The first hints of breakthrough were subtle, little more than a pressure change in the air. Haotian felt it before the others; the temperature in the bathhouse dipped and rose in quick succession, as though frost and flame were struggling for the right to shape the room. The mist no longer drifted softly along the pools but rose in spiraling sheets, drawn upward by forces building too quickly and too broadly to remain contained.
The frost treasure quivered in its alcove, its steady glow interrupted by brief flickers. Across from it, the flame treasure responded with a restless throb, expanding and retreating as if testing the very air for danger. Their brief harmony broke almost the instant it formed, and an uneasy tension settled across the chamber, as though the two recognized something vast approaching.
As the disciples began to circulate their chi, their auras surged upward in unison. One after another, the bottleneck that had held them at peak Dao Comprehension shattered. The soundless chamber shook with the unrestrained tide of breakthroughs.
It wasn't one or two…
It was seven hundred and fifty all at once.
The bathhouse floor trembled violently, cracks racing across the reinforced jade tiles. The walls groaned like mountains splitting. The frost and flame treasures, terrified of the storm, immediately recoiled, retreating to the farthest corner of the chamber, their light flickering as if afraid to be consumed.
Outside, the sect grounds quaked. Disciples who were not within the formation staggered, eyes wide as phoenix cries of unimaginable intensity roared into the skies.
Haotian felt the shift as a deep vibration under his feet, a tremor that traveled up through the jade and into his bones. Seven hundred and fifty meridians opening at once produced a resonance that no formation was meant to endure. He placed his hand against the nearest pillar, steadying himself as the walls groaned. The sound reminded him of roots straining beneath a storm, or ice expanding inside stone.
The sky outside had already begun to dim. Clouds gathered quickly, drawn to the disturbance like iron to a lodestone. By the time Haotian sensed the first ripple of heavenly intent, the pressure was so dense it pressed against his ears, muffling the sound of the bubbling pools and the soft breaths of the meditating maidens.
He did not have time to think.
"Damn it…!"
He slammed his palm against the jade floor. Runes erupted outward in golden light as he began weaving barriers — layers upon layers of reinforced space-time seals and suppression glyphs. His Eyes of the Universe spun madly, mapping fractures before they tore wider.
Yet even as the shields settled, he knew it would not be enough. The heavens rarely tolerated a single mass ascension. Seven hundred and fifty was not a scale they recognized as possible, and so they reacted as they always did when confronted by the unknown—by testing it.
The first strike was not especially loud, but it was deep. It resonated in the marrow, a low, rolling crack that made dust drift from the beams overhead. Haotian felt the barrier shift under the weight of it, like a thin sheet of glass pressed by a careless hand. The lightning did not streak; it pushed, as though the heavens were feeling the boundary, deciding its strength.
Then the second strike followed, sharper, driven by intent rather than inquiry.
The barrier tightened. Haotian exhaled slowly, adjusting the flow of stabilizing chi through his arms. The tiles beneath him had begun to split, thin fractures threading outward. The air tasted metallic.
He knew then that the heavens had made their decision.
The next wave of lightning did not come as individual bolts. It came as a continuous cascade, not bright enough to blind but relentless enough to grind against the barrier like millstones. Haotian felt each impact as a dull throb between his shoulder blades, each pulse pushing him backward by a hair's breadth. The jade floor trembled under his knees, and the baths themselves sloshed violently against their edges.
Outside, though no one could see the storm through the concealment formation, the entire sect felt something heavy press down upon them. A few disciples staggered. Some turned instinctively toward the mountain's heart. A low rumble passed through the stone beneath their feet, and several looked to the sky with questions they dared not speak aloud.
Inside, the tribulation deepened. Shapes began to form within the lightning, not fully manifested beings but impressions—wings unfurling in arcs of white fire, serpentine curves woven from pulsing light. The heavens had not sent creatures; rather, the overwhelming quantity of power had molded itself into patterns the human mind understood. Each time the mass descended, it carried the heaviness of a mountain.
Haotian braced for another impact, feeling his forearms tremble. The barrier was beginning to ripple beneath the strain, and a warm trickle at the corner of his mouth told him that the force was slipping past muscle and into circulation. The air inside the bathhouse had grown sharp, textured by the competing temperatures of yin and yang, and every breath stung faintly at the lungs.
Inside the concealment of their flag posts, the maidens writhed and moaned in ecstasy, entirely unaware. To them, it was bliss — Meridians widened, dao marks imprinted, and wave after wave of sacred force poured through them unchecked. The sounds they made were muffled beneath the roaring pressure, faint wisps of breath lost to the storm. Their bodies remained in trance, their expressions softened by the rush of energy expanding their inner worlds. None realized that their Senior Brother outside was holding back the apocalypse with bare hands.
Haotian's attention flickered to the ceiling. A crack had opened there, narrow but persistent, and with each stroke of lightning it lengthened. He pushed more chi into the barrier, trying to hold the fractures together just long enough for the storm to pass. His shoulders tightened. The next surge hit harder than the last, accompanied by a burst of heat that washed over his face.
He did not bend, but the effort hollowed his breath.
And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the atmosphere began to shift. The lightning lost some of its cohesion; the impressions of wings and coils broke apart into simpler, raw bursts of power. The pressure lessened by degrees—first noticeably, then sharply, as if a cord had been cut.
The barrier quivered once more before finally beginning to settle.Haotian allowed himself a single, slow exhale.
Time stretched unbearably. The ground split, his golden runes flaring brighter and brighter. Finally, like a chain of mountains collapsing, the surges dimmed. One by one, the disciples' auras stabilized at their new height.
Saint Realm.
Seven hundred and fifty phoenixes had risen in a single day.
Haotian wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, studying the cracked walls and sagging rafters.
A tired, wry breath escaped him.
Never again. Not all at once.
The silence afterward was deafening. The frost and flame treasures crept cautiously from their corner, trembling as though they had just survived annihilation.
Haotian staggered, his knees buckling. He fell to the floor, sweat soaking his robes, chest heaving as his golden eyes dimmed.
"Jeez…" he muttered through labored breaths, a bitter laugh breaking from his throat. "That was a sect-destroying event…"
He collapsed back against the wall, his body slick with sweat, heart pounding. Alone, he had saved the sect from its own success.
The mist within the bathhouse slowly dissipated. One by one, the disciples opened their eyes. Their auras burned higher, brighter, more refined — each one pulsing with the unmistakable weight of the Saint Realm.
Gasps, laughter, and joyous cries filled the concealed chambers.
"We… we broke through!"
"Saint Realm… I can feel it! The world feels lighter, clearer!"
"My dao… it resonates sharper than ever—!"
They clutched their phoenix swords, the living weapons humming with pride, their cries echoing like flocks taking flight. Disciples embraced one another, some crying openly, others laughing until their voices cracked.
The soundless barrier swallowed their jubilation from outside ears, but inside, it was a storm of elation. For them, the impossible had become real — seven hundred and fifty saints born in one night.
Unaware, completely unaware… that while they celebrated, their Senior Brother lay slumped beyond the flag post barriers, drenched in sweat, body trembling from the storm he had suppressed alone.
When the disciples finally filed out, they returned to their quarters radiant and proud. None questioned why the air still shimmered faintly with residual suppression runes. None saw the faint cracks along the bathhouse pillars where Haotian had reinforced the structure with his chi.
But Yinxue, Ziyue, and Shuyue did not leave.
They turned at once when they saw him, collapsed against the wall. His robes clung to his skin, hair damp, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
"Haotian!" Yinxue rushed forward, kneeling beside him, her fingers brushing his forehead. The heat of exhaustion radiated from him.
Ziyue's expression tightened, her voice sharp though tinged with worry. "What happened? You weren't supposed to cultivate today — why are you like this?"
Haotian gave a weak chuckle, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Nothing… really. Just had to make sure the mountain didn't collapse while you all were busy becoming saints."
The three froze.
Shuyue's eyes widened, lips trembling. "Wait… you mean—"
He nodded faintly. "Seven hundred and fifty breakthroughs at once… the bathhouse nearly cracked apart. If I hadn't reinforced the barriers, this sect would be rubble now."
Silence.
Yinxue's hands trembled against his cheek. Ziyue's sharp composure faltered, guilt flashing across her eyes. Shuyue sank lower, tears welling.
"None of us knew…" Yinxue whispered.
"You weren't supposed to bear that alone," Ziyue muttered, voice breaking.
"I-I was celebrating while you were… you were…" Shuyue buried her face into his shoulder.
Haotian forced himself upright, leaning heavily against them, but his smile remained.
"Don't cry. This is the path I chose. Your breakthroughs were worth it. One day, when the demons come, the world will need more than me. It will need all of you."
The three sisters tightened their hold on him, silent promises burning in their hearts.
In the bathhouse corner, the frost and flame treasures pulsed faintly, whispering like children who had watched their father bleed in silence.
That night, as the phoenix sect celebrated loudly across the mountain, only three knew the price of that triumph — and swore never again to let Haotian stand alone.
The bathhouse walls still glowed faintly with suppression runes when Yinxue, Ziyue, and Shuyue moved quickly to Haotian's side. His body was slick with sweat, his breathing heavy. Without a word, Yinxue's hands traced sigils in the air — the faint shimmer of space dao bending gently around them.
Reality folded. The bathhouse dissolved, replaced instantly with the familiar quiet of Haotian's bedchambers.
They eased him onto the bedding, his weight surprisingly heavy from exhaustion. Shuyue, with trembling hands, loosened his sweat-soaked robes, carefully peeling them away. Her cheeks burned scarlet, but her movements were steady.
Ziyue fetched a basin of warm water and a soft cloth. She dipped it carefully, then began wiping the sweat from his arms, chest, and face. Her sharp eyes, usually so composed, lingered on him with rare softness.
Yinxue joined quietly, wringing another cloth and cleaning the damp strands of his hair, brushing them back from his forehead. Her gaze trembled, though her hands remained firm, her dignity wrapped in gentleness.
Haotian stirred once, his golden eyes flickering open. He saw them hovering over him, their movements careful, their worry etched in every line of their faces.
"…You three…" His voice was hoarse but laced with warmth. "You don't need to fuss so much…"
Yinxue pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.
"Rest, Haotian. Let us do this… just this once."
His lips curved faintly into a tired smile before his eyes slid shut again.
The three phoenix sisters worked in silence, tending him until his body was clean and dry, his breathing more even. When the basin was set aside and his robes replaced with fresh silks, they slipped beneath the covers beside him, exhaustion finally claiming them too.
That night, they fell asleep at his side — Yinxue with her head resting lightly against his shoulder, Ziyue curled near his arm, Shuyue nestled closest, fingers brushing his hand as though afraid to let go.
Morning came with pale light spilling through the window screens. Haotian stirred first.
His golden eyes opened slowly, and the first sight that greeted him was the three of them asleep around him, their faces serene, their breaths steady. For a long while, he only lay there, watching, a faint smile softening his features.
Carefully, so as not to wake them, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads.
"Thank you," he whispered, voice barely audible. "For staying by my side."
For a man who bore storms and destruction alone, this quiet moment — three phoenixes sleeping peacefully around him — was the gentlest reward he could ever ask for.
Months passed, and the Moon Lotus Sect adapted to their new reality.
What had once been a sect famed for its unity now pulsed like a sovereign army of phoenixes. Every courtyard rang with the clash of dao against dao, every training field blazed with sword light and phoenix cries.
The bathhouse had become their sanctum. Within it, the frost and flame treasures poured yin and yang chi endlessly into the source crystal, tempering the disciples' Saint Realm foundations. Each session of dual cultivation and phoenix resonance stabilized their bodies and sharpened their dao marks.
The sisters led from the front. Yinxue's sevenfold dao — frost, ice, sword, love, piercing, space, and time — unfolded like a blooming lotus, her strength already pressing the boundary of Mid Saint Realm. Ziyue's icewind sword dao, now reinforced with piercing, space, and time, sliced the very air with elegance and speed. Shuyue, ever radiant, had manifested three of the Seven Virtues in her sword: love, loyalty, and compassion — each glowing brighter with every battle.
Under Haotian's constant forging, their phoenix swords and armors evolved in tandem with their wielders. Each piece carried an independent will, now sharper and more attuned, whispering with eagerness for battle.
The mountain itself seemed transformed: a sect of 750 Saints, training as one.
It was into this storm of cultivation that the skies split open, and four overwhelming auras descended.
Yangshen. Yuying. Jinhai. Meiyun. The Four Saint Dragons of the Zhenlong line.
Their arrival sent ripples of qi across the sect. The disciples halted their drills, turning wide-eyed as four divine figures appeared above the courtyard.
Yangshen folded his arms, his dragon's eyes scanning the grounds.
"We came to see the champions of the Central Alliance Tournament."
Meiyun's lips curved faintly. "And to see just how much our little descendant has grown in these three years."
But the moment their gazes truly swept across the mountain, their words faltered.
Everywhere they looked — Saints.
Disciples sparring in pairs, their dao colliding in radiant bursts. Elders meditating, Saint auras resonating with phoenix cries. The very stones of the sect hummed with the density of Saint Realm presence.
"..."
Yangshen's jaw slackened. His hand twitched at his side. He turned, as if expecting someone to explain the impossible.
Meiyun blinked rapidly, her composure cracking.
"This… this can't…"
Jinhai rubbed at his temples, muttering under his breath.
"Seven hundred and fifty Saints. In one sect. At once. This is… absurd. Absolutely absurd."
Even Yuying — who usually laughed and teased — went silent. Her gaze lingered on the phoenix-armored disciples, on the resonance of their dao swords, on the sheer unity of their presence.
Finally, she let out a low whistle.
"Well. I suppose the reports were true after all. The Moon Lotus Sect didn't just win the tournament. They've… rewritten the meaning of cultivation."
The Four Saints stood there, dumbfounded, their mighty auras strangely diminished in the face of something they had never seen in all their centuries of life:
A sect that had turned the impossible into reality.
The skies rippled as the Four Saint Dragons hovered above the Moon Lotus Sect. For once, they did not immediately descend, their expressions a strange mix of awe and disbelief.
Seven hundred and fifty Saint auras burned beneath them, resonating with phoenix cries, steady and unified. Even they, with all their centuries of battle, felt a twinge of unease at descending into such a storm.
Before they could retreat, a figure shimmered into the sky before them.
Haotian.
His white-and-silk-blue dragon armor glimmered with its faint rainbow sheen, his golden eyes curved in a mischievous smile.
"Ancestors, where are you going? Why not come down?"
Yangshen blinked, caught off guard.
"Boy…"
Haotian tilted his head slightly, the playful smile never leaving his face. "Surely you're not nervous? There are only 750 Saints waiting below. All my girls. All my disciples. All my… backing."
The Four Saint Dragons froze, their gazes flicking to one another. For the first time, their teasing smirks faltered. They straightened, a rare nervousness prickling their pride, before their faces settled into solemnity.
"…Very well," Yangshen finally muttered, folding his arms. "No more jokes."
Together, they descended.
The moment their feet touched the sect's central courtyard, every disciple turned as one, phoenix armors blazing. They bowed deeply, voices echoing like a single roar.
"We greet the honored ancestors of Senior Brother Haotian!"
The flood of respectful greetings reverberated across the mountain. Even the phoenix swords hummed with recognition, their wills acknowledging the dragons' might.
The Four Saints stood still, drinking in the sight.
"This… this is incredible," Jinhai whispered, shaking his head.
Yuying turned to Haotian, her lips curling faintly. "How are you keeping up with training them all?"
Haotian chuckled softly, hands folded behind his back.
"I'm managing. For now."
Meiyun's brow furrowed, her gaze sweeping across the phoenix disciples.
"That won't do. The difference between Dao Comprehension and Saint cultivation is vast. Have they even formed their dao avatars yet?"
A ripple of confusion passed through the disciples. Heads tilted. Murmurs rose.
"Dao avatar…?"
"What is that?"
The silence was answer enough.
Yangshen's stern voice cut through the courtyard.
"Hah. I see. Not a single one of you knows. That settles it."
He crossed his arms, his aura rolling out like thunder.
"We will remain here. We will personally train you all in the Saint Realm, and we will make you into true Saints — avatars, dao mastery, and all."
Gasps echoed among the disciples. Shock spread like wildfire.
"To… to be trained… by the Four Saint Dragons themselves?"
"Ancestors of Senior Brother Haotian…"
"This is… this is once in a lifetime!"
Every disciple dropped to their knees, bowing low. Their voices rose in unison, filled with reverence and awe.
"We thank the honored ancestors for this opportunity!"
Even Yinxue, Ziyue, and Shuyue exchanged glances, their usual confidence shaken. To be taught by Haotian was already beyond fortune — but to now receive direct guidance from the very Saints who raised him? It was staggering.
At the center of it all, Haotian folded his arms and smirked faintly, golden eyes glinting. He had known this moment would come — and he was more than ready to watch his sect soar even higher.
That night, after the Four Saint Dragons settled in the guest pavilions, the Moon Lotus Sect buzzed with excitement. Disciples whispered endlessly — to be trained by Haotian was fortune enough, but to now have the very ancestors who raised him remain? It felt like destiny itself favored their sect.
Yet in Haotian's private chamber, the atmosphere was quieter.
Yinxue sat close to him, her phoenix robe flowing like icefire silk, brows furrowed in thought."Haotian… what is a dao avatar? None of us have ever heard of it."
Haotian leaned back, his golden eyes reflecting the lamplight. "It's not surprising. Dao avatars are a mystery even to most Saints. Few reach the step, fewer understand it. A dao avatar is a projection of your dao made flesh and form — a mirror of yourself, born from the path you walk."
Ziyue's sharp eyes narrowed, lips tightening. "So it's… another you?"
"Not exactly," Haotian replied, shaking his head. "It can be another you, or it can be the embodiment of your dao concepts. For example, Yinxue… your avatar could manifest as an eternal lotus of frost and time, wielding your sevenfold dao as its own. Ziyue, yours may be a storm of icewind and blades, given form. Shuyue… yours could be the virtues themselves, each sword of morality taking shape around you."
Shuyue's eyes widened, a spark of wonder glowing. "That sounds… like a divine companion."
Haotian smiled faintly. "It's far more. A dao avatar fights with you, grows with you, and reflects your state of heart. Without stability, it will collapse. But once complete, it multiplies your strength severalfold. At the peak, the avatar and cultivator merge as one, stepping into domains no ordinary Saint could touch."
The sisters sat in silence, the weight of his words pressing on them. For the first time in years, even they felt the edge of awe toward something beyond their imagination.
Yinxue placed her hand gently on his. "We'll learn. And we'll make you proud."
Haotian chuckled softly, brushing her fingers. "No. You'll make yourselves invincible."
The next morning, the sect gathered in the central courtyard. Phoenix armors blazed, dao swords sang faintly, seven hundred and fifty Saints stood in formation.
Above them, the Four Saint Dragons appeared, their presences overwhelming even in calm silence.
Yangshen stepped forward, his voice booming like a dragon's roar.
"Today begins your true training as Saints. You have power, yes — but power without form is wasted. To walk as true Saints, you must forge your dao avatars."
Meiyun's eyes swept across the rows of disciples. "The avatar is not a technique. It is not something handed to you. It is the embodiment of your dao. Without purity of path and heart, your avatars will crumble."
Jinhai raised a hand, and chi flared behind him. A towering avatar took form — a colossal dragon made of storm and steel, its eyes glowing as it mirrored his movements.
"This is a dao avatar. It is me, yet not me. It is my dao, given flesh."
Gasps rippled through the sect. Many instinctively reached for their swords, awe and shock coursing through their veins.
Finally, Yuying spoke, her lips curved in a teasing smile, though her tone was deadly serious.
"You've all grown used to relying on your phoenix armors and swords. Now, you'll learn to rely on yourselves. If you survive this training, you'll no longer be disciples of fortune. You'll be true Saints, ready to crush demons beneath your feet."
The disciples bowed in unison, voices thundering:
"We obey!"
Haotian stood at the edge, arms folded, his golden eyes glinting faintly. He had already taken them this far — but with the Four Saint Dragons pushing them into avatar cultivation, the Moon Lotus Sect was about to step beyond even his own wildest plans.
And the world beyond their gates would never be ready for what was coming.