A year is both long and short in the life of a cultivator. To outsiders, the days blend into each other—sunrise, meditation, battle drills, sunset. But inside the flow of qi, a year can be the crucible in which one emerges entirely changed.
Tianzun felt the weight of that truth each morning when he opened his eyes.
He and Xiao Yan had trained relentlessly, their sessions a mixture of quiet repetition and explosive bursts of skill. Xun'er often joined them in the forest clearing where she and Tianzun had once crossed hands; now, it was less a battlefield and more a place where steel sharpened steel. Her golden eyes carried both challenge and warmth.
One such morning, as they paused between drills, she tilted her head. "And Yoru?"
Tianzun's breathing slowed. "Training."
What he did not say was that Yoru's progress had surpassed even his own predictions. A year of suppressed cultivation had turned into a sudden eruption; with the pills he provided and the dense qi of the sect's grand formation, she had rocketed to the level of Dou Wang, 3-Star. Alpha was not far behind at 7-Star peak, and the first batch of Shadow Guards—those forty-eight Dou Ling cultivators—stood ready for their missions.
Tianzun had divided them with precision: ten Dou Lings would remain in shadow around the Xiao Clan, unseen protectors in the night. The rest, he sent to the auction house, their very presence a silent announcement of the unseen power behind it.
That night, in the privacy of his quarters, Tianzun summoned the Time Mapping panel. The shifting script and soft, luminous glyphs resolved into a date—tomorrow—and the event he knew from the story's flow: Nalan Yanran visits the Xiao Clan.
He closed the panel, let the information settle in his mind, and looked at the night sky without expression.
The next morning began with steel ringing on steel in the Xiao Clan's training ground. Tianzun moved like water between Xiao Yan's strikes, adjusting posture and redirecting energy. Xun'er flowed on the other side, her movements weaving into theirs like a third thread in a rope.
Halfway through a sequence, a messenger arrived, bowing low. "Fourth Young Master, Young Master Xiao Yan, Miss Xun'er—Nalan Yanran has arrived. She is in the clan hall."
The three of them shared a brief glance. They did not hurry, but the air around them tightened. When they arrived, the conversation had already begun.
Canon conversation from Battle Through the Heavens begins here.
Elder Xiao Zhan's voice was heavy with restrained politeness. "Young Miss Nalan, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?"
Nalan Yanran stood with her hands clasped before her, dressed in elegant robes, her face serene but firm. "Clan Leader Xiao, I am here today to dissolve the engagement between myself and Xiao Yan."
A murmur rippled through the elders gathered. Xiao Zhan's brows knit. "Engagement... dissolved? Young Miss Nalan, the engagement was set by the elders of our two clans. Such a matter is not for you alone to decide."
Nalan Yanran's gaze did not waver. "I understand this will cause offense, but I must still proceed. Xiao Yan's talent in cultivation has... declined. The future I seek does not align with this union."
The words landed like stones. Tianzun stood at the side of the hall, expression unreadable, but his eyes flicked once toward Xiao Yan—measuring the hit, the way a swordsman watches the angle of an incoming blade.
From the crowd, a few elders muttered discontent. "This is an insult to the Xiao Clan."
Xiao Zhan's voice grew cooler. "Do you know the consequences of such words, Young Miss Nalan?"
She inclined her head. "The Nalan Clan will offer compensation. But the engagement must end."
Through it all, Tianzun did not speak. His mind traced possible lines of intervention, but he held back. Some battles, a man had to face with his own voice. He watched Xiao Yan, the faint tightening of his jaw, the way his fists curled. The boy was choosing whether to stand.
Xun'er, at Tianzun's side, glanced at him once. She seemed to read the restraint in his stillness, and a small smile touched her lips—pride in his choice to let his brother claim his own moment.
The air in the hall thickened. The storm was only beginning.