The blood rain showed no sign of stopping. Thunder rumbled far beyond the ninth heaven, slow and patient, as if the skies themselves were holding their breath. The Celestial Court stood unbending and proud, their faces lifted toward the crimson downpour.
But above them… something was moving.
The clouds twisted unnaturally, curling inward like a vast whirlpool. The air grew heavy. Each breath felt harder to take, and even the strongest generals felt the weight pressing against their armor.
No words were spoken. Not out of fear—pride allowed no such thing—but because every immortal present felt something strange in their bones, as if the heavens were leaning closer to listen.
The Emperor did not blink. His eyes stayed fixed on the swirling sky. Behind him, the Fourth Empress Shen Min's fingers tightened slightly at her sides. Somewhere beyond sight, in the unreachable upper void, a sound echoed—deep and ancient—like stone grinding against stone.
And then… a single drop of blood fell heavier than the rest. It struck the marble floor in the exact center of the court, a place no one had stepped for ten thousand years. For a heartbeat, the rain faltered. Then it fell again. But that single drop had already changed something.
It sat there, dark and heavy, refusing to blend with the other drops around it. From the lower tiers, a voice rose—hesitant but clear.
"Your Majesty… why does the Dao weep?"
It was not an accusation, just a question. Yet in the great stillness of the Celestial Court, it struck like a stone cast into a silent pond. Another voice followed from the upper balconies.
"If justice was truly done, why would the heavens mourn?"
The unease spread—not as shouts, but as murmurs. Eyes met, then quickly turned away. The Head Monk of the Sun Temple folded his hands in thought. The Dragon Clan Head tilted his chin, golden eyes narrowing, but remained silent.
The air grew heavier, thicker, as though the sky itself waited for the next word. Then… the Emperor rose.
He said nothing, made no gesture—yet the world bent. The very air screamed in silence. The space around them groaned under an unseen weight. A pressure older than the heavens themselves crashed upon the court like a tidal wave.
Millions of immortals gasped as their knees buckled. Even high celestials and divine generals staggered, their bones straining under the force pressing them down. The marble floor cracked as an entire realm was driven to its knees.
Only the Emperor stood unmoved, robes heavy with rain, his gaze like a blade at the throat of the world. The murmurs died instantly. The silence that followed was not peace—it was survival.
Slowly, with deliberate control, the Emperor sat back on his molten-gold throne. The crushing weight eased, but it did not fully fade, lingering like the ghost of a storm. His eyes swept over the bowed heads.
"You will not question heaven's will."
No one answered. No one dared. The weight of his will still hung in the air when footsteps sounded softly from the side.
The Fourth Empress, Shen Min, stepped out from under the arch of a silver lotus shrine, her robe soaked with crimson rain. She moved with calm precision, eyes neither lowered nor defiant, but steady—like a strategist stepping into a battle already mapped in her mind. She sat gracefully beside the Emperor.
"My lord," she said softly, her voice carrying clearly, "you must calm yourself. Fear can be useful, but fear without answers will turn into doubt."
The Emperor looked at her, his gaze cold. "And what answer do you suggest, Shen Min?"
Her eyes narrowed just a little. "Not an answer… a question. One that only a single person in this realm could answer truthfully."
He said nothing, but his focus sharpened. "The First Empress," Shen Min said. "Mei Lian."
A ripple of surprise moved through the nearby immortals. Her name had not been spoken in centuries.
"She has been in seclusion for hundreds of years, deep within the Thousand Lotus Peak," Shen Min continued. "Her understanding of the Dao is greater than any living being in the higher realms—perhaps even greater than yours, my lord. If anyone can explain why the Great Dao is weeping… it is her."
The Emperor's hand tightened on the armrest, his knuckles pale. Something—neither anger nor fear, but close to both—crossed his face. "She is in seclusion," he said slowly. "And you know how… dangerous she is."
Shen Min's lips curved faintly. "Yes. Which is why I do not suggest this lightly. But the heavens do not mourn lightly either, my lord."
Whispers filled the court—some full of awe, others of unease. Mei Lian, the First Empress, was the only woman said to surpass even the Emperor in strength and wisdom. The only one to defy him openly… and walk away untouched. Some whispered darker things—that she had not married him for love, but to escape the one they all called the monster—the man who had thrown her into the Fire Furnace for days, watching her burn. The man who had fought the heavens for centuries… and who now lay dead, erased from existence.
The Emperor's jaw tightened. "You would risk her return to satisfy the fears of a court that has already forgotten its place?"
"This is no ordinary fear," Shen Min replied. "If the Dao weeps, it concerns all realms. And it concerns you most of all."
From below, Sage Baihe Xianweng lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes locking on the Emperor. "She speaks truth," he said hoarsely. "If you want the meaning of this rain, summon Mei Lian. No other mind can see what she might see."
The blood rain drummed against the golden roof. Whispers stirred across the court.
"Will he truly call her?"
"After all this time?"
"Does he even dare?"
One of the Elder Generals stepped forward and knelt. "Your Majesty… if you summon her, the balance of power in the Celestial Court may never be the same. Once, she stood above even you in strength—what guarantee do we have that she will submit now?"
Another voice, the Head Monk of the Sun Temple, added softly, "And there are those who say she never forgave you… or forgot what the monster did to her. No one can say where her loyalty will stand if she returns."
The Emperor's fingers tightened on the throne's armrest, the faint sound of metal creaking under his grip. His mind's eye saw it again—the way Mei Lian's gaze had cut through him the last time they stood face to face. A gaze without fear. Without reverence. The only gaze in the realms that made him feel… less than a god.
"She is in seclusion for a reason," he said at last. "And you all know how dangerous she is."
"That is why she must be summoned," Shen Min replied, her tone calm but edged with steel. "If even you, my lord, hesitate to face her… then she may be the only one who can face the truth that the heavens are hiding."
The Emperor's jaw locked. The blood rain outside hammered the golden roof like war drums. Finally, he rose to his feet. His voice was cold, sharp, and final.
"Very well. Mei Lian will be summoned."
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy as stone. He raised his hand. From the ranks of armored couriers, a tall figure stepped forward, his silver plate gleaming even under the red rain. The man dropped to one knee, his head bowed.
"You will travel the Celestial Spine," the Emperor commanded. "Follow it until the void itself ends. Deliver my summons to the Thousand Lotus Peak—into the heart of her seclusion. Do not return without her answer."
The courier's voice was steady. "As you command, Your Majesty." In the next instant, his body became a streak of starlight and shot upward, leaving the court behind.
⸻
The Celestial Spine
High above the blood-soaked palace stretched the Celestial Spine—a colossal bridge of jade and bone, arched through the void like the skeleton of a fallen world-serpent god. It was said the bridge had been laid down in the First Age by the heavens themselves, a spine connecting the realms of the living to the unreachable places where legends slept.
Each vertebra of the bridge was etched with ancient runes, their light slow and steady, like the heartbeat of creation. Between the segments shimmered rivers of silver energy, flowing endlessly into the dark.
The air here was not air at all, but thin strands of Dao-energy. It hummed like a thousand voices whispering just beyond hearing. Stars passed slowly beneath the bridge as the courier raced forward—some burned bright, others cold and lifeless, fragments of worlds long gone.
Few had walked the Celestial Spine in this age. Fewer still had returned. At its farthest end, past drifting islands of stone and shattered fragments of forgotten temples, the courier saw it at last—
⸻
The Thousand Lotus Peak
The Thousand Lotus Peak floated alone in the silent void, far beyond the gaze of mortals, untouched by any war or calamity.
A luminous mist wrapped its base like a living tide, glowing faintly from within, as if the mountain drank starlight through its roots. Around it drifted lotus blossoms the size of palaces, each petal formed from flawless ice that never melted. The petals refracted light into colors that mortal tongues had no names for—shades that made the heart ache without knowing why.
The air carried their fragrance—light, sharp, impossibly pure. Legends claimed a single breath of it could strip lies from the soul, leaving only the truth.
Crystal bamboo forests covered the lower slopes, their slender stalks ringing softly whenever the void-winds passed. Higher still, silver waterfalls poured from hidden springs, falling into the mist and vanishing without a sound, as though they flowed into another world entirely.
At the summit stood the White Jade Palace, fronted by a single gate of black obsidian. The palace walls shone like living moonlight, untouched by dust or decay. No bird circled above it, no wind disturbed the gardens that lay within.
Behind those silent walls was the First Empress, Mei Lian—the brightest star of the Celestial Realm in her time, and the only one said to have ever surpassed the Emperor in both strength and wisdom. For centuries, her presence had been sealed away from the world. Not even her breathing reached beyond those gates. Yet the mountain itself seemed to guard her slumber, its silence heavier than stone.
The courier slowed, but did not land. His orders were to deliver the summons directly into her hands—but something in the air around the palace seemed to push back, a quiet warning to any who dared approach unbidden.
⸻
The Sapphire Cosmos
Far from the Celestial Court, in the heart of the Sapphire Cosmos, Lady Yue sat upon her throne of starlight.
Her throne room was a vast expanse of dark crystal, lit only by rivers of sapphire light that flowed across the floor like water. The blood rain outside struck against her crystal windows, staining the world beyond in shades of deep crimson.
The divine wind carried whispers to her ears—not of Mei Lian's name, not of the Emperor's decision—but of unrest spreading through the Celestial Court like a hidden crack through jade.
She stood, her silken sleeves sliding across the floor like shadows. Her attendants lowered their heads, not daring to meet her gaze.
"Prepare my escort," she said, her voice as calm and still as a frozen sea.
No one asked why. No one would dare.
The most honored envoys of the Sapphire Cosmos began to move—diplomats robed in deep blue, divine scribes bearing sealed scrolls, and ceremonial guards in armor that shimmered like the night sky filled with stars.
It was not an army. It was not a threat. But the arrival of the Sapphire Cosmos within the Celestial Court would be a presence impossible to ignore.
Lady Yue turned her head slightly, looking once more at the blood rain sliding down her window. The reflection of that deep crimson light lingered in her eyes. She stayed there for a long moment, as if listening to something only she could hear.
Then she turned away, her footsteps soft against the starlit floor.
Her reason for going… remained her own.
—End of Chapter 4—