After Feng Ran took Jing Jian to ascend to the Divine Realm eight hundred years ago, the Phoenix Emperor of Wutong Phoenix Island became the legendary Feng Yin.
Eight hundred years. The words carried weight like accumulated dust, like the slow erosion of mountains by wind and rain.
The Soul-Suppressing Tower was forged with the Divine Power of Hundun—primordial chaos itself given form—requiring years of painstaking effort and divine essence that few possessed. Back then, Tian Qi had gifted the tower obtained from Shang Gu to Donghua as Yuan Qi's apprenticeship gift, a gesture of familial bonds and political alliance.
Yet Donghua, burdened by conscience and seeking to atone for Yuan Qi's sins, later presented it to the Phoenix Clan. A gift becoming penance, becoming legacy.
Now, apart from the one in the Ghost Realm used by Divine Lord Bi Xi to suppress countless restless ghosts, the only remaining Soul-Suppressing Tower in the lower Three Realms resided in Feng Yin's possession.
Tian Qi had once caught a glimpse of this new Phoenix Emperor—unfortunately, it was merely a fleeting glance before her soul scattered like autumn leaves and she fell into deep slumber in the ancestral Wutong Forest. Truth be told, he shared no substantial connection with this Phoenix Emperor, no threads of fate binding them.
It was said that this new Phoenix Emperor's path to Nirvana had been fraught with hardship that would have broken lesser beings. She had once been entangled in a love affair with his nephew that nearly destroyed the Three Realms, their passion burning hot enough to threaten the very fabric of existence.
Now that Yuan Qi had turned to ashes—now that the boy he'd watched grow had scattered into nothing—it was unlikely she would wish to see anyone from the Divine Realm. Too many painful memories haunted those connections.
Tian Qi did not conceal his aura as a True God. The moment his presence brushed against Wutong Phoenix Island, unmistakable and vast, Elder Feng Yun of the Phoenix Clan came forth to greet him with all due ceremony.
Upon hearing Tian Qi's request to borrow the Soul-Suppressing Tower, Feng Yun respectfully attempted to escort him into the ancestral Wutong Forest with the deference one shows visiting royalty.
Given that Tian Qi had not hidden his presence—had in fact announced himself with the weight of divine authority—it was unexpected that Feng Yin herself did not come to receive him. Even the Ghost King Xiu Yan, notoriously bold and irreverent, wouldn't dare show such audacity to a True God's face.
Tian Qi couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, surprised despite himself.
Noticing Tian Qi's expression—that subtle shift from expectation to mild affront—Feng Yun hurriedly explained on Feng Yin's behalf, words tumbling out with careful diplomacy.
"Divine Lord, please do not take offense. Our Majesty wandered away for many years eight hundred years ago. After returning to the island, she sealed her Divine Sense completely and likely remains unaware of your arrival." He paused, gauging Tian Qi's reaction. "These years, she has resided in the ancestral forest and has not left the Phoenix Island for centuries. Her Majesty once decreed..."
Feng Yun's voice wavered slightly as he glanced at Tian Qi, measuring how much truth to speak. "Unless it concerns the annihilation of the Phoenix Clan itself, no matter the matter, none are to disturb her in the ancestral forest."
Such words implied that Tian Qi being granted an audience with Feng Yin at all was already the Phoenix Clan showing utmost respect to a True God of the Divine Realm. A courtesy, not an obligation.
Sealed Divine Sense?
Recalling that Yuan Qi's soul had scattered around the same time eight hundred years ago—cause and effect, grief and withdrawal—Tian Qi sighed from somewhere deep in his chest. For once, he did not assert the authority of a True God, did not demand what was his due. He merely waved dismissively at Feng Yun with unexpected grace.
Some losses transcended political hierarchies.
The two descended, landing at the southernmost edge of the island amidst the lush Wutong trees. As Tian Qi took in the scenery within—as his ancient eyes swept across the landscape—he couldn't help but pause in genuine surprise.
He was well aware of the Phoenix Clan's customs, had witnessed their traditions across millennia. Wutong Phoenix Island had always been home only to Wutong trees, sacred and unchanging. The ancestral forest's landscape had remained essentially unaltered for hundreds of millennia, a constant in an ever-shifting world.
Yet, at some unknown point, the deepest part of the ancestral forest had been transformed into a small immortal abode.
Verdant trees and grass, a babbling stream cutting through stone, a bamboo cottage with weathered walls. Immortal beasts roamed freely through the undergrowth, and flowers bloomed in riotous abundance—species that shouldn't exist together, seasons colliding in impossible harmony.
The sight felt eerily familiar, like déjà vu scratching at the edges of his consciousness. After studying it for a long moment, turning the memory over in his mind, Tian Qi finally realized why recognition had stirred.
This place was an exact replica of the forbidden valley Donghua had carved out in Daze Mountain centuries ago. Down to the placement of stones in the stream, the angle of the cottage, the species of bamboo.
A shrine built from memory. A love letter written in landscape.
The wooden door of the bamboo cottage creaked open, the sound cutting through the peaceful quiet. The young woman who stepped out froze upon spotting the two figures by the stream, her body going rigid with surprise.
Her gaze lingered briefly on Tian Qi's face—really seeing him, recognition dawning—and a ripple of emotion passed through her otherwise tranquil eyes before she mastered herself. She bowed slightly in greeting, movements graceful despite the tension.
"Feng Yin of the lower gods pays her respects to the True God Tian Qi."
Clad in simple robes that spoke of chosen austerity rather than poverty, with phoenix-pupiled eyes that burned with inner fire and her hair tied back with a wooden hairpin, she was unmistakably the same Feng Yin who had once slumbered in the ancestral Wutong Forest.
But changed. Weathered by grief into something harder.
"You sealed your Divine Sense, yet you recognize me?" Tian Qi's voice carried curiosity without accusation.
A trace of reminiscence flickered in the Phoenix Emperor's eyes, like sunlight on water. "Many years ago, this humble one once visited the Purple Moon Mountain. The portrait of the Divine Lord hung in the Purple Moon Hall, guarded by Senior Sanhuo."
She paused, a faint smile touching her lips as if recalling something bittersweet. "In my youth, I often heard him recount tales of the old days in the Clear Pool Palace. Hearing them so often, I suppose the one he so frequently remembered must have been someone like you."
Someone Yuan Qi had loved. Someone Yuan Qi had admired. Someone who represented everything Yuan Qi had aspired to become.
Tian Qi had come for the Soul Suppressing Tower—business, practical, nothing more. But now that he truly stood before Feng Yin, now that he saw her quiet devastation barely contained, the reality of Yuan Qi's annihilation suddenly struck him with unexpected force.
The ancient True God, who had lived for hundreds of thousands of years and witnessed countless deaths, felt an unexpected sting in his eyes. Something hot and uncomfortable that he refused to name as tears.
Noticing Tian Qi's expression—that rare vulnerability crossing his ageless face—Feng Yin chose not to dwell on the past and its sharp edges. Instead she asked with forced practicality, "Divine Lord, have you come to Phoenix Island for the Soul Suppressing Tower?"
Tian Qi raised a brow, recovering his composure. "How did the Phoenix Emperor know?"
Feng Yin smiled faintly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "I imagine the only thing on Phoenix Island worth your personal visit is the Soul Suppressing Tower. I heard that a thousand years ago, you ventured into the River of Time to seek an old friend."
She paused, studying him with those penetrating phoenix eyes. "Now that you've returned, have you found what you were looking for?"
Tian Qi nodded, offering no elaboration. "And the tower...?"
Before he could finish the question, Feng Yin summoned a small emerald-green tower in her palm. It materialized from nothing, humming with contained power. "Thanks to your generosity back then, I was able to cultivate my Primordial Spirit within this tower. Now that I've undergone Nirvana and been reborn, it's long overdue for me to return it to you."
Tian Qi accepted the tower, its weight settling into his palm like destiny. "No need for thanks. Even without this tower, given your Heart-Nature, achieving godhood through Nirvana was only a matter of time."
He studied the tower for a moment, feeling its empty resonance, before lifting his gaze to Feng Yin. "You studied under Feng Ran, so you must know that the Soul Suppressing Tower can nurture all souls in this world—including Divine Souls. Why then..."
"Why is there no trace of his soul inside?" Feng Yin finished his sentence with the ease of someone who'd anticipated the question. "Is that what you wanted to ask, Divine Lord?"
Tian Qi paused, then nodded. No point in pretending otherwise.
"I've searched." Feng Yin's voice took on the quality of distant thunder. "The Three Realms, the Six Paths, the Nine Provinces, the mortal world—everywhere you once sought your old friend, I've searched too. Every corner, every hidden place, every forgotten realm."
She stood quietly before the bamboo cottage, and an inexplicable loneliness radiated from her like cold light. Not grief, exactly. Something deeper and more permanent.
She looked up at the parasol tree in front of the cottage, its branches swaying in breeze that carried no sound. "I don't know if he still exists, nor when he might return. But I think... if I stay here and wait, if he's still out there somewhere, he'll come back one day."
Her voice softened to nearly nothing. "And if he doesn't... at least I was here."
With that, Feng Yin turned and walked into the bamboo house, her plain robes and dark hair making her figure seem frail, insubstantial, as if she might fade into the shadows.
Feng Yun watched with reddened eyes, his heart aching with a pain he had no words for. Yet he didn't know how to console her—what comfort could there be for this particular loss? In the end, he could only sigh deeply, the sound carrying centuries of accumulated sorrow.
He turned to Tian Qi. "Divine Lord..."
Tian Qi waved a hand, his expression unreadable, a mask of careful neutrality.
Understanding that today's meeting between the Divine Lord and the Phoenix Emperor must have stirred painful memories for both—old wounds reopened by proximity—Feng Yun said no more. He bowed silently and withdrew, leaving Tian Qi alone in the valley.
After Feng Yin's figure disappeared behind the bamboo house, swallowed by domestic shadows, Tian Qi stood motionless for a long time. The tower remained clutched in his hand, its surface warm against his palm. He sighed softly and turned to leave, already planning his departure.
Only to freeze mid-step.
Beneath the parasol tree, on a stone table worn smooth by years and weather, lay a green stone chessboard. A jug of Jade Dew wine sat beside it, and scattered white jade pieces lay around the board in an unfinished game.
Seated beside the table was a young man in white.
His features were gentle and refined—not a face Tian Qi particularly favored, too soft for his tastes—but those phoenix eyes were the very image of his mother's. Unmistakable. Heartbreaking.
Tian Qi hadn't seen him in many years, yet he knew instinctively this was how the boy should look, now grown. Yuan Qi in his prime, forever frozen at the age when life should have stretched endlessly ahead.
"Purple-Haired Uncle."
The young man in white looked up and called out to him, voice clear and bright as mountain streams.
Tian Qi's throat tightened painfully, words catching on emotion he rarely permitted himself.
"It's been years since we last played a game." The youth gestured to the chessboard with elegant fingers, his smile still as bright as when he was a child learning strategy at Tian Qi's knee. "Do you have time to teach me one more round?"
"Alright."
Tian Qi finally spoke, the word emerging rougher than intended. He walked to the stone table, his steps deliberate, and passed directly through the young man's form—insubstantial, spectral, barely there.
Not a flicker of surprise showed in Tian Qi's violet eyes as he sat across from the ghost of his nephew. He poured a cup of Jade Dew with steady hands and placed it before the youth.
The game began, pieces dancing across the board in familiar patterns they'd played a thousand times. Yet the cup of wine remained untouched, unable to be drunk by lips that no longer existed.
The figures in purple and white resembled the countless days they had spent growing up and playing together in the Clear Pool Palace. Teacher and student. Uncle and nephew. Friends across the vast gulf of power and age.
By the time the game ended—by the time Tian Qi had deliberately lost in the way Yuan Qi always loved—the young man's form had faded almost to nothing, translucent as morning mist.
Tian Qi looked at him, really looked, memorizing this phantom. Then he turned his gaze toward the bamboo hut where Feng Yin hid from the world.
"She doesn't know?"
The young man shook his head, the gesture causing ripples in his unstable form. "No."
"You never left?"
"No."
"For a living soul to undergo Rebirth, it takes ten thousand years to gather the scattered spirit. Do you understand this?" Tian Qi's voice carried the weight of ancient knowledge, the patience of one explaining to a stubborn child.
"I do."
"Why didn't you enter the Primordial Spirit Pool? With the power of Hundun within you, it would take at most a thousand years for you to reincarnate with the divine essence of Hundun." He leaned forward slightly. "You could return to her. Properly. Fully. Why condemn yourself to this half-existence?"
"In another two hundred years, she'll be able to see me." The young man's voice carried absolute certainty, mathematical precision about the nature of souls and time. "I couldn't bear the thought of her enduring a thousand years alone in this world."
He smiled faintly, gaze fixed on the bamboo hut with the devotion of a pilgrim staring at a shrine. His form gradually grew more translucent, edges blurring, yet his voice remained unwavering in its resolve.
"One day, I'll tell her—no matter how the years pass or the world changes, I've always been by her side. I never left."
A pause, heavy with meaning. "I never will."
Only Tian Qi remained at the stone table, solid and real. The chessboard lay empty now, pieces vanished with Yuan Qi's departure. The scent of wine had faded into memory.
He surveyed the emptiness around him—the valley that was both shrine and prison, love made manifest in landscape.
Then he stood and walked away with measured steps.
"If this is your wish… so be it."
He didn't look back. Looking back would change nothing. The warmth of the Soul-Suppressing Tower pulsed faintly in his palm, hidden within his sleeve, carrying its own cargo of hope and desperation.
No one in the valley could answer him now. Only the rustling of the phoenix tree leaves whispered in response, as if echoing his thoughts or perhaps carrying conversations between the living and the dead.
The Purple Moon Mountain had lain dormant for many years, silent as a held breath.
After the great battle between the Divine and Demon Races—when blood had rained from the sky and continents had cracked—three True Gods emerged to relocate the Nine Nether Purgatory from its slopes. The mountain's gates had sealed shut in the aftermath, remaining closed for eight hundred years.
Eight centuries of silence. Eight centuries of absence.
In those eight centuries, the power dynamics of the Yao Realm shifted dramatically, like tectonic plates grinding against each other. After the successive deaths of Sen Hong and Sen Yu in battle—warriors who had seemed invincible brought low—the Tiger Clan declined precipitously. Their Elders, recognizing the clan's weakness, led the younger generation into retreat at Tiger's Roar Mountain to recuperate and rebuild.
Meanwhile, the Fox Clan flourished under the rule of the Ten-Tailed Heavenly Fox, Hong Yi. Cunning and beautiful and utterly ruthless, she'd consolidated power with an iron grip wrapped in silk.
Three hundred years ago, when Hong Yi ascended to the Divine Realm with the Eagle Clan's Princess Yan Shuang—when she'd literally transcended the mortal plane—a new force emerged in the Yao Realm's Third Heaven to fill the vacuum: Cold Spring Palace, a power rivaling the Fox Clan in resources and ambition.
The master of Cold Spring Palace, Zhen Yu, was much like the immortal lord Qing Mu of old—mysterious in origin, peerless in power, arriving fully formed like a character stepping from legend. He appeared abruptly three centuries ago from nowhere anyone could trace, defeated the ten greatest warriors of the Yao Race in succession without a single loss, then established Cold Spring Palace with the confidence of inevitability.
Warriors from across the Yao Realm flocked to his banner, drawn by strength and the promise of glory. Within just three hundred years—barely a breath in immortal time—Cold Spring Palace became a formidable power that couldn't be ignored.
When Hong Yi ascended, the Fox Clan had no Demigod Fox Lord to succeed her, no clear heir to her accumulated authority. The Yao Realm had not seen an Ascendant in ages, growing complacent in the stability.
Before leaving—before stepping through the veil between realms—Hong Yi issued an edict in the Violet Palace: three hundred years hence, the next Yao Emperor would arise from among the clans. Whoever cultivated to the level of a Demigod and shattered the Heavenly Fox Seal outside the Violet Palace would become the Fox Clan's new sovereign.
A competition. A test. A gauntlet thrown.
Time flew. Centuries passed in the way they do for immortals, marked by achievement rather than aging. Now Chang Mei, the Fox Clan's Chief, and Zhen Yu of Cold Spring Palace had both reached the Demigod realm through different paths but equal determination.
With only ten years remaining until Hong Yi's three-century deadline, as the two great powers of the Yao Realm prepared for the decisive struggle over the throne—positioning allies, gathering resources, sharpening blades—the Purple Moon rose once more over the Yao Realm.
And the gates of Purple Moon Mountain swung open.
When the news reached Silent Shadow Mountain and Cold Spring Palace, carried by breathless messengers who'd witnessed the impossible, both Chang Mei and Zhen Yu were stunned into frozen silence for a long moment.
During the Demon Race's near-apocalyptic assault on Purple Moon Mountain—when reality itself had seemed on the verge of shattering—Tian Qi, the God of the Yao, hadn't even shown his face. He'd remained absent, uninvolved, letting others fight his battles.
Why, in this era of relatively uneventful peace, would the mountain's gates open so abruptly? What did it mean?
Yet both understood one thing with crystal clarity: though Hong Yi's edict had come first and established the rules, no matter how fiercely they contended, the appointment of the next Yao Emperor ultimately rested on Tian Qi's word.
He was, after all, a True God. The God of their realm specifically. His authority superseded all others.
Recovering their wits after the initial shock, the two gathered their subordinate Yao Lords with urgent summons. They assembled lavish treasures—the finest their realms could produce—and hastened in grand procession to Purple Moon Mountain to pay their respects.
Better to arrive bearing gifts than arrive too late.
In the Purple Moon Hall, Tian Qi stared at his grinning Divine Beast with mounting exasperation, his head beginning to throb with a familiar ache.
"You opened the mountain?"
Zi Han, appearing in the form of a young boy with oversized purple eyes, nodded proudly. Enthusiastically. As if he'd accomplished something remarkable rather than creating a diplomatic nightmare.
Back when Zi Han had followed Tian Qi into the temporal torrent to search for Yue Mi—when they'd chased ghosts through the river of time—he had grown weary of solitude five hundred years ago and returned to Purple Moon Mountain. Since then, he'd been passing dull, uneventful days on this mountain with Sanhuo and Bibo, enduring long stretches of boredom that would have driven lesser beings mad.
"You raised the moon?"
Another proud nod, chin lifting with satisfaction.
Tian Qi took a deep breath, summoning patience from some deep well. "What else have you done?"
"Nothing else, Divine Lord! After raising the Purple Moon and opening the mountain gates, wouldn't they all come rushing to Purple Moon Mountain to pay homage to you?" Zi Han's eyes narrowed into joyful slits, stars practically twinkling in his gaze, completely oblivious to the problem he'd created.
"Ah, ever since Sanhuo, that little Dragon, and Bibo, that child, went off traveling—leaving me all alone—Purple Moon Mountain has been left with just me. Now that the Divine Lord has finally returned, we should celebrate properly!"
Zi Han scampered over to Tian Qi with the energy of an excited puppy. "Divine Lord, there have been quite a few powerful figures emerging in the Yao Realm lately. If you meet them, it'll bring them great honor—"
"Oh?" Tian Qi's voice dropped to something dangerous. "Will it bring me honor, or will it just give you another chance to hoard treasures from heaven and earth?"
Tian Qi shot a cold glance at his Divine Beast, utterly exasperated by the Dragon clan's innate greed for wealth and valuables. It was in their blood, this acquisitiveness. Incurable.
Under that stern gaze—those violet eyes that had witnessed the birth and death of galaxies—Zi Han shivered inwardly. His enthusiasm deflated like a punctured balloon.
Without another word, without attempting further justification, he transformed into his juvenile Dragon form and clung to Tian Qi's leg with desperate affection.
"Divine Lord..." The little Dragon's voice was drawn out and milky soft, weaponizing cuteness with shameless efficiency. His big purple eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to spill, his mouth puckered in an exaggerated pout. "Don't be angry with me... I just like shiny things..."
Tian Qi sucked in a sharp breath, staring down at this tens-of-thousands-years-old creature at his feet acting like a scolded toddler.
And promptly turned to stone.
This was his life now. This was what he'd returned to.
Somewhere in the mortal realm, a small girl was promising to become immortal and repay her debt. Somewhere in the Phoenix forest, a ghost played eternal chess with empty air. And here, in Purple Moon Mountain, an ancient dragon clung to his leg and made puppy eyes.
The weight of eternity pressed down, ridiculous and profound in equal measure.
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