The Great Hall of Clear Sky stood suspended three thousand feet above the serrated crags of the Heavenly Sword Range, carved from a single slab of ice-slow white jade and anchored to the mountain peak by seven star-iron chains. Under ordinary circumstances, the chamber was a safe hall of frozen dignity, where sixty elders sat upon raised cedar daises and spoke only in measured whispers that echoed the calm whisper of distant high-sky wind.
Today, that calm whisper was drowned out by the violent smack of an accounting ledger.
Deacon Zhao slammed a stack of jade audit tablets onto the central spirit-stone table with enough striking force to crack the polished glaze. His knuckles were chalk-white, his ritual violet sleeves fluttered with wild energy, and beads of greasy sweat rolled down his temples, threatening to drip onto the sacred floor tiles.
“Down fifty-eight percent in the Western Provinces!” Zhao cried, his voice pitching into a shrill register that sent ripples across the council’s tea cups. “In the trade capital of Changhe, our revenue fell seventy-one percent before the third moon! The grand healing halls in Cloud-Ridge City have canceled three in a row quarterly contracts! If this trend persists for another season, the treasury won’t possess enough spirit stones to power the outer edge wards, let alone maintain the monthly marrow-cleansing stipends for the core students!”
A choking silence dropped over the council chamber.
Elder Bai Chong, whose braided gray beard reached his stitched sword belt, stroked his chin with slow, deliberate disbelief. “Deacon Zhao, mind your tongue before the old family tablets. The Heavenly Sword Manor has held the total monopoly over spirit medicines and breath flow elixirs across seven mortal commanderies for four hundred years. Who dares undercut our pricing? Has the Potion-maker Union of Great Qian opened secret branch pavilions?”
“No, Elder Bai!” Zhao fumbled with a scrying magic charm, infusing it with trembling spiritual qi. “It’s not the Potion-maker Union! They’re suffering just as grievously as we’re! The disruption originates from Patriarch Lu Feng’s Hundred Treasures Pavilion. For the past two months, their merchant caravans have been unloading tens of thousands of heavy clay jugs across every mortal market and rogue fighter outpost from the Red River basin to the borders of the Central Plain.”
“What heavy clay jugs?” another elder scoffed, leaning forward. “What low-grade swill could possibly entice Foundation Establishment fighters away from our Azure Mist Pills?”
Zhao swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “A spirit liquor, Elder. They call it Jade-Dew Wine.”
The deacon tapped the scrying magic charm. A glowing projection of pale green light hovered above the spirit-stone table, resolving into the image of a simple unglazed baked-clay vessel sealed with red wax and stamped with an unfamiliar emblem: an innocent, smiling round circle rippling like a droplet of water.
“We got three jars through an intermediary in the frontier border post,” Zhao whispered, his eyes wide with lingering shock. “Our chief apothecary subjected the liquid to seven stages of spirit distillation. The findings... The findings defy traditional alchemy. The beverage is brewed from first-flush mountain tea, wild winter-sweet berries. An unidentifiable grade of spring water. It contains zero pill toxicity. Zero!”
A collective gasp swept through the sixty elders. In the training world, every pill and healing elixir piled up dan du. The poisonous stone residue of refining furnaces that slowly hardened a fighter’s spirit veins over decades. Fighters spent months in painful quiet focus just to flush toxic melted rock waste from their channels.
“Zero toxicity is impossible,” Bai Chong barked, his eyes hardening into flint. “Even heaven-grade elixirs refined in sky kilns leave tiny traces of ash!”
“It purges existing melted rock waste, Elder Bai!” Zhao shouted, unable to restrain his terror. “Our test subjects—three rogue fighters whose spirit veins had seized from years of consuming impure marrow pills—drank one small bowl each. Within two hours, their blocked channels opened. Their qi breath flow sped up by forty percent. And Patriarch Lu Feng is retailing each vessel for twelve low-grade spirit stones!”
“Twelve stones?!” an elder shrieked, half-rising from his cushion. “Our Azure Mist Pill costs thirty-five stones per vial, and it tastes like burnt lead! Who would buy our medicine when they can drink divine wine that clears their spirit veins for a third of the cost?!”
“Exactly,” Zhao whispered hollowly. “The mortals and rogue practitioners have taken to calling it the ‘Nectar of the Azure God.’ They queue outside Lu Feng’s trading posts from the fourth watch of the night.”
“Where does Lu Feng obtain this liquor?” Bai Chong demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy rasp. “Lu Feng is a mortal merchant dog who crawls at our feet for trade permits. He doesn’t possess the alchemy furnaces to produce such quantities. Who stands behind him?”
Deacon Zhao took a deep breath, clutching a second magic charm. “That’s the second horror, my lords. Our shadow scouts tracked the supply lines upstream. Then, past the border guard post checkpoints, they followed the wagon tracks straight into the western mists. Into the Grand Desolate Forest.”
The elders exchanged confused glances. The Grand Desolate Forest was an untamed expanse of ancient timber, poisonous swamps, and savage demon beasts where rogue beasts devoured trespassers alive. No human enterprise existed within its outer edge.
“Activate the scrying mirror,” Bai Chong ordered grimly.
Zhao slapped the magic charm into the central array stone stand. The green light shifted, sharpening into an aerial vista recorded by a high-sky scouting hawk magic charm.
The council leaned forward, expecting to see a bloody swamp of gnawed bones and primal dens. Instead, the projection revealed a breathtaking mountain basin bathed in the golden radiance of early afternoon.
Terraced hillsides of emerald spirit rice cascaded down the southern slopes, irrigated by raised bamboo aqueducts carrying crystal-clear mountain water. Paved cobblestone avenues crisscrossed the valley floor, lined with clean cedar dwellings, communal workshops, and blooming peach orchards. Smoke rose peacefully from communal bakeries and forge chimneys.
Even more shocking was the populace.
Mortal craftsmen walked alongside burly bear-beastmen carrying massive timber beams. Young wolf-cubs chased painted leather balls through village squares, laughing alongside mortal children. In the central market, three-tailed fox maidens handed out woven baskets of dried spirit peaches to traveling woodcutters. Meanwhile, a huge moss-shelled tortoise basked beside a wide, paved public pool.
At the center of this flourishing settlement stood a calm pavilion surrounded by a calm pond. Floating peacefully on the water’s surface, bobbing gently in the warm breeze like an azure honeydew melon, was a semi-clear blue blob.
“What’s that place?” an elder murmured, his breath catching in his throat. “A mortal city? In the heart of the Desolate Forest?”
“The scouts report it calls itself the Myriad Spirit Safe hall,” Zhao answered quietly. “Over five thousand souls dwell within its borders. Beastfolk, mortal refugees, rogue smiths, and forest spirits. They live under a shared town charter. They don’t hunt or enslave each other. And the entire valley... Is ruled by that blue entity. The inhabitants call it Sect Master Lin. Or the Azure Sovereign.”
For several long heartbeats, nobody spoke. The sight of humans and beasts coexisting in clean, paved streets struck at the bedrock of everything the Heavenly Sword Manor taught. In traditional scripture, beasts were wild livestock to be harvested for cores and pelts. Mortals were peasant cattle to generate grain and labor.
Bai Chong’s expression twisted from shock into deep, poisonous outrage.
“Heresy,” Bai Chong hissed, the wood of his armrest splintering beneath his iron grip. “Monster! An unholy blasphemy against the cosmic hierarchy established by the Heavenly Dao! A demonic fiend masquerading as a kind spirit, luring mortal sheep into its lair with intoxicating nectar!”
“Elder Bai speaks the truth!” another elder shouted, leaping to his feet with sword drawn. “This beast commune subverts the order of the Eastern Sector! If mortal artisans and rogue fighters learn they can live among monsters and purchase divine wine for twelve coppers, who will serve our sects? Who will mine our iron? Who will grovel for our scrap pills?”
“It’s an existential crisis,” Bai Chong declared, his aura flaring until three sword racks in the hall rattled wildly. “This Azure Sovereign isn’t merely an economic nuisance. It’s an ancient, corrupting blight that threatens the foundation of righteous great realm. We must assemble the Grand Council. We must summon our allied sects!”
“We shall declare a righteous crusade!” the elders roared in chorus. “Cleanse the Desolate Forest! Slaughter the demonic monster! Seize the spirit springs and reclaim the divine wine for the righteous path!”
---
Four hundred li to the west, nestled in the sunlit heart of the Grand Desolate Forest, the subject of this righteous fury was experiencing a deep personal hard choice.
Lin Xiao, currently condensed into his comfortable ball-shaped slime form forty inches in width, sat atop a flat, sun-warmed river stone beside his strawberry patch. His semi-clear azure body glistened like a polished sapphire under the morning sun. It soaked up the gentle solar warmth with unrushed delight.
With a tiny, fluid slime arm, he held an iced bamboo skewer threaded with three candied mountain plums. That turned it slowly to let the morning dew soften the sugar glaze.
“Host,” the Omniscient Dao Spirit’s calm, sweet-sounding female voice rang within his spiritual sea, perfectly measured and calm. “Market feedback from the mortal trading posts has arrived via spiritual pigeon relay.”
Lin Xiao took a small bite of the candied plum, savoring the crisp tartness. “How did the latest batch of Jade-Dew Wine perform? Did Patriarch Lu manage to sell all twelve hundred jars?”
“Sold out in three hours?” Lin Xiao rippled his jelly in gentle amusement. “Well, that’s great for the treasury. Old Man Tie can buy that shipment of refined star-iron from the south, and Ling’er can order those extra bolts of cotton for the mortal tailoring workshop. But tell Patriarch Lu to slow down the spreading next month. If he sells that much wine, where are we going to find enough glazed baked-clay jugs? Our kiln workers need time off, too.”
“Host’s concern for labor welfare is noted,” Dao Spirit responded in her deadpan rhythm. “However, Host should be advised that Heavenly Sword Manor and neighboring traditional sects have recorded heavy coin losses. Their overpriced medicine profits have collapsed by fifty-eight percent.”
“Fifty-eight percent?” Lin Xiao blinked his crescent eye-markings, tilting his round body sideways. “Why were their margins so high in the first place? If their pills taste like bitter coal and leave toxic sludge in people’s spirit veins, they shouldn’t be charging thirty-five spirit stones a bottle. That’s just price-gouging. In my old logistics firm, an intermediary marking up inferior goods by three hundred percent would have been fired before lunch.”
“Training sects operate on dogmatic feudal monopolies rather than competitive logistics, Host,” Dao Spirit pointed out. “They don’t view Host’s pricing as healthy market competition. They view it as demonic heresy.”
“Well, they can always come visit and talk about it,” Lin Xiao said cheerfully, popping the last candied plum into his fluid core, where it dissolved with a tiny fizz of sweet plum qi. “We have plenty of tea, the weather is gorgeous. If their elders have stiff necks from sitting on high stone chairs all day, I can show them how to make a proper herbal compress. Nobody needs to fight over a few jugs of fruit wine.”
A gentle mountain breeze rustled through the peach orchard. It scattered fragrant pink petals across the clean water basin where Lin Xiao floated. High above the peaceful canopy, small white clouds drifted across an azure sky, fully indifferent to the storm of iron and righteous fury gathering in the distant mountain spires.