The Price of Past Wrongs

“Grand Elder Mo, please halt your steps. This humble Daoist bids you farewell for now.”

Yujizi was, indeed, a formidable figure, one capable of rising to the position of Pavilion Master within the Immortal Alliance. Centuries of political maneuvering had long since etched the philosophy of “knowing when to yield and when to assert” deep into his very being.

Yet, in a mere flash, the arrogant disdain that had marred his features completely vanished. His voice, now steeped in humility, became so deferential that he seemed not to be addressing a fellow cultivator of the same realm, but rather performing a disciple’s bow to some reclusive, formidable elder.

It was as though the Immortal Alliance Pavilion Master, who had just spoken with such veiled barbs and subtly extorted bribes, had been an entirely different person.

Before his words had even faded, without waiting for Mo Tingbei’s response, his form flickered. His Daoist robe swirled, conjuring a spiritual vortex so faint it was almost imperceptible, and then, as if melting into the very air, he vanished.

His departure was swift and decisive, yet it carried an undeniable undertone of frantic haste.

The two who remained, Elder Xiong of the Heavenly Might Sect and Scholar Liu of the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect, found themselves unable to depart with such ease.

Inwardly, they had already cursed Yujizi a thousand times over, seething with resentment at how swiftly the old fox had extracted himself at the first sign of trouble. He had abandoned them to confront this “Sword Venerable of Worldly Purity and Calamity,” a figure who had undeniably stepped halfway into the Profound Realm.

Outwardly, however, they dared not betray a single hint of their frustration. They could only force strained smiles, steeling themselves to engage with Mo Tingbei.

The main gates of these two sects were situated on a distant continent. In bygone years, they had maintained a facade of brotherhood with the Three-Unity Sword Sect. Yet, when Mo Tingbei’s master fell in battle and the sect teetered on the brink of ruin, they had callously seized massive orders for spiritual materials. Collaborating, they had stripped the Three-Unity Sword Sect of all its trading channels and vital connections with other powers, effectively kicking a man when he was down.

When Mo Tingbei had inherited leadership of the sect amidst that perilous crisis, he had been beset by both internal strife and external threats, leaving him unaware of many hidden truths. Even after he later ascended to become the strongest Purple Mansion True Person of his era, his deep-seated grievances remained unaddressed, thwarted by the sheer expanse of the world and the impossibility of tracing his enemies.

Now, ironically, they had delivered themselves directly to his doorstep.

Mo Tingbei, of course, would not resort to outright murder, nor would he provide his enemies with an easy pretext for retaliation.

Though the Immortal Alliance had long since succumbed to corruption and decadence, the sacred rule against initiating conflict without just cause remained inviolable. This was one of the iron laws established by the founding Golden Core Dao Lords of the Immortal Alliance. It was this very rule that had been instrumental in the Three-Unity Sword Sect’s survival, even after its elder generation had all perished in battle and the majority of its mid-tier forces had scattered.

Nevertheless, having arrived, they would not find it so simple to depart entirely unscathed.

Upon closer examination, while the two sects’ actions had indeed severed all external lifelines for the Three-Unity Sword Sect, they had also, by a strange twist of fate, inadvertently forced every parasite, informant, and disloyal individual reliant on the old channels to be exposed and purged as those business ties were severed.

This had, in a paradoxical turn, spared Mo Tingbei the arduous task of internal cleansing and rectification. He had inherited a Three-Unity Sword Sect that, while shattered and dwindling in numbers, was undeniably purer than it had ever been.

—It was, in a way, a truly ironic instance of “ill intentions yielding beneficial outcomes.”

Yujizi’s form dissipated from the spot like a wisp of green smoke, a swift departure that even Mo Tingbei found somewhat unexpected.

His exit was remarkably clean, yet it betrayed a subtle, almost indescribable panic.

On the Stargazing Terrace, for a time, only the wind sweeping across the sea of clouds could be heard, carrying the lingering tea fragrance and an unspoken undercurrent.

Elder Xiong of the Heavenly Might Sect and Scholar Liu of the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect exchanged uneasy glances, faint beads of sweat already forming on their temples.

Departure was no longer an option. The faint trace of sword intent Mo Tingbei had inadvertently released moments ago had already, like an invisible manacle, silently ensnared the surrounding spiritual essence.

Yujizi’s escape was most likely due to a boon granted by the Golden Core mighty figure backing him, a luxury they decidedly did not possess.

The two could only brace themselves, forcing smiles that bordered on fawning. They attempted to engage in pleasantries, seeking out some innocuous sect anecdotes, yet every word they uttered felt dry and abrasive, as if scraped over gravel.

Mo Tingbei sat composedly in the seat of honor, his fingertips rhythmically, yet almost idly, tapping the white jade teacup. His expression remained aloof, seemingly attentive, yet his gaze often drifted, as if his thoughts were miles away.

He exerted no overt pressure, a faint, almost perfunctory smile even playing on his lips. Yet, whenever his fathomless eyes briefly swept over them, both Elder Xiong and Scholar Liu felt as though they had plunged into an icy abyss. It was as if their very souls were being laid bare and dissected by that chilling gaze, leaving no ignoble calculation unexposed.

Just as Elder Xiong was on the verge of succumbing to this silent, agonizing pressure, his throat bobbed, and he prepared to speak once more—

A solitary ice crystal, coalescing silently from the empty air, gracefully descended to rest upon the rim of Mo Tingbei’s teacup.

Immediately, a biting chill permeated the air. It wasn’t an agonizing cold, but rather a purifying serenity that seemed to cleanse the very dust of the mortal world. The churning sea of clouds appeared to momentarily slow its roll, and the light surrounding the Stargazing Terrace seemed to shed its superficial brilliance, as if by an unseen hand, becoming strikingly clear and translucent.

A figure materialized silently at Mo Tingbei’s side.

Her moon-white sleeves billowed, reminiscent of flowing wind and returning snow. Her ice-blue eyes cast a fleeting, indifferent glance over the two men, who stood as if confronting a formidable foe, yet her gaze did not linger, as if they were nothing more than inconsequential specks of dust.

Jiang Jinyue had arrived.

She did not look at Mo Tingbei, merely extending her delicate hand to naturally lift the cloud-patterned jade pot from the table. She refilled his nearly empty teacup to seven-tenths full, the rising steam blurring her profile, which seemed carved from ice and snow.

“Senior Brother, your tea has grown cold.”

Her voice was cool and serene, as if simply remarking on the most mundane of observations.

Yet, the instant her words settled, Elder Xiong and Scholar Liu abruptly blanched, as though struck squarely in the chest by an invisible, colossal hammer.

The spiritual light around their forms flickered wildly, and they simultaneously let out muffled groans, both jolted backward half a step from their stone stools. They nearly tumbled onto their backsides, only managing to regain their balance by awkwardly bracing themselves with their hands on the ground.

As they struggled back to their feet, their gazes, now fixed on Jiang Jinyue, were utterly consumed by terror.

It was an unparalleled aura of dominance, stemming from a fundamentally superior level of existence!

Though only a mere wisp had escaped, it was already far more than cultivators of their Purple Mansion realm could possibly withstand!

A Golden Core Dao Lord!

This woman was, in fact, a Golden Core Dao Lord!

The Three-Unity Sword Sect… when had it produced a Golden Core cultivator?!

Mo Tingbei seemed to stir from his reverie, his fingertips drifting from the teacup’s rim to lightly brush Jiang Jinyue’s wrist, which still held the jade pot. Her skin felt cool beneath his touch.

“It’s fine,” he murmured softly. “Even cold, it possesses its own distinct flavor.”

Jiang Jinyue lowered her eyes, placing the jade pot back on the table. Her fingertips brushed his for a fleeting moment before parting.

She stood silently by his side, no longer speaking, and the suffocating pressure that had emanated from her had subtly withdrawn, as if it had never manifested at all.

Elder Xiong and Scholar Liu, however, dared not make the slightest movement. Cold sweat had long since drenched their heavy robes.

When Yujizi had been present, they had still clung to a faint hope, bolstered by the perceived authority of the Immortal Alliance. Now, however, nothing remained but the rawest, most primal fear in the face of such an absolute chasm in power.

A Sword Venerable who had half-stepped into an unspeakable realm, and a newly ascended Golden Core Dao Lord…

This mere tip of the iceberg revealed by the Three-Unity Sword Sect was more than enough to send their hearts into a frenzied terror.

Mo Tingbei’s gaze finally settled back upon the two men, and the gentle smile playing on his lips seemed to deepen, ever so slightly.

“Fellow Daoist Xiong, Fellow Daoist Liu,” he began, his voice unhurried, “We were just remarking on the commendable rapid development of your esteemed sects in recent years. However, in the path of cultivation, a solid foundation is ultimately paramount. To greedily pursue quick advancement is to invite inner demons. What are your thoughts on this?”

Elder Xiong’s face, usually a healthy ruddy, now flushed a deep, alarming purple. His lips quivered, yet he found himself utterly unable to articulate a single word.

Scholar Liu, ever the more quick-witted of the two, managed to forcefully suppress his terror. He bowed deeply, offering a fawning smile, and adopted an exceedingly humble posture.

“Fellow Daoist Mo… no, Sect Master Mo, your words are profoundly true! Such golden counsel is utterly awakening! We are truly… truly shamed! Witnessing the flourishing resurgence of the Three-Unity Sect today, we finally grasp the meaning of ‘there is always a higher heaven, and always someone more capable’! Upon our return, we shall assuredly report this to our own Sect Master, and from this day forward… from this day forward, we shall pledge our allegiance to the Three-Unity Sword Sect!”

“There is no need to pledge allegiance,” Mo Tingbei stated, gently blowing away a floating tea leaf. His tone remained unruffled. “I merely hope that in the future, your esteemed sects will act with greater consideration for our past camaraderie, strictly adhere to the established rules, and refrain from repeating such self-destructive acts of ‘draining the pond to catch all the fish’.”

“Yes! Yes! Absolutely! We will! Upon our return to the sects, we shall certainly present lavish gifts and petition the Immortal Alliance to reinstate the Three-Unity Sword Sect on the Golden List!” The two men, as if granted a great pardon, bowed repeatedly in fervent assent, their postures humble to the dust.

“Since that is the case, both Fellow Daoists are free to depart.” Mo Tingbei raised his teacup, his expression betraying neither joy nor anger, and no longer favored them with his gaze.

How could Elder Xiong and Scholar Liu dare to linger? They almost used their hands and feet to bow in farewell, then, like men fleeing for their lives, transformed into two streaks of escape light, vanishing into the horizon in an instant, many times faster than their arrival.