“It’s not like we’re late,” Mo Jian remarked dryly as he stepped through the open door into a short, wide hall.

  The floor was made of a transparent material laid over a bed of river stones, giving the unsettling sensation of walking on glass above a streambed. The walls shared the same soft blue as the exterior, broken only by calligraphy scrolls and illustrations of meditation forms. Otherwise, the space was bare and tranquil, almost austere.

  Mo Jian had only a heartbeat to take it in before Fan Mei stepped squarely into his path, arms folded.

  Her sharp eyebrows drew together like unsheathed blades. She did not look amused. Her expression softened a fraction when her gaze passed over Bai Ning and Nui Feng, but when it returned to Mo Jian, one eyebrow lifted in a precise, cutting arc.

  “I was expecting you at first light,” she said. “Do you know how many participants have already entered the first round? This is not a matter to take lightly.”

  Mo Jian raised both hands in surrender. “And I’m not. We left exactly when instructed and arrived exactly on time. Besides,” he gestured over his head vaguely, referencing the green ring, “given the nature of the first round, I doubt timing is as critical as we assumed.”

  Fan Mei nodded, her fierce look easing, though not disappearing entirely. She turned to Bai Ning. “It’s good to see you as well, junior Bai Ning. And congratulations again on your advancement.”

  Bai Ning saluted formally. “Many thanks, Senior Fan Mei. May I ask, how many have already begun the tournament?”

  Fan Mei exchanged a brief, unreadable glance with Nui Feng, who inclined her head. Then Fan Mei pivoted and began walking deeper into the hall. She spoke as she walked, and they fell in behind her.

  “A few hundred so far. I’ll explain more in a moment, but the preliminary round works like this: those who enter early face danger that is more dispersed and have more time to attempt a successful pass, while those who enter later encounter hazards more frequently. The key is to strike a balance between the two points, but for every cultivator who chooses to wait, a dozen more have already gone in.”

  Mo Jian nodded. That aligned with what he had inferred from the ring and his prior experiences in the World of a Million Cubes. Fan Mei wasn’t angry; just concerned that they might miss the optimal time to enter. He understood that well.

  She led them from the short hall into a wider chamber, where a hovering chandelier of pale blue flames cast a bright, ethereal light. Delicate glass windows opened onto a garden sculpted entirely from clouds, shaped into plants, animals, and shifting forms whose colors bled gently at the edges, turning the pure white into vivid, dreamlike hues. They seemed almost alive, and even from here Mo Jian could sense the qi pulsing faintly within them.

  His earlier thought returned unbidden: Extravagant, indeed.

  At the center of the room stood a low table draped in richly embroidered silk, four seats arranged neatly around it. Upon the table rested a steaming teapot with small cups and saucers, along with a bowl of spirit fruit glistening with red, translucent flesh. Mo Jian plopped into a seat without ceremony, while Fan Mei took hers with cultured elegance.

  Before Bai Ning could sit, Nui Feng cleared her throat. “Junior Bai Ning, how about accompanying me to the next room? I can try to read your fortune, if you’d like. This way, Sister Fan and your master can have some time to catch up.”

  Bai Ning froze. Mo Jian knew her well enough to see the brief war behind her eyes: the rare chance to speak alone with someone like the Diviner herself versus the insult of being shooed away so the adults could talk. But excitement struck fast, overwhelming everything else.

  “Really, Senior? Then I won’t be polite!” Bai Ning stepped forward immediately. “Can I see your Future Sight Mirror? And when you say fortune…” Her voice trailed off as Nui Feng laughed and gently steered her into the adjoining room, closing the door behind them. Bai Ning didn’t so much as glance back for permission.

  Mo Jian sighed and picked up a slice of spirit fruit. “If she comes back crying because she was scammed, I refuse to help.”

  Fan Mei gave him an unimpressed look. “Sister Nui is not a scammer, Brother Mo. You really should let that incident go.”

  He grunted, grateful for the fact that Fan Mei had no idea about his true… feelings towards Nui Feng. And thank the Heavens, and the Thunder Agency, for that. If she found out, she would never let him live it down.

  Fan Mei continued as if nothing had happened. “Brother Mo, have you heard anything about the first round so far? I can explain everything, but tell me if you’ve already gathered some idea.”

  He nodded. “I saw the ring around the arena. To think the Song clan brought out the World of a Million Cubes for this. They must be wagering quite a lot on the tournament.”

  Fan Mei faltered at his words, eyes widening a little in surprise. “You know about that spatial realm? I knew you lived on the mainland before coming here, but even so…”

  Mo Jian lifted his teacup, studying how the light rippled across the surface of the brew. He offered no explanation.

  Fan Mei took the hint. Coughing delicately, she moved on. “In any case, that is good news. If you’re familiar with it, you should already know this: the realm is best entered tomorrow, given the week-long schedule of the first round. I trust Bai Ning is prepared?”

  Mo Jian took a sip. The tea was excellent; he sighed in quiet appreciation before setting the cup down. “As ready as she can be. I spent the past year cramming as much fighting knowledge into her as possible, though she needed little instruction. She’s talented enough that my role has mostly been to nudge her in the right direction. No, don’t worry; while I can’t promise victory, if she doesn’t at least reach the semifinals, I’ll eat my ding.”

  Fan Mei’s smile was warm and unguarded. “Knowing her, she might be tempted to take a loss just to see you attempt that.” Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “But I’m glad to hear it. You know her prospects better than anyone. Speaking of which, Fu Zhan still hasn’t shown himself.”

  Mo Jian paused mid-reach for another piece of fruit, then sighed again. “Nothing we can do about that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up only at the last minute, just to make an entrance. I tried to learn what I could about him quietly, but found almost nothing. What makes him so dangerous compared to others in the same realm?”

  Fan Mei was far more likely to know what he could not uncover. She moved in circles he could only observe from the outside. He knew Fu Zhan was Old Devil Fu’s grandson and the rumored favorite to win the tournament outright, but despite the boy’s name being on the lips of every wagging tongue in the Islands, solid information was scarce.

  “The fact that he’s still in that realm,” Fan Mei replied, her expression darkening. “Brother Mo, he could have advanced to Core Formation already, but he’s delaying it for some reason. No doubt some ancient wisdom passed down by his grandfather. But for us, it means this: he is an opponent who has pushed his foundation to the absolute peak allowed in this tournament.”

  She met Mo Jian’s gaze squarely.

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  “That is why I said that aside from Bai Ning, I can think of no one capable of defeating him.”

  Mo Jian took a moment to absorb her words. Delaying advancement? He had heard of it only rarely. Even the book had barely touched on it; in its pages, the hero had blasted through realms as quickly as possible, often faster than should have been possible, with each breakthrough treated as another excuse to flaunt how impossibly special he was.

  Finally, Mo Jian leaned back and stared moodily at the ceiling. “Wonderful,” he deadpanned. “Exactly the encouraging news I wanted to hear before the tournament begins. How are you so certain Bai Ning can beat someone like that?”

  Fan Mei rolled her eyes. “Let’s not pretend otherwise. Fu Zhan may be a prodigy among prodigies, but she is heaven-blessed in a way I’ve never heard of, let alone seen. And besides, Bai Ning has her own advantages. You taught her, Brother Mo.”

  He snorted. “A Nascent Soul cultivator I am not. If she wins, it will be despite my teaching, not because of it. Her instincts were sharper than anything I could offer. My job was simply to make sure she didn’t develop fatal habits.”

  “Don’t pretend you were a bystander. Anyone can see she respects you,” Fan Mei said softly. “And that matters more than most people admit.”

  He had no response to that, besides feeling like he didn’t deserve the compliment, so he let silence settle between them. Above, the chandelier’s blue flames flickered like ink dispersing in water. The air carried the warm fragrance of spirit fruit and the faint floral sweetness drifting in from the cloud garden outside.

  Eventually, he sighed and set his teacup down with a quiet click. They had danced around the issue long enough. He met Fan Mei’s eyes directly. “All right. What’s worrying you so much that you asked Bai Ning to leave? If it were only the tournament rules, you would’ve told us both.”

  Fan Mei folded her hands on the table and returned his gaze with equal seriousness. “I told Lord Qing about Bai Ning.”

  Mo Jian almost closed his eyes, but stopped himself at the last moment. Instead, he let out a long, slow exhale. “Part of the plan,” he managed. “How did he take it?”

  Fan Mei’s lips twisted as if she had bitten into something sour. “He wasn’t pleased that I had kept certain things from him, but I managed to pacify him. The situation is under control. However… he did express interest in you.”

  “Me?” Mo Jian echoed incredulously. That was like hearing that a man had been told about the largest, most brilliant diamond in the world, only for him to turn around and express interest in the band of gold it was set on. Why was he even part of the conversation at all?

  Fan Mei nodded, looking neither alarmed, nor managing to be entirely at ease. “He suggested that you serve as one of the judges under his faction for the second round onwards.” Before he could ask for a clarification, she added, “Each faction can appoint ten judges to represent the will of their Nascent Soul leaders. It’s largely ceremonial, since the final decisions still rest with the four elders, but it serves as a public facade. If it helps, Sister Nui Feng and I will also be serving as judges for Lord Qing.”

  “Huh.” Mo Jian rubbed his face, coming up empty for anything more articulate. That was… interesting. The publicly announced rules had been irritatingly vague, and given how meticulously organized the rest of the tournament was, the vagueness had to be intentional. Now he had to fit this new institution of judges into the scrambled puzzle he was trying to assemble.

  “Putting that aside for a moment,” he said after turning the matter over and arriving at nothing useful, “what can you tell me about the remaining rounds? That’s what I want to know most right now.”

  Fan Mei gave a sour smile. “It’s what everyone wants to know. Unfortunately, nothing has been announced. Every Nascent Soul cultivator involved took a soul oath not to reveal the details for the sake of fairness, so we’re all meant to stay equally in the dark. The most I know is that the second round will be a team event, and the third an elimination fight. As generic as that sounds, it’s the honest answer.”

  Mo Jian promptly scowled. “That is…” He struggled to find words strong enough to express his thoughts without sounding rude. “…highly unorthodox. What exactly are they playing at?”

  Fan Mei offered a sympathetic look. “I have been wondering the same thing.”

  The feeling crept back; the same one he’d had during the Ming family auction. As if he were nothing more than a pawn on someone else’s board, moved by hands he could not see. Only this time, he could not afford to be caught off guard.

  Before he could speak, a faint pulse of qi brushed the edge of his senses, drifting from the room where Bai Ning and Nui Feng had gone. It wasn’t hostile, but rather bright and curious instead, like a handful of charms being stirred by an unseen hand.

  Fan Mei felt it too. “Looks like Sister Nui has already begun.”

  Mo Jian rubbed his forehead. “If she comes out talking about mysterious destinies or lights in the void, I’m blaming you.”

  “You can try,” Fan Mei said with a quiet laugh. “But it will change nothing.”

  ………………………

  After that unsettling discussion with Fan Mei, and after barely managing to slip free of Nui Feng’s clutches, who had somehow, in the span of half an hour, lured Bai Ning entirely to her side, Mo Jian felt more than ready for a change of company. Nui Feng had even offered him a “discount” to read his fortune, wearing the exact expression of a shopkeeper calculating how many spirit stones he was worth.

  Before she could scam any additional money out of him, or worse, make him blush again, he collected his disciple and headed off to find the delegation from the Greater Dharma Sect.

  It had been almost a year since Bai Ning had seen her parents. They hadn’t visited during her training, and Mo Jian found himself thinking, somewhat wistfully, that a simple, ordinary conversation with simple, ordinary people sounded uncommonly appealing. Unfortunately, as Foundation Establishment cultivators, solidly respected but not influential, her parents had been placed at the opposite end of the cloud ring.

  Since Bai Ning was scheduled to enter the tournament tomorrow, they couldn’t spare the half-day it would take to walk the entire ring and admire the sights along the way. So, they took the faster route and flew instead.

  The skies above the ring were clear and bright, cloud-bridges drifting beneath them like polished jade ribbons. As they rose higher, a cool wind swept past, carrying the scents of incense, roasted spirit nuts, and the unmistakable floral sweetness of cloud blossoms in full bloom. It was, Mo Jian decided, a far more peaceful atmosphere than anything involving Fan Mei or Nui Feng. He didn’t mind Fan Mei’s company normally, but right now he wanted a break from heavy matters.

  Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

  “What exactly did it say?” he repeated for the third time, clinging to the faint hope that Bai Zhou’s answer might somehow change.

  It didn’t.

  “The Song clan would be amenable to sponsoring the Greater Dharma Sect as their primary trading partner for the central islands,” Bai Zhou recited dutifully. “Additionally, should we agree, three cultivators from the Sect will be permitted to cultivate in the Mystic Qi Caves on Jadeflame Island to attempt breakthroughs to Core Formation. In return, the Greater Dharma Sect will voluntarily submit to the Song clan, though remain independent in function and governance.”

  Mo Jian resisted the urge to curse. It had been too much to hope that Bai Ning’s parents and their sect might escape the attention she had drawn, but he had hoped nonetheless. They had even maintained their distance from the Sect for precisely that reason, to avoid giving anyone the impression of deeper ties.

  Yet here they were.

  “How did you respond?” he asked, already dreading the answer. There were no good responses to this situation, only a spectrum ranging from bad to worse.

  Bai Zhou met his eyes with quiet resolve. “I refused politely and sent a gift back with the message. I haven’t heard anything since, so I hoped the matter ended there. But I thought you should know.”

  Mo Jian nodded, though the knot tightening in his stomach suggested otherwise. Bai Zhou was being optimistic, overly so, if he believed a polite refusal would put an end to anything. Still, there was one question that mattered most.

  “And they did not mention Bai Ning by name? Not even indirectly?”

  Bai Zhou shook his head, a scowl tightening his features. “No. Only that three spots in the Mystic Qi Caves would be offered. I suspected immediately, of course, but there was no way to call them out on it.”

  “No, no,” Mo Jian said quickly, lifting a hand to reassure him. “You did well. Best not to provoke a major power unnecessarily. A polite refusal won’t end the matter, but it’s still better than offending a Nascent Soul cultivator.”

  Bai Zhou nodded, though a sheepish look crept into his expression, which Mo Jian noticed at once. His paranoia pricked.

  “Wait,” Mo Jian said, narrowing his eyes. “What is that look? Don’t tell me you let Zing write your ‘polite refusal.’”

  Bai Zhou gave him a wounded look. “Senior, have some faith. I let her compose it, then rewrote the entire thing myself.” He sagged slightly. “Not that her message was wrong. She was polite too. Just… passive aggressive.”

  Yes, that sounded exactly like Bai Zing, and, more importantly, exactly like her headache of a daughter. Bai Ning had somehow inherited every troublesome trait from both parents and forged them into a kind of cheerful, unkillable chimera that attracted trouble and then proudly introduced itself to it.

  Case in point: the only reason they could speak openly now was because Bai Ning had once again been swept away by her mother to “learn how to mind her manners,” leaving Mo Jian and Bai Zhou to discuss “important matters” in peace. Mo Jian suspected, with no small amount of certainty, that his disciple would charge into the tournament tomorrow headfirst simply to escape her mother’s clutches.

  Yes. Peace had indeed fled his life, just as he had imagined when he had first taken her in as his disciple.

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