Chapter Eighteen: The Iceberg

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Bai Qi’s body was shrouded within the protective barrier, and in his dazed exhaustion, he drifted off to sleep as he flew through the air for an unmeasured span of time.

By now, dusk had fallen—the hour of the dog. All things were veiled in twilight, the barking of dogs and the chorus of cicadas echoing beneath the sinking sun’s curtain.

Bai Qi lay on the ground, a slight chill seeping into him, the wind skimming along the earth rousing him from his stupor. His body, having lain dormant too long, ached in every muscle and joint; the familiar weakness he had felt before returned in waves, as though every nerve were shriveling with pain. Slowly, he turned his body, glancing sidelong at his surroundings. The darkness was all-encompassing, suffocating, devoid of any sign of life. It called to mind the desolate scene of impending doom, filling Bai Qi’s heart with discomfort. Propping himself up with his right hand, he struggled forward inch by inch. Each movement stabbed with pain, sharp as a midnight cramp, leaving him gasping, teeth clenched, cold sweat trickling from his brow. Every gesture was an ordeal. Never before had he felt so feeble; even during the most grueling of his past endurance trainings, he had always recovered swiftly. He could not fathom why the pain was now so relentless.

Yet the pain was not only of the flesh, but of the spirit. The strange sense of loss mirrored that first time he had left his wretched hometown and been thrust into this world—a world of cultivation like those in games he once played. There was no culture-shattering shock, but he could not shake the sense of alienation and resistance he felt towards this land called Tianhuan. Meeting Kun had been a stroke of fortune. The old man had taken him in, taught him countless things beyond anything he had known before. But he had escaped some time ago, leaving Kun behind—perhaps to be killed by Liang Sui, or tormented in untold ways.

Oppression, pain, helplessness, loneliness—all manner of dark emotions surged forth. Bai Qi broke down, wracked with sobs, lost as to how to continue. No matter how strong he tried to be, the solitude was crushing—he longed to burrow into his mother’s embrace, to weep until the storm inside passed, to finally fall into a peaceful sleep.

Time dripped by like water, echoing through the icy mountain. After a long while, Bai Qi managed to compose himself, pulling away from his despair until he felt halfway normal. Yet when he looked around again, the oppressive darkness remained, undiminished by his improved mood. The cold, biting winds still swept through the mountain; above the waist of the slope, rows of pine trees stood close-set, their trunks shooting skyward as if to pierce the heavens. Halfway up the mountain, an abandoned, ancient temple came into view—its crumbling state suggested it had been left unfinished, construction halted midway. Bai Qi exhaled and made his way toward it.

As he gazed ahead, the temple seemed to morph into the gaping maw of a beast, its fangs parted wide, viscous, dark-red saliva oozing between its teeth. Suddenly, it changed again: the cavernous mouth opened further, drawing him forward with irresistible force. His body, sluggish a moment before, now surged ahead under the influence of this pull.

Bai Qi wondered, how had the temple become so ominous? Shaking his head, he looked again, and now it appeared as a splendid, majestic sanctuary. An ancient will seemed to emanate from within, intoning endless, sacred scriptures. The obscure and holy words stirred Bai Qi’s heart, compelling him to kneel and bow in prayer.

Suddenly, from the depths of his soul, the sound of a zither echoed—clear, crystalline notes that seemed to call his name. Like a mountain spring welling from the forest depths, the melody washed over Bai Qi, cleansing away the drowsiness that threatened to overtake his mind.

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After a few breaths, Bai Qi snapped awake, rubbing his parched eyes and glancing again toward the temple. To his astonishment, he found himself standing at its threshold, his right foot already resting on a step thickly carpeted with moss, soft and yielding beneath him.

Abruptly, a raspy, desiccated voice drifted out from the shadowy depths of the temple. The sound was so hoarse it seemed the speaker had not used their voice in ages, their throat constricted and unable to form words properly. The message was like a line from a poem: “There are boats to cross the waters, and paths to walk upon the mountains.”

“Who’s there? Who’s speaking?” Bai Qi was startled, the ghastly voice like a skeleton calling from the abyss. He instinctively swept his gaze around, then turned back toward the temple’s main hall, his body moving forward almost against his will.

The hall was still shrouded in gloom. Two rows of towering pillars flickered with green candlelight, ghostly and unsteady. Occasionally, bats with eyes like tiny red lanterns darted past, their chittering heightening his unease and stirring a deep aversion to such creatures.

Bai Qi called out again in a low voice, “May I ask which senior is cultivating here? If I have disturbed you, I beg your pardon!” As he spoke, he bowed, signaling that his presence was unintentional.

A cough issued from the dark. “You have not come to the wrong place—though you are a bit early… No, you have come at just the right time.” The voice came from atop a flight of steps, twenty or thirty meters ahead, faintly illuminated by the scarce light in the hall. Bai Qi squinted, peering closely, and saw a massive seat above the stairs—more a bed than a chair, broad and imposing. Its carvings, unlike the green-glowing pillars, were rendered in a shadowy, gleaming black, the patterns entwined like the stubborn, knotted roots of ancient trees.

Seated upon it was the speaker. Bai Qi bowed once more. “Senior, I…”

“What is your name?” The figure interrupted before Bai Qi could finish.

“I am Bai Qi of Liang Prefecture.”

“No need for these formalities or talk of seniors and juniors. Such worldly etiquette is pointless. You do not seem like a subject of the Tang Kingdom—what is your origin?” The other’s sharp words made it clear he had no patience for social niceties. The question about Bai Qi’s background sent a chill down his spine.

Could this person know his true identity? Bai Qi was shaken, his mind racing.

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Several breaths passed in silence. The figure asked no further questions, and Bai Qi dared not speak, so they remained in this uneasy standoff.

Meanwhile, Bai Qi stole a glance at the figure, swathed head to toe in black cloth. Next to him hung a painting that caught Bai Qi’s eye with its brilliance.

The portrait depicted a woman of ethereal beauty, almost otherworldly. Bai Qi gazed at it, entranced. Her eyes, shaped by heaven and earth, were limpid and pure, yet fathomless in their depth. Her skin gleamed like jade, her long, obsidian hair cascading over her shoulders to her waist, shimmering faintly in the gloom. Her figure was tall and slender, her posture elegant and poised, exuding an aura of transcendence as if she were a celestial being.

She wore a pale yellow robe trimmed in gold, as flawless as if carved from a single piece of jade. Even standing motionless, she radiated grace and nobility, her presence both exquisite and unique, the very embodiment of a fairy sculpted from water lilies.

Between her willow-leaf brows was a crimson beauty mark. Her bright eyes shimmered with a thousand emotions, soft as duckweed adrift on water, trailing countless rays of light.

A purple ribbon was tied carelessly in her hair, unadorned, yet it set off her delicate, flower-like features and enhanced her youthful loveliness. Bai Qi was dumbstruck by the painting’s artistry—it was nothing short of miraculous, beyond imagining.