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Chapter Text

Yanqing took a shallow breath, but there was no sound; it was silent, choking. His hands twitched around the grains of sand that sifted through the fissures of his fingers. Sand? The realisation settled strangely in his mind. His vision had been rendered useless, a haze of shadow and nothing, but his ears caught the faintest lapping of water against his boots, the low squelch of sand moulding itself to his thighs. Half of him felt warm; the other half, cold. An unpleasant, mute chill crept along his limbs, and when he tried to move, his body did not respond.

There was a gentle whistle or even a hum of charged energy about the air, soft but insistent. Furrowing his brows, Yanqing forced himself to concentrate, one sense at a time, until he was sure all his limbs were intact. Slowly, he dared to open his eyes, squinting at the harsh, tethered light glaring back at him. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, yet his gaze remained fixed, determined. There was rock beside him; its shadow just out of reach, offering no comfort from the blaring light. How inconsiderate.

He blinked once, twice, and on the third, a blurry figure stood over him. Breath hitching, he pressed back against the sand, and he was not sure what expression crossed his face, but it was enough to cause the figure, a woman, to kneel beside him. She was foxian, with lilac hair down to her elbows. Her kind, forest-green eyes studied him with palpable curiosity.

“You’re not a Vidyadhara…” She said, absurdly, mostly to herself. Yanqing hoped she recognised him. He was, after all, the literal Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights. The woman turned away from him absently, whispering something under her breath about pearlkeepers – and then, after a brief pause, she called out into the strange, charged air, “A-Feng!”

The moment she had spoken, the hum in the air quietened down into a whisper, like it was paying close attention to them.

A companion, perhaps? The thought drifted lazily through Yanqing’s mind, but it slipped through just as easily. It became apparent that his thoughts were not functioning as well as he liked. Through blurred vision, he continued to sluggishly blink up at his saviour.

Moments later, another figure came into view – a male Vidyadhara, dressed in traditional white attire, his horned silhouette crisp against the washed-out sky. His dark hair was swept back elegantly, framing his face, and a singular red tassel was clipped to his right ear. He wore an unbothered expression, but a strikingly familiar one at that. This man, Yanqing had no trepidation in identifying.

“Dan… Hhh-“ He tried to force the consonants out as hard as he could, but his voice rapidly declined into a hoarse whisper. He gulped down thick spit and bile but the tug around his throat did not pass.

Amidst his clear turmoil, the woman gasped dramatically, gloved hands pressing over her mouth. Her voice came muffled, “Dan Feng, he knows your name!”

Dan Feng? No, that wasn’t right.

The man in white – Dan Feng – glanced at the woman, his gaze sharp and laced with evident irritation.

“You interrupted my mediation, Baiheng,” he reprimanded simply, stepping away into a blurry haze with his arms crossed, unimpressed. “And to answer your statement, everyone knows my name.”

The words echoed in Yanqing’s head. He frowned, confusion twisting deeper and rooting more stubbornly in his chest. He should know this man, shouldn’t he? Any yet, as his grip on reality wavered, he found himself caught between recognition and a strange, creeping sense of something forgotten.

Baiheng pouted up at him disappointedly, but her expression fell into one of concern at the sight of Yanqing’s crippled body. How had he gotten here? Now that she looked at him closely, he was certainly no Vidyadhara, and he wore a modernised style of the Cloud Knight uniform. Despite all her trying, she could not placate her feeling of uneasiness.

She was about to propose they transport him to the Alchemy Commission, before Dan Feng suddenly came forth and cut in, “Let me deal with this.”

Baiheng scrambled back without question just as a familiar, thin veil of energy began to blanket Yanqing’s bruised body. He squirmed until Dan Feng’s condescending tone urged him to lie still. The energy scattered from his chest and spread out to the rest of him. He wheezed in panic as a tight pressure suddenly pressed in on him from all sides.

Dan Feng twirled his hand in a practiced gesture and a pink lotus flourished straight from the curve of his palm. He extended his wrist and without warning, blew straight into Yanqing’s bristled and confused face. He braced for an attack. Eyes squeezed shut. Heart beating out of his chest. But none came.

The blurry haze of his mind suddenly cleared, and the unpleasant blanket vanished as though it had been pulled off him.

Yanqing slowly opened his eyes in their entirety and finally saw clearly. Satisfied, Dan Feng pulled away from him. At Yanqing’s gaping mouth, he began to elaborate, “I performed a partial healing rite, it has only mitigated your injuries.”

Thankful, but with half the consciousness to say it, Yanqing used the new ounce of strength to push himself into a sit. Sand grains ran down his body and mingled with the shore beneath him. Baiheng’s hands precariously hovered over him, like she was trying to touch a delicate glass but didn’t know how to handle it. Yanqing would have chastised her for it, but instead he found himself thoroughly caught off guard at his surroundings.

He was still facing the shore, where water continued to lap at the sole of his boots. To his side, what he previously sought to be rock was actually a towering wall adorned with ornate, intricate lettering that he couldn’t make out. Small clusters of pinkish bubble coral clung to the wall’s base in perfectly laid out patterns. On his other side, a set of stone stairs led to a circular platform. Beyond it, multiple other platforms stretched out each connected by pathways, all meticulously maintained and exuding an air of prestige. He furrowed his brows, despite the brilliant view, he felt an imminent sense of dread.

“Where am I…?” He whispered, voice miraculously healed by the power of Dan Feng.

Baiheng smiled at him uneasily, as though to say, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ Nonetheless, she answered confidently, “The Scalegorge Waterscape of course!”

What he feared became true, and Yanqing’s heart dropped a thousand feet. He shuddered, a low, hollow dread coiling within him. The Scalegorge Waterscape had been destroyed some ten centuries ago by Shuhu and the Denizens of Abundance. All that remained of it was broken rubble and an unintelligible structure. The impossible sight blurred his sense of self, leaving him unsure of where – or when – he belonged.

A sudden chill clawed through him, his breath hitching shallowly. His face rapidly paled, caught between a dazed shock and horror. When Baiheng turned to him with her gentle expression, her voice was distant and oblique, like a pane of thick glass had been placed between them. Yanqing blinked at her slowly, wanting to tell her to speak up but finding that his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. His strength ebbed away; he felt every grain of it do so, and his head suddenly felt too heavy to hold. A deafening tone pulsed throughout his mind, so intense it made his vision blur. The figures of Baiheng and Dan Feng dissolved before him, their faces slipping away as he collapsed onto the sand. He gasped out a final, choked breath and then fell into a lapse of darkness.

The warmth was what he felt first, chasing away the cold that had set into his bones. A soft, comforting pressure rested over him – a blanket, he realised slowly. It smelled thickly of antiseptic; he struggled to breathe through it. And if not for the sound of agitated rustling, it would have been eerily quiet.

When he opened his eyes, the evening sun glinted down on him, but this time it was gentle, tolerable.

He was in a white room with panelling and a redwood accent. On the wall across his bed was a banner with a familiar painted sigil. It was the sigil of the Alchemy Commission.

Yanqing gasped and rose into a sit, wincing instantly at his mistake as blood rushed to his head. He realised, slowly, that someone else was in the room. It was Baiheng. Dan Feng no longer by her side. He bristled a little at the thought. Having been given the impression they were inseparable, though he was not quite sure when he formed that concept. Baiheng had risen from her chair and stopped herself halfway when Yanqing’s gaze fell on her.

“Don’t be afraid,” she eased, to Yanqing it did anything but.

“How long have I…” He began to ask, trailing off into his own thoughts.

“You slept through the night.”

Yanqing sat in silence. The world around him felt alien, right but wrong. He felt misplaced, an inherent sense of unbelonging. He quelled the terrifying urge to scream and run out the room. This was a strange place he had gotten caught in, something that could only exist just beyond the reach of his memory. He knows where he is, yet at the same time he certainly does not. Memory has failed him. He clenches his fingers. How did he get here? Why was Scalegorge Waterscape intact? He entertained the possible reasons of his fate. None of them sounded great.

Baiheng scooted closer and Yanqing whirled his head to her. “They tried to identify you with a blood sample,” she began, almost guiltily. Her voice whittled, “But you’re not on the census. Not for the Luofu or any of the other ships.”

Dread coiled thick and tight around Yanqing’s heart. He opened his mouth to respond, to tell her how inherently wrong this all was, but he was interrupted when the door to his room suddenly burst open. A man – certainly not Dan Feng – urgently strode inside. His face was crossed with refusal and determination, but it immediately diminished when he saw Yanqing staring at him with wide, tearful eyes. It was Jing Yuan. But this was not the Jing Yuan he knew.

This Jing Yuan had bright gold, impressionable eyes, and his face did not hold a single wrinkle. His hair, rather than grey with experience, was a cloudy white, and there was a singular red ribbon tied unevenly at the back.

“General!” Yanqing cried out, finally someone he recognised amidst this tangled, spiralling web he’d gotten caught in.

But Jing Yuan did not look at him approvingly or smile; he merely exchanged a small, almost unseen glance with Baiheng.

“General..?” Baiheng echoed after a moment of stooping silence, stepping closer. She looked at him with a curious tilt of her head. “No, you are mistaken, this is the Lieutenant.”

Yanqing blinked, the words hanging heavy in his mind. An uncomfortable pressure began to build up in his chest. Hands clenched around the blanket; he shook his head in silent denial. No, no... that can’t be right. This can’t be real. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

Baiheng moved in a gesture to console him, but Yanqing did not accept it. Distressed, he dove under the covers like a child, arms fastened tight around his chest. And if you were to ask him why, he’s not sure what he’d say. It was almost like an instinct. Scared, cover, hide. Shortly after, a muffled hiccup came from under the duvet.

Jing Yuan stood frozen at the door, wide-eyed. He hadn’t meant to upset the child. He was a common political figure on the Luofu, so it was usual for people to recognise him. Though referring to him as the General was an entire topic in itself. His guilty gaze met Baiheng’s who precariously neared the small mound on the bed. She placed her hand gently on what she assumed was Yanqing’s back.

She let it rest there for a moment. A quiet comfort. Yanqing stirred under the cover, and she felt every subtle rise and fall of his chest.

Slowly, Yanqing peaked his head out from the covers, furiously wiping at his eyes. His face was pink from embarrassment, and he looked off to the side in shame.

“Sor- Sorry.” He choked out, avoiding Jing Yuan’s gaze entirely.

“What is your name, little one?” Baiheng asked instead.

“Yanqing.” He replied in a very quiet voice, so quiet that Jing Yuan did not catch it.

“Yanqing,” Baiheng began. “I promise we mean you no harm. Do you know how you got here?”

No. He didn’t. This ignorance cascaded his consciousness in shadow, disorienting his view of reality and not. It was a relentless fog, clouding over every instinct, every certainty he should’ve had. Since he had first opened his eyes in Scalegorge Waterscape, someone had plucked his memories like strings of a guitar, leaving him cold and persistent. With an ache he didn’t quite understand. He wanted to recoil from it, to hide – he had in fact. But as he came out from under the blanket, he realised that he was not going to act in fear anymore. After steadying his breath and willing his voice not to waver, Yanqing replied something entirely different.

“What year is it?”

The question visibly caught Baiheng off guard, in the way that she leaned back with her lips pursed. A silence followed, uncomfortably quiet. Then a voice came across the other side of the room: “7378.”

It was Jing Yuan’s voice. And Yanqing found that it had not changed even marginally over all those years. He spoke confidently, eloquently, even for just four single digits.

Yanqing dug his fingers into the palm of his hand, just a fraction less than what would draw blood. 7378.

“I get it now,” he professed, gaze resolute yet terrified. He finally mustered the courage to look at Jing Yuan, eyes soppy and red but crossed in determination. “I think I have travelled in time.”

No one spoke for a short while. That, or they were speaking, but Yanqing’s sudden spotted and blurred vision began to tune it all out.

He breathed out a ragged, exasperated breath, internally cursing his consciousness to give out now of all times. The pressure under his eyelids grew heavy and relentless. He tried to fight it. No, no, stay awake. But eventually, when Baiheng’s incredibly soft hands pushed him down onto the bed and pulled the covers over him, did Yanqing give in to the haze of slumber. He fell into a fitful sleep.

Four or five voices were drifting in amongst themselves. It was disorienting, as Yanqing awoke, and despite it the first thing he wondered was how long it had been. Then, slowly, painfully, the realisation set in. 7378. It was 7378. That feeling of displacement, of not belonging, finally made sense to him. All those history scriptures Jing Yuan had forced him to read may become of use; well, that would have been the case had he bothered to read past the first volume. Now, as fantasy melded into reality, Yanqing racked his brain to remember those words mingled in-between the lines.

At his sudden stirring, all voices in the room paused.

Yanqing pursed his lips, finding it the best, or worst, opportunity to open his eyes. He blinked dazedly, forcing his vision to focus. Five figures were crowded in his room. There was a nurse, holding a clipboard, Baiheng was facing her with Jing Yuan leaning into what might have been their conversation. To the back of the room, a pair of stalactite sapphire horns protruded from someone’s head, it was Dan Feng with his back to him. Concealed by Dan Feng’s body was another man who continued to whisper even whilst all other voices were not.

A perturbed silence flooded the room, to which Yanqing could only pray for someone to break. At his wakefulness, the nurse beside his bed rushed out of the room to, most likely, alert her peers. As the silence continued, he began to feel a little guilty for being the distracting subject to all their conversations.

“Yanqing, it’s good to see you are awake,” Baiheng’s voice was gentle, yet her relieved gaze was half caught in distraught; it was clear on her face as she appeared beside his bed.

Yanqing blinked at her, trying with all his strength to keep his gaze away from meeting anyone else’s. The weight of all their eyes was suffocating, his throat felt tight. “How long have I…”

“An hour,” Jing Yuan answered, his tone gentle and calm, though he shot Yanqing a look of both amusement and rebuke. “You’ve managed to stir quite a bit of trouble.”

He could see that. As he looked up, he saw Baiheng return Jing Yuan with a pointed, silent look. Before he could make any sense of it, Dan Feng stepped forward from around Jing Yuan, his expression inscrutable as always.

“He is exaggerating,” Dan Feng clarified, his arms crossed in an unreadable composure. After a pause, his eyes held a glint of doubt. “Explain yourself. How can we know what you say is true?”

Yanqing pursed his lips. Of course they didn’t believe him, he was a teen they had found with a severe concussion who was then claiming to be from the future. Even he would be sceptical of himself. Still, he hesitated, knowing that ultimately, he held a powerful, terrifying truth. How could he tell them that Scalegorge Waterscape was going to be destroyed? That the Ambrosial Arbour would be revived and unleash all hell over the Luofu? He’s not even capable of admitting any of that. Instead, he swallowed his fear and pointed to the crest on his tattered shoulder.

“This…” he began in a steady voice, “is the crest of the Cloud Knights. The symbol glittered in the evening light. It had not changed across all those years just like the sigil of the Alchemy Commission. He waited, the silence in the room heavy, tense. No one spoke; they only stared. A breath.

“And… I am the Lieutenant,” he continued, feeling his voice falter as though he didn’t quite believe it himself. “After Jing Yuan. He’s promoted to General of the Luofu.”

Baiheng’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed a comically shaped ‘O’, she realised instantly why Yanqing had called Jing Yuan the General. Jing Yuan’s brow only furrowed as he looked at the floor, his expression momentarily thrown. He said nothing, caught between disbelief and something else.

Dan Feng, however, simply crossed his arms as he regarded Yanqing with a gaze that somewhat made him feel believed.

“And what of General Teng Xiao?” He asked. “Did he resign? Was he killed? Assassinated?”

Yanqing drew back, alarmed by the directness of Dan Feng’s question as he stepped closer.

 “He resigned! No one killed him!” Yanqing found himself confessing.

“Then why?” Dan Feng pressed, tenacious.

“Dan Feng, that is enough!” Baiheng’s sharp voice cut through the rising tension. Instantly, Dan Feng pulled back, and after a long sigh, Baiheng’s eyes returned to their normal, soft shape.

“If what he says is true,” she began on a heavy note. “Then surely you understand the dangers of knowing the future. We shouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“A-Feng, she is right.” A fourth, unknown voice said. Yanqing noticed for the first time the silent figure at the back of the room, a man who had kept his distance until now, peeling himself out of the shadows. The man gently drew Dan Feng back, and as he moved, Yanqing’s heart dropped. He knew that face.

It was Blade. The infamous Stellaron Hunter with a bounty over eight billion credits. His hair was white, a stark contrast to his usual appearance, and his skin was no longer marred with bandage but rather pristine and clear.

He stared at Blade, and briefly wondered who it was exactly that stared back at him. His stomach churned and he turned away.

“I’m afraid you have caught us in a valuable moment,” Jing Yuan began after a beat of silence. “Our newly appointed Master Diviner has made her first Divination.”

Yanqing’s eyes widened, not out of shock but from a sudden burst of recollection. Diviner. Divination Commission.  He recoiled, though from what he didn’t know. He looked up and

immediately side-stepped to the left, dodging a harsh blow from Yunli. She only laughed and swung her broadsword, Old Metal, in a massive arc over her head. How did she even have the strength to hold that? He retaliated, sending Yanzhuo at her in a haze of ice to regain his footing. His mind reeled, momentarily, stuck in past and present.

They were sparring, as one does, and in the heat of conflict they had found themselves somewhere deep in the Divination Commission. He narrowly blocked another one of Yunli’s heavy swings. In the distance, the Matrix of Prescience shone in bright, dizzying purple lights that reflected off his ice shards and cast Yunli’s determined face in a mischievous glow.

Yanqing gave a look at his surroundings and realised instantly that they were tangled in unintelligible, active machinery. His unease sharpened.

“Hey, Yunli, maybe we should-“

“Giving up already, Yanqing?” She cut him off with a fierce grin, her voice strained as she swung Old Metal down again, oblivious to who or what she struck. She swung her sword around over and over again, somehow twisting around the array of computers and live wires, until she didn’t.

Yanqing’s eyes darted to the machine directly behind him. He tried to stop her. horror dawning on his face. With the stroke of his hand, he launched his ice swords to intersect the blow. They shattered upon impact, though the blade continued through, embedding itself deeply into the active machinery. Ripples of purple static electricity ruptured from the impact. The electricity crackled on her hands; Yunli gasped. Letting go of the sword entirely, leaving it lodged in place. She took several steps back with her face twisting in sudden understanding and fear.

Yanqing tried to get away; he hurried onto his feet, staring at the bubbling staccato of the impaled device. Before he could turn away, the electricity had cackled and struck him across his chest. He cried out as a tingly numbness spread throughout his body.

“Yanqing!” She screamed, reaching desperately for him through the chaos.

“S-tay away!” He screamed back, realising soon after that he couldn’t even hear himself over the crescendo whirring of the overloaded machine. Instead of shutting down, it used all its power to remain on. He suddenly grew nauseous.

Through purple sparks, he could see Yunli’s panicked and pale face. Their eyes met, and in that split second, something in his chest clenched – a surge of emotion. He wanted to smooth the worry from her brow.

Then, in a blinding flash, Yanqing felt himself unravel. Like a string being pulled out of its knot, scattering into the air. He saw Yunli desperately reaching out to him, her mouth open in a scream, but he was already slipping away, dissolving until there was nothing left.

He gasped, wrapping his arms around himself as though to hold himself together, feeling the residual shivers of tension around his body. Yanqing took a sharp breath. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

When he opened them, he saw Baiheng’s gentle face, her eyes filled with concern. His slightly frantic gaze darted to Jing Yuan, who offered him a smile. But it wasn’t the familiar one he secretly longed for; it was polite and distant. His heart ached.

“Hey… where were you just then?”

His eyes slid to Baiheng’s. The whole room stared at him.

“I remembered something,” he managed, voice thick and hands clenched around the covers. Suddenly, he was not capable of eye contact. “Something happened in the Divination Commission… something that led me here.”

The man who eerily looked like Blade stepped forwards.

“Then we shall take you there,” he said. Though Yanqing did not meet his gaze. It was almost wrong seeing him like that, as though his past and current memories were at a battle whenever their gazes crossed.

After a moment, he nodded his head with a sigh and then curiously turned to Jing Yuan. “This new Master Diviner… what’s her name?”

“She is called Fu Xuan.”

Chapter Text

The room drew a single, taut breath. So tight that Yanqing was sure the walls were caving in on him. He blinked through the light spilling in through the window and his pulse quickened.

“Fu Xuan,” he echoed, sucking in a breath. His chest constricted further as realisation struck. He knew Fu Xuan – her sharp wit, her unyielding insight, and her mastery over destiny itself. She’d been a Master Diviner from now to present time? That’s impressive. Would the Fu Xuan of this time be different, less pious than her current self?

Yanqing’s thoughts barely lingered before they were swept away by a surge of urgency. If anyone could untangle his awful predicament, it was her. His hand’s clenched around the blanket, knuckles white, before he shoved it aside and threw his legs off the bed.

The cold was his first thought, as his bare heels touched the concrete floor. But he barely registered it. His head began to throb pathetically from overexertion. A voice, faint and concerned, floated across the air – Baiheng called for him to be careful, and he could barely think to reply with his warbled mind. Nothing else mattered but the desperate need to see Fu Xuan. She could help him. She had to.

On his second step, his legs gave way. Instantly, Baiheng was there, catching him before he hit the ground. Her arm steadied him as she leaned in, her eyes soft with worry. She glanced over her shoulder at Jing Yuan who lingered at the door, keeping it craned open. His hand rested on the frame, as though unsure whether to intervene or retreat.

And when Yanqing looked up, the room was empty besides the three of them. Dan Feng and Yingxing were nowhere to be seen, he hadn’t even notice them leave.

“You don’t expect to walk all that way barefoot, do you?” Baiheng said instead, her reprimanding yet soft voice pulling him from his thoughts. With a smile, she slid his boots across the floor to him, but her gaze searched his face for signs of clarity.

Yanqing stared at his boots as though they were foreign objects. His resolve was momentarily drowned by the sheer weight of his spinning thoughts. He slumped back onto the bed, frustration gnawing at his chest, grinding against his predicament.

He slipped on his socks and boots slowly, mechanically. No matter the haze, the exhaustion, or the impossibility of it all, he couldn’t let this stop him. Fu Xuan could help him. She had to.

The Xianzhou Luofu had changed little over the centuries, and Yanqing was partially glad of it. The redwood architecture accented with teal hues stretched out before them, rich with tradition. He felt a flicker of comfort at the familiarity, and if he tried not to look so closely at the remarkably different shops that lined the district, he might convince himself that he was home. Though he frequently found himself realising that he was not.

Baiheng strolled beside him, her charisma unshaken, as if the very world bowed to her presence. She strode with effortless grace, her voice bright and warm as she greeted every passerby. He couldn’t help but notice how people’s eyes lit up as they saw her, how they flocked to her like moths to a flame. He was sure she didn’t mean to draw so much attention – this was simply who she was.

As the tenth stranger approached them, Yanqing felt the growing need to shrivel into a ball. He pulled Jing Yuan’s cape tighter around his shoulders, treading lightly. He knew their warm smiles meant well, but their constant presence gnawed at his already-frayed nerves. Each curious glance felt like a probe, as though they might somehow see through him, unravelling the truth he so desperately wanted to keep hidden.

What if they noticed? What if they realised that he didn’t belong? Could they tell he was out of place, out of time? He gulped down the thick mass in his throat, endeavouring to avoid eye contact as he shrunk into his borrowed cape.

It was only now, walking among them, that Yanqing began to truly understand just how much of an impression the High Cloud Quintet left on the people of the Luofu. Their reverence was palpable, woven into every gesture, every hushed word of admiration that drifted towards them. Baiheng and Jing Yuan seemed so accustomed to it, their movements unburdened by the attention. But to Yanqing, it was disorienting. He hadn’t realized how deeply these people revered their heroes—heroes who felt so achingly familiar yet impossibly distant to him.

He kept his head down, counting his every step, willing himself to focus on the rhythm of his boots striking the dusty streets. Anything to lift the weight of their gazes.

Four thousand and fifty-one, Yanqing exhaled silently. And he clung to that number as though it were important.

Suddenly, like a crack in the sky, a sharp, mechanical chime shattered the quiet rhythm he had held onto. His head jerked up just in time to catch a messenger darting past them, nearly colliding with Jing Yuan.

“The Master Diviner has summoned the Conclave!” The messenger urgently called over his shoulder. Baiheng’s easy smile faltered as she glanced at Yanqing, who could only stare back, his pulse quickened to match the hurried footsteps around him.

Ahead, the tall doors of the Conclave Hall beckoned, their towering frames etched with ornate patterns in the light. With a low groan, they creaked open, the sound reverberating down the street and across the gathering crowd.

As they stepped inside, it was like they had crossed into another world entirely. The chaotic energy was unlike anything Yanqing had ever experienced. Workers scrambled across the marble floor, their arms laden with countless scrolls and papers, faces marked with frantic focus. Conversations overlapped each other in panicked urgency, a chorus of barely contained chaos.

This was often the state of the Divination Commission after a newly divined foresight. The air jittered with disturbance, heavy with a weight Yanqing could not yet name.

His gaze swept upward, drawn to the white marble columns that loomed over their heads in intricate archways that didn’t quite match the signature Luofu-esque. Yanqing briefly wondered if there was some reason for it.

But there was no time for thought. Jing Yuan led them effortlessly across the floor, cutting through the chaos like it wasn’t the trifling madness it seemed to be, like liquid the people subconsciously parted as he strode through. Yanqing swallowed hard and followed, his unease deepening with every step into the unfamiliar space.

He glanced back at Baiheng, hoping for some reassurance, but even she looked unusually solemn. Her typical light-heartedness had been replaced by something weightier.

As they neared the centre of the hall, the glossy concrete floor gave way to a red carpet. For some reason, not a single worker stepped onto this rug, an unspoken reverence amidst the otherwise chaotic disorder. The transition was palpable as their harsh footfalls became soft and gentle as they approached the figure at the room’s core.

Fu Xuan stood poised in the middle, her electric pink hair adorned with signature ji hairpins that swayed faintly as she moved. Her attire was remarkably different from what Yanqing knew, less vibrant and more formal, with long, loose sleeves that stretched down to her waist and a pale white Hanfu embezzled with golden embroidery that caught the light. When she turned, her face was young, and her brows were set straight. A large scroll unfurled and swept at her feet, while a feathered pen rested deftly in her fingers.

“Where is the Imbibitor Lunae?” She suddenly asked, no greeting, no preamble, her tone flat and direct as her sharp gaze locked onto Jing Yuan. “He’s not with you? But he’s always with you.”

Even whilst her gaze was not on him, Yanqing felt penalised, the weight of her presence pressing down on him. Still the same Fu Xuan, it seemed.

Jing Yuan, marginally offput, took a moment to articulate his response.

“Perhaps he is on his way,” he said smoothly, as though accustomed to her abruptness.

Fu Xuan huffed and the bangles around her wrist clinked together with the motion. “Well, no matter, this message will be conveyed to all of Xianzhou regardless.”

Beside them, Baiheng straightened up, her usually carefree demeanour shifted as worry creased her brow. “Oh yes, I remember – you said there was a new divination. What did you see?”

Fu Xuan’s lips tightened as she cast a brief glance toward the bustling hall, the commotion behind her only emphasising the gravity of her next words.

“I divined earlier this morning that the Denizens of Abundance would attack the Xuling.” She paused, letting her words settle in the air. Even amidst the chaos of the Conclave Hall, her voice cut through like a blade. “Two minutes ago, the Cloudpeer Telescope on the Yuque confirmed that a fleet is growing local to the Xuling.”

Yanqing gulped as his throat tightened. “The Xuling’s our source of supplies, isn’t it?” He began, but as Fu Xuan’s reprimanding gaze bore into his, his voice faltered. It wasn’t the sternness in her eyes that silenced him – it was the cold realisation that here, in this time, he was no Lieutenant. His badge meant nothing. To them, he was no more than a child impeding on their adult conversation.

“Who is this, Lieutenant?” Fu Xuan asked pointedly, her tone somewhat affrontive. She noticed how he had Jing Yuan’s cape around his shoulders. Yanqing’s face momentarily heated from embarrassment. But it passed just as quickly. He had almost forgotten why they were here in the first place. This wasn’t about proving himself; it was about getting back home.

Jing Yuan briefly peered about the busy, chaos infringed hall before he turned back to meet Fu Xuan’s unrelenting stare. “Let us continue this somewhere… quieter.”

Fu Xuan hesitated, her sharp eyes flickering between the two of them. Somewhat appeased, she suddenly turned on her heels. “Follow me.”

She led them through a corridor at the back of the hall, the noise of the Conclave dimming as they entered an empty room. The room was simple yet elegant, with a large boardroom table around the perimeter encircled by high-back chairs.

Fu Xuan settled beside the table; her arms crossed as she turned to face them. Her gaze was slightly perturbed as she waited for an elaboration.

“This will sound unbelievable at first, Master Diviner,” Jing Yuan began, his voice remarkably steady. “But we believe that you are the only one who can help Yanqing.”

Fu Xuan’s gaze flickered to who she now knew was Yanqing, her expression unchanged but her eyes studying him with intent and perhaps even curiosity. She gave a slight nod, prompting him to speak.

Yanqing swallowed hard; his throat suddenly dry. The weight of her scrutiny pressed down on him.

“We believe that Yanqing has… travelled through time.” Jing Yuan declared, and it was like a thousand pins had dropped.

A heavy silence fell over the room, pressing in like the walls were holding a breath. The faint hum of distant voices in the hall seemed muted, as though the world beyond had paused to listen.

Fu Xuan tilted her head, her lips pressing into a thin, careful line. “I see,” she said, her voice calm but laced with scepticism. “And what exactly has led you to this conclusion?”

“I’m the successor of Jing Yuan,” Yanqing blurted out before he could think, the words spilling out of him. A sudden desire to prove himself creeped into his chest. “I’m the next Lieutenant of the Luofu!”

Baiheng’s eyes widened slightly at his words, her expression flickering between concern and astonishment. She leaned forward instinctively as though ready to interject, but Jing Yuan subtly raised a hand to stop her, his calm demeanour a silent reminder to let Yanqing speak.

Fu Xuan raised a brow, unimpressed. “You? A child?”

Yanqing bristled and his hands curled into fists at his side. “Don’t believe me,” he began. “But I’ve met you. Eight centuries into the future, and you’re still the Master Diviner!”

For the first time, something flickered in Fu Xuan’s expression – surprise perhaps, or the faintest shadow of doubt, as though she didn’t quite believe it herself. She had been taught about circumstances of time travel during her training, buried in theoretical teachings and ‘What Ifs?’. But she had never considered it a reality.

“And how much do you know?” She asked at last, her voice low and deliberate.

Yanqing hesitated, feeling the weight of her question. “Anything that’s been recorded in history.” He steadily replied, though the words felt woefully inadequate even to his own ears.

Her eyes narrowed in response as she studied him in silence, arms remaining crossed in challenge. “What if I said I believed you?”

He met her gaze, his own burning with desperation. “I don’t need you to believe me, Master Diviner,” he began, voice steady despite the sheer, utter turmoil within him. “I need you to get me back to my time.”

Jing Yuan finally stepped forward, his hand rested protectively on Yanqing’s head.

“He’s telling the truth, Fu Xuan,” he said, his tone softer than anything Yanqing had ever heard. “He knows things, details he couldn’t possibly have fabricated.”

Baiheng nodded beside him, appearing at Yanqing’s other side. “We wouldn’t make this sort of allegation on top of our circumstances unless we had to.”

Fu Xuan’s gaze passed over all three of them, her sharp mind clearly working through the implications. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides as she exhaled, and the hints of scepticism in her eyes faded. “Time travel,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Theoretically possible, but… unprecedented.”

“And yet,” Jing Yuan interjected smoothly, “We stand before you with a precedent.”

Something like vigour tumbled through Fu Xuan’s eyes. She set down her scroll and pen on the table behind her, showing her full attention.

“Do you remember… how you got here at all?” She asked, turning to Yanqing.

Yanqing looked back at her with unease, but his shoulders straightened in determination. “I was fighting… someone in the Divination Commission, we broke a machine and,” – he motioned a burst with his hands though the gesture felt pitiful compared to the great force he was trying to describe, - “it exploded.”

“Can you describe the machine?”

He hesitated, the flickers of that day pushing against the walls of his mind like an unrelenting tide. The feeling of electricity curdling his blood, Yunli’s screaming face, the sheer panic of it all caused a chill to spread throughout his body. He took a slow, deep breath, hoping his emotion didn’t show as visibly.

“It was… larger than the other machines. And it looked –important.” The word felt inadequate, almost laughable, as he struggled to articulate what he had seen. “It was connected to all the other machines around it by these… purple, veiny wires. When we hit it, it didn’t just power down. It felt like…” He paused, exhaling shakily as a ripple of unease coursed through him. “It felt like it wasn’t supposed to stop. Like stopping it broke something bigger.”

His fingers curled into his palms, and for a moment, his breathing quickened as the image of the explosion flared behind his eyes – the searing light, the shockwave, the feeling of his body unravelling. He pressed his lips together and forced his breathing to slow.

Fu Xuan observed him silently, something like empathy flashing in her eyes. Her pen scratched lightly across the scroll as she jotted something down.

“I see.” She finally said, her voice calm and composed, almost comforting in that sense. “I’ll prompt the Yuque about it, they know more about Jade Abacus Machinery than I do.”

She cleanly ripped off a section at the end of the scroll which she had written notes on. “In the meantime, please do not draw attention to yourself.”

All three of them nodded. Yanqing felt the subtle pressure of their gazes, Jing Yuan’s reassuring presence and Baiheng’s quiet concern. Neither of them offered words, though Yanqing was grateful toward the fact. He didn’t want comfort. He didn’t deserve it.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. I’m from the future, he sordidly thought. I don’t belong here. If others find out, who knows what chaos it’ll bring?

“You are dismissed,” Fu Xuan declared after a moment. They left the Conclave Hall, nodding their heads at her in a respectful thanks.

The doors of the Conclave Hall shut once more behind them, the sound echoed hollowly in Yanqing’s head. Outside, the quiet was almost disconcerting. The crowd that had once filled the space had dispersed, leaving behind only faint echoes of hurried footsteps in the distance.

Yanqing exhaled softly, running his thumb and index along the hem of Jing Yuan’s cape, his indirect presence calmed him. He’d have to wait and see if the Yuque had what sort of machinery he was describing. But that wasn’t the most pressing concern – not when the Luofu had to prepare for war.

Instinctively, he glanced at Jing Yuan to his left. Jing Yuan’s previously calm demeanour was now replaced by his rigid shoulders and set jaw. The tranquil ease he carried so effortlessly had vanished, now affronted by the steady tension of a leader preparing for battle. Yanqing recognised that look all too well. He had worn it himself countless of times. As their eyes met, something akin to empathy and adoration passed between them.

The moment broke then, by the sharp chime of Jing Yuan’s phone. They turned away from each other as Jing Yuan brought the device to his ear.

“Greetings, General,” he said, voice calm but carrying an edge of tension. His warmth was replaced by something far more deliberate.

The silence that followed was heavy. Baiheng shifted beside Yanqing, her lips parting as though she meant to say something, but she hesitated. Her fingers twitched before they fell still, her usual confidence muted by the weight of the situation.

“Understood. I’ll head there immediately,” Jing Yuan said, his tone clipped. The call ended with a half-felt farewell, and the faint beep of the phone disconnecting felt strangely final.

At first, none of them spoke, allowing Jing Yuan to gather himself. His gaze lingered on the horizon before he turned, the weight of his responsibilities etched into every line of his face. Yanqing’s heart ached.

“Please excuse me, I have been called to the Seat of Divine Foresight.”

Baiheng needn’t say a word as her mere presence behind him seemed to calm his nerves. She came and rested her gloved hand on his shoulder. And Yanqing watched the tension drip away from him instantly, his expression softening under her silent support.

“Never a dull moment, Lieutenant,” Baiheng said, half-comedically, half-seriously.

A faint smile crossed Jing Yuan’s face, not entirely reaching his eyes, but enough to show his gratitude towards the gesture. He nodded at them both before turning on his heels towards the nearest Starskiff.

Yanqing watched him disappear into the distance. His crisp silhouette growing smaller and smaller by each step. The wind suddenly picked up, tugging at the red cape draped over his shoulders, nestling him briefly in a familial warmth. After a moment, he let out a small, involuntary sound of realisation.

“He forgot his cape,” he remarked, guiltily, as he took a step forward, preparing to chase after him.

Baiheng merely huffed a laugh at him, once more gravitated to her usual self. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she began, waving her had dismissively. “That man’s wardrobe is probably filled with a dozen more capes!”

Yanqing blinked, surprised, before a laugh bubbled out of him. The tension he’d been holding onto softened, and just for a moment, the weight of their earlier discussion seemed to fade.

Baiheng grinned, the mischief in her expression unmistakeable. “You know what?” She asked rhetorically, suddenly animated. Before Yanqing could even fathom a response, she had taken a firm hold of his grip.

Yanqing’s eyes could only widen as Baiheng began tugging him along with her down the street. “This is the perfect chance to show you around!”

They ran and ran through the streets of the Luofu, their exclamations and laughter being lost to the air as the world blurred passed them in crimson and teal streaks. The edges of his red cape billowed furiously behind him, flaring like wings. He almost felt as though he would take flight any second – until Baiheng abruptly came to a halt before him. His boots skidded to a sharp stop, just narrowly missing a collision with Baiheng’s back. It was clear, instantly, that a change had come about the air.

Yanqing took the moment of reprieve to catch his breath, and before he could ask what the commotion was, Baiheng pulled him along at a much leisurely pace.

Curious and slightly perturbed by her silence, Yanqing craned his neck from around her shoulder. A large crowd had gathered, much larger than the one he had seen outside the Conclave Hall. The air buzzed with restless energy, voices rising and falling in a cacophony.

Baiheng’s steps were less carefree and more deliberate, well thought. Yanqing shuddered uneasily as they approached the crowd.

Wordlessly, Baiheng began to push through the throng of people with surprising ease, her mere presence parting the crowd just enough for her to slip through. Yanqing, now unsettled, followed close behind, his hand holding tightly to Baiheng’s. If he looked hard enough over the crowd, a set of blue horns were protruding from the otherwise levelled heads.

Another few steps and they were at the head of the crowd, chest-to-chest with the cold, metal railing that barricaded off the central area. Yanqing’s eyes immediately fell upon the two figures standing by the barrier: Dan Feng, his stoic presence thoroughly misplaced in the otherwise roaring commotion, and Blade – no, Yingxing, - whose hands gripped the rail tightly as he shouted into the blocked-off space ahead.

Dan Feng turned the instant they stepped into view, his sharp features displaying only a flicker of surprise. “Baiheng, Yanqing.” He greeted, indifferently, his voice calm despite the chaos around him. “What brings you both here?”

“She’s fighting again. Isn’t she?” Baiheng said, dismissing him entirely. Her tone was sharper than anything Yanqing had ever heard from her.

Dan Feng blinked, his expression neutral but his lips pressing into a thin, controlled line. “You know how she is.”

Baiheng’s brows furrowed, her grip on Yanqing’s wrist tightening painfully. “A-Feng, she is still injured. It’s not safe.” Her voice trembled with frustration.

Yanqing watched the exchange with growing unease, his eyes flicking between the two of them. The grip around his wrist tightened only minutely, but it was enough to make him wince. And the little shudder of his shoulders is what broke the argument. Baiheng turned to him immediately, confused at first but then rigorously horrified. She let go of his wrist like she’d been stung.

“Yanqing, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.” She took a hold of his wrist, this time much more gently, and rubbed the area that had turned red.

Yanqing smiled at her, embarrassed. “It’s okay, I’m fine!”

He briefly turned his attention to Dan Feng and met his scrutinising glare. Before he could say anything, a collective gasp tumbled throughout the crowd. Immediately, all three of them broke eye contact to look into the centre. A giant column of ice protruded from the ground, followed by a puff of cold smoke. Soon after, a figure emerged with a defined silhouette that glittered in the light. Yanqing looked forth carefully, suddenly finding his hands to grip the metal railings.

At the sight of a sword, he quickly became enamoured. Some sort of fight had caused an impressively large crowd to form, and he was suddenly very interested just like everyone else. Cheers broke out like waves of the sea as the figure became clearer and clearer.

Instead of following along with the crowd, something became lodged in Yanqing’s throat. That figure, that ice was suddenly the most obvious thing in the word. The blood in his veins froze and his eyes widened. It was-

“Jingliu, I’m going to kill her before her injuries do.” Baiheng seethed, but it held no true threat, rather profusely laced with worry.

Yanqing paled and it had nothing to do with the cold. How could he have forgotten Jingliu, she was one of Jing Yuan’s old friends of course he was going to come across her.

Her eyes, no longer covered with a blindfold, shone in bright crimson for even as far as she stood away from them. Her opponent lay on the floor, bruised and battered though alive as some other personnel carried him off the clearing.

The crowd cheered and cheered so loud; Yanqing’s head began to blare in discomfort. He was suddenly being pressed in on by all sides, slowly being suffocated. Baiheng gave him a small, concerned smile, her eyes briefly darted to his wrist before she looked away.

The first step Jingliu took towards them made Yanqing’s legs both buckle and remain incredibly tense. He took a sharp, unheard breath.

“Pay up A-Feng, you lost the bet.” Yingxing smugly exclaimed off to the side, and even now Yanqing had not quite grasped the sight of him. And yet, fate had found it suitable for him to face Grandmaster Jingliu.

He felt faint, impossibly pale yet jittery with excitement and curiosity. He got to experience Jingliu before Mara had taken her; would she be any different? Would he have the opportunity to be taught by the great Swordmaster who had kindled Jing Yuan into who he was today? The sight of her was nauseating and yet excitingly intense.

Jingliu approached them with an easy, deliberate stride, stopping just short of the metal railing, she held her weighty sword horizontally and Yanqing watched it glitter in the light. He suddenly wanted to hold it.

“Yingxing, great craftsmanship, though I expect no less.” She praised, turning to Yingxing who was busy tallying the damage to Dan Feng’s wallet. They both straightened up at her words.

Yingxing smiled at her proudly. “I’m glad.”

Before anything else could be said, Baiheng had stepped in harshly and had taken the sword out of Jingliu’s very hands, like plucking feathers from a bird. Jingliu let her have it, her raised brows conveying mild amusement. Baiheng inspected the blade briefly, before setting it down and seizing Jingliu’s bandaged arm.

“Jingliu,” Baiheng began sharply. “You need to rest your injuries before you go out and earn some more!”

Jingliu waved her hand away dismissively. “I’m perfectly fine, Baiheng, and look,” – she held up a satchel, the motion causing the contents inside to clink together. – “I’ve earned us a nice little bonus for dinner. You should be thanking me.”

Baiheng huffed and muttered something under her breath, it was probably better that Yanqing didn’t hear it. He stood partially obscured by Baiheng’s figure, reluctant to step forward but painfully aware that Jingliu’s sharp gaze was drifting his way.

“Hmm.” Jingliu hummed, tilting her head as though getting a better look. Her piercing set of eyes locked onto Yanqing. “And who would this be?”

Yanqing jumped slightly, he’d never looked Jingliu in the eye and he didn’t know what to make of it. Seemingly oblivious to his turmoil, Baiheng stepped aside, leaving him exposed.

“I’m Yanqing. Master – Miss Jingliu.” He cursed himself internally as he stumbled over his words.

Jingliu’s lips quirked upward at his fluster, but her gaze briefly flickered to Baiheng, expression faintly questioning.

Baiheng huffed a sigh in response, brushing off the silent inquiry, and rested her hand on Yanqing’s shoulder. “I’ll explain more over the great dinner you will surely buy us tonight.” She said, partly sardonic.

“That is a given, dear Baiheng, but the day is young. Let me treat you to an even expensive one.” She effortlessly swung the mighty sword vertical to her side. Baiheng attempted to take it back from her but knew better than to hold that sword by the blade.

Jingliu merely smirked at her antics, though her focus shifted. “Yanqing, was it?” She tilted her head toward him, “That sword you have looks one of a kind.”

Yanqing’s breath caught faintly as he realised what she meant. The hilt of his sword was jutting out from behind his cape. He hadn’t even noticed it, when did he put it on? He reached back and unsheathed it in one, smooth motion, holding it forward for her to see. The blade gleamed faintly, its edge sharp and precise, intricate patterns spiralled elegantly down from the hilt to the guard. “I’ve named it Yanzhuo.”

Jingliu’s eyes swept over the weapon. Her expression was hard to read, her silence stretching on long enough for Yanqing to wonder if she disapproved. Then, she broke the tension with a small nod. “A fitting name,” she said at last. “And a fine blade. It seems you’ve taken good care of it.”

Yanqing shifted his stance at her sudden praise. “I wouldn’t name it that if it hadn’t earned it.”

An unforeseen expression crossed Jingliu’s face. “…Very good. A blade is only as strong as the one who wields it. Let us hope the name is as well-earned as you say it is.”

Yanqing’s grip tightened slightly on Yanzhuo. And as he held it for longer and longer, a growing, burning itch formed along his arms. His gaze lifted to meet hers, and in that instant, a flicker of challenge burst in his eyes. “Maybe it is. The day is young, as you say.”

“Are you challenging me to a fight?” Jingliu asked, blatantly, shifting her heavy broadsword around in her grasp.

Yanqing hesitated for half a heartbeat before responding. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said, the words spilling out before his confidence could shatter. “You’re injured, after all. I’d rather fight you at your best.”

“I’ve fought through worse,” she offensively remarked, quicker than her other replies. Yanqing’s lungs constricted as she leaned over the railing. “And I could fight you blindfolded.”

He shuddered at her words. They carried a deeper weight than she could have intended – ironic, cruel, given the future he knew she’d face. His grip on his sword tightened, the urge to move, to prove himself, growing more insistent with each passing second.

 “No, A-Liu,” Baiheng interjected sharply, stepping forward. “Did you hear a word of what I said? No one is fighting anyone! You’ve had your game and – let it go. Yanqing–tell her–“

“I’ll make this quick.” Jingliu cut in, a look of finality in her expression. The faintest gleam lit up her garnet eyes, something dangerous and eager. She leaned her broadsword casually against her shoulder as if it weighed nothing. For the first time in a while, Yanqing felt invigorated.

Baiheng could only watch in defeat as Yanqing unclipped his cape and vaulted over the metal railing. The two made their respective ways to the centre of the clearing. As they did, a crowd begun to reform.

“You’ve got potential. I can see it within you.” Jingliu idlily commented as they made their way. Yanqing didn’t respond immediately; in fact, he didn’t know how to respond. The Jingliu of this time was so indifferent and yet similar, it still left him with flashes of opposing memory.

Her personality for one, had not changed at all, prideful – rightfully so – and confident in her moves. She displayed this even in her fighting stance, leaning her weight against her broadsword as she held it vertically. Though, unlike her current self, she admitted things more brusquely. Your sword is one of a kind, you’ve got potential. Those remarks had confused Yanqing at first, was she trying to indirectly tell him something? In the present all the words that ever fell from her lips were a sort of puzzle. He had been so on edge, haunted by his current impression of her, that he might imagine the figure before him to be an entirely different person.

Yanqing’s pulse thundered in his ears as he rolled his shoulders and fell into stance. He was going to fight Grandmaster Jingliu.

“Don’t hold back, child.” She said, ultimately, her posture almost lazy and unbothered.

Yanqing’s eyes narrowed at her lethargy. He’d make her break a sweat, at least, if he wanted to continue calling himself Lieutenant.

“I could say the same to you.”

The wind whispered around them, carrying the faint murmur of the crowd beyond the clearing. Jingliu adjusted her grip, the faint scrape of her sword against the cobbled street breaking the stillness. She smiled, faintly, wickedly, her expression daring him to make the first move.

And he did. Yanqing darted forth, suddenly across the clearing at the speed of cracks forming in ice. Jingliu parried effortlessly, her broadsword ringing like bells against his blade. Ice on ice. “Not bad,” she mused, sidestepping his follow up-thrust. “But you’ll need more than speed to keep up with me.”

Her silhouette glittered and in the next moment she vanished. Yanqing reeled as he felt her presence spawn behind him. Instinct took over; he crouched down into a roll just in time to avoid her sharp sweep. He scrambled to his feet, grinning as he rotated his wrist with Yanzhuo in his grip. She was showing him that she was just as fast too.

With no time to recover, Jingliu drove her arm forward, and a massive stroke of ice followed. Instead of diving out of the way, Yanqing faced the blow head on. The crowd roared, their cheers so loud that they were disorienting. He planted his feet firmly and as he angled Yanzhuo against the incoming wave, his eyes begun to glow.

A large gust of wind tumbled through him. He closed his eyes. Counted to three. And with a shout, used the width of his whole arm to slash upwards in a wide arc. The sixth phased ice cracked upon impact and the giant slash in the ground was ripped asunder. He winced as one of the shards cut his cheek. He took a breath to calm himself.

From as far as she stood, Jingliu seemed to chuckle. She approached him slowly, and with her hand, like she were doing some everyday task, flicked it forward to send another chilled wave of ice. Yanqing took a shuddering breath and deflected. Before he could let his arm drop, another slash came hurdling at him. He deflected that one too. These attacks came one after another in a merciless rhythm as Jingliu effortlessly approached him. He’d realised soon enough that she was wearing out his stamina. And it was working.

In the first step that Jingliu’s eyes glinted dangerously red in the light, Yanqing broke off into a desperate sprint. He dove for temporary cover at the ice pillar of the previous fight. He staggered to catch his breath, and when he lifted his sword-held hand, it was shaking. He cursed himself and dove around the other side of the pillar. This was nothing, he couldn’t afford to hold out now. He wants to see Jingliu at least break a sweat.

With a breath, he thrust himself off of the pillar and made some distance, presuming Jingliu had caught up to him. She had. One moment, she stood at the other side of the battlefield and in a blue flash she was suddenly beside him. Yanqing did not react this time. Again, he challenged Jingliu head on and their swords met in the middle in a massive clang. Their swords scraped against each other in a terrible, horrendous screech. Yanqing struggled to hold his ground, he knew this would be a test of strength, and he knew he would lose it. Jingliu pressed on, a ferocious look in her eyes.

Another screech of their swords broke something free inside Yanqing. With his left hand he made a gesture behind his back and immediately three ice copies of Yanzhuo burst into their space. Two of them supported the clash with Jingliu, the unanticipated burst of strength causing her to push back by an inch. And the last sword swung around them both. Jingliu had nowhere to move. For the first time, she grunted and brought her full strength upon him. His ice swords shattered instantly and the concrete underneath his feet cracked. Alarmed Yanqing dove out of the way, and just as he did his third and last sword cut into Jingliu’s hip. She staggered only temporarily.

For a moment, Yanqing couldn’t breathe. He’d made a mark, even the smallest one, in Grandmaster Jingliu. He hadn’t done that ever. The following look that Jingliu gave him sent chills rippling through his body.

“You’re going to pay for that.” She merely said, coming down on him once more. Yanqing knew better than to block that blow so he dove out of the way. A puff of thick, opaque smoking billowed from her impact, and even through that smoke, he could see the red glint of her eyes. Yanqing shuddered and dove into it without thought.

The cold bit into his skin and the open wound on his cheek. Engulfed by a thick, relentless smog, Yanqing halted right at the centre, where his vision was completely white. And he listened. He could hear Jingliu’s thunderous footsteps, and the sound of her broadsword scraping unpleasantly against the concrete floor. She was dragging it. He focused further. She was limping. He hadn’t worsened her injuries, had he? After all, he didn’t know how deep they ran.

His shoulders tensed and all his train of thoughts slithered away. The sound of ice crystalising came from behind him. Instinctively, he ducked as a lightning quick crescent of bright blue ice just scathed over his head. That was no sixth-phased ice.

“This ends now.”

He gasped as the fog around him suddenly cleared, the view of the crowd burned into his eyes as the weight of a thousand eyes crushed him. Gritting his teeth, he turned on his heels to the direction of the voice. Jingliu stood before him, her shoulders stiff and hostile. A wild, unkept look came about her eyes.

She merely tossed her sword into her left hand and suddenly, Yanqing was facing her for the first time, knowing nothing better than his pride and the chilling realisation of being unmatched.

Jingliu soared into the air, her silhouette crisp against the sun as she cleanly twisting her body around and swung her sword in a massive arc.

Yanqing knew this attack, it had been engrained into every fissure of his eye. He flung out his arm and six ice swords swirled around him in a protective barrier. They shook and jittered from his lethargy, and it caused him a great deal of energy to subdue them. The ground beneath him cracked, and a burst of blue energy erupted from the crevices.

He took a breath and held it just as a bright, white crescent burst from the arc of Jingliu’s sword. The adrenaline that hammered through his veins was so intense he felt faint. But this time, he was ready.

The strike was upon him almost instantly. So Yanqing made quick work with gathering momentum as he spun his whole body around. Using all the strength he could ever possess, and with a scream so loud it echoed across the battlefield, Yanqing drove Yanzhuo and the rest of his ice swords in an even wider arc around himself.

He shut his eyes as the blinding crescent ascended upon it. He felt its power, the sudden drop in temperature against his quivering face. In the middle of its path, the slash had frozen midair and a single, resounding crack echoed across the plain. The crowd was rendered silent. Another crack and Yanqing winced at it. With wide eyes, he saw the crescent’s true colour, an inky black. His stomach dropped. That’s the strongest ice he’s ever seen.

Heaving thick and white puffs of smoke, he watched the very crescent rip into two and billow pits of smoke at either side of the clearing. He held up his sword at Jingliu’s blurry, staggering face. Ripples of shock travelled all across his arm, so thick and painful he wouldn’t be surprised if it fell right off.

Suddenly, the weight of his sword felt like the heaviest in the world. His arm dropped and his sword fell with it, clanging against the floor, echoing cruelly for all to hear. He felt the very moment that all his strength dissipated out of him like a dam that had broken. He collapsed to his knees, nails scratching against the concrete.

Jingliu came before him and lifted his chin with blunt side of her broadsword. He grimaced at her apathetic, untouched face. Her eyes glittered in the light.

A breath. “I yield.”