Mingyao found herself standing before Princess Taiping once more. She didn't know how or when she had arrived—one moment she was in her courtyard, and in the next reality folded. With a blink, the familiar walls were gone, replaced by the grand, oppressive hall.
Before she could even question it, her knees buckled. Her body had already knelt, unbidden.
The pressure.
It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. A suffocating weight pressed down on her very bones, crushing the breath from her lungs. It was… familiar. Grandmasters could suppress weaker cultivators, their aura as heavy as a mountain. But compared to this—compared to her—the power of grandmasters was nothing more than a pebble.
No, the only time Mingyao had felt such overwhelming might was in front of the phoenix. That same distortion of reality, where senses tangled until nothing made sense. She could hear colors, taste the iron tang of her own fear, see whispers curling through the air.
Her body betrayed her. Sweat slicked down her back carving icy trails, her bones quivering no matter how hard she commanded them to still. She wanted to look up, to meet the princess's gaze, to speak. But her neck was locked, her throat strangled of sound.
Then—just as suddenly as it came—the pressure lifted.
Mingyao's body sagged with the release. She sucked in greedy gulps of air, struggling to reorient herself. Compared to the princess, a grandmaster's pressure was a boulder, the phoenix's aura was a single mountain… but Taiping's was a mountain range spanning endless horizons.
When her voice finally returned, it was thin, shaky, yet...
"Long live Princess Taiping. May Your Highness endure a thousand years." Mingyao kowtowed, pressing her forehead to the cold jade floor.
For a long moment, silence lingered in the vast hall. Then a bright, melodic laugh spilled forth, echoing against the high pillars.
"Royal Nephew," she said smoothly and magnetic. "You did not disappoint." She leaned back in her throne, eyes gleaming. "You've grown, level up. As for your reward…"
A force unseen gripped Mingyao, lifting her from the ground as if she were weightless. She floated forward, closer, until her face hovered inches from the regal woman upon the throne.
Violet eyes—deep, soft, endless—locked onto her brown ones. That single gaze drowned Mingyao as though she were sinking in an ocean, bound and breathless. Her body seized. She could neither move nor resist.
Slender fingers rose, one delicate index extending. With a featherlight touch, the princess tapped her forehead.
A surge of spiritual energy flooded into her. Small, yet vast. Gentle, yet thunderous. Its profundity resonated with her very core, echoing the tribulations she had faced before. Her skin flushed with a golden glow, her body trembling under the weight of something unfamiliar yet intimate.
The hall dissolved.
When Mingyao opened her eyes, she was floating above an endless sea. The horizon stretching into eternity. Slowly, her body descended until her feet touched the surface. Ripples spread outward.
Then—snow. White blanketed the sea, swallowing every direction in endless cold. Snowflakes fell, gentle at first, then crashing in a blizzard that howled around her.
This scene was quite familiar.
Mingyao wandered aimlessly, yet the cold refused to touch her.
Amid the endless white, something broke the monotony—a single green sprout trembling through the snow. She knelt, fingertips brushing its fragile leaves.
At once, the ground began to tremble, and the sapling surged upward, growing at an impossible pace. The endless white of the ice field shifted as its color receded. Above, the dark clouds dissolved, and the sky regained its brilliance as the sun rose.
From the earth beneath the growing tree, a jagged crack began to slither outward, splitting the land in two. To the left of the fissure stretched a boundless night sky with the moon glowing serenely, while to the right blazed a radiant sun at its peak.
The sapling matured into a towering ancient camphor tree, standing at the threshold of night and day. Its branches bore no ordinary leaves—on the side bathed in moonlight, its shoots shimmered with a soft blue-violet glow, while on the sunlit side, they radiated golden-orange light.
Around it, the world itself transformed: red desert sand stretched to one horizon, while a frozen white expanse spread to the other. Blazing sunlight clashed with the cool luminance of the moon, as day and night coexisted in a surreal union, bound together by the tree at their center.
Night and day coexisted as one. Mingyao heard a faint whisper drift through the air, but the words were too unclear to grasp, so she let it fade into silence. Time passed, and the sun and moon, the sand and snow, began to stir. Their essence of duality gathered and converged toward the tree.
The great camphor now pulsed with light—red, yellow, silver, blue, and green—its trunk and branches gleaming like crystal. Streams of color spilled outward, dyeing the land and sky alike, until the entire world shimmered in that spectral brilliance.
The sea from the beginning had returned, vast and eternal, and at its center the radiant tree stood as a bridge, joining sky and water.
This time, the whisper grew clearer—a soft chuckle that sent shivers through Mingyao. Her gaze shifted, and there, descending gracefully from the tree, was a woman who looked exactly like her.
"Hello, brother. It's been a while," the woman said, smiling.
The world around them fractured and dissolved as Mingyao was pulled back into her body, still floating in the hall golden light flickering faintly around her..
"How unfortunate—you have a Glutton Root. A five-elemental spirit root at that," Princess Taiping said as she gently lowered Mingyao to the ground. Her voice softened. "Spiritual energy is thin in this realm…" She lowered her head, then suddenly glanced back at Mingyao with a sly smile. "But you are fortunate—I can access the Spirit Realm. So, tell me… do you wish to become an immortal?"
Mingyao looked up at her aunt, carefully weighing her mood, though her own expression remained unreadable. At last, she asked,"Your Highness, how certain are you that I can truly become an immortal?"
Princess Taiping rose and strode toward her, her tone turning casual, almost lazy."You are already a master, are you not? To break through from semi-master to master is proof enough that you carry a spirit root. With a spirit root, cultivating immortality is no fool's dream. But—" she paused dramatically, her gaze sharpening—"the journey is treacherous."
"I see." Mingyao's voice was calm, almost detached. "This path must demand countless resources, then."
"Oh, it does. And with your root, you will need even more than most." A faint smirk touched Taiping's lips as she reached as though to retrieve something. "That reminds me—"
"Then why?" Mingyao cut in, her tone cautious.
"Why what?"
"Why all of this? And why me?"
Princess Taiping paced a few steps before answering."Are you asking why I seek to recruit immortal disciples?" She stopped, turning back to Mingyao. "Follow me."
Mingyao rose slowly and carefully, cautious in her movements, and followed the princess. As they stepped past the threshold of the hall, the world shifted. In an instant, the courtyards, towering walls, and grand buildings were gone. Before them stretched only a long, narrow path lined with ancient trees.
"Where are we? And how did we get here?" Mingyao asked,cautiosly and confused.
But the Grand Princess said nothing. With her hands clasped loosely behind her back, she continued forward, the faint sweep of her sleeves stirring the night air.
Darkness blanketed the path. The only light came from the cold glow of the moon high above. Far ahead, faint glimmers flickered—signs of civilization. The two walked on in silence, Mingyao's thoughts racing as she tried to piece together what was happening.
At last, they reached the lights. A village came into view, its humble mud-thatched houses clustered together beneath the moonlight. It was clear: Princess Taiping and Mingyao were no longer in the capital.
The two of them walked through the dark, the air thick and humid. Mingyao could taste moisture on her tongue—it was clear a river or lake lay nearby. Then, faint at first but quickly growing louder, came the sound of heavy footsteps, wood striking wood, and the clatter of metal. Something was approaching the village entrance.
The calm stillness of the settlement shattered as the newcomers stormed in, their movements harsh and aggressive. Torches flared, their light spilling into every home as they barged uninvited through doors.
Mingyao froze, bewildered by the brutal scene unfolding before her. Yet beside her, Princess Taiping remained unshaken, strolling forward as if this were nothing more than a midnight walk.
The intruders—rough men, some lightly armed—forced their way into house after house. At times, they emerged with sacks of rice. Other times, they dragged out a child or carried away pouches whose contents Mingyao could only guess. And often, they returned with nothing at all—except for clothes splattered with fresh, dark blood.
Mingyao watched as all this happened yet the men didn't seem to notice her or the princess. They passed them as if they were blind to them as if they were but air.
She was about to speak, but the princess suddenly halted, lifting a hand to point toward a small house in the distance. Without hurry, she began walking lazily in that direction. Armed men were already converging on it.
Mingyao followed, though the walk felt disorienting—the house seemed to draw closer with each step, as though pulled toward them. In the next moment, they stood before a flimsy wooden fence. Its gate creaked open as the men shoved their way inside.
Through the small courtyard, Mingyao glimpsed scattered fishing tools—buckets, nets, and rods left in a corner. The princess passed through without pause, and Mingyao trailed her into the house.
Inside, an armed man loomed over a family of four. The father was pleading desperately, his words ignored as the soldier raised his fists and struck him down. The mother clutched her two children—a boy and a girl—holding them close, her face pale with helplessness.
The princess turned to Mingyao then, her expression unreadable. Her lips parted, her voice calm almost casual.
"We are here to recruit," she said simply.
Without hesitation, the princess walked straight toward the soldier who was striking the frail, sickly man. She lifted her hand in a casual wave, and the man collapsed with a heavy thud, as though his strength had simply abandoned him.
"Did you—?" Mingyao began.
"He is only asleep," the princess replied.
Her gaze shifted to the trembling woman clutching her two children.
"Life is but a stream that flows… that travels up the mountain," Princess Taiping's voice reverberated through the room, low and resonant.
At that moment, a warm radiance stirred around both Mingyao and the princess. Their bodies and auras shimmered with an otherworldly glow, filling the dim hut with light.
"Immortals!" the woman gasped, torn between awe and fear.
Princess Taiping continued, her words flowing like scripture:
"Human life is like a stream that flows down from the mountain. From its high, pure beginnings it descends—always downward. Along its course, stones and branches break its surface, just as poverty, hunger, and sorrow trouble the lives of mortals. The current wears away strength, and in the end the stream surrenders itself to the sea, losing both name and form. This is the way of mortality: constant descent, marked by struggle, until it dissolves into the vast unknown.
But to cultivate immortality is to reverse the stream. To force the waters to rise again toward their source, against the current of time and decay. Where mortals are swept away, the immortal climbs upward—ascending the mountain, seeking the origin rather than the end."
She knelt gracefully and touched her index finger to the forehead of the young boy, no more than ten years old. A thread of energy flowed from her into him. The child's body shivered with the touch, and Princess Taiping's lips curved into a faint, approving smile.
"Young one, would you like to embark on the path of immortality?" she asked the boy gently.
The father, still weak from his beating, scrambled upright and staggered forward. Dropping to his knees before Princess Taiping, he pressed his forehead low.
"Immortal…" his voice trembled, "…please save my family. Please save our village."
Princess Taiping regarded him for a moment, then shifted her gaze back to the boy. Her tone was calm, resolute."I came only for him. Mortals have their own paths to walk, and for an immortal cultivator to meddle too deeply in such affairs is to go against Heaven's will." She turned again to the child. "The life you live here is filled with suffering. But if you come with me, you may rise above it and one day attain immortality."
The parents exchanged a long, desperate look. Their lips trembled, as if they wanted to protest, but no words came. Instead, the mother dropped to her knees beside her husband, their shared grief plain in their eyes.
"Great Immortal," the mother said, her voice choked, "if you cannot save our family or our village, then… please, take our daughter as well. The war between the pirates and the local government grows worse with each day. If our children remain here, they may have no future at all."
Princess Taiping's expression softened. A faint radiance shone from her porcelain skin as she leaned down and helped the kneeling parents back to their feet. Her violet eyes glimmered as she spoke once more.
"I came here for a disciple, so taking another was not my intention. But if you wish for me to take your daughter as well…" She smiled faintly. "There is a price to be paid."
"Price?" the father asked, confusion clear in his voice.
"Dear Immortal, we have no silver or food. We have nothing to offer, so how could we possibly fulfill such a request?"
"I do not seek silver or gold," Princess Taiping replied calmly. "The price I seek is something all mortals possess…" She paused, her gaze shifting to the parents. "Are you willing to give me your life?"
"My life?!" the man exclaimed, taken aback. After a moment, he knelt and spoke with resolve, "If my life can save my family, then take it. I only ask that you care for my wife and children."
Princess Taiping considered silently for a moment before breaking into a hearty laugh. "You are an honorable man, but you misunderstand. I am not a dark cultivator. I only request that you and your wife each spare me two years of your lifespan as payment for raising your mortal children to adulthood."
"Two years each?"
"Yes. Four years in total. In return, I promise your children will be safe with me."
The parents exchanged a long look, then nodded. "If our lives can protect our children, then so be it," the mother said quietly.
"What good parents you are," Princess Taiping said approvingly.
With a graceful gesture, she produced a parchment from thin air. After reading the conditions aloud, she instructed, "Please leave your fingerprints here."
The parents pricked their fingers, letting drops of blood fall onto the parchment. Once their prints were set, a pillar of golden light shot into the sky, illuminating the night. The parchment dissolved, and in the blink of an eye, the couple appeared slightly aged, their bodies weakened by the lifespan they had relinquished.
"The contract is complete," Princess Taiping declared. She placed her hands on the thirteen-year-old girl and ten-year-old boy, "as a bonus for the transaction. Here—take this." She tossed a satchel filled with a generous amount of silver she had just retrieved from her sleeve. "Escape under the cover of night, and may fate smile upon you."
With that, she turned back to Mingyao.
"Let's go," Princess Taiping said, her tone carrying the weight of finality.
The four of them—the princess, Mingyao, and the two wide-eyed children—stepped out of the small, battered home. With a single step, the village dissolved. The scent of smoke, the cries of the villagers, even the blood-soaked torches faded like a dream.
They were back in the grand hall.
Taiping waved her hand. From the shadows, a figure materialized and bent low. The princess leaned close, whispering instructions too soft for Mingyao to catch. The children, clinging to one another, were led away without a word.
With that business settled, Taiping glided back to her throne. She sank lazily into her seat, her violet eyes settling on Mingyao.
"You wanted to know why I seek immortal disciples," she said. "The reason is simple: foundation establishment."
"Foundation establishment?" Mingyao frowned. The words felt heavy, unfamiliar.
"Yes," Taiping replied, lips curving in a half-smile. "The spirit energy leaking into this realm is far too weak. It cannot sustain many immortals."
Mingyao tilted her head. "Then wouldn't fewer cultivators be better?"
"No." Taiping's voice was firm, almost chiding. "Quite the opposite. I need more. Especially those in the foundation realm. The more cultivators we have, the more spiritual energy will spill into this world."
Mingyao's brows knitted. "I don't follow."
The princess chuckled lightly, as though speaking to a child. "Think of spiritual energy as water trickling from a crack in a dam. Cultivators are the suction pulling at that crack. If the pull is weak, the flow remains a trickle. But if the pull is great, the crack widens. The dam breaks faster. The flow increases." Her violet gaze sharpened. "It is paradoxical, yes. But that is the truth."
Mingyao said nothing. The logic was strange, but what she understood with perfect clarity was this: Princess Taiping was powerful beyond reason—and frighteningly calculating. To oppose her was to court death.
"So," Mingyao said slowly, "you wish for me to reach this foundation realm."
Taiping's lips curved. "A smart nephew indeed." Her voice was soft. "I expect you to achieve foundation establishment… before the Mid-Autumn Festival."
Mingyao stiffened. "The festival? But that's in ten days. How can I possibly—"
"Excuses bore me." The princess's voice cut like silk over steel. She flicked her sleeve, and three items floated through the air: a manual bound in dark thread, a pouch heavy with energy, and a pearl that glowed faintly like moonlight. They hovered before Mingyao.
"If you follow the instructions and use these resources well, ten days will be more than enough." Her hand waved dismissively. "You may leave."
Mingyao bowed stiffly, her mind a storm of questions and plans she dared not voice. She turned toward the doors, intent on reaching her quarters, when Taiping's voice boomed across the hall, reverberating like a bell against her bones.
"One more thing."
Mingyao froze.
The princess raised her hand. Something icy tugged from within Mingyao's chest. Her breath caught as her grandmaster token—the symbol of her rank—was wrenched free and landed in Taiping's palm. The princess's violet eyes glinted as she infused it with her own spiritual power. Violet light flared up.
Chains of invisible force coiled around Mingyao's body. She staggered, throat tightening, as though unseen shackles had bound her soul.
Taiping smiled, deceptively gentle. "You are free to go wherever you wish—back to the Su residence, to the royal palace, or to remain here at my side. But within five days…" her voice dropped, silk turning to ice, "…you will reach the peak of grandmaster. Otherwise—well." She tossed the token lightly, catching it again. "You understand the consequences."
The pressure eased, and the token disappeared into her sleeve.
"Now you may go."
Mingyao turned, her steps heavy. She passed through the great doors, anger, fear, and confusion twisting inside her. Her fists clenched until her nails bit her palms.
She drew a long, steadying breath, forcing her face into calm.
She made her way toward her quarters, thoughts churning like storm clouds.