The confrontation had been brief.
Heiyun Jue had reached out to the other ten Transcendents through the communication channels they had maintained for centuries—threads of pure concept connecting consciousnesses across any distance, allowing instantaneous exchange of thought and intent.
He had been careful. Measured. He hadn't revealed the specifics of what had happened, hadn't mentioned the natural awakener or the soul-pain he felt when his divine sense struck that impossible wall. He simply inquired about certain… anomalies. Probed for signs of interference. Tested the waters to see if any of his peers would reveal themselves.
They hadn't.
One by one, each of the ten denied any breach of their ancient compact. Some with confusion, some with barely concealed irritation, some with smooth, practiced neutrality that revealed nothing while implying everything.
Mo Qinghai had been coldest. "You accuse without evidence, Heiyun. Unlike you."
Bai Jinxue had been sweetest. "Is something troubling you? You seem… distracted."
Lu Feiyu hadn't responded at all. Her silence spoke volumes—though which language it was speaking, he could not determine.
None admitted anything. Which told him everything.
If one of them had been responsible for blocking his divine sense—protecting the girl with power enough to hurt him—they would have left a trace. A flicker, a hesitation, a moment of tension. These were beings who had lived for millennia, but even the oldest trees could be read by those who knew where to look.
He had seen nothing.
Which meant the protection hadn't come from any of them.
The being ahead of us.
The thought rose like a leviathan from deep water—massive, ancient, impossible to fully perceive. He had known intellectually that something existed beyond the Transcendent stage. Ancient texts hinted at it. The world itself seemed to follow principles even he could not fully grasp.
But knowing something existed and confronting it directly were two different things.
Something had protected that girl. Something with power so far beyond his own that his divine sense—refined over a thousand years, capable of perceiving almost everything—had simply stopped. Rebounded. Inflicted pain he hadn't felt since before his ascension.
Why her?
Natural awakeners were rare, yes. Valuable, certainly. But in the grand scheme of existence, what was one promising child? Why would a force beyond Transcendents care about a single mortal girl?
Unless she was more than that.
He pushed the thought aside. Speculation without information was useless. He needed knowledge. Real knowledge. Not guesses.
He needed the texts.
The other Transcendents would not wait forever.
Heiyun Jue knew this as surely as he knew his own concept. He could still feel the echoes of the confrontation—the subtle shifts, the carefully worded responses, the currents of interest flowing beneath the surface. They had sensed something. Not the specifics, but enough. They were beings of equal power, age, and cunning. They had survived millennia, climbed the impossible ladder to this peak. They knew when one of their number was vulnerable.
They would watch. They would wait. They would probe at the edges of his territory, testing for weakness.
The goose, he thought bitterly. They want to snatch the goose from the shepherd.
The natural awakener was too valuable to ignore. If the other Transcendents believed he couldn't control her—couldn't protect her, develop her properly—they would move. Individually or in concert. And he couldn't let that happen.
Not because he cared about the girl. She was an asset, a tool, a weapon to be forged. But she was his asset. His investment.
And now… connected to something he didn't understand. Something above, something that intervened on her behalf.
He needed to know why.
The library awaited.
He moved past the comforts of mortal imitation—the kitchen where he made coffee, the bed where he forced sleep, the chair where he sat pretending to be human. These things kept him sane, kept his concept of Space from consuming him. But today, he set them aside.
He reached the library door and paused.
Inside, infinite shelves stretched beyond sight, impossible geometries folding into themselves. This was his collection. The wisdom of a thousand years, preserved and organized.
Only one text mattered now: the Tome of Origin.
Every Transcendent possessed one. Tradition dictated it—a chain of inheritance stretching through generations of divine existences, each adding discoveries to the accumulated whole. Pieces recovered from ruins, hidden vaults, dying hands.
His copy had been inherited from his master, five hundred years ago. Before departing for the higher realms, the old monster had pressed the tome into Heiyun's hands with a warning:
"The knowledge within is not meant for beings like us. Reading it is like forcing yourself upon a truth that existed before existence itself. Be certain before you open these pages. Be prepared for what you might find."
He had been certain then. Young, confident, newly ascended. He opened it within a decade of inheritance. The experience nearly destroyed him.
The texts could not be mass-produced. Not for lack of skill, but for the limitation of reality itself. Creating a copy required Transcendent power. The act took a decade at minimum. Not merely transcription—words themselves carried weight, demanded respect. The knowledge resided outside reality, ancient beyond measure. To read it required survival of the soul.
Any mortal who tried would simply cease to exist.
Even for Transcendents, reading it was taxing. The section he sought would take three months—three months of immersion, forcing consciousness against truths that resisted comprehension, constant pressure like diving into crushing depths.
Three months of vulnerability.
He would be unable to monitor his pocket realm fully, unable to respond instantly to threats. Assets—children, the natural awakener—could be claimed.
Should he warn his followers?
Knowledge was dangerous. Revealing weakness invited rebellion. Better to appear busy. Occupied with matters beyond understanding. Let hope suffice.
Hope that the other Transcendents' caution would outweigh their greed. Hope that three months would pass untested.
A gamble. But he had no other choice. The answers he sought—about the being above, about why it protected the girl, about the true forces at play—were worth it.
Heiyun Jue opened the library door.
Infinite shelves and impossible angles stretched before him. Light filtered from no visible source, soft and timeless. At the center, a chamber waited.
Inside, suspended in midair, the Tome of Origin glimmered, ordinary from afar, yet immense in weight and presence. Its words predated existence, aware, patient.
He steeled himself.
Then Heiyun Jue, Transcendent of Space, ruler of domains, master of dimensions, stepped forward.
The door closed behind him.
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