Now that he’d finally fixed the letter situation, Mingtian had expected to hear from his students much more frequently. However, it wasn’t a letter that carried the next bit of fell news to his doorstep. He’d finished everything he’d had to do for the day— which was to say, mostly annoyances forwarded their way from Yuxan or Guxi— when Zhihu had knocked on his door and without even waiting for him to call her in, entered.

  He was immediately no small bit on edge. The arrogance of walking in uninvited was very in line with Zhihu’s behavior, but between walking in through the door and the serious expression on her face… it was enough of an ill omen for him to put down the book he’d been reading and focus fully on her. “What’s the matter?”

  “Why do you think anything’s the matter?”

  “It’s obvious.”

  Zhihu frowned. “You’re too perceptive sometimes. Has anyone ever told you that?” Not particularly, but then again, it’d been a long time since he’d been a mortal. Perceptiveness was a virtue for the discerning cultivator, but for those who were expected not to look deeper than what they were shown… he could understand, he supposed, why a perceptive mortal was a dangerous mortal. “I received some news through the grapevine.”

  “Go on?”

  “Well, take this with a grain of salt, because while I do know how many mouths this went through before it got to me, I’m not entirely sure how accurate the information remains. From one of my martial seniors, who’s in a class with one of the sect’s best blademasters, heard from another cultivator who was themselves close to the liaison of one of the involved students, that there was a duel in the university that the outer elder themselves intervened in. Apparently someone had escalated the matter to the extent that a student had challenged an outer sect disciple.”

  “The Sundering Outer Elder?”

  Zhihu nodded solemnly. “I don’t doubt that part, at least, was true. There’s too many eyes when it comes to that sort of thing. The Outer Elder himself intervening… that is as the very fist of heaven descending, the sort of thing that’ll make the rounds a few more times and settle into his lore. He was always a bit mean to start out with— or so the rumors go, at least, I would not dare besmirch the good name of an elder of the Bloody Saffron Sect— so him intervening is… interesting.”

  “An unusual event, then.”

  “Yes, yes— but that’s not the important bit. The really important bit is that, when I pried a bit deeper, I learnt that a very peculiar group of students had been involved in the altercation. A woman who could throw techniques like a Foundation Establishment cultivator, and a cat who blazed like the sun itself—”

  The citizens of East Saffron did not know true wrath. Even the Bloody Saffron Sect, grand though it was, did not understand wrath that approached the zenith of fury, the ageless, ancient, implacable dominion, crushing apoplectic rage of something that was thoroughly beyond them. Even constrained to his mortal form, even withholding himself so he didn’t give everyone in the building fatal heart attacks, Zhihu choked on his liquid fury.

  It was all she could do to stumble back, wide eyed and pale-faced, for a second, before she managed to claw out— “lived! They both lived!” Mingtian pulled back his killing intent, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. “Holy heavens.” Zhihu stumbled, swaying almost giddily, released from the utterly dominating presence of his killing intent. “How?”

  “Killing intent is anger.”

  “I thought you were pretending not to be a cultivator?”

  “I’m not.”

  “A mortal wouldn’t have killing intent like that.”

  “What do you know about mortals, truly? About the truest extent of their capacity?” For a moment, Zhihu looked doubtful, and Mingtian just sat back, pleased with himself. Nothing like a little gaslighting to keep her guessing… “they’re well, hopefully?”

  “Last I heard, they’re getting medical attention. There shouldn’t be any permanent injuries. Not if the person who I was told was paying for their treatment is paying.”

  “Who?”

  “A Senior Martial Brother of mine by the name of Hsu Qinfu. More commonly known as Daoist Severing Dust. He’s been teaching at the University in order to gain the patronage he needs from the Sect to advance to Sundering, I believe.”

  “A sword cultivator?”

  “How’d you know?” Mingtian just gave her a look— and, it only took her a brief second before she turned away, slightly flushed at the cheeks. Surely it couldn’t have been too difficult to discern the sort of person who would have a title like Daoist Severing Dust?

  Mingtian didn’t particularly think that anyone in their low realm really deserved the title, but then again— deserved or not, he’d clearly done a great favor for his disc— students. His students. That deserved a reward. “What sort of cultivator is this man? Daoist Severing Dust?”

  “Rightous.”

  Mingtain rolled his eyes. “I would sure hope he isn’t demonic.”

  “I meant righteous as in the actual definition of the word, not the righteous demonic split of ancient legends.” Mingtian blinked confusedly as Zhihu babbled on about what sort of person Qinfu was, and how famous he was around certain circles of the sect, and his victories in the past war, and so on and so forth… huh, no demonic factions. He sincerely doubted that, frankly, but, clearly they had little prevalence. A good world to grow up in, then…

  “Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he cut Zhihu off, wrangling the conversation back under his control. “I’ll keep everything you’ve told me in mind. How has your practice with the blade gone?”

  “I usually fight with the sword— as most cultivators in the sect do— and what’s a knife but a little sword?” Mingtian thought that was a little bit of a stretch, but whatever worked, worked. She’d grow out of that in the future… hopefully. Else she’d have a difficult time when it came to ascending to divinity…

  He paused, remembering that the chances Zhihu had for making it just to immortality, much less divinity, were essentially nil. It was a starkly unsettling thing to remember, how mortal everyone in the realm was. “Good.” He shook his head lightly, more to banish his earlier thoughts than anything. “I’m glad you’re getting more use out of it than I ever did.” For the brief few moments he’d had it, at least, after he’d built it into a weapon to sunder heaven, and then shattered it just as readily.

  “I plan on incorporating it into my main fighting style, actually. The sect elders have been pushing recently, trying to make sure that everyone’s in top shape for… whatever may come, you know—” and those two words carried paragraphs of meaning— “and it’s a really durable weapon. It actually managed to chip Suli’s cauldron main cauldron, and that thing’s rated for pills powerful enough for Sundering cultivators. That’s not even to mention the formation within it…”

  Mingtian raised an eyebrow. “Have you gotten it to work?”

  “I have an idea of an idea that might allow me to get it to work.” Which was more than he’d expected of her, honestly. If the idea was anything of substance, he would be very surprised. “Hopefully next time you see me I’ll be able to show you what your ancestor designed that weapon for.” She smiled, heading for the door. “Good luck, and sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Definitely Not a Cultivator.”

  He snorted. “You too—” and, as she shut the door behind her, sharp—

  He found that he even believed that.

  ………

  A blade for a Core Formation cultivator; good enough to be a reward, not good enough to arouse suspicion. Or at least, suspicion beyond the pale of swords that randomly appeared in people’s private cultivation rooms. It was an interesting challenge, which— more than anything— made him want to pursue it.

  He knew swords well. Not because he was a sword cultivator— perish the thought, no, not that. He had, though, made most of Baixue’s swords over their long journey to the highest heaven, and the smith that could forge a sword worthy of the Immortal Sovereign of the Stygian Affray would certainly be able to make something for a fourth-step cultivator. Still, there was a certain order to these things.

  He’d more or less managed to extract what he needed from Zhihu. He knew that Daoist Severing Dust used a particular qi technique of his own make, and a large, heavy blade— the sort of blade that some more physically inclined cultivators would favor. He knew that the technique was a variant of the typical blade techniques of the sect, which… well, he didn’t know much about those, but given that the Bloody Saffron Sect was quite focused on yin-aligned techniques, he could make some educated guesses.

  The first thing to do was select a material. Unfortunately, starlight and sunlight and moonlight all weren’t that great for the sort of blade he had in mind. Plus, those would be too… otherworldly, even if he made them fourth step materials. To forge from the very essence of heaven was… not particularly easy, and he doubted many cultivators in such a weak realm had a grasp over the technique.

  No, the blade needed something more terrestrial. He considered going to the moon and grabbing something from there, but the Luncar Cold Iron had already been a bit much. At least that had the benefit of being a decently common material even on the earth— anything rarer would draw suspicion.

  He leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin. What to get, what to get… hm… he flicked through ideas, before settling on something that sounded interesting. He knew there was a desert towards the center-south of the Aurelian Alliance of Sects’ main continent, and what better for a Daoist Severing Dust than a desert material? Yes, that would be good…

  He disappeared into sunlight, and a moment later reincarnated in the center of a blasted and empty field of shattered sandstone. Mere wind had not created the desolate field of spires and pits that rose up, shattered fingers grasping vainly at the dun blue sky overhead— a spiritual presence lay low over the land, still twisted and bitter; the echo of some great battle, eons ago, haunted the desert.

  So, a good place to get a cool material. He undid his seals, just a little— not enough to draw suspicion of the true forces watching the planet, but enough that he should be able to outclass most everything around. Fifth step. Early Sundering, in the nomenclature of the locals…

  There were things, lurking in the shadows, outside the reach of blasted sun and scouring winds— but Mingtian barely paid them any heed. The ones that attacked, he dealt with brutally, calling a spike of solar qi to his hands and impaling them into the sands, not even bothering to collect them for their materials. No, random third and fourth step beasts weren’t what he needed, to make a sword that could sever the essence of dust. He needed something more… specific.

  The first thing he found was a rather neat little type of sand— scouring on the winds, but more than that, never quite touching the ground. It was a subtle thing, perhaps even the sort of thing that most cultivators would’ve missed, given how it was mixed in with all the other sand blown about by the fierce winds, but there was a part of those unceasing sandstorms that was truly unceasing. He collected it as he went, flash-forging a glass ampule out of mortal sand and shoving it inside. It was a rather pleasant thing to watch, actually, the devil-sand— named by him, because he wasn’t sure what its true name was— never ceasing in its movement, only rarely touching the walls of the class it was captured within.

  The second thing he found was tar. A deep, black tar, bubbling up from a crack in the ground where the strata showed water had once flown, eons ago. It was not natural tar, either— a far more spiritual material, made of impurities and something that reeked of hate and blood. A very textbook cursed material, and probably the sort of thing that not even a Sundering cultivator should be lightly dealing with— but he was not merely a sundering stage cultivator.

  It was the very blood of the accursed land beneath him, and with a wave of his hand he sent an isolated sample into his spiritual ring. He could probably do some interesting things with that.

  The third thing was steel, found in a cavern carved out by furious winds, deep beneath the ground, where the air lost some of the intense heat of above and in turn gained a stifling death qi that would have killed anyone below Sundering in minutes. The ore he picked up was unrefined, but seeped in the heavy yin of death qi and the darkness of earth, it would make a far better base for the blade than anything else.

  The last thing, he found at the center of the blasted zone, where the temperature rose to almost unbearable levels and the whole world seemed to push back at him with far more force than a relatively weak planet like Aurelia should have been able to muster.

  Or rather, it found him.

  It came in a burst of scintillescent flame, imbued with impossible color wavering throughout each tongue of lashing flame, as gold as, as great as, the desert heat itself paling in comparison to it. It splashed into the ground in front of him, sweeping forward with a scouring force that seemed to ignite the very air, very fiercely blazing— a fire that threatened to burn the world itself before it gave up its singular purpose of turning him to nothing.

  Mingtian merely held out a hand, and the fire parted around him, sundered by a formation wrought of mortal sunlight. As it died down, it revealed a desert transformed; the sand had been swept up into violent waves, molten and then frozen, again, in anguished forms of crystal glass purged so thoroughly of impurities that it was itself a lesser natural treasure. “A purifying flame…” he looked up, at the sun that hovered high overhead, so slowly sinking— and the silhouette of iridescence that hovered in front of it. “A purifying beast in a cursed land. How dangerous.”

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  “What are you?” Its voice came to him carried on currents of qi, powerful enough that had he not caught them carefully his body could’ve been crushed by the mere force of it. “You are not human. I can sense it. Your essence is too pure.”

  “Humans can have pure essence too.”

  “Not the purity of sunlight.” It descended from heaven, wreathed in flame that boiled off its feathers, turning pale and dissipating into the wide blue sky. It gave it the twin effect of being wreathed in a corona of color and being color, flame. In some essential way, Mingtian could tell, it was flame— for the phoenix was the bird of fire, and what stood before him was no simple phoenix. It was an eighth step existence, bordering at the very edge of ninth— perhaps even pushing against the bottleneck to Immortal Ascension even as they spoke. “You are a crystal of radiance, wrought into a mockery of human form. What sort of beast are you?”

  “In cultivation, all things lead to the great dao. What difference is there between a phoenix of scouring purity living in a cursed and bleeding land, and a being of light, manifested in the mortal plane?”

  “A light spirit?”

  “Close enough. I’m human where it counts.”

  “The form influences the function. The matter by consequence makes its great petition to the way.”

  “You’re a clever bird. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Us Immortal Beasts must be, should we wish not to be hunted down by the humans who, for all their fleeting lives, burn brightly with the power of their transience.”

  “You almost sound like you admire them.”

  “They are embers who can start wildfires; all wildfires die eventually.”

  Mingtian snorted. “Which, for a Phoenix, is practically glowing praise. You’re a fascinating one of your kind, you know? I usually expect your sort of people to be… a lot more arrogant, at your stage of cultivation. A pleasant surprise.”

  The phoenix folded in on itself, corona of fire compressing until even Mingtian could barely see through the brilliance of it— and when it faded, the enormous phoenix was a much smaller bird. A clever little trick that most of the larger beasts picked up at some point in their lives— especially on Aurelia, where the human cultivators were decidedly on the top of the food chain. “How do you know so much of my kind, spirit of light?”

  He waved his hand. “I’ve met phoenixes before. Moreover, I’ve met strong cultivators before. There tends to be a certain sort of… arrogance, that powerful cultivators adopt if they’re not careful. It’s all too easy.”

  “I’ve known the taste of defeat too many times for arrogance to remain an option. I simply am who I am. There are forces in the world beyond me who can claim power enough to scatter me into so much ash; there is a place in the world for us, but only if we can recognize the world as it is.”

  “The wisdom of an Immortal Beast, truly.”

  “Are you not, yourself?”

  “I could lie and say I’m not, if that makes you feel better?”

  The phoenix cawed once, shuffling its feathers in a distinctly amused manner. “You are an interesting little thing, creature of light. All my senses say that you’re a mere fifth stage artist of these heaven-bound paths, yet that can’t possibly be true. My mind rebels.” For a second, Mingtian was genuinely excited, pulling on his domain and gently pushing forward, testing a response against that most intangible of— but, no, nothing. If the phoenix had begun to develop a nascent domain, then it was capable of hiding it even from him. Not entirely outside of the range of possibility for even the weakest of domains, aspected right, but he doubted a phoenix of purity would have developed that sort of stealth domain.

  A disappointment, all in all. Merely just… the intuition, the knowing, that truly ancient spirit beasts and immortal cultivators grew over ages spent fighting and losing and sometimes winning, and always picking themselves back up again in the end.

  “I didn’t just come here for a chat, unfortunately.” He made as if to walk further into the desert center, but the sudden bristling hostility of the phoenix made him pause. Something was there that even an eighth step beast would not hesitate to defend. “I’ve been looking for natural treasures.” No response from the bird, so it probably wasn’t that. Probably. “Though, I’ve already found everything I needed, now.” A slight bit of relief. “Can I ask something of you?”

  “A mere fifth step spirit, making a request of me? The radiant phoenix of the glass desert, now accursed? The guardian beast of two stars? I will allow it, and perhaps even favor you, should it be within my means.”

  Mingtian tilted his head, amused. “I do have appropriate payment for what I’m asking. I’m not impoverished. However, I’d ask you to swear an oath of secrecy.”

  “Against an oath-taking technique? I’d rather scatter myself to reincarnate next century than bind myself like that. Not once did I allow myself to be bound— not by the ancient sects, not by the Empire of Twelve Sunlights, and definitely not by the meddling maggods that wormed out of that grand thing’s corpse.”

  “But, surely, you have your agreements with them? If it was up to them, I’m sure at least one of their cultivators would have come and tried to harvest you for heavenly treasures. No. You have made oaths before.”

  “Agreements. Not oaths.”

  “As though there is some great difference between them.”

  “Of course there is.”

  Mingtian nodded, as though in understanding. “Fair, I suppose— a promise carries vastly more weight than any sort of magical oath ever could. For who would trust an immortal that cannot keep to their word?”

  “You are a particularly insufferable sort of spirit.”

  “I’ve been told that, before.” Mingtian snickered softly. How many times had he heard that before, from Baixue, in all its various iterations and various permutations? He’d lost count eons ago. “However, if you would solemnly swear not to speak of me to whoever has agreed to let you inhabit these cursed lands in peace, I’ll make you an offer for a ninth step heavenly treasure.”

  “You have a heavenly treasure of the Immortal Ascension rank? Assuming you aren’t lying, little spirit, what makes you think that you’ll be able to stop me from just taking it from you? I know the techniques and tricks of man, their capriciousness and cruelty— do you think that just because I am bound to this small corner of Aurelia that I am incapable?”

  “No, I merely thought that such a treasure would be enticing to you; it's the sort of thing that could help a phoenix ascend to the ninth step in time for their egg’s hatching.”

  The phoenix froze, going almost supernaturally still for a long moment as she stared at Mingtian in astonishment. “How?” There was a paleness to her voice, but also a danger— now that she had nothing left to hide, she also had very little left to lose. “How did you know?”

  “It’s obvious. A phoenix guarding something fiercly— it could either be a natural treasure, which you didn’t react to earlier, or an egg.” Or, he could have just looked with his domain, but that secret third option he kept secret from the phoenix. There was no reason for her to know the true extent of his capabilities. “If you agree to hear me out and keep my presence secret here, you have nothing to fear.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “The mind makes its own terrors.”

  It would have been absurd, in any other case— a fifth step cultivator fleecing down an eighth step hidden master— but finding the right lever to push, and things came falling apart quite nicely. The bird was trapped, lest it call his buff and find out he wasn’t bluffing after all. After only a short while of deliberation, the bird lowered its head. “I will hear you out, trickster.”

  “No more ‘little light spirit?’”

  “You bear well the duplicity of man, spirit.”

  “I know the heart of mankind well…” he sighed, though, thinking to— wondering, really, if he had for a long, long time. “Alright, phoenix. The deal is such. I give you a ninth step feather from a vermillion phoenix, and you will allow me to make use of your soulbound strange flame to forge a sword.”

  “Impossible. Even I would have known if a ninth step vermillion phoenix had arisen in our realm. I am not so isolated as to be unaware of that.”

  “Not so impossible, really, if you have the right connections.” Which was to say, he was going to pluck a few feathers out of his mattress. It was amusing in an absurd sort of sense, that the trash treasures he’d taken from old junk in the Celestial Realm had become the sort of thing old monsters like the phoenix before he would probably fight to the death for.”

  “If you can truly hold up your end of the deal… I misjudged you, honorable spirit.” Mingtian fought back the urge to snort at the unadulterated flattery. “I must forewarn you, though, that the sects will be suspicious if I ascend so suddenly. Their meddling ambassadors believe I have at least a thousand years until I might attempt a breakthrough, and they’re not entirely wrong.”

  “Oh no, how tragic. I suppose the deal can’t go through after all.” The bird almost visibly slumped in disappointment. “I jest. It’s unfortunate that a phoenix absorbing a second such—” he flicked two feathers out of his bag— “potent natural treasure created such an enormous disaster, but it’s unavoidable. The whole center of the desert’s been glassed.” The phoenix cocked its head in confusion, before hopping in excited understanding. “So… the flame?”

  “Be careful with it.” The phoenix’s flames burned brighter for a long moment before it all coalesced into a single thing, a line of bright, indescribable color that wound its way out of her chest and pooled in the air in front of her. It was as though everything that had made her, her was bared to the world, excised as kindling for a fantastical fire. Gently, almost reverently, Mingtian reached out and grasped it, careful to shield his mind from the mental weight of it pressing against his spirit. Or at least that’s what it’d look like to the phoenix; in reality, he was shielding the phoenix’s mind from his.

  It was a purifying flame, a great and terrible flame, and as he wrapped it around his fingers with the ease of someone who had spent ages fiddling with various flames far more esoteric than this, he felt as though he knew almost intimately the essence of the being it came from. Purity, but not just in the abstract; a scouring purity that dared to descend from its lofty halls and empyrean abodes, and sweep down into the chaos and muck and blast it away.

  It had its own beauty, in a way. He stoked it carefully, drawing in the qi of the world in an amount that no fifth-step cultivator should have been capable of, bidding it— rise, alight, burn. The very air around it warped and trembled, sundered apart into its component chemicals and rearranged, pristine, sterile and pure— and Mingtian smiled. This was going to be fun to work with.

  “Here.” He held out one of the feathers, and the phoenix grabbed it in a motion almost too fast for the eye to catch. “For you. I’ll give you the second one once I’m finished.”

  “Ten thousand blessings of gratitude to the benefactor.”

  “So I’m a benefactor now?” He raised an eyebrow as he fiddled with the fire just a little more, getting it right— not too intense, not too quiescent for his first task. “I’m moving up in the world, no?”

  “You always had those feathers. Either you are a benefactor of surpassing generosity, or you have your own backing that I dare not even imagine the depth of. I do not think even the Every-Joyous Harmony of Bells Sect would so easily give out so potent a treasure.”

  “Perhaps.” He didn’t speak any further on the matter, instead focusing more fully on the blade that he was creating. The purity flame was a remarkable find— vastly simplifying some of the typical refining and forging processes, though it did leave its own noticeable traces. That was fine, though… some imperfections were good, for this project. Much as it rankled him, forging a perfect blade would have been suspicious.

  First, the ore. Yin and death, and earth, it was a complex bundle of things that needed to be carefully pulled apart without damaging the innate qualities of the metal. Focusing on each chunk of ore as he fed them into the fire, he bound the purification of them to the stone alone, threading it through the qi types and gently pulling them apart. At first, nothing happened, but in mere moments the rocks crumbled apart into so much dust, and then even that was scoured away by the powerful flame. Only the metal dust remained.

  To that, he added the fleeting desert dust, which attempted to flee the moment he let it out of the bottle— and would have, had his cultivation not instantly locked the area down, freezing them in midair. Flies trapped in invisible amber, he dragged them in and started laying out the runework, drawing on their innate flightyness to provide the conceptual backbone for the whole thing. Then, he began the work of forging. Metal and dust combined, hammered together until weakness became strength, and strength became a polished deadliness that Mingtian was satisfied with. The phoenix fire was more than powerful enough to bind everything together, scouring away what he didn’t want and keeping what he did.

  It was a blade designed to sever even dust, and when it was finished— he cast the fire back to the phoenix with a flick of his fingers, the wispy, almost invisible flame rocketing back into its chest— he quenched in the cursed ichor of that cursed land, and as bloody putrid qi boiled of into the air with the faint whispers of whatever agony had left its scar on Aurelia—

  What emerged was a beautiful blade, silvery black, with just a hint of dun discoloration, swirled in where the dust had smeared out into invisible formations. He stared at it for a long while, holding it up to the sunlight— not doing anything with it, even if the window for such was rapidly closing…

  It was good. It wasn’t great, but it was good… by his standards. By the standards of Aurelia, he knew it was exceptional. By the standards of a Core Formation cultivator, he knew it was very extraordinary.

  He sighed. “What should I name it?”

  “The Immortal Blade of the Spirits!”

  “Absolutely not. How about Dust-Severer?”

  “Stupid and simple. What is this, a blade for children?” In his eyes, essentially. “Name it… Dust Parting Wing, for it was made with my flame, and yet burns with a trace of my purifying presence. It fits, no?”

  “Fine.” It did fit pretty well, he supposed. He tossed the second feather to her, stepping back with a smug smile as he pulled on a hint of radiance and inscribed the characters onto the flat side of the blade. “Good luck on your breakthrough.”

  “I will strive to uphold your expectations, benefactor. Fare well.” Mingtian smiled back and—

  So simply, disappeared into the sunlight. A successful venture.

  Behind him, the desert erupted in vermillion red light.