Jiu Xian and Yao Qing stood there frozen.
Their tear ducts felt dry, yet their chests burned. The scent of scorched wood lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.
It had happened too fast.
One moment they were celebrating survival...
The next—
She was gone—due to them celebrating too early— due to them being powerless.
They had known Granny for only a short time.
Yet somehow, she had slipped into their lives and carved a place for herself in their hearts.
Her terrible jokes.
Her shameless pranks.
Her proud, haughty lectures.
The simple meals they shared.
Those memories now felt heavier than mountains.
“Never again...” Jiu Xian murmured, his voice low and steady—not loud, not emotional, but firm.
A vow spoken to no one.
He bent down and carefully lifted her wooden body into his arms.
“Qing’er,” he said quietly, “We still have things to do.”
“Mm” Yao Qing nodded and followed beside him.
The forest gave them no comfort.
The emerald canopy above felt distant, indifferent. Their footsteps were the only sound as they moved north in silence, grief setting around them like cost mist.
Strangely no beasts crossed their path.
Not a rustle. Not a cry.
Perhaps the shockwave of the battle had driven everything away.
Or perhaps...
The forest itself was holding its breath.
Ahead, the trees thinned.
And then they saw it.
A towering stood alone in a clearing.
Its trunk was wide as a city gate, bark smooth like ancient stone. Cascades of pink leaves shimmered in the airless night, while a faint golden radiance coiled around its roots—a quiet, dignified light, as though guarding secrets older than history itself.
For a brief moment...
Thier grief loosened.
“Xian... look,” Yao Qing whispered.
She pointed at the trunk.
There— carved naturally into the wood—was a hollow shaped exactly like the pendant.
Jiu Xian’s grip tightened around Granny’s body.
“Yes,” He said softly. “Let’s open the secret realm... and give her a proper farewell.”
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Yao Qing took out the pendant with trembling fingers and pressed it into the indentation.
~Crackle~
Golden light spread across the trunk like veins of sunlight beneath bark.
The pendant vanished.
In its place, space itself twisted.
A circular gateway of liquid gold unfolded within the tree, rippling like the surface of a pond touched by unseen hands. Symbols — ancient, shifting, incomprehensible — swam faintly within the glow before dissolving into radiance.
Warm wind flowed outward from the portal, carrying a scent neither of forest nor earth — something pure, untouched, ancient.
Jiu Xian and Yao Qing stood rooted to the spot.
Their grief, their exhaustion, their fear — all stilled for a breath.
Even after studying cultivation, formations, and spirit arts…
This was the first time they had seen the impossible.
“…”
“…”
“Wow…” Yao Qing finally whispered.
Jiu Xian nodded slowly, eyes reflecting the golden light.
So this…
was the world cultivators walk.
Jiu Xian looked at Yao Qing.
She met his gaze and gave a small, determined nod.
No more words were needed.
Sid by side, they stepped toward the golden portal, Jiu Xian still holding Granny’s wooden body carefully in his arms, afraid even in this moment to loosen his grip.
The golden surface rippled as they passed through.
The world vanished.
A wave of dizziness struck him.
His vision smeared into streaks of light.
His limbs grew heavy.
His grip weakened.
His knees buckled.
“NOOOOOOOOO! NOT THIS AGAIN!”
A distant shriek echoed through the void — shrill, panicked.
Before he could understand it, warmth enveloped him.
Soft. Gentle. Like sinking into sunlight.
Consciousness slipped away.
...
“HOW MUCH LONGER ARE YOU GOING TO SLEEP? IF YOU ARE NOT UP BY THE TIME I COUNT TO TEN, YOU’RE IN TROUBLE.”
“Ugh... Mom, five more minutes...”
The words left his mouth before his mind caught up.
‘Mom?’
Jiu Xian’s eyes snapped open.
He bolted up.
Standing before him was a woman with long black hair, bright gentle eyes, and a smile warm enough to melt winter itself—the smile she always wore when he was a child.
“MOM!”
He leapt up from his bed and threw himself into her arms.
Something felt wrong.
His head barely reached her waist.
He froze.
She laughed softly and patted his hair.
“Go, wash up. Today is your admission test for the Four Arts Sect.”
Jiu Xian’s breath hitched.
He slowly looked around.
The small wooden room.
The worn blanket.
The sunlight through the window.
His childhood home.
He walked towards the washroom in a daze.
“Do you want mommy to help you?” She teased playfully.
“NOOO, MOM!”
His voice was smaller. Younger.
‘What is this? Wasn’t I with Yao Qing...with granny... going somewhere with Granny?
Did I go back in time? The Four Arts Sect... Why have I never heard of this?’
His reflection in the water— a splitting image of his younger self.
...
Yao Qing had fallen asleep the moment she stepped through the golden portal.
When she opened her eyes again—
She was home.
Her breath caught.
The wooden beams. The faded curtain. The faint fragrance of lotuses drifting in through the window.
Her house.
“Qing’er,” a soft voice called.
Her chest tightened.
She turned—
And there they were.
Her mother and father.
Alive.
Smiling.
Warm.
Real.
Her vision blurred.
‘I… Mom... Dad...’
‘This had to be a dream.’
But if this was a dream... she would rather sleep forever than wake up.
“Qing’er what’s wrong?” her father asked, already stepping towards her.
“It’s nothing,” Her mother said gently. “She’s just sad. Today is the Four Arts Sect’s entrance test. When she passes, she will be away from us for a long time.”
The words reached her eyes—but not her heart.
She looked down.
Small hands.
Soft fingers.
A child’s body.
‘No... Something is wrong.’
The thought surfaced again.
Louder.
Sharper.
But she pushed it down.
She didn’t want to look too closely.
Didn’t want the dream to crack.
‘I need to find Xian... and Granny.’
“Qing’er,” her mother said gently, hooking her finger around Yao Qing’s small hand. “Come now. You don’t want to be late for the Four Arts Sect entrance test.”
Four Arts Sect.
Again.
Her pulse quickened.
Why did that name feel like a door she was being led toward?
‘If answers exist… they’re there.’
She lifted her gaze, forcing a small, fragile smile.
“…Okay, Mom.”
...
Ao Tian opened his eyes.
He found himself in an unfamiliar scene.
The ceiling was unfamiliar—wooden beams, aged but sturdy. A faint fragrance of lotuses drifted in from the open windows, carried by the morning breeze.
His head throbbed.
Like something had been taken from him.
He turned his gaze toward the lake outside. Sunlight shimmered across its surface, calm, beautiful… distant.
A strange hollowness lingered in his chest.
Before he could gather his thought—
“COME BOY! WE ARE GETTING LATE!”
A loud, booming voice shattered the quiet.
Ao Tian blinked.
His body moved before his mind caught up.
His legs moved and he stepped outside.
His feet touched the floor.
He walked outside.
A burly man stood in the courtyard, broad-shouldered, hands thick with calluses. His face held forced cheerfulness, but worry lingered behind his eyes.
The man strode forward and lifted Ao Tian onto his shoulders with practiced ease.
The sudden contact made something inside Ao Tian tighten.
For a brief instant—
A violent thought flickered through his mind.
If I twisted hard enough… the neck would snap.
The thought vanished.
Replaced by warmth. Familiarity. Safety.
“Tian’er,” the man said, voice firm, “you must enter the Four Arts Sect today. Only you can save your mother now.”
Ao Tian frowned.
“Mother…?”
The man laughed lightly. “Still half-asleep? You need to cultivate properly and rescue her. Didn’t I tell you?”
As they walked, Ao Tian asked questions.
Each answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
And with every reply, something strange happened.
Memories formed.
Not recalled — formed.
Scenes appeared in his mind like ink spreading through water:
A woman screaming for him to run.
A man’s hand yanking him away as flames roared behind them.
A promise whispered under a moonlit roof.
The memories slid into place as if they had always been there.
But beneath them—
There was emptiness.
A faint sense that something else should exist.
Something greater.
Something he had lost.
Ao Tian looked down at the man carrying him.
He tried to grasp the unease.
The details fit.
The story made sense.
Yet…
The man’s warmth felt rehearsed.
The world around him felt staged.
