those boundaries weaken."
Yuming felt a creeping cold in his bones. "Weaken how?"
"In the Sea of Suffering," she said, "there is no natural guarantee that you remain yourself."
Yuming forced himself to ask, "You mean… I could die?"
"No," Xuehan said. "Mortals do not simply… lose themselves. No one walks down the street and suddenly forgets who they are."
Yuming's shoulders loosened slightly, but then Xuehan's gaze sharpened again. "That isn't what I mean."
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "A mortal is not truly an independent being," Xuehan said. "Not yet. A mortal is a thing the surface world is willing to hold in shape."
"So…" he whispered, "cultivation is… not about qi at all."
Xuehan's eyes flashed with approval. "Now you're listening. Cultivation is the act of building something inside yourself that the Sea cannot dissolve."
"Here," she said, gesturing around the room, "you are named. Measured. Given borders. Your body has weight. Your thoughts follow time. Your memories stack in a line. Even if you never think about it, Heaven and Earth are constantly doing the work of keeping you… coherent."
Her eyes narrowed.
"But the Sea does not do that work."
"And don't misunderstand me," she said. "No one can scoop up the Sea of Suffering in a basin and throw you into it like drowning a dog."
Yuming flushed, ashamed he'd imagined it that way.
"The Sea is already here," Xuehan said, tapping her foot lightly against the floor. "It is beneath this room, beneath the sky, beneath the very idea that things have borders. It is what the world rests on."
Yuming swallowed. "Then… what does it mean that it doesn't define me?"
Xuehan's gaze was steady.
"It means that, to the Sea of Suffering, you are not yet an independent existence," she said. "You are a surface-phenomenon. A temporary contour. A ripple that looks like a person only because the surface world is calm enough to allow it."
Xuehan raised her hand, palm upward. "When a lake is still," she said, "you can see the moon clearly reflected upon it."
She closed her fingers slowly into a fist. "But if the water churns, the reflection is still 'there'… and yet nowhere at all."
Yuming's mouth went dry. "So a mortal…" he began.
"A mortal is like the reflection," Xuehan said. "Not false. Not nothing. But also not something the depths will recognize as separate."
She paused, then delivered the point cleanly:
"Your name, your body, your thoughts—those are real only because the surface world continuously maintains distinction."
Her voice dropped.
"But the Sea recognizes only what can maintain itself."
Yuming's hands were cold. "And cultivation… lets you do that?"
Xuehan nodded. "Yes," she said. "To cultivate is to condense yourself. Bit by bit, you take what is scattered—body, mind, breath, will—and you compress it into something the Sea cannot smear into formlessness."
Yuming's throat bobbed. "So the stronger you are…"
"The more real you are," Xuehan said simply.
Then her gaze sharpened. "But identity alone is not enough. A stone has identity. A corpse has identity. A true cultivator is not merely someone who exists. They are someone who exists with direction—a fixed intent, a chosen flow, a path that does not change even when the Sea churns."
Her eyes looked distant for a moment.
"That is why cultivators become terrifying," she said. "Because they are no longer upheld by Heaven and Earth like mortals are."
She paused.
"They become something Heaven and Earth must uphold in return."
Yuming's heart pounded.
Xuehan leaned back. "So when you see a Golden Core pluck a star," she said quietly, "do not think it is because he swallowed a mountain of qi."
"Think of it like this: once your self is condensed enough, and your direction is absolute enough… the world has no choice but to move when you move."