A few days had passed since martial training began.
By evening, Tai Lung's body was almost unresponsive because of the fatigue.
Mornings belonged to the Dragon Warrior Codex – long hours of controlled strain, furnace heat, breath discipline, and corrections so pinpoint they bordered on cruelty. That was followed by physical conditioning smothered atop it, reinforcing what the Codex reshaped. After a short rest came lessons in the Humanities and Sciences of this world: history, geography of the realms, laws of qi, natural philosophy, mathematics, astronomy, medicine.
Then came weapons.
First the sword under his mother's watchful eye. Then the halberd under Yan Zhen's unforgiving "pointers". Each demanded full attention and concentration. Each punished distraction immediately.
Music closed the day, fingers moving across strings while his body cooled and his thoughts settled.
Only then – only in the quiet before sleep – did Tai Lung have a little time that belonged entirely to himself.
He sat in his room while a soft glowstone lamp illuminated the open manuals resting beside him.
Tonight, he chose the sword first. The Heaven-Cleaving Flow Scripture. Also known throughout the realms as The Flowing Heaven Sword.
Its author was named on the opening page in restrained, almost dismissive strokes:
The Mistbound Sword Immortal
– The One Who Cuts Without Stopping
Tai Lung found the man endlessly fascinating.
The Mistbound Sword Immortal had lived before the age of the Twins, before Heaven fractured into factions, before orthodox and demonic paths hardened into dogma. He had come from a lower plane where cultivation was nearly impossible, where qi was thin and unreliable, and where all combat remained grounded in pure flesh and bad steel.
He rejected rigid forms entirely.
To him, combat was not a sequence of techniques but an endearing and almost intimate conversation – one that never repeated itself. He fought without fixed postures, without rehearsed responses. Records claimed he had faced thousands alone, each exchange unique, and each decision improvised.
He wielded an enormous two-handed sword as an instrument of tempo. He dictated when violence began, how long it lasted, and when it ended.
The manual spoke of initiative as something almost metaphysical – something that, once seized, bent reality subtly in the wielder's favor.
The end of his life was written with frustrating restraint.
It was said he died standing, mid-battle, blade still in motion as mist coiled around him. Some claimed that even after his soul departed, his body continued to fight, empty yet relentless, felling a hundred more foes before Heaven itself intervened and granted the corpse peace.
No grave was known. No confirmed inheritance had ever been found. Tai Lung closed the book slowly.
He reached for the second manual. The Dragon-Pillar Suppression Codex. Known more commonly as The Dragon Pillar Art.
The author's name was heavier on the page, as if the ink itself resisted being written:
The Earth-Shattering Halberd Immortal
– The One Who Denied Heaven's Advance
If the Mistbound Sword Immortal was a duelist-philosopher, this man was war incarnate.
He had risen not from personal challenges or sect disputes, but from the mass slaughter during the height of the War in Heavens. There was no known type of cultivator or creature he had not fought – other immortals, beast kings, armored legions, aberrations born of the darkest depths of the void.
Legend said he held a mountain pass alone against a million foes. Seven days. No enemy reached him alive.
Records spoke of Heaven itself attempting to suppress him mid-battle because the slaughter threatened to destabilize the surrounding realm. He refused to stop. He continued until the field was silent.
Only then did he lower his halberd.
Those who survived described the weapon not as something he wielded, but as a moving boundary. Where it stood, advance was impossible. Where it turned, retreat followed.
The Codex reflected that philosophy perfectly. It spoke little of killing, and much of space. Of denial. Of pressure. Of making existence itself uncomfortable for the enemy.
Tai Lung rested the manual against his chest and stared at the ceiling.
Two immortals. Two paths.
Both had lived lives so overwhelming that even Heaven had eventually been forced to respond.
Slowly Tai Lung exhaled.
Suddenly the door of his room opened, and there stood his mother.
"You're usually asleep by now," Tan Na Yu said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
Tai Lung shifted slightly on the chair. "I didn't have any opportunity to even open the manuals before," he replied honestly. "So once I realized that, I decided to start studying immediately."
She looked at the pages, then at him.
For a moment, her expression softened.
"That's good," she said. She reached out and ruffled his hair gently – not enough to disturb him, just enough to remind him that he was still a child. "Responsibility is rarer than talent."
She sat down across from him.
"I received an invitation today," she continued. "An annual tournament held by one of our allied sects – the Celestial Sword Sect."
Tai Lung's attention sharpened at once.
"The notice was short," she added. "I'll be leaving tomorrow morning."
He blinked. "You're going?"
"I have to," she replied. "One of my disciples – still a member of the Eternal Spring Court – has joined the Celestial Sword Sect. This will be her first competition. As her first master, I must be there."
She paused, then looked at him directly.
"Would you like to come?"
Tai Lung forgot about the exhaustion in his limbs entirely. He jumped up from his seat in one fluid motion.
"Yes!"
The word came out before he could process it.
"I haven't even seen the Eternal Spring Court properly," he added quickly, almost tripping over his own enthusiasm. "I want to see the world outside. And the sect."
Tan Na Yu smiled faintly.
Then Tai Lung hesitated. "But… how does that work?" he asked. "How can someone be both your disciple and a member of a sect?"
She studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"It's time you understood how things really function."
She leaned back slightly.
"In theory," she began, "clans, sects, kingdoms, empires, courts, pavilions and the rest are all independent. Separate institutions with clear boundaries."
She raised a finger.
"In reality, those boundaries have always been… negotiable."
Tai Lung listened carefully.
"There are kingdoms that control empires," she continued. "And kingdoms controlled by sects. There are sects that exist at the pleasure of ancient clans, and clans that survive only because a sect allows them to. Some stand equal. Some are vassals. Some rule without titles."
She let the words settle.
"The Eternal Spring Court is neutral," she said. "Completely."
She gestured around them. "We are not a sect. We do not pursue dominance. We do not wage wars. We do not claim territory. In practice, we are closer to a very large clan – with peculiar interests."
"Our strength lies elsewhere," she continued. "Information. Trade. Art. Connections."
She met his gaze.
"That is why we send our members outward. To sects. To royal courts. To realms across the heavens. And no one objects."
Tai Lung frowned slightly. "Why not?"
"Because we don't threaten anyone," Tan Na Yu replied simply. "And because everyone finds us useful."
She continued, "The Eternal Spring Court has thousands of filials – simpler branches – spread across continents and realms. All similarly named. All independent in operation, yet still connected."
"The Court itself began as a refined public house," she said, almost casually. "Entertainment. Art. Pleasure. Over time, it grew."
"Roughly three hundred thousand years ago," she went on, "long before the Twins, when only one of them ruled over Heavens, it was purchased by an individual who would later ascend and be known as the Sensation-Seeker Immortal. He shifted its focus toward cultivators."
"He understood something fundamental," she added. "Cultivators may pursue immortality, but they remain people. They still desire beauty, diversion, art, and connection."
Tai Lung absorbed this quietly.
"There are many organizations like us," she said. "Brewers. Farmers. Blacksmiths. Traders. Mercenary halls. Security pavilions. And many-many more. Each is highly specialized. That specialization prevents them from becoming proper sects. Their mixed leadership prevents them from becoming true clans. So they chose another path – Neutrality."
She paused.
"That choice became especially important during the height of the War in Heavens."
Tai Lung leaned forward.
"More than a million such organizations gathered," she said. "They formed what became known as the Concordate of Myriad Paths. They declared that if either the orthodox or demonic factions violated their neutrality, they would unite as a third force and shatter the balance of the war."
She paused once more observing her son's reaction.
"Both sides," she said calmly, "had agreed. Since then, our members exist in both orthodox and demonic sects. Openly, known, and accepted."
Tai Lung couldn't help himself. "Aren't they… spies?"
Tan Na Yu smiled.
"In a sense," she said. She shrugged lightly. "You leak a little. In exchange, you gain access to a constant stream of reliable information from every corner of existence. For sects, that trade is not just convenient, but extremely beneficial. One sect elder might sneeze during a sermon and all the universe will know of it shortly after."
Tai Lung nodded slowly. Now he understood. The world was not divided by banners or slogans. It was bound by usefulness.
Tan Na Yu stood and moved toward the door.
"You should sleep," she said, her tone softening again. She leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead. "Tomorrow will be long."
She paused at the threshold.
"This trip will be good for you," she added. "You'll see how vast the world truly is – and how many paths and shapes cultivation can take."
The door closed quietly behind her.
Tai Lung laid down, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
Tomorrow, the world would grow larger.