Cao Shen's words lingered, each one a weight on my mind as I sipped the tea, its jasmine notes now tinged with the bitterness of my questions. The hall's sandalwood incense curled upward, its smoke weaving patterns in the lantern light, a reminder of the sect's elegance and its hidden dangers. The rosewood table gleamed, its surface reflecting the map on the wall, its incomplete world a metaphor for my own fractured understanding. I wanted answers, but Cao Shen's silence on my origins was a wall I couldn't breach, not yet.
"Reaching the twelfth stage of Qi Condensation won't be easy," he said suddenly, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. "It may be harder than breaking into Meridian Tempering. I'd be deeply disappointed if you failed. Wasting such potential defies the Heavens' will. But don't get cocky—Qi Condensation is dust. I've seen thousands of practitioners with greater promise, most of whom vanished into history's abyss."
I nearly choked on my tea, not at the talk of fallen talents, but at his acknowledgment of my breakthrough. During the duel, I'd surged to the eleventh stage, my body leaping to new heights, strength and speed surging, my spiritual energy more pliable. It was why I'd won. The system had marked it.
Rank: Mortal (11/12)
"Did many notice?" I asked, my voice steady despite the unease creeping in.
"Everyone at Core Formation and above," he said, closing his eyes, as if seeing the sect's elders in his mind. "Your secret won't be one by morning."
"Does it matter? I'll be gone from the sect soon."
"It matters," he said, his tone grave. "The higher your Qi Condensation stage, the stronger you'll be later. You may not know, but rogue cultivators often open meridians at the seventh stage, some even the fifth. Many sects stop at the eighth. But to surpass the mortal limit and reach the eleventh? You've scared many. They already saw you as a genius and hated you. Now you're a target even for those you haven't personally insulted—though there weren't many of those."
"So you don't need to complete all Qi Condensation stages?" I said, surprised, the revelation shifting my understanding of cultivation.
"Of course not," he smirked, a glint in his eyes. "We don't tell disciples to avoid confusing them, but it's common practice."
"Then why let someone as dangerous as me go?"
"Let you go?" He laughed, a sound both amused and chilling. "You misunderstood. The Fort of Eternal Ice is a small vassal sect practicing ice techniques. Its gates open once every ten years to accept new practitioners and resources. Otherwise, it's sealed. And there's no fire Qi there. None."
"A prison for fire cultivators?"
"An honorable exile," he corrected, his voice firm. "Some volunteer to go. It's vital to the sect, with unique resources. Formally, I summoned you to outline your pardon. The clan elders believe that since the Heavens spared your life and mind, reaching Core Formation will suffice to absolve your transgressions."
"Core Formation?" I grinned, the audacity of it almost laughable. "As if I'd care about their opinions with that kind of power." It was the elite tier, though Cao Shen had surpassed it, his arena presence a testament. How many such monsters hid in the sect?
"Your words have merit," he grinned back, refilling his tea with a graceful motion. "Remember my question about the map?"
"My memory's fine," I nodded, the map's vibrant colors vivid in my mind.
"Amusing, coming from someone who lost nearly all theirs," he smiled, a jab that stung. "Let it be a surprise. Now, to why I called you."
He placed a small wooden box on the table, its surface carved with phoenixes. Inside was a thin jade ring, its surface cool and smooth. I nearly joked about marriage but bit my tongue—wrong world, wrong customs.
"A spatial ring," he said. "Infuse it with your Qi."
A trick? His face was unreadable, a poker player's mask. I sent a drop of Qi, and my consciousness plunged into a hidden space—a sword, a book, spirit stones, jade tablets. I knew instinctively how to retrieve them.
"A gift for your breakthrough," he said, pulling me back. "Trinkets from my travels. Note the jade amulets."
"Thank you," I said, extracting a jade tablet, its symbol radiating energy.
"A one-use attack formation," he said. "Can handle a Meridian Tempering cultivator. Valuable, Kai—such things are rare. The Night Blade Sect, where I took them, was destroyed. Perhaps for the best."
What was this? A friendly chat and gifts? Whose side was he on? My gut said his own, but what role was I in his game?
"How do I use it?" I asked, guessing Qi infusion but wary of rituals.
"You'll figure it out," he said. "As for your request…" Pouches streamed into my ring, the aroma unmistakable—tea. I should've asked for techniques, but tea wasn't bad. The ring held a book, too.
"Go now," he said. "Our talk has dragged on. Shosho will escort you to the air dock. Kai, you have ten years until the Frost Ridge opens again. The elders are patient and don't forget grudges." Threat or warning? Both.
"Thank you," I said, bowing half-heartedly. Night cloaked the palace. The twins awaited, their auras powerful, barely distinguishable from human cultivators.
We headed to the dock, not my quarters. No packing—my possessions were gone. I'd expected a riverbank, but reality stunned—a towering structure led to a giant boat, a magical airship.
The twins ensured I boarded, then left without words. A red-faced cultivator, Meridian Tempering, rushed me, eyes bulging.
"You're late! Five lashes!" he barked.
"With the Clan Leader," I shrugged. "Take it up with him."
"Ten lashes for insolence!" he roared. Two Qi Condensation disciples approached. My sense confirmed no one stronger was aboard—or they were hidden.
"Want a fire on this ship?" I asked, igniting Song of Pure Flame, flames dancing. "You'll overpower me, but I'll torch it."
"Gloat, Exile Kai," he sneered, backing off. "The Fort's masters will humble you."
"Where do I settle?"
"Anywhere! No cabins for your kind."
The ship was a cargo vessel, packed with crates. Odd—no spatial storage? Cao Shen's ring was valuable. Disciples meditated on the floor. I found a corner in the hold, shielded by crates, and activated Song of Pure Flame, drawing energy, careful not to burn anything.
Escape tempted me—hide, grow stronger. But the sect could track me; I'd seen searching techniques. The ship hummed, moving fast. On deck, wind howled, landscapes blurring—three hundred kilometers an hour. I retreated, disciples' glares worse than the wind.
A scuffle behind crates tingled my sense—a Meridian Tempering cultivator approached, their technique active. The hunt had begun. Who was stalking me, and what did they want on this ship to exile?