The Eastern Lands—the Azure Vault—didn't feel like a place on a map. It felt like something a god had dreamed while in a fever. The air was thick, heavy with the sort of ancient Qi that didn't just fill the lungs; it felt like a swallow of well water, cold and sharp. Up here, the Dao wasn't a philosophy. It was carved into the granite.
Deep in the green, the Green Pine Mountain Sect sat wrapped in mist. Water didn't just fall here; it thundered down the cliffs, gathering in a lake at the base that held the sky so still it looked like glass. Above, deer with antlers like frosted salt moved through the ferns. Cranes cut arcs through the clouds.
A bridge spanned the white-water at the entrance. Somewhere in the dark of that current, a mass shifted. A green dragon. It had been there since the first stone was laid, a silent thing that had watched empires turn to dust.
The gates were iron and jade. They groaned when they moved.
"Welcome back, Senior Brother Jìng Xū."
An elder in stiff robes went down, his forehead nearly hitting the stone. The silence that followed was heavy with a weight Lei Ze didn't understand.
Jìng Xū gave a nod. Just one. His face was as flat and unreadable as the mountain.
"This way, Senior," the junior said, gesturing toward the center of the complex. "Lord Lǐ Yúnzhōu has been asking. He will be... relieved."
The monk didn't answer. He just walked.
Beside him, Lei Ze moved like a man in a trance. His eyes jumped from the floating roofs to the spray of the falls. A week ago, he was hauling grain sacks until his back bled
Now, he was walking into a painting.
Their boots tapped against the polished floor of the Great Hall. A dozen men and women stood waiting. At the end, on a high seat, was the Sect Master.
"Greetings, Master Jìng Xū."
The elders rose. It wasn't just a formal gesture; there was a look in their eyes, something like genuine heat. Lei Ze felt a chill. This monk—the man who lived in a hole in the dirt and ate nothing was a giant here.
Jìng Xū raised a hand. A quiet movement that ended the noise.
"Brother," Lǐ Yúnzhōu said, his hands vanishing into his sleeves. "What finally pulled you out of your silence?"
"Wait here," Jìng Xū told Lei Ze. He stepped toward the throne. "I came to see if the world had burned down while I was gone."
Lǐ Yúnzhōu had three men at his side. The Supreme Elders. They stood like pillars, their stares heavy enough to feel on the skin.
Lei Ze stayed where he was told. He felt like a smear of mud on a clean floor. His arm itched, a sudden, frantic thing, and he almost reached to sniff his tunic before catching himself. Do I smell like the road? Is there dirt on my face? He felt like a stray dog that had wandered into a palace.
"I brought a student," Jìng Xū said. His voice didn't strain, but it filled the hall. He beckoned. "He stays."
Lei Ze's legs felt like lead pipes. He walked forward and dropped. His forehead hovered an inch above the wood. "I am Lei Ze, My Lord," he said. His pulse was a hammer in his neck, but his voice held.
Lǐ Yúnzhōu's face softened. A small, tired smile.
"Rise, Lei Ze."
When Lei Ze stood, something jagged caught in his chest. Pride. For years, he'd been 'the rat' or 'the boy.' To be looked at like a person felt wrong. Uncomfortable. He didn't look away from the Master.
"This is your home," Lǐ Yúnzhōu said. "The gates are open."
The Master looked past him. "Wèi!"
A man scrambled forward from the back. Elder Wèi. He was a broad man, his belly testing the seams of his belt, his hair tied back in a knot that swung as he moved. He bowed so fast he nearly tipped over.
"My Lord. I am here."
"Take him to the outer quarters," Lǐ Yúnzhōu said, a hand briefly touching Lei Ze's shoulder. "Get him settled. He belongs to the Green Pine now."
A lump formed in Lei Ze's throat. It was sharp, a physical ache that pushed back the memory of smoke and the smell of blood for a second. He bowed again. "Thank you, My Lord. I won't fail."
As Wèi led him out, Lei Ze looked back. Jìng Xū was still by the throne. He wasn't smiling, but he was watching.
Lǐ Yúnzhōu waited for the doors to click shut. The warmth left his face. He leaned forward, his voice turning into a low, jagged thing.
"The mines are yielding more than we thought, Jìng Xū. But prosperity brings the birds of prey." His hand clamped onto the arm of the throne. "The Jīn Yàn Sect is moving. They want it. They're sharpening their knives for an assault."
He hit the armrest. A soft thud, but it carried.
"I won't wait for them to burn us out. We strike first."
Jìng Xū didn't move. He stood like a statue. After a moment, he leaned in, pulling the Master away from the others.
"Lǐ Yúnzhōu," he whispered. His eyes swept the room. "Loyalty is a thin skin. If Jīn Yàn is moving because of the mines, how do they know? We haven't even started the exports."
Lǐ Yúnzhōu went still. His eyes widened. The anger went out of him, replaced by a cold, dawning realization.
The Sect Master cleared his throat and stepped back. He looked at the elders, searching for a twitch, a shift in weight, a nervous hand. Every face was a mask.
"I have reconsidered," he said, his voice ringing out. "A first strike costs too many lives. We will consolidate. We wait for them to show their hand. Dismissed."
The hall emptied. Jìng Xū stayed by a pillar, his hand moving slowly through his beard.
He watched the backs of the disciples as they left. "They all look like saints," he muttered to the air. "But that one... he walks strange."
He was looking at a young man with cropped hair who had slipped through the door just a second too fast.
The residential block was one of eight. Lei Ze was handed a bundle: grey and green robes. There was a serpent coiling toward a sun on the chest. The fabric was heavy.
By evening, his stomach was a hollow, echoing space.
"Lei Ze, meet the family," Wèi said, pushing him into a dining hall.
Ten students sat at a long, scarred table. Nine boys, one girl. Lei Ze felt a flicker of something, hope, maybe. He'd spent his life with just his mother. The idea of 'brothers' made his chest tight.
The welcome was ice. The boys didn't smile. They looked at him the way a man looks at a rival. Lei Ze's shoulders hunched. He walked into the silence.
"Sit, Lei," Fāng Róng said. She was Wèi's wife. She pulled out a chair, her smile the only bit of heat in the room.
She put a bowl in front of him. Lei Ze stared at it. Spiced rice, piled high, with a piece of chicken fried golden. The smell hit him like a punch to the gut. He'd never seen food that looked like this.
Wèi didn't wait. He shoved a spoonful into his mouth, his cheeks bulging. "Meet the lot," he grunted through the rice. "Names later. Just try not to break anything on day one."
Lei Ze nodded, but he could feel the stares. The older boys were measuring him. Cold. Unblinking. Only the girl, Lán Tíng, gave him a small, quick wave from across the table.
"We are your seniors. Don't forget that," a boy named Shí said. His voice was flat, like a gavel hitting wood.
Lei Ze didn't argue. He picked up his spoon and looked at the rice. He was in the Azure Vault. A world of light and dragons. But under the new silk, the fire for his mother was still there, a slow coal that wouldn't go out.