As the Emperor of Dali ascended the highest step and stepped onto the grand platform, his figure vanished from sight. The stone courtyard, originally no larger than a farmer's grain-drying yard, appeared utterly empty when viewed from the vantage point of Song Changjing and the two officials of the Directorate of Ceremonies. Yet to the man in the ceremonial robes standing there, the scene was altogether different: before him towered a striking edifice soaring dozens of zhang high. Unlike the ubiquitous wooden structures scattered throughout Dali's capital, this was meticulously crafted from countless pieces of pristine white jade. A plaque hung above the entrance, inscribed with three golden characters: "White Jade Capital."
The massive doors of the tower slowly swung open on their own, and the Emperor stepped inside. Suspended in the hall was a magnificent sword, pure white and crackling with wild, electric light. Throughout the building, tendrils of shimmering lightning danced like restless spirits. The Emperor, indifferent to the fierce sword energy radiating from the electric strands, strode boldly forward toward the staircase. The bolts of lightning parted respectfully, as if courtiers retreating before a prime minister's procession.
The second floor echoed a similar spectacle, where a slender flying sword hovered at the center. Unlike the broad blade below, this sword glowed with a translucent, ethereal jade-green hue, delicate as the fresh leaves of early spring. Inside the tower, gentle streams of verdant water flowed slowly, rippling with subtle grace.
Ascending further, the third floor appeared unremarkable compared to the dazzling floors beneath. No hovering swords, no bizarre sword-nurturing enchantments greeted the eye. Yet, the robed man paused, squinting as he carefully scanned the surroundings, a low chuckle escaping his lips: "Found you." He approached a nearby wall and leaned in slightly. There, barely visible, hung a miniature flying sword the size of an embroidery needle, housed in a gray-white scabbard engraved with the words "Pillar of Support." Though modest in appearance, the sword bore a name grandiose and imposing.
The fourth floor held an ancient longsword, its blade covered with intricate talismanic inscriptions. The fifth floor displayed an unimaginably large sword, as tall as a man, inscribed with the words "Mountain-Subduer."
The Emperor continued his ascent, pausing only at the tenth floor, where an elderly man and two youths stood. The elder, dark-faced and deeply wrinkled, was tall and imposing in a flowing white robe and a high crown. His profound eyes swirled visibly with streaks of violet energy. Beside him were Song Jixin and the maid Zhigui from the Mud Bottle Alley in Lizhu Heaven—a town of humble repute. The youth, clad in fine brocade and jade belts, was among Dali's most distinguished young nobles. The sole blemish was the ochre-hued lizard draped on his shoulder, somewhat marring the youthful elegance, though a closer look revealed a prominent ridge on its forehead, hinting at latent promise. Zhigui seemed taller and more radiant than when last seen in Mud Bottle Alley, exuding a mysterious aura akin to rain after a long drought.
The elder stood by the window, pointing toward a distant corner of the capital, instructing the youth patiently. Upon noticing the Emperor's arrival, the elder merely nodded in acknowledgment. The Emperor remained indifferent, approaching Song Jixin and reaching to pat the youth's head. The boy subtly turned away, evading the touch without a flicker of emotion. The Emperor smiled and withdrew his hand.
"Song Mu," he said, "you have studied Feng Shui under Master Lu for some time now. Have you discerned the array's focal point in Dali's mountain-and-river formation?"
The youth's expression remained cold, his voice stiff and distant: "Not yet."
The elder chuckled. "Geomancy is no simple art to master at a glance. Yet Song Mu has already surpassed many peers, rivaling the finest young talents of other continents. His greatest strength lies in his sharp intellect and aptitude for calculation and divination—his efforts always yielding double the results. Even Master Luan above holds Song Mu in high esteem, praising him as 'a gem among jade vessels.'"
The Emperor laughed heartily. "That's my son."
Zhigui stepped back quietly, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed the air. The Emperor glanced at her with a teasing scowl. "You little rascal, no manners at all."
The girl looked puzzled and innocent. The man pointed at her with a grin. "Borrow, repay, then borrow again—it's not hard. But don't just take without giving back, or I'll send you to that locked Dragon Well. Besides, the closest immortal sect to the capital, Changchun Palace, has a well where you might end up living."
The robed man's jest turned Zhigui's face pale. She parted her lips, exhaling a faint golden mist that coiled like slender serpents. The ethereal golden energy swiftly entwined with the dragon embroidery on the man's robe, delightfully weaving through the shimmering silk threads. The robe trembled lightly, casting waves along the hem where the sea and cliffs were embroidered, as if actual water splashed forth.
The Emperor chuckled. "Such timidity—how did you dare flare up at Master Qi so many times before?"
Zhigui's expression darkened. She moved to another window, gazing southward, beyond the tower, the palace, and the capital itself, seeking the distant homeland she so disliked—this city called Shenglong, the capital of Dali.
The Emperor's laughter faded as he turned to the elder. "Is Master Luan truly confident he can build a thirteenth floor to the White Jade Capital?"
The white-robed elder, exuding an aura of transcendence, spoke gravely: "If not, why else would Luan Changye come to Dali?"
The man nodded, resting his hands on the windowsill as he surveyed the prosperous city. With a self-deprecating smile, he said, "Though known as a frugal emperor by court and country alike—mocked privately by many northern rulers as a housekeeper—I do not hesitate to spend lavishly where it truly matters."
The elder smiled knowingly. "After centuries of diligence, the Song family of Dali has invested all income from Lizhu Heaven into this White Jade Capital. If that is stingy, no other ruler in Dong Baoping Continent can match such generosity."
The Emperor inquired, "Though unorthodox, I wish to confirm with Master Lu one last time: anywhere north of Guanhu Academy in Dong Baoping, if faced with a tenth-floor adversary hostile to Dali, ten swords dispatched from this tower suffice to kill instantly at great distance? Eleven swords for an eleventh-floor cultivator, twelve for a twelfth-floor?"
The elder's voice rang with unwavering confidence. "Dong Baoping is but a small continent—there will be no surprises."
He added, "Judging by intelligence and omens, that sword-wielding stranger in the bamboo hat must be a Qi practitioner of the fifth floor or above, likely the eleventh, though twelfth isn't impossible. The distance and his deliberate concealment make both my astrological calculations and the far-view divine sight somewhat unclear."
With a casual flourish of his sleeve, the elder laughed: "But let me be clear—the White Jade Capital presently has twelve floors, each with one flying sword. Though potent enough to subdue a continent's Qi practitioners, deploying all twelve at once is a tremendous expense. Even after Dali's conquest of the wealthy Lu dynasty in the north, such an all-out display could not be repeated for twenty years—unless His Majesty is willing to bear the cost of destroying the swords."
The robed man nodded, understanding fully.
Suddenly, Song Jixin asked, "Since Master Luan has yet to build the thirteenth floor, what if the provocateur is a thirteenth-level cultivator?"
The robed man only smiled, silent.
The elder burst into hearty laughter before speaking gently, "A thirteenth-level Qi practitioner? In the largest continent of the world, my homeland, such beings are as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. Moreover... some secrets must remain hidden. Suffice it to say, even the venerable Ruan Qiong of the Wind and Snow Temple on the eleventh floor is a figure of great stature, founding an entire sect. The term 'sect' carries profound weight—only with a fifth-level master in residence can one claim that title. Otherwise, even the most rigid Confucian elders would be furious."
The Emperor spoke slowly, "Though Ruan Qiong is temperamental, ruthless, and often cold, drawing much criticism from Dali's native immortals, his character suits my realm well. I willingly treat such cultivators with respect. For these masters, Dali neither rejects nor despises; as ruler, I even stand on equal footing with them. The principle of 'buying a horse by its bones' is clear to anyone who sits on the dragon throne."
Song Jixin persisted stubbornly, "But what if it is a thirteenth-level Qi practitioner?"
The elder shook his head with a smile. The highest two realms of the fifth level have long been lost to history, making the thirteenth realm the greatest and most legendary of all. It is absent from any earthly dynasty records, and even the sects on the sacred mountains veil it in secrecy.
The elder Lu, born into one of the continent's most prestigious millennia-old families and once a promising cultivator himself, had pieced together fragments from ancestral tales to form this understanding—likely close to the truth.
The ascended realm of the fifth level is the pinnacle of "worldly" cultivation, like the tenth realm for martial artists—a true terminus with no path beyond. Those who reach it are detected by the elusive Heavenly Dao and deemed
worthy of joining the "Divine Ascendance." Only after passing this test may one step beyond the mortal coil and live eternally—though the price is abandoning earthly desires and attachments.
Thus, the White Jade Capital, with its twelve layers, is designed to counter all known mortal Qi levels. Should a thirteenth-level foe emerge, it would transcend the natural laws and fate of this world, demanding unprecedented response.
The Emperor sighed softly and turned from the window, signaling the conclusion of the discussion.