As I made my way across the room, the children hurriedly wiped the drool from their mouths and began eating without hesitation.
I pulled the door open. Given my current strength, not a literal soul could harm me, so I might as well play the dithering old woman.
Standing there was the ever-dashing Officer Han, looking apologetic.
“Sorry to bother you again, Ms. Heather. I hope you wouldn’t mind, but the convoy heading back to command left without me. The next one won’t depart until tomorrow morning, and… I didn’t pack anything to sleep on.”
A soft chuckle escaped my lips.
“Of course, Officer Han. Have you eaten? Oh — are you a cultivator? I can prepare something appropriate for your rank.”
A warm smile graced his lips, lending him that chivalrous air capable of stopping any maiden mid-step.
“I’m at the Foundation Stage, ma’am. I don’t need anything special. Just some dried crackers or leftovers would be fine.”
I waved a hand dismissively.
“Now, Officer, we can’t have a big strong man like you going hungry. Come — I’ve just finished cooking. It will be perfect for you.”
I stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind us.
As we walked toward the dining area, he seemed entranced by the Pagoda’s interior. And this was only the illusion-layered version — not even its true majesty.
A quiet chuckle escaped me.
He noticed and flushed faintly.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Heather. I’ve never been anywhere so… grand.”
My chest swelled with pride.
“Well, kids — welcome Officer Han. I’ll fetch him a plate.”
The children gave enthusiastic waves, grease coating their mouths and hands.
Officer Han stared at the platter before them.
“What is this? I’ve never seen anything so delicious-looking.”
The kids immediately began explaining between mouthfuls.
As he lifted the first piece of cockatrice, a smooth, fragrant aroma wafted upward and filled his senses.
“This smells incredible.”
He placed the piece in his mouth.
For a brief moment, he simply chewed.
Then his expression changed.
A cooling, refined energy slid down his throat and spread into his abdomen. It circulated through his meridians in a smooth, unimpeded loop before settling gently in his dantian.
His eyes widened.
“Jesus— kids, stop eating now! You can’t—”
Before he could finish, I placed a full plate in front of him.
“It’s fine. It’s specially prepared for their mortal bodies.”
Shock flickered across his face.
“You mean… you made nourishing spirit food that can be safely consumed by mortals?”
I fixed him with a firm look.
“Officer. Do not interrupt children while they’re eating. And you certainly can’t afford the cost of letting that meat go cold.”
I folded my hands calmly.
“It is perfectly suited for everyone here — including you. You should be feeling a slight refinement in your Qi. A subtle purity?”
He immediately checked his dantian.
His brows furrowed.
Then lifted.
His Qi shimmered faintly, more lustrous — as if he had cultivated using a higher-tier method for several months.
He looked up at me, stunned.
Then, inevitably, blushed again.
“I’m… going to remain quiet. You clearly know what you’re doing.”
A wise decision.
Twenty minutes later, the plates were empty.
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The children leaned back in their chairs, glowing faintly with health and warmth.
“I’ll clean up,” I said, gathering dishes. “Then I have a question for you, Officer.”
He opened his mouth to respond.
I raised a hand.
“Five minutes.”
When I returned, he sat straighter.
“Officer Han,” I said evenly, “I’m going to ask you to swear upon your Dao that you will never betray what you see here, and never reveal it to another soul.”
He looked surprised — but thoughtful.
Given that my home was clearly some form of powerful artefact, secrecy was logical.
He stood, placed his hand over his chest, and spoke his oath.
The Qi in the room vibrated.
Unlike the children’s natural binding to me, this oath carried weight. Law. Enforcement.
A thread of Dao-bound intent sealed around him.
Interesting.
He was not one of my children.
His bond was stricter.
“Good,” I said softly. “The reason for that oath is simple. I have a few matters to attend to before bed, and I thought you might accompany us.”
Before heading out, I contacted the system.
Hey, System. Now that Officer Han has bound himself to us, can I grant him a technique or pill?
Ding-Ding-Ding
Host, the officer may now partake in all sect resources except the Vault.
Recommendation: Limit him to one martial technique or one cultivation technique not exceeding Saint Realm.
I would suggest offering something weaker, but unfortunately my collection does not contain anything of low quality.
Was that… pride?
“Good job, System. Thank you for being awesome.”
Ding-Ding-Ding
Host is most welcome.
Definitely pride.
As we walked, I mused aloud,
“I wonder if you’ve noticed anything different?”
Silence.
Lucy tilted her head.
“Granny… I think Officer Han is broken.”
I turned.
His jaw hung open so wide one could reasonably consider renting the space.
The illusion formation had lifted for him.
The true Pagoda revealed itself.
Spirit mountains pierced the heavens.
Veins of light coursed through the earth.
Beast auras pulsed in the distance.
He swallowed.
“I… I…”
“It was an illusion formation,” I explained calmly. “It hides the truth from those not bound by oath to the owner.”
He snapped his mouth shut, then promptly blushed for what must have been the fourth time that evening.
“I wouldn’t worry, Officer,” I said gently.
“You’ll likely experience three or four more bouts of shock before bedtime.”
Officer Han looked at the children.
They simply nodded at him.
Lucy stepped forward and slipped her hand into his.
“I’ve got a feeling, Officer Han… this isn’t even the best part.”
He blinked.
“That’s… not comforting.”
We led him through a winding corridor at the back of the Pagoda. The stone beneath our feet shifted subtly as we walked, patterns of spiritual inscriptions glowing faintly along the walls.
Then the corridor opened.
And the world changed.
Before us stretched a vast expanse of mountains — towering, layered, majestic. What would be called a jungle on Earth flourished between them. Ancient trees reached skyward, their trunks thick as towers. Vines coiled and hung like living curtains. Flowers in impossible colours lined a carefully maintained path that branched outward toward the base of each mountain.
The air was dense.
Not heavy.
Dense with spiritual Qi.
It pressed gently against the skin, rich and vibrant.
Officer Han inhaled sharply.
“What grade of spiritual vein is here?” he blurted. “How is it this strong?”
I glanced at him, placed a finger to my lips, and gave him a wink.
“That,” I said lightly, “is why the oath was needed. Another shock, Officer Han.”
He flushed again and shook his head slowly, as if trying to ground himself in reason.
We reached a large stone marker at the intersection of paths. Etched upon it were elegant characters, each pointing toward a different mountain.
I took the far-left path — the one marked Library.
After a brisk ten-minute walk upward along stone steps carved seamlessly into the mountainside, we reached the summit.
At the peak stood a towering gothic structure of black stone and silver trim. Arched windows reflected moonlight despite it being early evening. Spires pierced the sky, and faint halos of holy radiance shimmered around the building.
It radiated sanctity.
Authority.
Knowledge.
“Right,” I said calmly. “This is my technique library. We’re going to select some techniques to prepare you for practice tomorrow. Even one for you, Officer.”
The children visibly tensed with excitement.
Officer Han did not.
“What do you mean?” he asked, confusion returning full force. “They’re mortals. That’s why I brought them here. How is this possible?”
I gave him a look.
The kind that said: Have you not learned yet?
He wisely stopped speaking.
We stepped inside.
The interior was vast — shelves upon shelves of jade slips, ancient tomes, floating scripture tablets inscribed with glowing characters. The air carried a faint scent of ink and aged parchment.
Just as I was about to call the system for guidance—
An old man appeared from thin air.
Short. Round. With a neatly trimmed goatee and bright, intelligent eyes. His form shimmered slightly, as though composed of condensed spiritual light.
Upon seeing me, he bowed deeply.
“Master. How may this humble spirit serve you?”
I stared at him for a brief moment.
The system truly had accounted for everything.
“Can you assist these three in selecting techniques tailored to their constitutions,” I said evenly, “and help the good officer upgrade one of his own?”
The spirit bowed again.
“At once.”
He moved with astonishing efficiency.
The first to be served was Officer Han.
Several jade slips floated from distant shelves and arranged themselves before him.
One hovered closest.
His eyes scanned it.
Then widened.
“Holy— This is a Saint-level cultivation technique.”
His voice dropped into awe.
“It perfectly complements my Water, Air, and Wood roots… This is the same technique used by the Great Swamp Saint. He fought Saint Kings evenly before a Saint Emperor was dispatched to suppress him. How do you possess this?”
I raised my hand.
Five fingers.
He stared at them.
Then swallowed.
The oath.
He understood.
Without another word, he hurried toward a reading alcove in the back, completely engrossed.
The children were next.
Each of them received:
? One cultivation technique
? One movement technique
? One defensive technique
? One offensive technique
? One beast-taming technique
The spirit tailored each selection flawlessly to their unique roots and constitutions.
When he finished, he descended once more and bowed.
“I have equipped them with techniques most suited to their talents. Additionally, given the presence of primordial beasts upon the neighbouring mountain… I assumed you would soon be presenting each child with one.”
I smiled faintly.
He truly did understand.
“That is correct.”
I turned to the group.
“Well, we’re off to the next mountain. You can study these tonight before bed and prepare for tomorrow.”
I glanced at Officer Han.
“You might want to brace yourself. I doubt the shocks are over.”
The children laughed.
Lucy grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward the door.
James carried his jade slips like sacred treasure. Harry walked with quiet composure, golden fire faintly dancing within his eyes.
They all moved with lightness in their steps.
As if this morning had not begun with abandonment and grief.
As if they had always belonged here.
And perhaps—
Now they did.