**The Kang Estate, Bamboo Grove**
The air in the ancestral hall was heavy with incense and disapproval. Kang Mao knelt on the cold, polished wood floor, his head bowed. Before him, seated on a raised dais, was his father, Patriarch Kang—a man whose face seemed carved from the same unforgiving granite as the mountains surrounding their estate.
"Your brother," the Patriarch's voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth, "was cut down by a weak, wandering cultivator. A *female*. And you dare to return to this hall, to me, with nothing but excuses clinging to your robes like beggar's rags?"
Kang Mao kept his gaze fixed on the floor. "Father, she was not weak. She wielded the Supremacy Sword technique. Her Zhidow was—"
He was cut off, not by words, but by force. The Patriarch did not move from his seat. He simply *flicked* a finger.
A wall of compressed, invisible air, shaped and hardened by flawless **Shidow**, slammed into Kang Mao's chest. The impact was a thunderclap in the silent hall. He was lifted off his knees and hurled backwards, skidding across the floor until his back hit a thick support pillar. The air left his lungs in a pained gasp, and he tasted copper as blood filled his mouth.
"The Supremacy Sword is a legend for children and failed disciples," the Patriarch said, his voice unchanged. "You were there. You watched. And you did nothing. You have dishonored the Kang name. What will the other clans think when they hear? That the Kangs breed spectators?"
Kang Mao pushed himself up to his hands and knees, coughing. The pain was secondary to the cold shock in his mind. *He knows. He knows about the Supremacy Sword. He must know who she is… and who she travels with.*
"It is because that old coward, Black-Green Wood, hides in his grove and will not show himself!" the Patriarch spat, his composure cracking for the first time, revealing a deep, festering bitterness. "If a true Pillar stood with us, such insults would never occur!"
*So he knew,* Kang Mao thought, the realization a fresh wave of disillusionment. *He knew the Pillar was here, in our territory, all this time. And he said nothing. He never sought his wisdom, only resented his absence.* He wanted to shout it then, to tell his father he had *met* the Pillar, that he had stood in the presence of Gen, the Immortal's son. But the words clogged in his throat, thick with conflict. *Gen was with her. With Lorel. Are we still… anything? Can you be friends with the person whose companion killed your brother?*
For weeks, these warring thoughts had been a turbulent mass in his gut, paralyzing his Qi, making cultivation impossible. While his cousins and remaining siblings advanced, he had stagnated, falling further in esteem and utility in the eyes of his family.
"You are confined to the estate," the Patriarch decreed, his finality echoing in the hall. "You will not step beyond our borders until you are strong enough to find that woman, challenge her fairly, and bring me her head. Only then will you wash the stain from your bloodline."
Kang Mao said nothing. He kept his head low, pushed himself to his feet, and gave a stiff, shallow bow. As he turned to leave, his ears, sharpened by shame, caught the whisper from one of his younger brothers near the dais.
"Father… is it even worth it? Kang Mao was weaker than our fallen brother. If *he* was killed by that cultivator… would Mao even stand a chance against the son of the fallen Immortal she travels with?"
Kang Mao's fist clenched so tightly his short nails dug into his palm, drawing beads of blood. He did not look back. He walked out, the whispered doubt hanging around his neck like a millstone.
He wandered the vast estate, through manicured gardens and silent practice yards, seeing nothing. His feet, moving on their own, carried him to a secluded, older part of the bamboo forest. Here, the path was not well-kept, just a narrow track of hard earth between the towering, whispering stalks.
A man was walking towards him on the path. He was unremarkable—of average height, wearing simple travel clothes, a long bamboo pole balanced on one shoulder with a dark pack tied to its end. He had no intimidating aura, no crackle of power. He looked like a wandering laborer.
Seeing Kang Mao's stormy expression, the man slowed. "Young master," he said, his voice rough but not unkind. "Heavy thoughts weigh down your steps. What troubles you?"
Kang Mao scowled. "It is none of your business. Keep walking."
The old man chuckled, a dry, rustling sound. "I understand. The world is full of sharp edges. If you wish, I could teach you a way to never be sad again."
Kang Mao rolled his eyes, a bitter snort escaping him. "Does such a thing even exist?"
"It does," the man said, stepping closer. There was a strange light in his eyes now, a clarity that belied his humble appearance. "I practice a forgotten method. The Legendary Thousand-Shifting Jingdao. Its core principle is adaptability—to be so rooted in the self that no external blow can unbalance you." He paused, his gaze piercing. "The prerequisite is a pure foundation. One who has opened no other Wheel. A rare thing, in these times of greedy advancement. Like you."
Skeptical, Kang Mao stared at him. This was madness. A stranger in the woods offering legendary techniques. Yet… the man had seen his foundational state. And the offer, however absurd, was a lifeline thrown into the sea of his despair. After a long moment of internal struggle, Kang Mao gave a single, sharp nod.
"Why?" Kang Mao asked, his voice hard. "Why would you help me?"
The old man's smile faded. He looked past Kang Mao, deep into the swaying bamboo, as if seeing something else entirely. He caressed his short, grey beard. "A man I once called my closest friend is… stirring things. Trying to set a great wheel in motion that may well break this world. You, in your current state—angry, lost, ripe for manipulation—you might be his next target. Mending a crack before the dam breaks… it is the right thing to do. It may slow him down."
Kang Mao let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You're insane."
The old man didn't answer. His eyes suddenly snapped to a point in the bamboo grove. A figure, little more than a darker shadow among the green, was there one instant, then vanished in a silent, seamless flash of **Shidow**-assisted movement. It was so fast Kang Mao didn't even register it as a person, only a flicker of wrongness in the corner of his vision.
Then the figure was beside him. Kang Mao flinched, but the old man was already there, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder, holding him still.
"He is always watching," the old man murmured, his voice barely a whisper now, all trace of rustic simplicity gone, replaced by a weary, ancient gravity. He looked directly into the space where the figure had been, his message clear.
In his mind, Kang Mao heard the words, not with his ears, but felt them impressed upon his spirit with a force that shook his core: ***I will do anything to stop you, my brother. Even if the price is my life.***
***
**The Eastern Gate of Heaven's Gate**
The formal grandeur of the main gate was behind them. Here, at a smaller, less ornate eastern exit used by caravans and cultivators, the mood was pragmatic. Gen, Liang, and Madame Su stood waiting, the dusty wind tugging at their travel clothes.
Soon, two more figures approached from the bustling inner city. Lorel, her movements more assured than Gen remembered, and beside her, the large, loyal frame of Chubbs. Chubbs saw them first and waved a meaty hand, a wide grin on his face.
"There they are!" he boomed, his voice cutting through the gate noise "Did I not say we would find them, my Lady? Like spotting the North Star in a clear sky!"
Madame Su's usually stern face softened into a genuine smile as she watched them approach. She glanced at Gen. "So, these are the persons we were waiting for?"
Gen nodded. "She proposed to follow us. I agreed. We have nothing to lose, and…" He shrugged, leaving the 'and' hanging. *And she's stronger than she looks. And maybe I owe her a second glance.*
Liang smirked, crossing his arms. "I expected her to be halfway to the next continent by now, chasing after Baili."
Chubbs shook his head, the picture of earnest loyalty. "My lady required a change of scenery. Too much stone, not enough sky in that young master's wake. Fresh faces for fresh paths, that's the trick."
They all laughed, a light sound against the serious backdrop of their journey. Lorel, however, did not laugh. She met their looks, her own gaze steady. "If it is a problem," she said, her voice quiet but clear, "Chubbs and I can travel on our own. We do not wish to be a burden."
Madame Su was already shaking her head before Lorel finished. "Nonsense." With a fluid motion of her hand, she conjured a platform of shimmering, solidified air about ten feet across—a masterful, effortless use of **Shidow**. "The path east is long, and company is not a burden, but a strength."
In her heart, Madame Su observed more. *Her aura… it has solidified. Grown denser. There is a will there now, where before there was only reflection.* And the fact that Lorel had voiced her own plan, had asserted her presence and her right to travel separately… the old Lorel would have simply waited to be told what to do. This was new. This was growth.
Together, the five of them stepped onto the shimmering disk. It lifted with a faint hum, ascending above the high walls of Heaven's Gate. They turned east, toward the distant, jagged silhouettes of the Salvaged Peaks, leaving the ordered dust of one kingdom behind for the turbulent clouds of another.