Zhang Hui considered the boy standing in front of him. Who was he? This child had easily twice the affinity Zhang Hui possessed, and yet… he seemed so amateurish, like he had no idea what he was actually doing. His control, too, was so completely lackluster that Hui almost believed it.

It was like the testing circle really was the first time he touched upon his own nature. But that was an impossibility—there was simply no way for a mortal to possess such power without having exercised it.

Ming fell into a form across the stage. A strange taste entered Hui’s mouth—it tasted of lavender and… fish? Hui did his best to ignore it, studying the form the boy had taken, which seemed almost familiar at first glance; but, he could tell it was slightly different than any of the forms practiced by the major sects of the island.

Which was rather odd, considering the power rolling off him as he took his first step. Hui could tell his step was not perfect—in fact, it could likely be called a perversion of the original technique, in how slow he took it. Nonetheless, Hui could see the form was of exceedingly high quality, truly reaching for the Heavens themselves, and the boy’s body shook with the strain of maintaining it.

But still, he was maintaining it. He took another step, and the energy shifted, inverting, as if the world itself was breathing. The air quivered with his every movement, and yet the boy seemed to have no idea of the profundity of his own dance. One step was an elegy to Fuxi, the next a song for the Creator, Nuwa.

Barely visible dragons manifested in the mists by the boy as he approached Hui. He clearly could not see them himself. The child still moved with limited strength, and Hui could tell the divine form was intended for a being far more agile than him, but… flawed as his execution might be, it was still leagues beyond anything the sects knew. The original technique would be a treasure prized above all else—Hui imagined the sects could not buy it even if they consolidated all their wealth. Was this the majesty of an Earth Realm Martial Form?

A few of the elders on the sidelines seemed to have noticed the grace with which he moved, for shock was plastered across many faces. Others did not grasp the true nature of the form, only seeing a mirage of youthful innocence.

Was this boy the reincarnation of a Deva, here to deliver judgement upon them from the Exalted Heavens?

The telltale call of an ignorant child made itself known. “He’s just walking! What are you all looking at?” Xiu said from the side.

And yet Hui could not pull his eyes away from the brilliance of the technique to scold him. Who knew if he would ever see something so magnificent in his life again?

“Young Master,” Hui whispered, “Pray tell, where did you learn that form?”

The boy just looked puzzled, though. He did not reply, but he stood still, looking upward as if conversing with some imaginary friend.

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Hope laughed inside Ming’s head. “This is terrible. But also hilarious.”

“What?” Ming whispered to Hope.

“The quality of the form you displayed to all the allied sects of this island,” Hope continued, “It was at least of the Lesser Horizon grade, beyond even my ability to evaluate.”

To punctuate his point, a wave exploded out from the hands of the old woman from the Rabbit Gate Society, surrounding the testing platform and freezing solid. He was trapped.

“Duck!”

Ming ducked, and two flying daggers barely missed him.

“Left!”

He pirouetted to the left, and a flying needle spun to leave a cut on his right arm. “What in the Nine Hells!” Ming yelled, continuing to dodge various magical apparatuses the best he could.

“Surely we can come to some sort of—” Zhang Hui started, appearing beside Ming before a scripted, enormous bar of metal came flying at the pair. A bulwark of flame exploded from Zhang Hui’s fists, turning into a beautiful golden and maroon phoenix that pounded its wings into the metal with the force of an erupting volcano. The metal melted down to slag—a brief reprieve in the never-ending assault.

“The Enlightened Chrysanthemum sect would pay any price for that form, Ming,” Hope said.

A deluge of ice water slammed into a shield of flame that Zhang Hui had conjured, breaking through in an instant. Lightning rumbled in the sky above.

“All pretense of civility has been done away with. The sects do not desire to bid.”

A stone shard nearly his size flew at Ming. There wasn’t time for him to step out of the way, and Zhang Hui was powerless against it.

“Your death would be more convenient for them.”

A massive root shot out of Ming’s chest, wrapping itself around the boulder in an instant and turning it to dust.

“I don’t have enough qi left to use another technique,” Hope said. “Figure something out, or you’re dead.”

“What do I do?” Ming asked Hope, and Zhang Hui set him with a weird look.

“Oh, I don’t know!” Hope said. “Maybe start with the thing that got us into this mess!”

Ming dutifully fell once more into the form Uncle Guren had taught him, taking a fluid step to the side to avoid the vine slapping toward him. His perception was enhanced in this stance, and dodging the attacks felt much more manageable, though he was edging toward the corner of the ice wall that Yang Jing had formed.

He took one more step, and suddenly he was pressed up against the wall.

“Ming!” Hope called, “You idiot! Here.”

A crushing weight slammed into Ming’s dantian, a wave of wood qi far more potent than his tiny pool could handle. All Ming could think about was how absurdly dense it was; that, and the pain. It cascaded into him, and when it found no room left in his own qi stores, it took the only other way out, through his channels. Channels he had never once properly used in his life, only ever having guided his qi through the help of an illusion formation made to siphon it directly from his spirit, and a martial form that guided his movements so fluidly as to feel like a dream.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The pain was excruciating, the potent liquid splitting and crushing his channels into disrepair as it cycled through his body, opening meridians one by one. Ming nearly fainted from the agony, but he managed to make a quick decision instead, mixing sun into the fluid circuiting his channels.

The sudden relief was palpable. The sun qi quickly formed scars on marred channels. He could tell that it would be a problem later, but at least there wasn’t wood qi leaking into his organs, for now.

He pressed his hands against the ice, hoping to vent the extra wood qi into it and form a way out, but it didn’t come.

He took another step to the right, dodging a blade that had been flying toward his head.

“It doesn’t want to leave!” Ming yelled.

“Achieve balance,” Hope said.

“Can you not be so cryptic right now, for once?” Ming shouted back, but he knew what he had to do. He pushed moon energy into his channels—enough to match the sun and wood already raging through them.

“See. Cryptic helps.”

Ming rolled his eyes, pressing his hands to the ice once more, and this time the energy listened, venting out from his channels to form a hole in the wall wide enough for himself to fit through in a brutish display of force, roots lining the edges.

“He’s escaping!” Ming heard one of the sect elders yell. The barrage of attacks intensified, and another layer of ice emerged to patch the tunnel he had bore.

----------------------------------------

Chen Shomei could sense nothing off about the steps Ming was taking—they looked fairly standard, and yet from the reactions of the elders she could tell they were anything but.

Shomei swallowed her spit, trying to get the salty taste of the ocean out of her mouth.

Thunder continued to rumble in the skies above, occasionally alighting the proceedings. Fear gripped Shomei’s stomach at the bad omen.

She ran her finger across the azure talisman she had found in the palace above the skies. Had they realized it was her that had taken it?

She tried pushing her qi into it again, but it failed to do anything useful.

The talisman was far more trouble than it was worth. Perhaps she could give it back?

“He’s just walking! What are you all looking at?” Xiu screamed, as Shomei began to shuffle around the enormous ice wall. When she got to the edge, she realized she was forgetting something.

She motioned to her brother to follow, and soon Bo was rounding the corner behind her. Sounds of battle erupted behind the wall, but Shomei just kept running, away from the chaos. She stayed close to the ice perimeter, scared to break out into the open. Bo trailed behind her.

Behind him, she spotted Wen Xiu and the boy Mao Yuchen, looking rather dazed.

Shomei rolled her eyes, but she kept running. A gate made of roots appeared in the ice wall to her right, and she saw a panicked Ming on the other side.

Against her better judgement, Shomei sprinted toward it, but before she had reached the opening, it froze over again. Shomei yelled in frustration, thrusting her hands toward it and pushing qi into one of the two techniques she knew.

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Guren stood up from the comfortable chair hidden in the corner of his beloved hut, uncovering the box below his bedroll and stashing the smoked spirit beast meat in his storage ring. He tapered off the flow of pure moon qi to the ornate illusory formation in the corner of the room, and the chair returned to plain sight.

Then he relaxed into the lotus position, sitting in his own doorway. Saying goodbye. He took a few breaths, and then he was ready.

Liang Guren removed his veil, and the world shook.

Clawed obsidian wings sprouted from broad shoulders, standing in firm opposition to the sun. Guren’s eyes turned to white orbs, and his skin unwrinkled itself, turning pale and flawless.

His soul exploded outward, and Guren’s senses easily covered the entire island in an instant. He saw the fight his fledgling was taking, and was somewhat dissatisfied with Ming’s footwork. Well… he had only been studying the form since he was three, so Guren supposed he could give him a pass. Nine years wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, and only a blink in the existence of an immortal like him.

Lightning struck on the path in front of him, and Guren floated to his feet.

“Liang Guren!” A man clothed in elegant white robes yelled, standing in the middle of a crater. Angelic, alabaster wings cascaded out from his shoulders, swaying in the breeze. He shot forward, angled at the man with the obsidian wings. Guren braced for impact as they slammed through four boulders, though it’d take more than pure force to hurt him. It was uncomfortable at worst.

“Why must you interfere in the mortal realm?” the man said, all too close to Guren’s face. He could make out the veins on his neck.

The back of his neck, that is. Guren’s body, pinned against the boulder, turned to mist. He appeared behind the sun cultivator, brushing dust from his robes.

“It was preventative,” Guren said. Then he raised an eyebrow, glancing at the scorched earth behind them.

The immortal snapped a finger, and the ground instantly reverted to its original state, as if he had never made his dramatic entrance in the first place. “Happy?”

He turned away suddenly from Guren. “What in the Nine Hells is that?” he screamed, shooting back to his feet. “Did you teach him that?”

His disciple had once again used Ten Thousand Steps to Eternity. He was a beacon. This was a complete mess—even more than Guren had thought it would be. Guren stiffened.

“I merely guided him toward the path.”

The man’s face contorted. “Are you insane? Do you want another Catastrophe?”

Guren scoffed. “No one wants that. However, the Moon’s Disciples do not desire another Severing, and we are willing to risk Catastrophe. We want unification.” Guren glared at him. “Of course, that should be obvious…”

The girl was running toward Ming, along with three others. Normally this would be an undesirable outcome, since Ming could surely find a way out on his own, but she had a stone in her possession… a waystone leading to a Hidden Realm on the mainland, judging from the inscriptions on its surface. It was positively ancient, so Guren suspected it was stolen from the Skyward Peak sect: they liked to collect powerful oddities, not that they could have made any use of this one.

It clearly required the qi of a Foundation cultivator.

“To think your lot would truly follow through with such a plan. You are all completely unhi—”

Guren’s wings fluttered, leaving behind an illusory copy of himself, though it wouldn’t fool the man for long.

He needed two breaths.

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A familiar feeling tugged at Ming’s mind as he slipped through the opening in the ice Shomei had melted.

He spotted a man, suspended in the air.

Darkness danced from the tips of hallowed wings as the creature gazed at the youths standing just outside an active battlefield. He was a young man most splendid, eyes endless pearls, skin jade white.

But, to Ming, he looked unnatural. It was wrong; a crime against nature. Where were the imperfections that everyone was supposed to carry? Those things that made us human. What was he?

“That creature could erase you from existence with a stray breath. If we weren’t dead before, we’re definitely dead now!” Hope yelled.

“Uncle Guren!” Ming realized, waving.

He just waved back, silently touching down in the middle of the group of youths. His hand moved slightly, almost covertly, and a flash of silver blurred through Ming’s vision. A ring had appeared on his hand, and a tiny cut directly under it, staining it with a drop of his blood.

“That’s a storage artifice,” Hope said. “Too high quality for me to properly evaluate. And he bound it to you.”

“Shomei. Artifact,” Guren said, holding his hand out.

Her eyes shone with terror as she dutifully handed him an azure stone.

“There are some goodies in here!” Hope said, peeking into the ring.

Guren tapped the stone, then threw it at the ground, where a swirling hole in space emerged.

“In,” he said, and his voice shook the Earth as a command from the Heavens.

The others jumped into the rift, but Ming resisted the compulsion urging him to do so, hesitating at the entrance. “Will I ever see you a—”

Lightning struck behind Guren, and Ming jumped through the gate.