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The sky has cracked. The astral winds of the East Pole Pillars arrived forty-nine days earlier than in previous years, sweeping the snow of Lingyun Peak into the nine heavens and turning it into an icy rain that blanketed half the domain. The crimson of the Southern Border's flower fields faded by thirty percent overnight. In the misty marshes of Medicine King Valley, the Ghost Orchids, which had not bloomed for a century, all burst forth with pale, ghastly buds. An obscure star in the Northern Sea suddenly flared to life, its brilliance overshadowing all major stars. And the magma in the Molten Abyss at the earth's core is rising at a speed visible to the naked eye—as if something has awakened at the very bottom of the abyss. The Five Realms trembled, and the Sect Master tokens lit up almost simultaneously. The first to receive the news was Lingyun Peak, the closest to the Heavenly Pillars. --- Lingyun Peak · Ying Hanshuang Snow fell upon the sword hilt, refusing to melt. Ying Hanshuang stood at the edge of the precipice, his grey eyes gazing at the crack in the sky that was slowly closing. The astral winds whipped his white hair and wide sleeves, but he stood like a stone frozen into a glacier, not even his eyelashes fluttering. "Master!" Gu Jiu's voice came from far down the mountain path, breathless. "A star signal from the Heavenly Secret Pavilion—Xiao Xuanjing said—" "I know," Ying Hanshuang spoke, his voice fainter than the snow. Gu Jiu landed at the cliff's edge with a leap, his silver hair a mess from the wind, and his black martial attire still stained with dust from sword practice. He glared at his master's back, his throat bobbing as if he wanted to curse but didn't dare: "If you know, then move! The crack is about to split right down to our mountain!" Ying Hanshuang finally glanced at him. Those grey eyes reflected the light of the cracked sky, yet they were as calm as stagnant water. Then he looked away, raised his hand, and lightly tapped the void with a sword finger. A thread-fine white line shot from his fingertip, silently spanning the firmament and grazing the edge of the crack. The rift shuddered and closed by half a fraction. "...Oh." Gu Jiu pursed his lips. "Well... that's alright then." Ying Hanshuang ignored him and turned to walk toward the hall. As he passed Gu Jiu, his sleeve moved imperceptibly—a warm spirit stone was pressed into Gu Jiu's hand. Gu Jiu looked down; it was a newly quenched high-grade sword spirit stone, still carrying the coolness of his master's fingertips. "...Who cares about this?" He gripped the stone tight and stuffed it into his robe, muttering, "Next time you wear out your sword, I won't help you fix it." Once he had walked away, Ying Hanshuang stopped at the temple entrance and tilted his head ever so slightly. That peach tree in the back mountain... he had glanced at it this morning. There seemed to be—a flower bud. --- Acacia Sect · Luo Hongyi "Oh, how interesting." Luo Hongyi reclined on the branches of the tallest ancient tree in the flower sea, his red robes cascading like a waterfall of blood, his pink eyes half-lidded as he gazed at the rift in the sky. He wore no outer robe, only an inner garment left open at the collar, where a stray petal had landed on his collarbone. Seven or eight Acacia Sect disciples knelt beneath the tree, not daring to breathe. "Sect Master, the star signal from the Heavenly Secret Pavilion—" "I heard it." Luo Hongyi lazily waved his butterfly-bone fan. "A crack, a spiritual tide, the sky falling—it happens every thousand years. What's the rush?" Before his voice faded, he snapped the fan shut and pointed toward the horizon: "However, the color of this crack isn't quite right." The disciples looked up and noticed a faint layer of dark red at the edge of the rift—like... blood rust. Luo Hongyi's smile faltered for a second. Something flashed through those pink eyes, too fast for anyone to see. Then he smiled again, flipped down from the tree, and landed soundlessly, his red robes fluttering like a butterfly. "Go tell Xiao Xuanjing that he should probably wipe that star chart of his." He slowly adjusted his sleeves. "Tell him—the red threads have tangled with the blood lines. In this game of chess, someone is going to flip the table." He took two steps forward, then suddenly turned back and winked at the disciples: "Oh, by the way, ask him for me: Is Lingyun Peak sending over this year's Ice Soul Brew? If not, I'm going to be very angry." When he said the word "angry," his eyes were curved with a smile like a satiated fox—but the knuckles of his fingers gripping the fan's frame were already white. --- Medicine King Valley · Chen Tang Deep in the misty marsh, Chen Tang crouched before a patch of Ghost Orchids, his green eyes calm as water. He extended a fingertip and gently touched a pale bud. The bud trembled at his touch and then slowly unfurled—there was no stamen inside, only a single drop of dark red dew. "...Blood." Chen Tang withdrew his hand and wiped his fingertip with a handkerchief, leaving a faint red stain on the cloth. He stood up, the hem of his green robe stained with dew and mud, but he didn't care. He simply looked up at the crack in the sky. The rift was reflected in his green eyes like a wound. "Valley Master, from the Heavenly Secret Pavilion—" "Prepare the carriage." Chen Tang interrupted the disciple, his voice gentle but brook no argument. "To Lingyun Peak." The disciple was stunned. "Huh? Valley Master, you—" "There is blood rust on the edge of the crack." Chen Tang turned around, his broad back appearing somewhat blurred in the mist. "That is a sign of an ancient seal fracturing. In the records of Medicine King Valley... there is a passage I must confirm with Ying Hanshuang." He walked a few steps, then stopped, and said softly to the healers following behind: "Bring one hundred portions each of Blood-Stanching Pills and Pulse-Continuing Powder. And—bring my jar of three-thousand-year-old Soothing Dew." "Valley Master, wasn't that jar of Soothing Dew reserved for—" "If something truly happens on this trip," Chen Tang smiled, a smile as gentle as a March breeze that nonetheless made the disciple's heart tighten, "I'm afraid there won't be another chance to come back." He looked down at the small green pouch hanging from his waist; the seed inside was burning slightly. The heart of the Medicine God had not been this hot for three thousand years. --- Heavenly Secret Pavilion · Xiao Xuanjing *Clack.* A black stone landed on the chessboard, producing a clear, crisp sound. Xiao Xuanjing sat at the highest point of the Star-Sea Chess Terrace, surrounded by the light of billions of stars that made his silver hair shimmer with a cold glow. A game of Go was laid out before him, black and white stones interlaced in a deadlock—but the opponent's seat was empty. He was playing chess against the Heavenly Path. "Blood rust," he spoke softly, his voice like jade tempered in ice. "As expected." The fan twirled between his fingers. He reached into the stone jar and picked up a white stone—a drop of blood had already seeped from his fingertip, falling onto the stone's surface and being absorbed instantly. "With this move," Xiao Xuanjing placed the white stone on the Tengen point, "I count it as your loss." The moment the stone landed, every black stone on the board trembled, and the obscure star in the sea of stars suddenly dimmed. Xiao Xuanjing coughed, covering his lips with his sleeve. When he lowered it, there was a small dark patch on the corner of his cuff. He smiled, stood up, and walked to the railing. Vertical pupils flickered faintly in his green eyes as he looked toward the crack. "Chen Tang should be on his way," he murmured to himself. "As for Ying Hanshuang... with Gu Jiu as a variable, he can hold out for a while. Luo Hongyi won't sit by and watch. And Ye Huaining—" He paused, the smile at the corners of his mouth deepening slightly: "The magma in Yama City has risen by three feet. He has likely already guessed what it is." He unfurled his fan, and a line of faint golden characters suddenly appeared on the blank surface: "The battle for the Dao is not a struggle for the Path, but for the hearts of men." Xiao Xuanjing looked at the characters for a moment, then closed the fan with a soft sigh: "In this game... I have calculated seven steps ahead, but the remaining ten are still unclear." He lowered his eyes, looking at the crack in his own spiritual root that was still seeping blood, and whispered: "In those ten unclear steps—will any of your lives be left?" --- Yama City · Ye Huaining Magma churned beneath his feet, the heat warping the air into a shimmering curtain. Ye Huaining stood on the highest spire of Yama City, his black and red greatcloak billowing in the hot wind. His white hair reflected the red glow of the subterranean fires, and his red eyes were deeper and hotter than the magma itself. He gazed at the rift in the sky, his fist slowly tightening. "Blood rust." He repeated the words, his voice low and growling like a beast. "...I remember this smell." Eight hundred years ago, in the great fire that destroyed his kingdom, the sky had also split open, its edges tinged with the same dark red. That day, the cultivation sects descended with heavenly fire in the name of 'exterminating demons,' and a mortal kingdom was turned to ash overnight. He was only seven years old then, pinned down by a general. When he crawled out from the pile of corpses, his eyes were filled with this very color. "Lord of the City," a confidant's voice came from behind. "The magma is rising too fast. The earth-core seal—" "I know." Ye Huaining interrupted him, his red eyes narrowing coldly. "Three layers of the seal have broken, seven remain. At this rate, within seven days, the thing down there will come out." "Then should we..." "No." Ye Huaining turned, the bone bells on his cloak jingling. He looked at his confidant, a cold smile curling his lips: "When that thing comes out, the first person it will seek is me, Ye Huaining—because when it was sealed back then, it was done using my blood." He looked down at the palm of his left hand, where there was a dark red old scar, looking as if it had been bitten by something. "Tell the brothers to get their gear ready." His voice was light, but every word was like a blade scraping against stone. "Also—send a message to that hotheaded brat at Lingyun Peak. Say..." He paused, turning his face away. "Say that the fight we agreed on last time isn't finished yet. He'd better not die." --- At the same moment, throughout the Five Realms, countless cultivators looked up at the sky. The crack was slowly closing—the residual effect of Ying Hanshuang's 'Frost Heaven Line'—but everyone knew this was only temporary. From the closing gap, the dark red light bleeding through grew even deeper. And while everyone was staring at the sky, no one noticed— On that three-thousand-year-old peach tree in the back mountain of Lingyun Peak, that single flower bud was slowly blooming in the night. The petals were white, white as snow, white as frost, white as the tears Ying Hanshuang had not shed in three thousand years. In the heart of the flower lay a golden drop of dew. If anyone were to lean close and listen, they would hear, coming from within that drop of dew, a very, very faint— Heartbeat. — In this game of chess, a move made is a move kept. But the ones holding the pieces are not necessarily heartless.