Yao Xian had barely reached the teleportation chamber when the summons came again.
Return.
A single word, pressed into her consciousness with the same casual authority as before. No explanation. No elaboration. Just the expectation of immediate compliance.
Her face settled, she sighed, this is getting frustrating.
But Heiyun Jue had commanded her return.
And Heiyun Jue was not someone you kept waiting.
She crushed a different stone and reappeared in the corridor outside his personal chambers. Guards were already moving to escort her—the same guards, the same route, as if the past few minutes had never happened.
When she entered, the room was no longer empty.
Four figures stood before Heiyun's seat. Gu Minghui had materialized at some point during her brief absence, his expression carrying its usual careful neutrality. The two Group One mentors flanked him—Mentor Graves with her cold eyes, and Mentor Aldric with his weathered features. Elder Pei Leng occupied the position closest to Heiyun, his posture radiating the particular deference that Domain stage existences showed to Transcendents.
A debriefing.
Heiyun had called them all for a debriefing.
Yao took her position at the edge of the group, saying nothing, revealing nothing her face blank.
Heiyun's gaze swept across them, unhurried and assessing.
"So. Only a few went for missions?"
Elder Pei Leng stepped forward slightly. "The first wave, Your Eminence. We deployed teams to low-risk retrieval sites as an initial assessment of field readiness. The results have been... informative."
"And those with abstract concepts?"
"Some were included in the deployments." The Elder's voice carried carefully measured confidence. "We took precautions, of course. Each abstract wielder was provided with a ring—a specialized artefact designed to respond to the absence of life-force."
He paused, ensuring he had Heiyun's attention.
"If a wielder falls in the field, the ring activates within seconds. It absorbs their blood, preserving what can be preserved, and transmits a signal to our monitoring stations."
Heiyun nodded slowly. "Clever. And the success rate?"
"Eighty percent, if all proceeds according to parameters." Mentor Aldric spoke now, his weathered voice carrying the weight of experience. "The missions were designed as retrieval operations, not combat engagements. The teams were trained for extraction and evasion. Direct confrontation was never the expectation."
"And yet some missions have encountered... complications."
Silence answered him.
"Xīng Hé's odds. Twenty percent. Explain."
Mentor Graves stepped forward. "During teleportation to her assigned coordinates, we detected an anomalous life-force signature. A rival species—survivors from previous engagements. They had concealed themselves in the mission zone, presumably waiting for an opportunity."
"You detected them during transport and proceeded anyway."
"The teleportation was already in progress, Your Eminence. Interrupting mid-transit would have caused spatial disruption. The risks of recall exceeded the risks of completion."
Heiyun's expression didn't change. "So you sent a team of children into hostile territory with a one-in-five chance of survival."
No one responded.
"Will they put the mission first? Even if circumstances deteriorate beyond expectations?"
"They will, Your Eminence." Elder Pei Leng's voice carried absolute certainty. "The protocols have been embedded. They understand the priorities."
"And can they kill?"
The question landed with weight that made several of the attendants shift uncomfortably.
"Yes, Your Eminence." The Elder didn't hesitate. "Only those who have demonstrated the capacity were assigned to active missions."
Heiyun's gaze moved to Yao Xian.
"Did she?"
The question carried implications that went beyond its simple words. Did Xīng Hé kill? Did the special one, the girl Yao had claimed responsibility for guiding—possess the fundamental capability that survival in this world demanded?
Yao smiled.
It was not a pleasant expression.
"She knew what was at stake."
The answer was oblique. Deliberately so. But the memory surfaced anyway.
The training had been procedural.
They started with animals.
Small creatures, at first. Vermin that infested the training grounds, pests that served no purpose except to be eliminated. It was framed as pest control—a necessary task, nothing more significant than sweeping floors or maintaining equipment.
Some children managed it without difficulty. Others struggled, their hands shaking, their eyes wet with tears they weren't permitted to shed.
Then the animals changed.
Not wild anymore. Corrupted. Tainted by something they didn't explain, their bodies twisted into shapes that made them easier to see as threats rather than victims. Killing a corrupted beast felt different than killing a healthy one. The guilt came less readily when the target looked like a monster.
That was the point.
Then came fresh animals. Untainted. Normal. The children who had grown comfortable with corrupted beasts now faced creatures that looked at them with ordinary eyes, that made ordinary sounds, that died in ordinary ways.
More tears. More breakdowns. More careful, patient pressure from mentors who knew exactly how hard to push and when to relent.
And finally—humans.
Death row inmates, technically. Criminals condemned by mortal courts for crimes severe enough to warrant execution. They explained this carefully: these were not innocent victims. These were monsters in human form, beings who had forfeited their right to existence through their own choices.
The children just had to end it.
Some did. Some couldn't. Some broke in ways that required extensive work to repair.
The mentors were patient. They had done this before. They would do it again.
By the time the first missions were assigned, every child who deployed had killed. Had felt life drain from beneath their hands, had watched light fade from eyes, had crossed the threshold that separated those who could take life from those who could not.
Xīng Hé was not an exception.
Heiyun absorbed Yao's answer without visible reaction.
"Good. You have all performed adequately in my absence. The protocols you established are sound. The results speak for themselves."
Relief flickered across several faces—quickly suppressed, but present nonetheless.
"Continue as you have been. The next phase approaches. There will be joint operations with children from other territories. Coordination between our forces and those of my... peers."
The pause before "peers" carried weight that everyone in the room understood. The other Transcendents. The other rulers.
"I expect our contributions to reflect well on this domain. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Eminence," they responded in unison.
"Then you are dismissed." His gaze moved to Yao. You have a task to complete."
Yao bowed slightly and turned toward the door without waiting for the others.
---
✦
The mentors filed out of Heiyun's chambers in contemplative silence.
Elder Pei Leng walked slightly apart from the others, his expression carrying a satisfaction he didn't bother to hide. The meeting had confirmed what he'd suspected but hadn't dared to hope.
Heiyun didn't know.
The Eminence had been absent for months—years, if you counted the gradual withdrawal that preceded his complete silence. During that time, decisions had been made. Actions had been taken. The training program had evolved in directions that might have attracted scrutiny if anyone in authority had been paying attention.
But no one had.
Heiyun had trusted them. Had delegated responsibility without assigning oversight, had allowed them to operate independently, had treated their competence as a given rather than something requiring verification.
That trust was gratifying.
We did a good job. The results exceeded expectations. The children are progressing. The system is functioning.
And when His Eminence recognizes that...
Rewards would follow. They always did. Transcendents were not generous by nature, but they understood the value of reinforcing useful behavior. Those who served well received consideration. Those who exceeded expectations received more.
Perhaps a breakthrough catalyst. Or access to restricted comprehension materials. Something to accelerate my own progress.
The possibilities were pleasant to contemplate.
He hadn't considered what Heiyun might have been doing during his absence. Hadn't wondered why a Transcendent would withdraw so completely from the management of his own domain. Such questions were above his station—and frankly, beyond his interest.
His Eminence had his reasons.
His Eminence always had his reasons.
The Elder's job was to serve, not to question.
And serving had never felt more rewarding.
---
✦
Yao Xian walked in the opposite direction, her steps carrying her toward the teleportation chamber with renewed urgency.
She was irritated.
Not frightened—the debriefing had gone as well as could be expected, and Heiyun's attention had already shifted to other matters. Not concerned about Xīng Hé—the girl was resourceful, and twenty percent odds weren't zero. Not worried about the implications of what she'd been ordered to do—saving lives was saving lives, regardless of the motivations behind the command.
Just irritated.
She had been doing nothing.
Doing nothing was her preferred state of existence. It required no effort, produced no complications, and allowed the endless grey hours to pass without demanding anything of her beyond mere continuation. She had perfected the art of doing nothing over two thousand years of practice.
And now she was being forced to do something.
The kids better make this up to me, or else.
She didn't specify what "or else" might entail.
Some threats were more effective when left to the imagination.
The world twisted around her, space folding, reality bending—and then she was gone.
It was almost funny.
Almost.
---
End of Chapter 40