Xīng Hé sat in her room, pondering the words of her elder sister Bai.
The Transcendent had left some time ago, vanishing as silently as she'd appeared. But the information she'd shared lingered, pieces of a puzzle Xīng Hé was still assembling.
Two groups.
That was how the drafted children had been divided.
Group One consisted of those whose concepts had physical, tangible effects on reality. Fire that burned. Ice that froze. Space that bent and folded. These were the valuable ones—the children who'd demonstrated clear potential, whose powers could be measured and trained and eventually deployed. They were receiving active guidance, real instruction, preparation for the war that awaited them all.
Her friend was there.
Qin Hongyu. The red-haired girl she'd been speaking with on that first day, before the world had collapsed around them. They'd known each other since childhood—daughters of noble houses that maintained careful alliances. Hongyu had been captured alongside her, sorted into the same initial group.
But their paths had diverged.
Hongyu's concept had manifested clearly. She'd been sorted into Group One, pulled into active training while Xīng Hé lay unconscious in a manor she didn't deserve.
Is she doing well? Xīng Hé wondered. Is she frightened? Does she think I abandoned her?
She pushed the thoughts aside. Worry wouldn't help either of them.
Group Two was different.
These were the children with abstract concepts—powers that didn't affect physical reality in obvious ways. Dreams. Joy. Mercy. Wrath. The metaphorical, the intangible, the difficult to measure. They lagged behind Group One, struggling to understand representations that didn't translate easily into visible effects.
But progress was being made.
By the end of the year, Bai had said, those who'd managed to evolve from Group Two would be taken for proper training. Folded into the system. Given the guidance that might let them survive what was coming.
And then there was her.
"You're special."
That was what Bai Jinxue had said, those golden eyes pulsing with something that might have been amusement or calculation or both.
Xīng Hé had smiled.
But not because of the words.
She'd smiled because of what she knew—what Bai didn't know, what no one knew, what she was only beginning to understand herself.
She was special.
But not in the way they thought.
Everyone has one concept.
That was the fundamental truth of divine existence. You awakened to a single connection, a single aspect of reality that resonated with you. You saw a representation of that concept, struggled to understand its meaning, and eventually—if you were fortunate—evolved by grasping the truth it pointed toward.
One concept. One path. One truth to pursue across centuries of existence.
Xīng Hé had three.
Balance. Restoration. Preservation.
Not three random concept. Not three disconnected abilities that happened to coexist in the same vessel. These were concepts derived from the core laws of reality itself—fundamental truths that predated the framework of the world.
And she had claimed all three.
She still didn't fully understand how.
But she remembered the feeling—that tugging sensation during her comprehension, something guiding her in brief, fleeting moments. Not external guidance. Not instruction from a teacher or wisdom from a text. Something deeper. Something that felt like the universe itself whispering secrets it had kept since before existence had a name.
She hadn't understood her representation.
She'd never even seen her representation.
Instead, she had guided what her concepts should represent. Chosen her own truth from the core laws of reality. Shaped the meaning herself, rather than struggling to decode imagery planted in her consciousness.
Is this what natural awakeners do? she wondered. Or is this something else entirely?
She didn't know. The texts in her family's library had spoken of the seven natural awakeners who came before her, but their methods hadn't been recorded. Only their power. Only their impact on the world.
Only the fear they'd inspired in those around them.
I'm pioneering a new path.
The realization settled into her bones with quiet certainty.
She'd evolved to Resonance without ever seeing a representation. And already—sitting here in this room, still processing what she'd become—she could feel the shape of what came next. The path to the next stage wasn't hidden from her. It was visible, waiting, like a road stretching toward a horizon she could almost touch.
She knew how to evolve further.
That shouldn't be possible. It defied everything she understood about how divine existence worked. But it was true nonetheless.
This is why I smiled, she thought. Not because Bai called me special. Because I finally have the means to achieve my goals.
The philosophy that had driven her since the drafting—lives matter, either divine existence or mortals—no longer felt like desperate idealism. It felt achievable. Possible. Within reach, if she was careful, if she was patient, if she played the game well enough to survive long enough to change its rules.
But survival required deception.
And deception was becoming increasingly complicated.
Xīng Hé turned her thoughts to the problem of Heiyun Jue.
The Eminence had misunderstood her concept. When he'd watched her heal from the violence he'd inflicted—bones mending, blood flowing backward, wounds sealing in reverse—he'd concluded that her power was related to Time.
It wasn't.
Restoration could look like temporal reversal. The universe's memory of what things were meant to be, reaching back to undo damage, rebuild what was broken, reclaim what was stolen. But it wasn't actually rewinding time. It was something else entirely—something that didn't fit neatly into categories he would recognize.
She needed to maintain that misunderstanding.
If Heiyun learned the truth—if he discovered she had three concepts instead of one, that she'd evolved without representation, that she could feel the path to further stages already—his interest would intensify. She would become not just valuable, but fascinating. An anomaly to be studied. A mystery to be solved.
And mysteries in the hands of Transcendents rarely ended well for the mystery.
Reduce his interest, she told herself. That has to be the priority.
But she'd just evolved.
Again.
Without guidance. Without a teacher. Without any of the support that divine existences normally required to advance. She'd simply... comprehended. Understood. Became more than she was, while everyone around her assumed she was still struggling with the basics.
I just went extravagant again.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
Every time she tried to hide, she did something that made her more visible. Every attempt at blending in resulted in another impossible achievement that set her apart.
At least Heiyun hadn't summoned her yet. At least no one knew she was awake—no one except Bai Jinxue, whose agenda remained frustratingly opaque.
Small mercies.
When Bai had asked for food, Xīng Hé had served her the meal that remained in her room.
The plates had been waiting since that morning—the morning of her breakfast with Heiyun, before the violence, before the five-day walk, before the two months of unconscious evolution. By all rights, the food should have spoiled long ago.
But this was Heiyun Jue's pocket space.
The realm he'd created operated according to principles he'd designed. Food preservation was simply one of many features—dimensional storage that maintained freshness indefinitely, mechanisms that served the comfort and convenience of those housed within.
Even in her prison, she was provided for.
Bai had eaten without comment, as if consuming a two-month-old meal preserved by spatial manipulation was perfectly ordinary. Perhaps for a Transcendent, it was.
They'd spoken more after that—careful exchanges, neither revealing too much. Bai had shared information about the two groups, about the timeline of training, about the general structure of life in the citadel. Surface knowledge. The kind of thing Xīng Hé could have learned from anyone.
But there were gaps.
Bai had given her name, but not her full story. Had explained her presence—"watching over you"—but not her true purpose. Had offered sisterhood without explaining what that sisterhood would cost.
Xīng Hé had noticed every omission.
She's hiding something. Maybe many things.
But then again, so was Xīng Hé.
Two players, each wearing masks. Each pretending to be less than they were. Each aware—probably—that the other was doing the same.
It was almost funny.
An ancient Transcendent and a newly evolved child, sitting across from each other, both playing roles they'd scripted for themselves. Bai the helpful elder sister. Xīng Hé the confused young girl. Neither fooled by the performance, but both committed to maintaining it.
For now, Xīng Hé thought. We both benefit from this arrangement. She gets access to Heiyun's inner domain chambers. I get information and protection. The masks serve us both.
But masks could slip.
And when they did, the consequences would be severe.
She was itching to test her new powers.
The Resonance stage was supposed to be transformative—a fundamental shift in what a divine existence could do. She could feel the potential humming beneath her skin, concepts waiting to be called upon, abilities waiting to be expressed.
But she couldn't.
The guards stationed throughout the manor were Resonance stage at minimum. Some of the more senior ones might be Attuned—genuinely dangerous, capable of perceiving things that lower existences couldn't. If she started manifesting her concepts, testing her limits, exploring what she could do...
They would sense it.
And they would report it.
And whatever fragile equilibrium she'd established would shatter.
Figure yourself out first, she counseled herself. Understand what you've become before you reveal it to anyone else.
She needed time. Time to explore her concepts in private—if true privacy even existed in this place. Time to understand the scope of her abilities, the limits of her power, the ways her three concepts interacted and supported each other.
Time to become strong enough that when the masks finally fell, she could survive what came after.
Xīng Hé rose from her bed and moved to the window.
Beyond the crystalline panes, the manor's grounds stretched out in carefully maintained beauty. Gardens and pathways and structures whose purposes she could only guess at. The artificial sun had climbed to its zenith, casting everything in warm, golden light.
It looked peaceful.
It was a lie.
Somewhere in this citadel, Heiyun Jue sat in his library, reading texts that required months to absorb. Somewhere, Bai Jinxue watched and waited and schemed toward goals Xīng Hé couldn't perceive. Somewhere, the other Transcendents circled like predators scenting weakness, ready to claim whatever prizes they could snatch from a shepherd who had "slipped up."
And somewhere—in the lesser quarters, in the domains of the Unfavored—children like her struggled to understand concepts they might never grasp, racing against a deadline that would sort them into survivors and fodder.
I could help them.
The thought surfaced unbidden.
If I shared what I know—if I explained that understanding doesn't require representation, that you can guide your concept instead of being guided by it—maybe more of them could evolve.
But that was dangerous.
That was exactly the kind of knowledge the Transcendents would want to control. If they discovered she possessed it—if they realized she'd found a path that bypassed their careful system of representations and concept stones—she would become a threat as well as an asset.
And threats were neutralized.
Later, she promised herself. When I'm stronger. When I can protect myself and others. Then I'll find ways to help.
For now, survival required silence.
She turned from the window and began pacing the room, her mind churning through possibilities.
First: understand my concepts. All three of them. How they work, what they can do, where their limits lie.
Second: maintain the deception. Let Heiyun believe I'm still struggling. Let everyone believe I'm weaker than I am.
Third: gather information. Learn everything I can about this place, these people, the systems that control us all.
Fourth: grow stronger. As fast as possible, without drawing attention.
Fifth...
She paused.
Fifth: survive.
It always came back to that.
Xīng Hé stopped pacing and stood in the center of her room, the filtered sunlight warming her snow-white hair.
Balance. Restoration. Preservation.
Three concepts. Three truths she'd claimed from the core laws of reality.
Three pillars on which she would build something new.
She didn't know exactly what that something would look like. Didn't know how long it would take, or what sacrifices it would demand, or whether she would live long enough to see it completed.
But she knew it was possible now.
And that was enough.
Figure yourself out first, she reminded herself one final time. Before you leave this room, before you face anyone else, understand what you've become.
She closed her eyes and turned her attention inward, reaching for the concepts that hummed at the core of her being.
The exploration began.
End of Chapter 19