Elsewhere, within the Heavenly Martial Sect, preparations moved with unmistakable momentum.
The sect had not known such bustle in years.
From the moment dawn broke each day, disciples could be seen moving along the stone roads and suspended pathways, their figures weaving through the morning mist. Materials were carried carefully in their arms, banners unfurled and rehung, formations adjusted again and again until every angle was deemed appropriate. The air itself seemed charged—not with tension, but with purpose.
Crimson and gold decorations traced the main routes between halls, following paths that guests were most likely to walk on the wedding day. These colors stood vivid against the pale stone and green peaks, catching the eye even from a distance.
The roads were cleaned and polished until they reflected light. Archways were erected where none had stood before, their carvings simple yet dignified, favoring balance over extravagance. Even the lesser-used paths were attended to—no corner of the sect was left neglected, no stone overlooked.
It was as though the sect itself was being awakened.
From the main peak, the surrounding peaks rose like silent sentinels, their outlines sharp against the sky. These too were being adorned. Streamers and spirit-lamps were placed along ridges and terraces, secured carefully against wind and weather, ensuring that when guests looked outward from the heart of the sect, they would see a spectacle worthy of remembrance.
The view from the main peak had always been impressive.
Now, it was being shaped into something ceremonial—an unspoken declaration of heritage, strength, and continuity.
At the center of it all, within the highest halls, the true weight of preparation unfolded.
Sect Master Lee Min sat with his brother, Lee San, and the elders of the sect, long scrolls spread across the table before them. The room was quiet save for the occasional rustle of parchment and the measured voices of discussion.
Names were reviewed carefully, one after another, each carrying its own significance.
Invitations were not merely courtesies.
They were statements.
Top-tier sects and ancient families had to be addressed with utmost care—proper wording, suitable gifts, and respectful timing. For these, no detail could be overlooked. A single misstep could echo far beyond the wedding itself.
At the same time, smaller and medium-sized sects could not be ignored. Though the marriage itself carried no political conflict, appearances still mattered. The Heavenly Martial Sect had endured through generations, and this wedding was an opportunity to quietly reaffirm its standing.
Authority did not always need to be declared.
Sometimes, it only needed to be displayed.
Thus, invitations were extended broadly—measured, deliberate—ensuring no faction could later claim offense or exclusion. Alongside this, arrangements were made for accommodation. Entire guest quarters were reorganized, additional courtyards prepared, and elder disciples assigned to oversee order and reception.
Every possibility was considered.
There could be no mistakes.
A wedding of this scale was not merely the joining of two people.
It was the face of the sect presented to the world.
And as the preparations continued—methodical, relentless—the Heavenly Martial Sect transformed steadily, every stone and pathway carrying the silent understanding that something significant was approaching.
----
At the same time, within the Heavenly Martial Sect, Kai found himself rarely alone.
From morning until evening, his mother kept him in constant motion, pulling him from one place to another with tireless determination. Compared to him—or even Rai—she appeared far more anxious, her concern sharp and unmistakable, as though the wedding weighed upon her more heavily than anyone else.
"This must be adjusted."
"That color won't do."
"Try this one again."
Kai stood obediently as fabrics were measured against him, exchanged, and measured again. Sleeves were smoothed, hems examined, colors compared beneath different lights. His mother circled him critically, her gaze missing nothing, her expression serious enough to discourage complaint.
When she was satisfied with his attire, she turned her attention elsewhere just as swiftly.
"You should help choose something suitable for your father," she said, already moving ahead. "And your uncle as well."
Kai followed without protest.
To her, Lee San was not merely a brother-in-law. Over the years, he had been treated no differently than her own son. And just as naturally, Lee San treated her with the same respect—and caution—that any child reserved for a strict yet caring mother.
Even now, when she questioned his choices or assigned him tasks, he complied without complaint, his usual composure tinged with something close to resignation.
Kai noticed it.
And found it faintly amusing.
Whenever preparations required his presence, Kai was there—assisting, listening, nodding where needed. He fulfilled every role expected of him without resistance. But when he finally found himself free, when the noise and movement receded, a strange emptiness crept in.
It was subtle.
Not distressing enough to name, yet persistent enough to feel.
He would sit quietly, hands resting loosely at his sides, thoughts drifting without direction. Unbidden, Rai's image surfaced again and again—her calm composure, the way she had stood before the paintings, the slight tension in her posture, the look in her eyes when realization dawned.
He wondered how she would react when they finally met.
Would she be surprised?
Annoyed?
Would she still be displeased that he had left without explanation—without even telling her his name?
The questions lingered without answers, circling endlessly.
On such nights, Kai often found himself beneath the open sky.
He would stand silently, head tilted upward, gazing at the stars scattered across the darkness. The moon hung above, pale and steady, suspended without support—unchanging, indifferent to the unease below.
Slowly, the tightness in his chest would ease.
The anxious thoughts softened, dissolving into the vast stillness overhead, until they no longer pressed so heavily upon him.
Occasionally, even during the day, his gaze would lift toward the sky, following the slow movement of clouds as they drifted past one another without concern.
Those moments were brief.
But they were enough.
Enough to steady him, to remind him that time—like the sky—would move forward regardless.
And that soon, no matter how quietly the days passed, the moment he had been circling around would finally arrive.
Zhou Family Preparations for What Comes After
At the same time, preparations were also underway within the Zhou household.
Unlike the Heavenly Martial Sect, the Zhou family did not favor grand displays or excessive ornamentation. Their focus lay elsewhere—quiet, deliberate, and rooted in tradition passed down through generations.
What they prepared for was not celebration alone.
It was the baptism.
After the marriage was completed, both Kai and Rai would be sent to the Zhou family grounds. There, the baptism would take place—the true beginning of their paths as cultivators.
For the Zhou family, this moment carried weight far beyond ceremony.
A platform was raised within the inner grounds, its foundation carefully laid and reinforced with layers of stone and formation markings. The surrounding area was cleared entirely, expanding the space far beyond what was normally required for such a rite. The land itself was prepared—leveled, stabilized, and quietly strengthened to endure whatever strain might come.
This was no ordinary baptism.
It was a joint one.
And the two who would stand upon that stage were anything but ordinary.
Rai carried a dormant physique—one that had not appeared in countless generations, its records buried deep within ancient texts. It had yet to awaken, yet its very existence was enough to command caution and reverence.
Kai's was rarer still.
A physique spoken of only once in surviving records, mentioned briefly in fragments of ancient history, its nature uncertain and its limits unknown.
Thus, the Zhou family spared no effort.
Resources were gathered quietly but relentlessly. Pills refined to the highest standard. Herbs harvested at precise moments to preserve their potency. Natural treasures—some long safeguarded, others newly secured—were prepared for use, each chosen for its stabilizing and nourishing effects.
Nothing was left to chance.
Both families worked in unison now, each in their own way—one shaping spectacle and order, the other laying foundations for transformation. Wedding preparations and baptism arrangements progressed side by side, intertwined yet distinct.
For most, the coming marriage was the focus.
For those who truly understood—
The baptism was where everything would begin.