Bai Ning sat cross-legged in the lotus pose, carefully cycling her qi through her meridians. She was positioned atop the flattest part of the southern mountain peak of Cloud Veil Ridge, with Master Mo Jian watching over her from the western peak. Today was the day she would attempt her breakthrough into the Foundation Establishment realm.

  Ever since her return from the Enigmatic Death Domain—and all the complications it had brought—she’d noticed a change in her qi. It felt denser, heavier, more potent. Master Mo Jian had confirmed it: she was ready. She’d spent the last month in relentless preparation, meditating and circulating her qi without pause, living only on grain liberation pills until her body and spirit were both honed to their sharpest edge. Once she'd reviewed the foundational texts on the breakthrough one last time and felt confident in her chances, she had come here.

  Cultivation—or as the stuffy elders in great sects liked to call it, mortal cultivation—was a matter of storing and refining qi to nourish the self. The more qi a cultivator could store and control, the higher their realm. As the body—and more specifically, the dantian—became accustomed to holding greater amounts of qi, it began to increase its own internal production. Over time, a cultivator’s ability to generate qi would match their capacity to contain it.

  In the Qi Condensation realm, cultivators absorbed jing, the raw, unfiltered energy of heaven and earth, and refined it into usable qi within their bodies. This qi was circulated through the meridians and used to power magical effects. At this stage, qi was like air—thin, ephemeral, and invisible. Once the dantian and meridians reached their limit, the qi could be compressed to make it denser, turning it into something more like smoke—thicker, heavier, and more potent. This compression could be repeated twelve times, representing the twelve stages of the Qi Condensation realm. Beyond that, the qi could no longer be compressed further in its gaseous state.

  That was where Bai Ning stood.

  To move beyond, she needed to establish a foundation. The process was deceptively simple—a logical extension of what came before. If gaseous qi had reached its limit, it had to be made denser still: it had to become liquid. To reach Foundation Establishment, Bai Ning had to compress all the qi in her body—and all the qi her dantian continued to produce—into a single drop of liquid qi. That drop would then fall onto her dantian, nourishing and transforming it. Once this was complete, her dantian would gain the capacity to produce and contain liquid qi, and she would step into the Foundation Establishment realm.

  Master Mo Jian had once told her that a Foundation Establishment cultivator possessed over a hundred times the qi of a Qi Condensation cultivator. Their control over qi would increase drastically, and perhaps more importantly, their bodies would begin to reform under the influence of liquid qi. Food, water, sleep—none of it would be necessary anymore, just indulgences. And the reward wasn’t just power. Her lifespan would nearly double; she would live well over two hundred years.

  Bai Ning flicked that thought away. She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by what lay ahead—only the task at hand mattered now. That’s why she had begun mentally reviewing the cultivation stages again, steadying her focus, sharpening her intent.

  After Foundation Establishment came Core Formation. Her understanding of that realm was entirely theoretical, most of it gleaned by pestering Master Mo Jian for answers. If she modulated her tone just right—annoying enough to provoke a response, but not so annoying as to get punished—he would usually relent and share a few scraps of information. Still, she froze that train of thought and let it drift away. Focus.

  In Core Formation, the goal was to solidify the qi—to take it from liquid to solid. Cultivators formed a core of pure solidified qi within their dantian, referred to as the Golden Core, from which the realm got its name. The core had to be held under immense pressure and maintained with perfect control. Once it stabilized and established a macrocosmic orbit within the body, the breakthrough would be complete. At this stage, lifespan would increase to over five hundred years. With a mere release of qi, cultivators could stir heavenly phenomena—storms, earthquakes, and more.

  Beyond that… things became hazy. Bai Ning knew the next realm was Nascent Soul, often called the Gateway to Immortality, but its details were elusive. It marked the final step in mortal cultivation, the threshold before Immortal Ascension. But the specifics? Just myths, rumors, and the barest hints. Master Mo Jian knew more, she was sure, but he was cautious in how much he revealed—even her tried-and-tested annoying tactics had failed to coax more from him.

  Bai Ning drew a slow, steady breath, syncing it with the rhythm of her qi. She let her thoughts pass by, unattached. She felt her qi—both through use and through focused spiritual sense. That left her blind to the outside world, an uncomfortable vulnerability ever since she’d begun seeing the world as a cultivator. But she pushed that sensation aside with grim resolve. Any failure here could cripple her cultivation—and at worst, end her life. She wasn’t worried about death—Master Mo Jian was watching and would intervene if needed—but permanent damage? That was still very real.

  She couldn’t afford even a single mistake.

  With a steady hand, she grasped her qi and began reversing its flow. Normally, qi cycled from the dantian into the meridians, flowing through her body in a continuous loop before returning to its source. Now, she broke that cycle—forcing all the qi back into her dantian.

  Instantly, discomfort bloomed deep in her abdomen. It felt like she’d overeaten, like her stomach was bursting. But she persisted, shoving more qi inward, emptying her meridians. Her dantian swirled with energy, already generating more qi that she refused to let circulate. In moments, it felt like molten metal had formed in her belly.

  Pain radiated outward in waves. She gritted her teeth and focused—tightly, precisely—on keeping the qi under control. Normally, it obeyed her will effortlessly. Now, it bucked and writhed like a storm, slipping through her spiritual grasp like slick oil. Each time a strand of qi escaped into her meridians, she had to split her concentration to pull it back, making the process exponentially harder.

  Still, she endured. Her forehead beaded with sweat. Her body trembled. Slowly—agonizingly—her qi began to rotate within her dantian, a cyclone with a still center. It spun faster and faster. She pushed harder, compressing it further, ignoring the mounting pain that surged with every moment.

  She had come too far to fail now.

  Slowly, the resistance began to give way. Her qi started to spin on its own, a tight vortex within her dantian, denser than it had ever been, pressing against the limits of what her body could hold. Then came the first shift. It was subtle—no sound, no flash—but Bai Ning felt it. A sudden stillness in the heart of the storm. The qi, previously wild and unstable, began to coalesce. Threads tangled into strands, strands into streams, streams into a tide. The pressure did not ease, but it changed in nature, shifting from chaos into unity. Like iron melting into molten steel, the qi began to transform.

  Her spiritual sense, still turned fully inward, caught it: a glimmer, a shimmer, like a pearl forming in the depths of an ocean trench.

  This was it.

  She steadied her breathing—shallow, sharp—and tightened her control. Every flicker of thought, every stray emotion had to be cast aside. Her mind became a blade honed on the whetstone of her determination to succeed. The qi reached its critical point—the edge before change—and once again started to fight to remain as it was. It raged against compression, against her will, seeking to explode outward and release the pressure.

  Bai Ning clenched her hands into fists. Her body arched slightly, tendons straining against skin. She refused to yield.

  Instead, she roared—not aloud, but within. Compress! Her will thundered through her qi like a divine edict. Her dantian flared white-hot as all of it—all of her—focused on the transformation.

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  It obeyed. A single drop of liquid qi formed at the very center of her dantian. It was infinitesimal, yet impossibly dense. It glowed with an inner radiance, silver and blue, pulsing like a heartbeat. The moment it appeared, her entire body shuddered violently. Her spine curved, her lungs seized—and then, like rain falling on dry earth, the drop fell.

  It struck the dantian with a soundless impact, and in that instant, Bai Ning felt her world split open. Power surged through her body, fierce and wild. Her meridians expanded as if drinking in the heavens themselves. Her bones thrummed. Her blood turned cool, then hot, then cool again. Her skin shimmered faintly, qi running just beneath the surface. The drop of liquid qi spread, soaking into her dantian like ink into silk, reshaping it, reforging it.

  Her body began to change.

  She could feel it—the way one might feel their own heartbeat. The qi within her was no longer air or smoke. It was thicker and more potent. Her dantian began producing the liquid qi on its own, slowly, steadily. The effort to control it lessened as it no longer fought her. It listened.

  And with that, it was done.

  The pain receded, leaving behind exhaustion so deep it felt like she’d been hollowed out and refilled with lethargy. Her vision returned, faint and blurred. The spiritual sense she’d suppressed began to return, and awareness of the outside world slipped back into her mind like sunlight through parted clouds.

  The wind had stilled. The sky above Cloud Veil Ridge was a brilliant, crystalline blue. Mo Jian was no longer watching from the distant western peak. He stood directly in front of her now—and now she could sense the depth of his qi more clearly than ever before, like the pressure of an unseen ocean.

  She exhaled—slow and shaky—and opened her eyes.

  The world felt… different. Sharper. Closer. Her senses had become clearer, yet quieter, as if mundane sensations no longer reached her unless she chose to let them in.

  She looked down at her hands, turning them slowly. The liquid qi pulsed through her meridians like a silent river, calm but powerful. When she looked up, Master Mo Jian was watching her, his face filled with a quiet mix of concern and pride.

  A slow smile crept across her lips. It took more effort than she’d have liked, but the words came out steady—and triumphant.

  “Foundation Establishment. I did it.”

  He studied her for a moment longer, then shook his head with a soft smile. The concern in his eyes faded, leaving only pride.

  “I never doubted it,” he said. “Congratulations, Bai Ning. As your master… I couldn’t be prouder.”

  Bai Ning smiled faintly, leaning back on her hands and letting the wind touch her face. Mo Jian stepped away, giving her the space she needed. She closed her eyes, letting the wind and silence hold her for a little longer. The mountain was quiet. The sky was clear.

  And within her, the river of qi flowed—calm, deep, and alive.

  She felt like she was finally starting to catch up.

  …………………………….

  “Take some more, Master. You’ll need the extra energy for tonight.” Bai Ning held out another slice of snowflake carp, the qi-rich meat shimmering with fractal patterns of cold across its surface. Her expression was the picture of innocence—so exaggerated it could only be deliberate. Mo Jian, of course, caught the mischief simmering underneath.

  He wasn’t the only one. Subtle, she was not.

  “Bai Ning!” her mother, Bai Zing, exclaimed, scandalized. Beside her, her husband shook his head, clearly wishing to be elsewhere.

  Mo Jian, long-since used to his disciple’s mischief, ignored her bait. He knew better than to engage. Any reaction would only encourage her. Her mother, evidently, had not learned this lesson.

  “What, Mother?” Bai Ning asked, batting her lashes with exaggerated sweetness. “I only meant that Master plans to refine the Spirit Armor Talisman tonight. He’ll need his strength. It wouldn’t do for the Greater Dharma Sect’s hospitality to fall short.”

  A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of Mo Jian’s mouth, but he quickly suppressed it beneath the composed veneer of a proper elder. He accepted the offered slice of carp with measured grace, lifting it with his chopsticks. The cold qi prickled faintly against his skin before it ever touched his lips.

  Bai Ning beamed, victorious.

  Bai Zing opened her mouth, visibly preparing a retort—then thought better of it. She took a long sip of tea instead, muttering something into the steam. Her husband, seizing the chance to steer the conversation elsewhere, cleared his throat.

  “The Spirit Armor Talisman,” he said, directing the question toward Mo Jian. “That’s a sixth-tier refinement, yes?”

  “Seventh,” Mo Jian replied calmly, letting the word settle like a stone into still water. “It’s meant to guard against soul-rending strikes. I’ve secured the beast hide already. If the refinement goes smoothly, it should be complete by the second hour of the Dog.”

  Bai Zhou let out a low whistle, impressed. Bai Zing set her teacup down with a little more force than necessary.

  “And your disciple,” she said sharply, “will, of course, not be involved in this process.”

  Bai Ning clicked her tongue. “I have to be there, Mother. It's not every day one gets to observe a high-tier talisman refinement. I am still a student, you know.” She flashed a grin. “And as Master’s disciple, where else should I be but at his side, even if the hour is late?”

  “Don’t be coy,” her mother snapped. “You’re not fooling anyone at this table.”

  No—she certainly wasn’t. But then, Mo Jian suspected that was the point.

  He had long since stopped being shocked by her brazenness, though he’d hoped she would reserve such open provocations for when they were alone. He still believed this was simply the folly of youth. One day, when she was older, she would likely look back on this bold affection toward her master as a perfectly embarrassing memory. They might even laugh about it—someday.

  But for now, she was bold, open, and made no secret of it. If Bai Zhou and Bai Zing didn’t know their daughter so well, his reputation might have already suffered under whispers of impropriety—or worse, accusations of lechery.

  After her successful breakthrough to Foundation Establishment, he had brought Bai Ning to the Greater Dharma Sect to reunite with her parents and celebrate. Their initial shock at discovering their seventeed-year-old daughter had reached such a realm had quickly turned into pride. Mo Jian had quietly excused himself after the formalities, letting the family enjoy their time together while he retired to his guest quarters.

  Now, later in the evening, he had been invited to a small private feast with the family. And Bai Ning had clearly decided that this was the ideal setting to stir trouble.

  Mo Jian took another bite of carp, letting the tension play out around him like the movement of qi in a turbulent meridian. Bai Ning’s antics, her mother’s protectiveness, the father’s silence—he had long since learned how to weather familial storms.

  He preferred demonic cultivators. They were more predictable.

  “As her master, I’ll keep her in hand,” he said, even as Bai Ning pouted. “However, I must apologize. I’ve clearly failed as a teacher in some regard.” He held up his hands in a formal salute, a wry grin on his face.

  The sect leader and his wife hurriedly returned the gesture, flustered. Bai Ning huffily crossed her arms at his words.

  “No, no, Senior Mo. We know our daughter,” said Bai Zhou. “The issue lies squarely with her. I salute you for your patience—and your tolerance for her antics.”

  Mo Jian nodded, then glanced sideways at Bai Ning. She uncrossed her arms and lowered her gaze demurely, as if properly chastised and reflecting on her actions.

  But he could still see her face, and her smile hadn’t wavered. It promised nothing but trouble.

  After the feast ended, Mo Jian once again retired to his rooms, politely declining the sect leader’s invitation to a stage play performed by disciples in his honor. Bai Zhou had muttered something understanding, clearly not surprised, while Bai Zing had seized her daughter by the ear and dragged her off—protests and all—clearly intending to deliver a lengthy lecture.

  Mo Jian wished her the best of luck. His own words rarely had the desired effect on Bai Ning. She heard what she liked, discarded what she didn’t, and did exactly as she pleased.

  But that wasn’t what occupied his mind tonight. He’d been turning one thought over since the moment Bai Ning emerged from the Enigmatic Death Domain. He’d felt it again when she broke through to Foundation Establishment so young—so early.

  Where was Ye Chen, the hero of the story?

  He wasn’t supposed to appear for another ten years. But then, neither was the Ghost King. Yet the latter had already emerged, while the former remained conspicuously absent. According to the book’s timeline, Ye Chen hailed from Imperial Heavenly City—a place far from the Thousand Shattered Islands, a difficult journey even for an established cultivator. For Ye Chen to arrive in time to fulfill the events of the novel, he would have had to leave the city already.

  Mo Jian had no contacts there to confirm this. But if he assumed the story was still playing out—only ahead of schedule—then the hero was likely already on his way. And with him would come change.

  Unstoppable, unpredictable, and violent.

  The Thousand Shattered Islands—and perhaps even the mainland beyond—had remained in a delicate, stagnant balance for over a thousand years. But Ye Chen never left a place as he found it. Even when it wasn’t his fault, chaos followed him like a shadow. Mo Jian remembered the enemies Ye Chen had made… and triumphed over. Now, with the knowledge of this world’s deeper truths, the weight of those names pressed heavier on his mind than ever before.

  Old Devil Fu…

  He clenched his jaw. That was not an enemy he wanted to make—especially not with Bai Ning anywhere nearby.

  The truth was simple: he was worried. The plot was coming for him. For Bai Ning. And while he was strong—and she now stood an entire realm above where she had been in the book—he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were about to walk willingly into the lion’s maw, with no plan beyond prayer and instinct.

  No. That wouldn’t do. He needed to prepare—for Ye Chen’s arrival, and for everything that would follow in his wake.

  Rising from his seat, he stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool night air settle around him. Above, the sky was clear, the stars distant and bright.

  It looked peaceful. But he knew better. Peace, if it had ever truly existed, was already behind them.