Zheng tore through the skies, a blazing golden fireball snapping at his heels. He had been fleeing for over two days now, and no matter what tricks he tried, the Yuan warrior relentlessly pursued him. Frustration simmered in his chest—the creature was in the late stage of Core Formation, while Zheng was only in the early stage. In a straight fight, he stood little chance.
The only reason he hadn't been caught yet was the Azure Moon Mirror. It let him cloak himself in illusion and mislead the Yuan chasing him, forcing it to chase phantoms. But even that tactic had its limits. The Yuan possessed divine eyes—rare, inborn gifts that could eventually pierce through his tricks. Each time Zheng created a decoy, the Yuan would momentarily fall for it, only to realize the deception and rain golden fire down on the illusion until Zheng was forced to reveal himself and flee again.
They had repeated this deadly dance half a dozen times. Though Zheng could tell the Yuan was powerful, it was also single-minded, even a little stupid—but not stupid enough to lose entirely. And now, it was gaining on him again.
Still, Zheng wasn't the worst off. Duke Long was being hunted by the Khan himself. Marchess Qiao had half the Yuan horde chasing her, thanks to the Wind God Flying Crane. That left Zheng and Lord Qing—the weakest of their party—both early-stage Golden Core cultivators, each pursued by lesser foes. Luckily, they possessed tools that gave them an edge: Lord Qing wielded the All-Seeing Dharma Eye. Zheng had the Mirror.
Not that the Mirror was doing him much good at the moment, Zheng thought grimly, risking a glance over his shoulder.
The fireball chasing him flared brighter as the Yuan let out another triumphant roar. His qi was already pushed to the limit, driving him like a comet across the sky. At this pace, he had minutes left—maybe less.
Was it time to take the risk?
He made the decision in an instant. He flipped in mid-air, spinning to face the fireball as he came to a sudden stop. The Yuan roared again, relishing what it assumed was a surrender. Heat surged toward him in waves, the pressure of the beast's presence suffocating. Zheng steadied himself, raising the Azure Moon Mirror, which hovered defensively before him.
The fireball burst apart.
From within, the Yuan emerged—a monstrous fusion of man, beast, and dragon. Its centaur-like frame gleamed with viridian scales; its limbs ended in talons, and a mane of golden fire billowed like a banner behind it. Its elongated, draconic snout split open into a mouth full of jagged fangs, and black horns curled wickedly above its head.
Zheng didn't flinch.
The Mirror pulsed in front of him, growing to several times its normal size. A duplicate split from its edge, hovering above and gathering light rapidly, even as Zheng poured his qi into it without restraint. The Yuan opened its jaws wide and unleashed a cone of brilliant flame—a roaring river of fire that crossed the sky in seconds.
Zheng braced as the Mirror expanded again, becoming a radiant wall between him and the inferno. The flames collided with the mirror, and the artifact drank them in like a starved beast. Not a single ember escaped. But the cost was heavy—Zheng felt his qi draining rapidly, sweat pouring down his face, his limbs trembling from the strain.
Still the Yuan pressed on, intensifying its assault. The blaze widened, its heat unbearable. Blisters began to form along Zheng's arms where his barrier wavered.
Then, above him, the duplicate Mirror ignited with a burst of white light, glowing like a miniature star. Zheng gritted his teeth and pushed harder, funneling the last of his gathered energy into it. When he could bear the pressure no longer, he threw himself back and released the blast.
A beam of starlight surged from the Mirror, bright and wide as the heavens. It shot forward, illuminating the Yuan's snarling form. The beast twisted mid-air, reacting with supernatural reflexes. A golden shield of flame bloomed from its forearm, and it struck the beam aside with a growl. The radiant blast seared the ground far below, carving a glowing trench into the earth, where molten soil hissed and cracked in agony.
Smoke rose in thick plumes. Zheng barely had a second to recover before the Yuan exploded forward, a streak of golden fire barreling through the haze. Its claws lashed out, and Zheng only just dodged, the beast's passing stirring a hurricane of wind behind it.
His heart thundered.
That blast had been one of his strongest attacks—useless. Against an opponent like this, it hadn't even slowed the Yuan down.
The monster roared again, its body ablaze with golden light. Fireballs rained down from above, exploding around Zheng with deafening force. He weaved through the storm, soaring, ducking, and rolling in midair, the heat licking at his skin. The Mirror absorbed several blasts, but the rest came dangerously close.
Then came the real assault.
The Yuan itself dove at him, cloaked in flames, executing a savage dance of fire and claw. One taloned hand slammed into Zheng's qi barrier, shattering it and sending him spiraling downward. He barely recovered before slamming into the ground, flipping in mid-air and catching himself with a burst of qi.
Panting, he raised the Mirror again and reshaped its energy. Light condensed into a storm of spectral blades that launched toward the Yuan like a rain of falling stars. The creature didn't flinch—it forged a blazing sword of its own, slashing through the onslaught with roaring arcs of flame. The mirror-blades struck true, drawing shallow cuts across its scaled flesh, but failed to slow it.
With a thunderous roar, the Yuan surged forward and brought its flaming blade down in an overhand strike.
The land cracked.
A shockwave split the clouds. Debris and fire filled the sky. A line of golden flame stretched from one horizon to the other, obliterating the illusion Zheng had prepared as a distraction. The sheer force of it left the air trembling. Zheng stared at the destruction, a cold weight settling in his gut.
He couldn't keep this up.
He had hoped to land a solid blow, to cripple the Yuan and escape while it recovered. But reality hit hard—he was hopelessly outmatched. Even if he had stronger attacks left in his arsenal, the Yuan could likely deflect them all.
He wasn't Ye Chen. He couldn't fight across realms and emerge victorious through sheer talent or luck. He didn't have that luxury.
He needed to flee. But how?
The Yuan was faster. Stronger. And the Mirror's illusions weren't enough anymore. Desperation clawed at him, a scream building in his chest.
And then… the Mirror stirred.
It shimmered faintly, reacting to his emotion. Images bloomed within its surface—memories, or perhaps something more. Zheng stilled.
The scene it showed was not his own.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in robes of deep blue and silver hovered above a raging sea, locked in a duel with a slim woman wielding a pitch-black cauldron. They were both exhausted, their flight sluggish, waves surging beneath them with every clash. The man held the Azure Moon Mirror—and was using it in a way Zheng had never seen. Not just to defend or deceive, but to weave something into the very fabric of the battlefield.
Clarity dawned.
This was one of the Mirror's deeper powers: clairvoyance. Not just seeing far, but seeing beyond. Into the past… or into possibilities.
Zheng's breath steadied. He didn't need to overpower the Yuan. He only needed to outwit it.
The vision deepened.
Zheng could feel his own heartbeat slowing, syncing with the rhythm of the Mirror. The image showed the man in blue robes drawing a pattern mid-air—not with qi, but with reflected light. Each stroke shimmered faintly, then faded into invisibility. And yet, the moment the last arc was drawn, the woman opposing him stumbled. Her cauldron wavered. She looked confused, even afraid.
Zheng blinked.
She hadn't seen the technique coming.
The Mirror wasn't just a tool for illusion. It was an instrument of subtle truth—a way to reflect something not yet real, to make the opponent perceive what wasn't there... and react to it. Not brute deception. Not a copy. Something more refined. Something strategic.
A glimmer of understanding sparked within him.
The Yuan's strength came from overwhelming force. Fire. Speed. Instinct. It didn't strategize. It reacted. If he could guide its instincts—force it to react the wrong way—he might just create the gap he needed.
Zheng inhaled slowly, focusing.
Above, the Yuan was searching through the smoke again. The Mirror's illusion had bought him just one moment. It would have to be enough.
He moved. Instead of a decoy, he painted an echo—a version of himself darting to the left, qi signature flickering just enough to seem real. He wove its path through the air with intricate care, weaving misdirection into motion.
Then, in the midst of it, Zheng vanished.
Above, the Yuan locked onto the fleeing echo. It roared, flames gathering, and dove after it. Zheng, breathless and motionless in the stillness behind, watched as the Yuan committed to the chase. The echo would vanish in a heartbeat once the creature closed the gap—he had to act fast. Drawing on the last of his qi, Zheng reached for the Azure Moon Mirror. This time, he braided the light swirling on its surface, shaping it into a beam—brighter, more solid than any he had used before.
The Mirror flared with searing silver light, drawing in the embers that lingered in the air. For an instant, it seemed as though the Yuan's own flames had turned traitor, swirling back upon itself. The creature hesitated, glancing over its shoulder. Zheng struck.
He released a pulse of mirrored light, so fast that it struck the Yuan warrior the instant it left his hands. But Zheng didn't target its main body—he aimed at its right foreleg. From knee to foot, the limb vanished in the blast. It was over in an instant.
The Yuan collapsed with a pained growl, its right leg gone below the knee. Behind it, Zheng's attack gouged the earth, carving a narrow trench over a mile deep. The sides glowed like molten glass.
Zheng didn't hesitate. The moment the Yuan fell, he was already gone, shooting skyward at full speed. The air cracked as he pushed his remaining qi into every ounce of his flight, racing toward the Great Wall. The Yuan's roar echoed in his wake, but Zheng knew it was too late. The creature's fury only fueled its struggle to catch him, but it would never reach him now.
By the time the Yuan regained flight, Zheng had vanished, slipping into the cloud cover. The Azure Moon Mirror flickered once, cloaking him in shadow and silence. Not a trace of qi escaped.
............….
The last time Zheng had seen the Great Wall, he had found it grim. Now, it was a welcome sight for sore eyes. He was exhausted, covered in dirt, and his qi was so low that he flew close to the ground, wary that it might sputter out entirely and send him plummeting from the sky.
He had made it.
After the battle with the late-stage Golden Core Yuan warrior, he'd encountered more packs of roaming Yuan—but none that could pierce his illusions. He'd skirted around them, taking long detours when necessary, until he finally made his way back. Eight days without rest, constantly fleeing, and with the little qi he had left, he felt like a candle flame dangerously close to guttering out.
The Great Wall was on full war footing. Even from a distance, Zheng could see the formations in place, their full power activated. A brilliant defensive screen of light stretched from the top of the wall to the sky, standing like an unyielding rampart against any threat.
Over a dozen cultivators had already noticed him, their spiritual senses sweeping over him the moment he came into range. Zheng had let them, hoping they might send a welcoming party. But instead, the defenders remained stationed on the wall, their eyes fixed on him as he drew closer.
Zheng raised the Azure Moon Mirror high, ensuring the cultivators had a clear view. Cultivators of their level could disguise many things, but a genuine artifact was far harder to replicate. Even the Khan would struggle to cross the Wall by pretending to be a cultivator of the Celestial Phoenix Empire.
As Zheng held the Mirror aloft, a commotion stirred, and a man stepped forward. The soldiers on the wall parted for him as he squinted into the distance.
Zheng watched the Commander size him up for a moment before the man barked an order. A small, person-sized gap appeared in the defensive formation. Zheng wasted no time, speeding through the opening and landing on the Wall, a slight sense of relief washing over him as he faced the Commander.
Before Zheng could speak, the Commander cut him off. "You're the second to arrive, Lord Zheng. I know everything up until the Khan spotted you. Any recent news since then?"
Clearly, the impending war hadn't dulled the Commander's sharp edge. That was good news, though—someone else had escaped as well. Zheng cleared his throat and replied, "No, nothing new. I've spent most of my time running, and I didn't come across anything that could help you. Who's the other one who managed to escape?"
The Commander grunted, clearly displeased. "It was Marchess Qiao. She arrived three days ago, then left without a word to relay the news to the imperial court and the Emperor. The whole Empire's in turmoil; the Emperor's ordered us to prepare for war with the Yuan. There's a general gathering for the lords in the City of the Rams a month from now. You'll likely be expected there."
Zheng nodded, still reeling from the speed at which everything was unfolding. He had thought about this while fleeing—none of this had been in the original story. Yes, there had been a war with the Yuan, but it had come years later, when Ye Chen had been exiled to the Wall by the foolish Liu family members Zheng had disposed of to prevent exactly this scenario.
Yet now, the war was happening. It was undoubtedly his presence in this world that had hastened it. Had there been a similar scouting mission led by Duke Long in the original timeline, hidden in the background? Zheng pondered how things might have gone without him and the Mirror. Could the Duke and the others have ventured so deep into the Northern plains without him? No, that seemed impossible. They would have been seen coming, and the Khan would have set a trap. He might have wiped out the entire party. Without news of the Northern campaign, the Emperor wouldn't have been alerted about the war until it was too late. The warnings would've been delayed until the Yuan struck with overwhelming force—exactly what had happened in the novel, Zheng thought grimly.
If Ye Chen hadn't had his protagonist moment, the war might have been the Empire's undoing.
It was a sobering thought.
Zheng exchanged a few more words with the Commander, but his thoughts were already elsewhere. Had his presence in this story unknowingly made things worse? He couldn't say for certain, but considering the looming threat of the Immortal of Slaughter and his five avatars, a ripple of unease ran down his spine. He had to get things back on track. If the Immortal was unleashed prematurely, the entire world would drown in blood.
But first, there was the upcoming war to confront. He accepted the Commander's offer to stay the night at the fort. The rest would help him recover his qi, and if his presence boosted the morale of the soldiers, then it was all the better.
The next morning, he departed, taking flight with a burst of speed. The ship that had brought him to the Wall was already on its way back, but that was of little concern. He was faster on his own.
The journey back to Green Bamboo City felt endless, though it only took a few days. The land below blurred into a patchwork of colors as Zheng flew, not bothering to mask his presence or conserve his qi. His thoughts were consumed by the war that loomed ahead—the scale of it, the uncertainty, and the gnawing fear that he might be steering things toward a catastrophe.
If he ended up awakening the Immortal of Slaughter too soon, he would never forgive himself. Any of the avatars gaining enough power and committing enough bloodshed could trigger it. But compared to the others, Ogedei Khan was in the best position. He already had the power—he only needed the massacre. Zheng had to stop him before that moment came.
By the time he reached Green Bamboo City, his mind was sharp and focused. The city's familiar silhouette emerged from the rolling hills ahead, its sturdy walls standing resolute and unyielding.
He touched down on the castle roof in a streak of blue-white qi, and immediately felt his aunt's spiritual sense lock onto him. She was already rushing over as he straightened his clothes, just in time for her to burst onto the roof, breathless.
It was a strange sort of comfort to see her familiar figure, even though she looked drawn and weary. The usual calm elegance that had always defined her was now buried beneath an air of pure efficiency. Dark circles marred her eyes, and the soft grace she once exuded had been replaced by an almost rigid composure, the result of endless pressure.
"You're back," she exhaled in relief, her posture sagging as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Thank the heavens. The City's like a kicked anthill—there are a dozen fires to put out at any given moment. And in case you haven't heard, by decree of the Emperor, all lords from Marquisses to Viscounts must gather in the City of Rams in a month to align their forces and strategy for the upcoming war."
Zheng nodded, unsurprised. The war was already in motion, and it had clearly reached the city. He studied his aunt for a moment, his gaze softening. She had been under tremendous pressure. "You've done well. I can see you've been working tirelessly."
Her tired smile was fleeting but spoke volumes. "Someone had to keep things together while you were gone." She straightened, gathering herself, and led the way inside.
Zheng followed, listening as she reported on the city's current state: the training of the reserves, the fortifications being put in place, and the organization of supply lines. He chimed in with a question when needed, but it became clear that his aunt had the situation well under control. She was far more adept in this realm than he could ever be. His only advantage lay in his role as Viscount and his superior cultivation.
"…and we'll need to send soldiers to the Wall," she continued, ticking off points on the list. "Every city's been ordered to send a squad to bolster the defences of the Great Wall. It can't be just anyone—no dregs or fools. We need our best, so they don't end up shaming the Liu family."
Zheng sighed inwardly. The weight of responsibility was already pressing on him. "Any ideas on who to send?" he asked, already feeling the beginning of a headache. It was clear that his aunt had been managing everything seamlessly in his absence, but the moment he returned, like she said, there were already half a dozen fires waiting to be put out.
"I've put Nan's group through extensive training," she replied, her tone calm but firm. "They might not be our strongest, but they'll do better than the buffoons who used to follow Zhang."
Zheng's eyebrow shot up. Liu Nan had been his choice for the head of the city guard. He'd been given free rein to root out corruption, and while Zheng trusted Nan's character, he wasn't sure about his strength. Still, considering his aunt's explanation, Nan was likely the best option available. The reality was, she probably didn't have anyone better suited for the task.
"Alright," Zheng said after a brief pause, a sense of resignation settling in. "Send him and his group. They'll have to do for now. Just make sure they're prepared. I'll handle the rest when I return from the City of Rams."
She nodded, clearly relieved to have a decision made. "I'll see to it immediately."
As they started hammering out a final plan for the supply lines, Zheng became increasingly convinced that he could leave his aunt to handle the details of the city's defence. Instead, he turned his focus on the City of Rams and the gathering of Lords. War was on the horizon and he had no more time to waste.