Chapter 98 – Invisible Stitches
The silence in the canyon was so dense that the howl of the wind seemed smothered.
Ten steps away, Ancestor Lǐ Jìngzhī kept his body hovering over the gravel. Beneath the loose sleeve of the yellow tunic, the invisible blade of concentrated Qi trembled. The old man's small eyes shifted between the apathy on the gray-clad man's face and the fissure at his back, which exhaled an energy he had only ever heard of in legends.
Ten thousand years of cultivation exacted their toll on the Ancestor's mind. Greed for an immortal secret pushed his hand forward. The primitive terror of staring into the abyss pulled his shoulders back.
"Frozen ground tends to be slippery for the elderly," the rustic voice cut the air. "Your pact with the other Ancestors amused me. So as a reward, I will not punish you for appearing where you should not. Only this once."
Zhì Yuǎn did not blink. His hands remained clasped behind his back, his back straight and his opaque gaze pinned on the skeletal old man. He merely waited for a dry leaf to fall upon the blade of an axe.
The Qi technique flickered.
Lǐ Jìngzhī felt a cold drop of sweat run down his nape. The youth did not blink, did not retreat, and did not move a muscle. That apathy froze the old man's blood. If he attacked and the man was bluffing, he would gain an incalculable relic. If he attacked and the man was in fact the monster sweeping the continent…
The tension in the old man's legs vanished. The invisible blade dissipated in a mute breath inside the sleeve, drawn back into the Dantian.
With a slow movement, Lǐ Jìngzhī summoned the centipede-rib fan and opened it with a dry snap, covering the lower half of his face.
"The Vault of Ashes is paying dearly to bleed in the east," the sibilant voice drifted softly from behind the bone ribs. "I prefer to watch from afar as the proud sacks of flesh flay themselves than burn my foundation for vanity. There is no profit in emptying my Dantian in this canyon, and I suppose you would also rather spare yours."
Zhì Yuǎn held the gaze, his face carved in stone.
Under the weight of that silence, Lǐ Jìngzhī let out a short laugh. The sound echoed like gravel being crushed.
"The Lǐ Clan has not the slightest interest in turning to ash today," the old man finished, without any trace of shame.
"Then go back to your cave," Zhì Yuǎn retorted, taking half a step forward. "And keep watching from afar."
The Ancestor's laugh stopped. He closed the fan with a snap, made an excessively formal bow in the air, and took a step back. Space rippled around his legs, swallowing the cadaverous body into the mist of the cliff.
At the exact instant Lǐ Jìngzhī folded reality, an invisible thread of Karmic Qi—thin as spider silk and undetectable even to a Seventh Stage of Immortal Establishment—leapt from Zhì Yuǎn and wove itself into the hem of the yellow tunic during the spatial fold.
The wind started howling again in the canyon. Zhì Yuǎn adjusted his own sleeve, his dark eyes gleaming with mute amusement as the old man departed.
The snow began to fall again, covering the blood of the Purple Flame disciples scattered across the stones.
Zhì Yuǎn lowered his arm. Before he could turn to the silver fissure, the mark of connection in his Dantian vibrated.
The echo of overlapping voices resonated in his mind through the spiritual bond. Yù Qíng's panic spiked through the bond, but it was muffled almost at once by Xú Lán's dry, cold voice:
"The environment has been isolated, my Lord. The First Lady has been contained."
Zhì Yuǎn did not hasten his pace. He stopped before the rupture, his dark eyes measuring the fissure and the instability of the space around it.
Anchoring a pocket world to his Inner Universe would demand days of dedication without pause.
He extended a handful of dark threads of Primordial Qi, isolating the local space. His fingers stitched the outer edges of the opening, hiding the fissure, which shrank until it became an invisible line sealed beneath the frozen rock.
With a gesture, he twisted the canyon's dimensional coordinates. If Lǐ Jìngzhī tried to return to that place, he would never find the entrance.
With the trail erased, Zhì Yuǎn closed his fist. Space folded in a mute snap.
------
The snap of space closing in the center of the main hall was dry, without raising dust.
The instant Zhì Yuǎn's boot touched the cedar floor, the air of the Autumn Wind Pavilion settled.
In a corner of the hall, Qīng Yǔ supported her master. Pale and with dilated pupils, the old woman stroked the fairy's face with trembling hands while murmuring disconnected words.
Zhì Yuǎn ignored Elder Yáo.
He passed the shattered porcelain and the smoke rising from the boards. His gaze bored directly into Yù Qíng, who remained locked in the ice prison. She could not move her throat, but her pupils were glazed as they followed his figure.
Three steps away, Xú Lán was kneeling on the floor, her hands spread on her thighs and her head down. She held herself perfectly still, like someone who knows she has done something terrible and is merely awaiting punishment. The collar of her tunic was soaked with cold sweat. Her eyes remained glued to the floor, refusing even to blink in the First Lady's direction.
Zhì Yuǎn did not order the woman to rise. He merely stopped before the pillar of ice and pressed his palm against the surface.
At the mere touch, the ice cracked from top to bottom with a dull snap and evaporated at once, vanishing into the air.
Yù Qíng's limbs lost their rigidity. Before the First Wife's knees could give way, Zhì Yuǎn's arm wrapped her waist, pulling her against his own chest.
Yù Qíng buried her face in his neck. The Priestess's shoulders trembled. Her fingers dug into the fabric of the gray tunic, gripping the cloth with force, as if her husband threatened to evaporate again.
Zhì Yuǎn raised his free hand and caught her chin, forcing her to face him. The touch of the palm was gentle, but unyielding.
"You acted without thinking again," his voice came out low and flat, but it made the entire hall hold its breath. "I expelled you because the risk was lethal. The only thing I demanded was that you stay safe while I dealt with the small inconvenience."
Yù Qíng opened her mouth to speak, stubbornness shining in her red eyes. His fingers tightened slightly on the pale skin, cutting off any protest.
"If you had leapt back, it would not have changed the outcome of the confrontation. It would only have forced me to spend energy and attention to protect you," he held the gaze, implacable. "And, in the rush to return without thinking, you crushed your own sisters and tried to harm someone who was only carrying out my orders."
Yù Qíng lowered her lashes, her lower lip still tense. She locked her jaw, her eyes shifting in a mute refusal to accept the abandonment, but the implacable weight in her husband's gaze made her shoulders wilt, breaking her pride.
Zhì Yuǎn sighed at her paleness. Releasing his wife's chin, he slid his hand through her black hair to the nape and pulled her back against his chest, planting a long, silent kiss on the top of her head.
Over Yù Qíng's shoulder, Zhì Yuǎn's eyes found Xú Lán.
The white-haired woman remained kneeling. She lifted her face slowly and held the Master's gaze, awaiting the sentence.
Zhì Yuǎn gave only a short nod of his head.
Xú Lán released the breath she had been holding and made a deep bow, pressing her forehead to the floor, before vanishing into the shadows.
------
Elder Yáo remained seated on the floor, her back against the column.
The millennial cultivator's mind, however, spun in the void. The image of the little girl who refined herbs collided violently against the divinity she had just witnessed.
Before Yáo could form a coherent thought, Zhì Yuǎn's shadow fell over the remains of porcelain.
He made a short greeting.
"I ask pardon for what you had to witness, Elder Yáo," his rustic voice now exerted an overwhelming weight upon her. "My women sometimes get carried away by excessive worry when I take too long to return."
Elder Yáo blinked. His mild tone for describing the situation would have been almost comic, had it not sent a shiver down her spine.
She looked at his calm face and then at the shards on the floor.
Yáo released Qīng Yǔ's hand. She adjusted the folds of her silver tunic and lifted her chin.
"The affairs of the house belong to the house, Lord Zhì," she said, her polished voice hiding the tremor. "The afternoon grows late. I must return to my duties."
"Mò Zhōng will accompany you to the gates."
The Elder rose with stiff steps. Without daring to look a second time at the women in the hall, Yáo walked toward the exit with more doubts than when she had arrived.