Months had trickled past since that day at the Pool of Knowledge. Seasons folded into one another, as if time itself had grown lazy around Jiang Yunxian's courtyard.
The mornings there were always bright — the kind of golden brightness that never fully burned. Mist swirled lazily around the bamboo fences, and the sound of bells from the upper sect rang like whispers of forgotten immortals.
Jiang Yunxian, however, was far from serene.
He sat cross-legged on a stone platform, robe half open, hair a tangled mess of dark silk. In his hand, the once-prized Phoenix Scroll of Soul-Feather Ascension fluttered under the morning wind — unopened, unread, and utterly useless.
Across from him, perched on a small cushion like a divine pet refusing to be divine, lay a single glowing feather. Rong Qi's true form still hadn't returned. He had remained in that miserable, shimmering shape — refusing to admit that something was terribly wrong.
And so came the confession.
"I can't cultivate," Rong Qi muttered.
Jiang Yunxian blinked. "You can't what?"
"Cultivate," the feather repeated, voice small, tone defensive.
A long silence.
Then Jiang Yunxian threw his head back and laughed so hard that two startled sparrows flew off the rooftop. "You mean… we nearly died at the Pool of Knowledge, broke through heavenly seals, risked annihilation by divine backlash — and you can't even read the damn thing?!"
"It's written in beast script!" Rong Qi snapped, glowing indignantly. "Only spirit beasts can—"
"Oh, heavens." Jiang Yunxian wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "So you're telling me that the great Phoenix Monarch, whose flames nearly burned the heavens to ash, can't read his own language?"
If Rong Qi had a face, it would've been crimson from crown to core.
The little feather shrank pitifully, its glow dimming into embarrassed gold.
"Don't mock me," he grumbled. "It's been a long time since I spoke in beast tongue. I learned human language to communicate. I had no need for the old one."
Jiang Yunxian exhaled sharply, the humor bleeding into exasperation. He turned to the window, one leg dangling lazily over the ledge, the other bent beneath him. In one hand, his wine gourd. In the other, a faint thread of patience.
"You know," he said dryly, swirling the gourd, "I still smell like roasted chicken every time I sweat, thanks to your little seal-burning-incident. And now you're telling me it was all for nothing?"
"It wasn't for nothing," Rong Qi mumbled, voice faint. "I just… need to relearn."
"Relearn," Jiang Yunxian echoed flatly. "You sound like one of those scholars who say 'I'll start tomorrow' and never do."
"Have some faith in me," Rong Qi huffed. "I was once the monarch of flames."
"And now you're a literate feather with memory problems." He sighed, tipping the gourd back for a long, satisfying drink. The wine was sharp, aged from spirit plum — biting, but comforting.
He stared at the morning sky through the window lattice. "So what? You want me to find you a teacher now?"
"That would be ideal," Rong Qi said proudly. "Preferably one that can tolerate divine temperament."
Jiang Yunxian side-eyed him. "You? Divine temperament? You can't even roll properly when the wind blows."
"Don't be rude."
"I'm being realistic." He smirked. "Fine, fine. I'll get you a teacher. Maybe a talking ox or a snake with glasses."
"That's offensive."
"You've offended my lifespan first."
Rong Qi fluttered weakly, muttering under his breath, "Love bothering…"
Jiang Yunxian raised a brow. "I heard that."
The feather froze midair.
Then the man sighed — not the weary sigh of a man broken, but of one reluctantly amused.
The corners of his lips lifted slightly as he looked out over the rolling mists of the sect.
"Sometimes I wonder," he murmured, half to himself, "if Heaven made a mistake binding us. You're supposed to be majestic. I'm supposed to be lazy. Yet somehow, we're both miserable."
"Maybe misery is Heaven's idea of companionship," Rong Qi said, surprisingly soft.
Jiang Yunxian chuckled. "Then the Heavens have a terrible sense of humor."
Outside, the sect bells rang again — faint, distant, like ripples across time.
And above that lazy, wine-soaked courtyard, a faint golden feather drifted from the clouds — an omen perhaps, or maybe just another trick of fate.
___
Far to the north, beyond the emerald ridges of the Floating Cloud Sect, lay a forbidden domain — the Yujing Cave.
It was a place that breathed silence. The air was cold yet fragrant, the ground carpeted with glowing moss that shimmered like fallen constellations. Symbols of old — circles of astral script and silver runes — burned faintly along the cave walls, shifting every few breaths as if alive.
Each mark pulsed with qi older than stars.
And at the center, sitting cross-legged atop a smooth jade stone, was Xing Yue.
Her white robes were faintly dusted with starlight, her expression serene but tense. Before her floated a single box — the same one she had retrieved from the Pool of Knowledge, holding within it the Scroll of Hundred Memories.
Here, time was meaningless. The cave was not meant for cultivation but understanding. Those who entered to refine their qi would lose themselves to madness, their meridians shattered by celestial overload.
But Xing Yue was not here to gain power. She was here to remember what Heaven wanted forgotten.
As she unrolled the ancient scroll, the air shifted — the cave filling with the scent of moonlight and thunder. The inscriptions glowed, unfurling across the cave walls like water finding its way home.
And with it came memory.
A Hundred Thousand Years Ago — The Thirty-Three Skies of Immortal Domain
The heavens were not always silent. Once, they were alive with laughter and sound — music drifting through palaces of crystal and cloud.
At the Heaven Cloud Woven, the gateway to the Immortal Domain, young cultivators trained beneath floating gardens. Some meditated atop lotus petals suspended over air; others sparred with qi-forged blades that sang like chimes.
Above them all, thirty-three layers of the divine city spiraled upward, each a world of its own — oceans of starlight, libraries of eternal script, courts where immortal cranes carried petitions between gods.
At the highest level stood the Place of Eternal Radiance — the throne hall of the Heavenly Emperor himself.
The Emperor's name was Tianlan Zhao, Sovereign of the Boundless Dawn.
His gaze was the law of heaven; his word, the weight of worlds.
And beside him sat his empress, serene as a mirrored lake, whose silence could calm a tempest or start one.
The halls of Eternal Radiance were built of pure golden jade, vast enough that mortal storms could rage within unnoticed. The air hummed with the resonance of celestial bells, and the pillars gleamed with divine inscriptions so old, they predated history itself.
It was here that judgments were passed — the rise and fall of immortals decided with a mere flick of the Emperor's sleeve.
Yet even among the eternal splendor, one pavilion shone differently.
Far from the main halls, beyond the bridges of drifting stars, stood a sprawling estate carved of translucent jade and rippling clouds: The Jade Cloud Pavilion.
It was said to be where Heaven itself came to rest.
Mist pooled like water; cranes nested in floating groves; the air shimmered with gentle intoxication — for this was the domain of the Jade Radiance Monarch, known by mortals as Lu Shen of the Drunken Flame.
He was both scholar and warrior, both sinner and saint.
His reputation stretched through all realms — a man who fought with one hand and drank with the other.
In the mornings, he would down ten jars of celestial wine before training. In the afternoons, he would duel with gods. By dusk, he would sit beneath a maple tree, composing poems about how the universe was both cruel and stupid — in that order.
But for all his eccentricities, he was revered. Because beneath the humor and haze lay a mind sharper than celestial steel, and a heart that still bled for both mortals and gods.
Just beyond his main courtyard was a smaller, humbler structure — a teahouse that wasn't truly a teahouse. A thousand glowing wine jars hung from its beams, their light rippling like captured sunsets. Its signboard read, in elegant brushstrokes:
"Drunk Master's Wine Pavilion."
No one entered uninvited — except two.
Xing Yue of the Sanctuary of Floating Clouds, and Jiang Lu Ci of the Tower of Thousand Incantations.
They were his pupils — bright, curious, and dangerously alive.
Where others feared the Monarch's temper, they only saw his wisdom. They came often — sometimes to learn, sometimes to laugh, sometimes to simply sit as he lectured about politics, philosophy, or how wine was the purest cultivation of all.
"Remember," he had told them once, eyes half-lidded, cup raised toward the horizon,
"True immortality is not living forever. It's living without regret."
That was before the call for the Heavenly Assembly.
Before the heavens demanded that every elder — every monarch — descend to the mortal realm and judge the hearts of men.
Before Tianlan Zhao, Sovereign of Dawn, began to fear that mortals were growing too wise.
____
The Yujing Cave hummed in silence.
Not the silence of emptiness—but one alive, breathing with old qi that pulsed through its veins of starlit stone. Each wall shimmered faintly with runes—threads of divine law etched by long-departed immortals. When Xing Yue ran her fingers across them, they whispered fragments of the past, fragments of a world that had once burned with heavenly fire.
She sat cross-legged before the Scroll of Hundred Memories, its silver casing aglow with a dim, pulsating light. Every now and then, the constellation symbols on the ceiling trembled, casting a mirror of the heavens upon the cave floor. The boundary between time and recollection grew thin… until her surroundings began to dissolve.
And the ancient world unfurled once more.
___
A thousand jade bells chimed from the Gate of Heaven Cloud Woven, each tone clear as melted crystal. The vast celestial courtyard spread beneath the Thirty-Three Skies like a sea of clouds bathed in dawnlight. Palaces floated upon luminous rivers, each pavilion carved from sacred crystal and immortal steel. Rainbow bridges arched between them, their ends fading into eternal mist.
Disciples in immortal robes moved like petals on the wind, their laughter echoing faintly through the high terraces. The Thirty-Three Skies of Immortal Domain—a place where mortals' dreams turned into law, and gods bowed to duty.
At the highest summit of this realm stood the Place of Eternal Radiance, the Heavenly Emperor's stronghold. There, the Celestial Council of Elders had gathered.
A thousand banners of golden silk drifted lazily in the divine wind. Upon the dais, the Heavenly Emperor, Tianlan Zhao, sat upon the Throne of Radiant Judgment. His countenance was neither stern nor merciful—merely vast, like the sky itself. His robes were woven from starlight, each thread containing a law of heaven. When he breathed, the surrounding qi rippled.
Below him, the immortals assembled.
The Jade Radiance Monarch, Lu Shen, stood among them, wine gourd lazily hanging from his waist. His eyes were clear despite the faint flush of his cheeks, and a faint smirk curled his lips. Behind that carefree look, however, lay a depth that few dared to test.
Beside him, the Elders of various sects and domains lined the crystalline steps—the Elder of the Tower of Thousand Incantations, Elder Yushu of the Azure Vault, and Lady Cangyin of the Lotus Star Palace. Even the youngest immortals were present—disciples like Xing Yue and Jiang Lu Ci, both kneeling at the lower steps, gazes lowered in reverence.
When the heavenly gong thundered once, silence fell over the entire domain.
Tianlan Zhao rose.
"The order of heavens is waning," he said, his voice carrying like distant thunder. "The mortals' prayers weaken. The balance of fate sways. The flow of virtue and sin no longer aligns with the stars."
His gaze swept across the assembly, calm yet heavy enough to bend the clouds.
"It has been long since the Immortal Domain gazed upon the mortal plains. Thus, by the decree of the Celestial Law, each of you shall descend to the lower realms—to see the truth with your own eyes, to weigh the balance of light and shadow that festers among mortals."
The assembly stirred.
Even the jade pillars trembled faintly as the decree unfolded.
The first to step forward was Lady Cangyin of the Lotus Star Palace, her hair long and pale as moonlight.
"Your Majesty, where shall our paths guide us?"
The emperor's eyes flickered, and in his palm formed a floating orb of light. Within it, clouds churned—revealing the Mortal Continent of Yanli, a vast stretch of mountains and rivers stained by mortal ambition.
"Lady Cangyin, you will descend to the Southern Territories," he said. "Observe the rise of the Spirit Blossom Sect. Their pursuit of longevity has twisted into obsession. Find the seed of corruption before it reaches the heavens."
Lady Cangyin bowed, her form dissolving into a shower of white petals before vanishing from sight.
Next, the emperor turned toward Elder Yushu of the Azure Vault, an austere man with a voice that could split stone.
"Elder Yushu," Tianlan Zhao continued, "you shall go to the Northern Frostlands, where the Iceheart Dynasty wages war for immortality. Their ruler has begun invoking forbidden art that treads near divine essence. You will investigate and restore balance."
"As the heavens will it," Yushu said, his words ringing clear before he vanished into frost and light.
Then the emperor's gaze shifted toward the Tower of Thousand Incantations.
"Jiang Lu Ci," the emperor said softly. The young immortal flinched slightly but rose to his feet. "You will accompany your elder to the Western Plains. The mortals there have begun to summon false spirits and craft weapons imbued with imitation divine qi. Learn the truth behind these artifices."
Jiang Lu Ci bowed low. "Yes, your majesty."
Finally, the emperor's eyes settled upon the man who had yet to kneel—the Jade Radiance Monarch, Lu Shen.
The air thickened.
The monarch grinned faintly and tipped his wine gourd. "Ah, Your Majesty remembers me this time? I thought you might prefer not to bother the heavens with drunks."
"Enough jest,"Tianlan Zhao said, though there was no malice in his tone. "You will descend eastward—to the kingdom of mortals where the Red Cliff Temple has risen. A mortal sect claims to have seen the face of heaven and begun preaching immortality through blood rituals."
At that, Lu Shen's eyes sharpened. "Blasphemers pretending at divine truth?"
"Yes," said the emperor. "But do not slay them until you understand what drives them. The flow of karma there is… strange."
The Jade Radiance Monarch bowed deeply, though his grin never faded. "Then I'll drink with the sinners until the truth spills, Your Majesty."
Laughter rippled faintly through the ranks, easing the weight of divine solemnity.
The last edict was spoken.
Tianlan Zhao's robes glowed with divine sigils as he concluded, "Each of you carries the name of the heavens upon your soul. Do not act with arrogance, nor pity. Observe, learn, and return. The fate of realms may depend on what you uncover."
One by one, the immortals dissolved into light, their figures scattering like shooting stars across the firmament.
The clouds of heaven roared with their departure.
When only silence remained, Tianlan Zhao's eyes turned distant, shadowed by thought.
"Lu Shen," he murmured softly to the fading shimmer of the Jade Radiance Monarch's aura, "you laugh before storms you cannot see. May the heavens guard your folly…"
And so, beneath the radiance of the Thirty-Three Skies, the immortals descended—each bearing their heavenly task into the fragile veins of the mortal world.
Unseen by them, the stars above flickered—as if whispering of chaos yet to come.