Her robe, deep crimson embroidered with golden phoenixes, shimmered in the low light. Zhen's gaze snagged on the fiery birds, half-expecting them to tear free and sear him with their incandescent touch.
Gods, she reeks of power… and something else. Something burnt. He swallowed hard, the scent of jasmine and charred wood clinging to the back of his throat.
A tremor of primal fear ran through him, the instinctive recoil of prey sensing an apex predator. He stood before something infinitely more powerful.
Higher realm? No. She's from a whole different plane of existence. He thought back to his encounter with Wang Bo, the suffocating pressure that had pinned him to the ground. That was like a gentle breeze compared to this. This was like… like having a whole damn star collapse on top of him. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the encroaching silence.
Zhen knew, with chilling certainty, that he was no match for her.
"Hm," she drawled, her voice like a songbird with razor-sharp talons. "A new face."
Zhen flinched. New face? He instinctively met her gaze, a mistake he realized a moment too late.
Her face, a mask of perfect beauty, was framed by raven hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink. But it was her eyes that held him captive, obsidian pools glittering with predatory amusement that bordered on madness. Her lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach those unnerving eyes. "And you don't seem to know how to greet your betters," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "How... intriguing."
Shit, of course, he should have greeted her first. He was so caught off guard by her presence that he'd forgotten basic decorum.
"Honourable Senior," he hastily performed the customary bow, clasping his palms and fists together in respect. "This disciple greets you." He cursed his own clumsiness.
Smooth, Zhen, real smooth. Way to make a first impression. He risked a glance upwards, meeting her gaze with a forced smile. He had a feeling this encounter was about to get a whole lot worse.
Please don't let her be crazy, he prayed silently. Please don't let her be crazy.
Zhen's fingers tightened around the book in his hands, his knuckles whitening as if the worn binding could anchor him to some semblance of normalcy in this increasingly bizarre situation.
Her gaze flickered to the book, a subtle shift of those obsidian eyes that sent a jolt of awareness through him. A flicker of something unreadable vanished as quickly as it appeared. Had he blinked, he would have missed it entirely.
"Are you interested in the books here?" the senior asked, her tone deceptively light, as though the question were a mere afterthought.
Why is she asking me that? Zhen thought, bewildered. Shouldn't a cultivator of her stature be busy cultivating? Or concocting some miraculous elixir? Or even meditating to ascend to a higher realm?
He almost wanted to add, "Surely, your time is too precious to be wasted on a lowly disciple like me," but he wisely bit back the impulsive words.
"Yes, Honourable Senior," he replied instead, opting for a safe and respectful response.
A faint smile played on her lips. "This dusty, forgotten corner of the pavilion?" She paused, her gaze flitting to the worn leather cover in his hands before returning to his face. "Why are you interested in such... neglected texts?"
For a moment, Zhen felt his tongue freeze. Her gaze was intense, magnetic, drawing him in as if her very presence had a gravity of its own. It was like standing before a fiery god, subtly probing his mind, his intentions.
A wave of unease washed over him. He opened his mouth to answer, the words forming instinctively: Because it feels important... because it might help me... because—
And then, suddenly, the stars in his meridians stirred. It was subtle at first—a faint, rhythmic pulse—but it grew stronger, the qi rippling through his body like a wave of cold clarity. His mind sharpened, and the fog that had crept over his thoughts lifted abruptly.
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Zhen felt the sweat on his back, cold and clinging. His heart pounded as he realized what had just happened. She was trying to subtly influence me. A surge of unease mingled with anger.
What kind of person uses techniques like that so casually? And why, he wondered, would a disciple as powerful as her be even remotely interested in a dusty, forgotten book?
His eyes flicked to the shelves around them. The layer of dust was thick, undisturbed—no one's touched these books in years.
Her eyebrow arched, and her lips curved ever so slightly, the faintest trace of intrigue dancing in her expression. "Interesting," she mused, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "It's rare for someone of your level to resist my technique. Even for a moment."
Zhen swallowed hard, unsure whether to feel proud or terrified. The casual way she mentioned using a technique on him left little doubt in his mind—she wasn't apologetic. Not in the slightest. To someone of her power, it was probably a simple trick, like a child idly toying with a beetle.
"It must be because you were merciful, Senior," He lowered his gaze, hoping the deference in his posture would appease her.
She chuckled, a soft but chilling sound. "Perhaps." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped closer, scrutinizing him like one might examine a curious insect. "I am Lan Xingchen, Seventh Core Disciple."
Zhen had no idea what Seventh Core Disciple meant. He knew the sect had inner disciples and true disciples. But Core Disciple? Nothing.
It must be a rank far beyond his comprehension, occupied by monstrously strong cultivators who could probably flick him off a mountain with a single finger.
He bowed again, deeper this time, his palms pressed together with renewed reverence. "Quasi Outer Disciple Li Zhen. It is an honor to meet you, Senior Lan."
She hummed softly, as if his introduction barely registered in her thoughts. Her gaze drifted back to the book in his hands, lingering there for a beat. "Well?"
Zhen forced himself to relax, though his hands still felt clammy. He offered a strained smile, carefully masking the turmoil in his thoughts. "The name caught my attention," he said evenly. "A Mortal Grade technique with a title like Opening Heaven—it seemed... unusual." He trailed off, feigning a scholarly interest.
He glanced down at the book in his hands, tracing the faded characters on the cover. Opening Heaven. Such a grand name for a Mortal Grade technique. A part of him cursed his curiosity. If he'd just left it alone, he wouldn't be under her cold scrutiny now.
Unless… His gaze dropped to the book in his hands. Could this be because of the Opening Heaven Scripture? He gritted his teeth, suppressing a wave of frustration. He didn't have enough information to connect the dots, but one thing was certain: Her interest wasn't casual.
Lan Xingchen's lips curved into a thin smile, her expression unreadable. "Is that so?" She studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Did I say something wrong? he thought, his pulse quickening. Did I just commit some unspoken crime? His mind raced, replaying the conversation, searching for any clue as to what she was thinking. But her expression gave away nothing, and the weight of her scrutiny was unbearable.
The tension between them thickened, and Zhen couldn't shake the feeling that she saw right through him.
Just as he considered saying more, Lan Xingchen's eyes cooled, her lips thinning in disappointment. "You truly don't know about the Nine Laws," she said, her tone dripping with disdain, as if she regretted wasting the breath it took to ask.
Zhen's throat tightened, but he forced himself to remain composed. The weight of her disdain felt like a physical thing, pressing down on him with every heartbeat. He could hear the subtle shift in her tone, the razor-thin edge that made it clear she saw him as little more than an insect fumbling in the dark.
The Nine Laws.
He racked his brain for any trace of knowledge. Nine Laws? Something to do with cultivation? Damn these missing memories! The phrase tickled at the edges of his memory, but no matter how hard he searched, nothing came forward. His lack of cultivation memories struck again.
Why does this always happen to me? he thought miserably. Why did he always seem to stumble into trouble with figures like her? His palms grew clammy as he fought the urge to apologize, though he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong. But it was too late for regret.
Zhen cleared his throat, keeping his voice calm and even. "I'm afraid my understanding is limited, Senior Lan." He lowered his head slightly, acknowledging the gap between them. Hopefully, she'll just leave it at that.
She ignored him entirely, her gaze flicking back to the book, then to the shelf where it had rested, as if he no longer existed in the room. "Are you done here?" she asked flatly.
"Yes," he exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. He hesitated, torn between offering her the book or returning it to the shelf. Should I? Shouldn't I? Damn, I'm overthinking this.
He extended the book toward her, expecting her to take it, but his hesitation earned him nothing but scorn.
Lan Xingchen's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips curling in irritation. "If you're done, scram," she said coldly, as if his lingering presence offended her.
Zhen stiffened, bowing hastily. "Of course, Senior." He stepped back, preparing to leave, but before he could move further, her hand flicked dismissively.
A burst of red Qi surged from her palm, rippling toward him in a wave of oppressive heat that thickened the air around him. She's attacking me? For this? Zhen stumbled back, his instincts screaming at him to defend himself, but no technique he knew could stand against such power.
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