Mountain of the Four Tributaries — Stone Plateau
The morning was cold. It was one of those signs the world gives: renewal, cycles, the end of one season and the beginning of another. Winter was on its way.
The disciples gathered on the plateau as they always did—the same ground, the same creeping mist. But nothing was the same.
Yan Li arrived first, her brush tucked into her waist like an amulet. Her face was clean, but her eyes were not; they still carried that color: Dirty Violet.
Wei Lian followed soon after, far too calm for someone like him. He sat on a rock and stared into the void as if it were a mirror.
Lastly, Wang Tao: firm steps, upright posture. He didn't look at either of them—not out of coldness, but out of caution. If he looked, he might see something he didn't want to see, and if he saw it, he would have to answer. And he didn't want to lie. Or rather: he didn't want to omit.
The silence stretched until Sai appeared. He moved without haste, without weight, as if the world hadn't changed, as if no Elder had died, as if fate weren't tightening the noose around the Sect's neck.
"Sit," he said simply.
They obeyed, keeping a slight distance from one another. Sai walked to the edge of the plateau and looked out over the valley. The wind tossed his golden hair, and for a fleeting second, he seemed normal—just a man, just a master.
But the three of them knew better: nothing about Sai was just anything.
"You have trained the Qi," Sai began. "Now, the soul."
Yan Li felt her chest tighten—not with fear, but with recognition. Wei Lian lifted his chin, as if that word were a door he had wanted to open for a long time. Wang Tao remained motionless.
"Soul and body: two distinct elements, yet interconnected," Sai continued, walking with his hands behind his back. "The soul moves the body; it is the engine in operation."
He stopped, looking at each of them in turn. "But the true question is: what moves the soul?"
Wei Lian almost answered but held his tongue.
"The soul sees through emotions, from the interior. It is the mirror of what we are, not what we show."
Silence.
"That is why the soul does not respond to force," Sai paused. "The body can be broken and rebuilt; Qi can be compressed and guided; but the soul does not allow itself to be pushed."
The wind whistled through the rocks.
"Sensitivity of the soul is not 'feeling more,' it is 'feeling right.'"
Yan Li swallowed hard. Wei Lian furrowed his brow. "Master," he began, "what does it mean to 'feel right'?"
Sai didn't answer immediately. He walked slowly, choosing his steps as if the ground itself mattered. "To feel right is to perceive the hidden. But not what is hidden in others, nor what is veiled in nature."
Another pause.
"What is hidden within yourself."
Yan Li felt a pang in her chest. Hidden. What was she hiding? The confusion, the fear, the pain of seeing beauty where she shouldn't. Dirty Violet. She closed her eyes and, for the first time, didn't try to push it down—she simply felt it. The world grew clearer, and the color, subtly, began to transform.
Wei Lian processed the words. What did he hide? He hesitated—because the answer was: everything. He hid the fact that he didn't know who he was; he hid that every thought came from a different place; he hid that sometimes he felt as if he were several people at once.
Wang Tao kept his expression neutral, but inside, a list was forming. What he hid: the poison, the Gu, the shadow, the plan, the rage, and the fear that all of it defined him. He took a deep breath and shoved it all back down.
Not now.
Sai watched his three disciples: Yan Li with her eyes closed, Wei Lian too tense, Wang Tao frozen. A brief smile touched his lips.
The time is almost here...
"Opening the first gate of the soul is easy," Sai spoke as if it were a trifle. "The hard part is not getting lost in what you find inside."
Yan Li breathed slowly, as if holding a plate that was too full. Wei Lian thought of asking more, but he didn't. Because at that moment, Wang Tao opened his eyes and spoke.
"Master."
His voice didn't tremble. He didn't ask for permission or consolation—he simply called. Sai looked at him. "Hm?"
Wang Tao hesitated for half a second—a rarity. Then he chose the right question, the one erupting within him:
"Can a cultivator in the Qi Absorption Realm defeat someone in the Foundation Establishment Realm?"
The wind seemed to stop. Yan Li turned her head, startled. Wei Lian's eyes widened. Sai's expression didn't change—no shock, no reproach, only calm.
Yan Li felt ice in her veins. Abruptly, she blurted out, "WHAT are you thinking, Tao?!"
Her voice carried frustration and despair. She didn't even notice how she had addressed him: by his name, a sign of proximity, a mirror of her true feelings.
Wei Lian narrowed his eyes, observing, his mind chaotic. "Why, Eldest Brother Wang?" he murmured, his voice heavy with sadness and disappointment.
Wang Tao's heart tightened. He had been careless. He ground his teeth. It doesn't matter. This is who I am. Yet, he answered with an innocent tone: "I only wish to understand the differences between the realms."
His voice was clear and transparent, showing none of his internal conflict.
"NO! You made a threat disguised as a question!" Yan Li snapped, her voice raspy.
The atmosphere turned electric. Then, without a shred of empathy for the tension, Sai spoke:
"Foundation Establishment?"
The three turned to him. As always, his voice commanded absolute attention.
"That is nothing."
Silence. Until Yan Li cried out in frustration, "MASTER!"
Sai continued, indifferent to the emotional explosion. "A Foundation Establishment cultivator is no great thing."
Wei Lian couldn't contain his curiosity. "M-Master, isn't that an entire realm above us?"
Sai cast him a curious look. "Realms measure energy; they do not measure experience. To me, defeating someone of the Foundation Establishment requires... minimal effort."
Wang Tao's heart hammered. Who exactly is our master? He wondered if it was true or just empty bravado.
Yan Li, more surprised than upset, asked, "Master, then... the Ancestors?"
"Are weak," Sai replied dryly.
The word fell like a dry thunderclap. Yan Li's eyes went wide, Wei Lian swallowed hard, and Wang Tao simply processed it. If the Elders were weak, then what was Sai? And more importantly, what was he hiding?
"So," Wei Lian asked hesitantly, "does that mean Brother Wang could...?"
Sai finally stopped and turned to them, his gaze serious now. "Yes and no."
The three froze.
"For you, beginners, it is suicide," he said without softening the blow. "But you are still my disciples, so it would not be impossible." He continued with unabashed arrogance: "Perhaps with traps, perfect terrain, and the proper preparations, it is possible. Perhaps."
Wang Tao clenched his fists.
"But even so," Sai concluded, "as you are now, the chance of dying is far greater than the chance of winning."
Yan Li was breathing with difficulty. "Then why do you speak as if it were easy?"
"Because for me, it is," Sai answered emotionlessly. "The question that matters is not if it is possible, but if it is worth the price."
Sai took a step back. "Enough for today." His gaze lingered on Wang Tao for a second longer than necessary.
Wang Tao understood. He is talking to me.
Sai turned toward the valley. "And remember: possible does not mean probable. Those who try usually do not get a second attempt."
Silence. The lesson ended, but no one rose immediately.
Yan Li looked at her hands as if they were guilty of something. Wei Lian looked at Wang Tao, trying to fit together pieces that had no shape. Wang Tao just breathed. On the outside, he was calm; on the inside: So, it can be done.
For the first time since the assassination, he felt something like direction—not hope, but direction. And that was dangerous.
Sai was already walking away when he said, without looking back: "Wang Tao, if you intend to walk against the current, learn first to recognize the river."
Wang Tao stood still. The sentence seemed simple, but it carried a hidden blade. He lowered his gaze and thought:
The river is already taking me. I'm just pretending to swim.