The journey through the Golden Prairies lasted seven uneventful days. On the morning of the eighth day, the Mobile Palace stopped for two hours in the tall grass. When it resumed its path, Yù Méi was guiding the beasts, her shoulders relaxed, a dark veil covering her face from the nose down. Her heavy golden hair swayed in the warm wind. She carried the lightness of someone who had been thoroughly satisfied.
The golden grass ended abruptly. The earth gave way to dark rock, and the horizon opened into a wide precipice. Enormous black stone pillars rose from the abyss, piercing the low clouds. The air turned damp and cold. This was the border of the Deep South.
A narrow stone bridge was the only way across. At the entrance, a wooden checkpoint blocked the path. Five guards in white and blue robes stood watch over the road.
Yù Méi pulled on the reins. The carriage stopped near the barricade.
The two draft beasts shifted uncomfortably. Each hoof cracked the dark rock slightly beneath their colossal weight. The hot breath from their nostrils smelled of raw flesh and hot metal. One of the nearest guards took an involuntary step back, his face suddenly tense.
One of the guards walked up to the driver's seat. Despite the tension, ignorance still protected him. He didn't fully assess the mutation of the beasts or measure the group's energy. He merely glanced at the veiled woman and pointed his spear casually.
— Ten silvers for the toll — the guard said, his voice rough and bored. — Get down from the seat and open the wagon for cargo inspection.
Yù Méi's smile vanished. She wrapped the reins around the wood and cracked her neck, already preparing to jump down and drive her fist into the man's chest.
Before her boot could touch the ground, a humming sound cut through the mist above the bridge.
A silver blade descended in an arc. On top of it, a woman in white and blue silk landed precisely between the carriage and the checkpoint. Lín Xiù sheathed her sword behind her back with a metallic click and turned to face the guards, her chin raised.
— Trash — she said, her voice loud and severe. — Haven't I already told you not to extort travelers? Kneel and beg for forgiveness.
The five guards dropped to their knees on the gravel, heads lowered.
On the driver's seat, Yù Méi released the stirrup and sighed, bored. The woman in white was wasting energy just to put on a show.
The cabin door opened behind her.
Zhì Yuǎn stepped onto the carriage's veranda. His charcoal-gray linen was impeccable. He leaned against the frame and observed Lín Xiù for a second. His mind analyzed her flight without effort — she was burning nearly all the Qi in her Dantian just to maintain her upright posture on the sword. It wasn't mastery. It was blind effort.
Yù Qíng appeared right behind him, resting her face against her husband's broad shoulder. Her black eyes swept over Lín Xiù from head to toe. The performance was so poor that she barely managed to suppress a yawn.
Lín Xiù finished scolding the guards and turned toward the carriage, ready to offer a noble apology. The words died in her throat.
Her eyes passed over the mutated beasts and the veiled woman on the driver's seat. They stopped on the man standing on the veranda.
For a second, Lín Xiù forgot to breathe. His calm presence, the complete absence of effort in his gaze, the way he seemed to exist somewhere else even while standing there… something inside her reacted before reason could intervene. He is not an ordinary traveler.
She quickly looked away toward Yù Qíng, who was leaning against his shoulder, and then toward Yù Méi. Her ego acted fast, dismissing the two as mere ornaments. A vase and a coachwoman, she thought, ignoring the discomfort their beauty caused her.
Lín Xiù straightened her posture and inclined her head slightly.
— I apologize for the rudeness of our dogs, Senior. I am Lín Xiù of the Misty Peak. Allow me to make amends for this mistake. I offer the hospitality of our mountain. It would be an honor to receive you as an Honored Guest.
On the driver's seat, Yù Méi gripped the reins until her knuckles hurt. Blood boiled in her veins. She wanted to jump down and break that woman's jaw for looking at her husband that way.
Yù Qíng, on the other hand, smiled behind her veil. A sweet and perfectly venomous smile.
— The Young Mistress is very generous — she replied, her voice soft and controlled. — We accept the invitation. Our journey has been long, and our carriage is empty. We would be delighted to enter your home and reap all the fruits your sect has to offer.
Lín Xiù didn't catch the predatory subtext. She simply nodded, thrilled to have managed to guide that mysterious man to her own sect.
The climb across the stone bridge lasted less than half an hour.
Lín Xiù flew beside the driver's seat, keeping her sword level with the carriage's veranda. She tried, unsuccessfully, to capture the attention of the man in the gray tunic.
— The Misty Peak has ruled these mountains for centuries — she said, her voice clear. — My grandfather is the Grand Elder. My Dantian is considered the purest of our generation. I comprehended the Sword Resonance Technique in only ten years. It was a record.
— A rare talent — Yù Qíng answered from inside the cabin, her tone polite. — I imagine a sect with such a pure heir must guard valuable treasures for the future.
— Our vaults are the richest on the border. I can show the Senior the cultivation grounds tomorrow morning, if he wishes.
Zhì Yuǎn did not reply.
He was observing the black stone pillars piercing the clouds. His mind read the dead masonry with cold clarity. These were not mountains. They were the skeletons of ancient spatial bridges. The entire sect lived like parasites atop ruins they did not understand.
On the driver's seat, Yù Méi chewed on her boredom, ignoring the woman in white's performance. Her sister's order was to keep up the act until they were inside.
The bridge ended in a wide plateau. It was the sect's reception square. Dark wooden buildings surrounded the limestone courtyard.
Lín Xiù landed in the center of the square with a movement she considered elegant. Yù Méi stopped the carriage.
Fifteen disciples blocked access to the guest pavilions. In their center stood a man in blue robes embroidered with silver, arms crossed. Mù Chén, the head disciple, ignored the carriage and walked straight toward Lín Xiù.
— You disappeared all day. The Grand Elder was asking about you.
— I was resolving a problem at the border.
Mù Chén looked at the mutated beasts, then at Yù Méi on the driver's seat. Natural arrogance took over his face.
— What trash did you bring to our mountain, Lín Xiù?
— Watch your mouth — Lín Xiù snapped, nervous. — They are my Honored Guests. I will install them in the Eastern Pavilion.
Mù Chén let out a dry laugh. His jealousy was obvious. He took a step forward, blocking the carriage.
— The Eastern Pavilion is for masters of allied clans. Not for coachmen.
The cabin door opened.
Zhì Yuǎn stepped onto the veranda. The wind struck his gray tunic. He looked at Mù Chén without hostility — only with the same apathy with which he observed the mountain stones.
Yù Méi climbed down from the driver's seat.
Her jump was simple. She walked in a straight line toward the blockade.
Two younger disciples stepped forward, drawing their swords. Yù Méi didn't even change her pace. She extended her right arm.
Her bare fist collided with the first blade. The Law of Rupture activated on contact. The steel shattered with a dry crack. The punch continued and sank into the disciple's chest. His ribs gave way. The man fell onto his back, dead before he understood what had happened.
The second disciple tried a lateral slash. Yù Méi twisted her hip and delivered a kick to his knee. The joint exploded. The man collapsed screaming.
Mù Chén blinked, his arrogance swallowed by confusion. He drew energy from his Dantian, the sword on his back vibrating.
Yù Méi was already in front of him. She grabbed the head disciple's right wrist. The Law of Rupture traveled down her fingers. She squeezed.
Mù Chén's arm bone snapped and turned to powder beneath the skin.
His scream tore through the square. Yù Méi twisted her body, using the broken arm as leverage, and hurled him against the façade of the Eastern Pavilion. The wooden wall cracked on impact. The head disciple fell to the stone floor, groaning.
The remaining thirteen disciples froze. The entire courtyard went still.
Lín Xiù took a step back, her face pale. The illusion that these woman were nothing more than fragile ornaments had shattered.
On the carriage's veranda, Zhì Yuǎn continued gazing at the black stone pillars, completely indifferent to Mù Chén's body groaning at his feet.
From inside the cabin, Yù Qíng's soft voice cut through the silence.
— The Eastern Pavilion has just become available — she said, her tone velvety and perfectly polite. — Young Mistress Lín may ask her dogs to clean the trash from the door. We will enter.