Chapter 38

  Inside the Jade Mirror Pavilion, the light of twin suns filtered through translucent jade panels, casting gentle green hues across the floor. The air was quiet, dignified—broken only by the sound of footsteps.

  Adam stepped inside.

  Han Wuqing stood by the open balcony, his long sleeves fluttering in the breeze. He didn’t turn around.

  “It’s only been a few days,” he said. “What do you bring this time, Adam?”

  Adam placed a hand over his chest and dipped into a theatrical bow, his voice dramatic.

  “I bring forth... an opportunity for the sect.”

  Han Wuqing turned to face him, eyebrow raised, expression unreadable. “What have you found this time to make you speak with such confidence?”

  Adam straightened, expression sharpening. “Before I say anything further, I ask that you make a binding vow—that you won’t exploit or misuse the information I’m about to share.”

  Han’s eyes narrowed, the weight of his years settling into his voice. “Binding vows aren’t toys to be thrown around lightly, Adam. They tie karma to intention. I can give you my word, and if that does not suffice, you’re not ready to trust me yet.”

  Adam gave a slow nod. “Alright then. I’ll take your word.”

  A pause.

  “I found otherworlders,” Adam said at last.

  Han’s expression didn’t change. “And?”

  “They come from a technologically advanced world,” Adam continued. “Much further ahead than ours in certain aspects.”

  Han Wuqing’s tone remained calm. “And how many are we speaking of, when you say ‘they’?”

  Adam scratched his head. “Something along the lines of…”

  Then, face completely deadpan, he said, “Fifty million.”

  Han’s composure cracked —eyebrows lifting slightly, eyes narrowing. “Fifty. Million?”

  Adam nodded once.

  “And what do they want with us?” Han asked cautiously.

  “They didn’t want anything to do with us, originally,” Adam replied. “They’ve been living quietly among mortals for decades. But I offered them a deal.”

  Han Wuqing’s gaze sharpened. “What deal?”

  “If they’re willing to share some of their technology and knowledge, then we—our sect—will offer protection, legitimacy, and a chance to integrate,” Adam said. “They accepted. Tentatively. They'll discuss it with their leaders.”

  He let the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “This is a rare chance for mutual benefit. Their knowledge could revolutionize the mortal and Cultivator’s world—and we’d be the first to guide it. A win-win situation.”

  Han Wuqing looked at Adam for a long time.

  Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

  “A great opportunity indeed,” he said.

  Han Wuqing’s eyes glinted with calculation as he folded his arms behind his back.

  “With the current scheming and instability festering within the royal court, this alliance will grant our sect a firmer footing—one even the aristocrats won’t dare to challenge carelessly.”

  Adam gave a knowing smirk. “Exactly my thought.”

  ---

  The Following Day

  In one of the secluded halls of the Jade Mirror Pavilion, Adam and Han Wuqing stood before a shimmering holographic screen, a projection circle glowing beneath their feet. On the other side, flickering slightly through interference, stood a group of people in military uniforms—stern expressions, medals glinting.

  At the center was a composed, grizzled woman in a dark blue uniform: Fleet Commander Virelle. Beside her stood several high-ranking generals, arms folded and alert.

  The conversation was tense at first—assessments, veiled questions, protocols. But the tone gradually shifted as Han Wuqing spoke with his usual blend of confidence and subtle pressure. They soon realized he wasn’t just a local warlord—he was the leader of a major cultivator sect, a political force with real authority and terrifying might.

  By the end, the agreement was simple but firm.

  Grand Harmony Sect would serve as their protector and bridge. In exchange, the fleet would offer access to scientific knowledge and limited technological support. Mutual benefit. Mutual survival.

  Respect was established.

  Trust would come next.

  ---

  The Day After

  Preparations complete, Han Wuqing and Adam stood outside the peak of the mountain.

  Adam cracked his neck. “If I ran there at full speed, we’d be talking… three months. Assuming I clock 81 miles per hour nonstop.”

  Han Wuqing gave him a sidelong glance. “And why would we do something so inefficient?”

  With a flick of his sleeve, space folded.

  In an instant, wind tore past them—colors blurring into streaks as mountains, rivers, and time itself warped out of the way.

  Seconds later, the world snapped back into focus.

  They stood at the edge of a dense forest, surrounded on all sides by mountains. A secluded, defensible valley—perfect for concealment. The air was unnaturally quiet.

  Adam exhaled. “That’s one hell of a shortcut.”

  He pulled out a small, single-use device from his robes—a phone, crude by this world’s standards but undeniably foreign. Jalen had given it to him with a number to call once they arrived.

  Adam tapped the number.

  A moment passed.

  Then the ground beneath them rumbled.

  The forest before them shimmered like a mirage—trees distorting, vanishing like illusions. What lay beneath was colossal.

  A smooth, dark hull gleamed in the daylight, half-buried and masked by the terrain. The Carrier-Class Ship stretched across the entire valley like a sleeping giant—an artificial mountain forged from metal and brilliance.

  Adam whistled low, stunned for a beat.

  “They weren’t joking,” he muttered. “That thing really could hold fifty million people.”

  Han Wuqing stared in silence, his robes rustling in the breeze. He didn’t speak.

  But Adam could see it in his eyes.

  He was impressed.

  With a low hiss and a rush of steam, the main hatch of the colossal ship unlocked, folding open in smooth, mechanical segments. From within, a group emerged—Fleet Commander Virelle at the helm, clad in a high-collared command suit, followed by a squad of elite soldiers. Their armor was sleek and metallic, bristling with sci-fi weaponry—pulse rifles, grav-shields, scanning visors. A clear contrast to the world of robes and talismans they had arrived in.

  Adam and Han Wuqing floated forward leisurely, suspended on streams of Qi.

  To Adam’s surprise, Virelle raised both hands and offered a formal cupped-fist salute, the traditional greeting of cultivators.

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  “Sect Leader Han,” she said, “an honor.”

  Han Wuqing returned the salute, his expression unreadable. “Commander Virelle.”

  No posturing. No pomp. Just mutual acknowledgment.

  Virelle got straight to the point. “We need to coordinate the transfer. You mentioned a hidden valley near one of your sub-sects—the Arcane Creation Guild?”

  Han Wuqing nodded. “It’s close by and ideal for integration. The guild specializes in Qi-tech hybrids—they’ll understand your systems better than most and are open to learning. You’ll be close, but still hidden.”

  Virelle nodded. “Understood. We’ll follow by land or air. Our dropships—”

  Han Wuqing raised a hand lightly. “No need.”

  Her brows furrowed. “I assume you have a faster method?”

  Han Wuqing smirked. “Yes. But it might be... unconventional.”

  He gestured toward the ship. “Return inside. Let me handle the rest.”

  A brief silence. Then Virelle nodded and gave a hand signal. Her soldiers filed back inside without complaint, disciplined to the core.

  ---

  Inside the Ship

  Adam followed them in. A young officer guided him down a brightly lit corridor into a waiting chamber, minimalist in design but clean and comfortable. A massive reinforced window took up one side of the room.

  He stepped toward it and blinked.

  Outside, Sect Leader Han Wuqing floated alone—robes billowing, hair fluttering slightly in the windless air.

  Then, he raised his hand.

  Dozens of glowing threads of crimson-gold Qi surged from his fingers like living vines. They wrapped around the entire carrier-class spaceship—each thread stretching and twisting, linking metal to man.

  Adam’s jaw went slack. “...He's really going to carry it?”

  With a slow, effortless motion, Han Wuqing lifted the enormous spacecraft into the air. No noise. No shockwave. Just pure, unfiltered power. The didn't crack. The sky didn't scream. The massive weight simply rose, as if gravity had politely stepped aside.

  Then, with a thought, a translucent barrier of Qi enveloped the ship entirely—solid, protective, graceful.

  And then—

  The world blurred.

  Mountains and forests warped past in a blink. Space folded around them like paper. Seconds later, they were descending again—the valley of Arcane Creation Guild now beneath them.

  The valley lay quiet, nestled between towering cliffs and blanketed in the shadows of evergreen trees. A moment ago, the forest appeared untouched, serene — but the illusion had been dispelled.

  The hatch hissed open as the titanic carrier ship lowered itself gently into the hidden hollow of the valley. Commander Virelle stepped out first, flanked by armored soldiers. Their black exosuits gleamed under the morning sun, and plasma rifles rested on their shoulders like slumbering dragons.

  Behind them, scientists in sleek coats filed out with wide eyes, some already scribbling on glowing tablets.

  Adam followed them out, blinking in the sunlight as the barrier around the ship dissolved. Beside him, Sect Leader Han Wuqing stood with hands clasped behind his back, his robes billowing in the windless air.

  “You’ll see them soon,” Han Wuqing said calmly. “They never miss an opportunity like this.”

  Moments later, streaks of radiant light danced in the sky above.

  Descending on bizarre flying contraptions — spiraling disks, floating rectangular panels, and wingless arcs of jade-steel — came the cultivator-scientists of the Arcane Creation Guild. The group landed with practiced ease, a chorus of mechanical chimes and Qi resonance echoing across the valley.

  At their head was Peak Master Ying, a tall, composed woman in scholar’s robes reinforced with copper threads of formation script. To her left was Kealith Rune, her hair tied in a messy knot, eyes flicking across every visible piece of alien machinery. To the right—

  “Is that Thorgar?” Adam muttered aloud.

  The barbarian from the northern wilds looked... upgraded. His massive frame now bore metallic limbs sprouting from his back, folding and unfolding like insect appendages. On each arm, a bulky handguard opened slightly, revealing miniaturized cannons pulsating with elemental Qi.

  He looked like a Qi-powered war machine… and he grinned like a child showing off his new toys.

  The cultivators greeted the sect leader first with respectful bows. Then Han Wuqing turned to Commander Virelle.

  “They’ll be inspecting your technology. Consider it a mutual curiosity.”

  Virelle gave a nod. “They’re welcome aboard.”

  One of the Arcane Guild disciples — a female cultivator with a long braid and a monocle covered in runes — pointed toward a soldier’s weapon. “That rifle. What kind of spiritual weapon is that?”

  The soldier stiffened and looked to Virelle. She gave a small nod.

  “It’s a plasma rifle,” one of the fleet’s scientists explained. “Shoots superheated bolts of ionized gas at hypersonic speeds.”

  The cultivator’s eyes widened slightly. “So… a fiery lightning bow... without arrows?”

  The soldier raised the rifle and, with a soft whine, fired a bolt at a nearby tree.

  FZZZ-BOOM!

  The tree ignited, blackened, and collapsed with a sizzling sound. The cultivator muttered something about fire element convergence and started scribbling in a jade talisman.

  Han Wuqing turned to the cultivators. “There’s much more inside.”

  As the group began moving toward the ship’s entrance, Adam peeled off and walked toward Kealith and Thorgar.

  Kealith was already explaining Thorgar’s upgrades to a nearby disciple. “Each cannon holds five elemental nodes. He can launch compressed Qi bullets—no recharge needed between cycles. And these arms? I carved the formations by hand. Took me four months.”

  She said it with the air of someone very pleased with herself.

  Thorgar gave a hearty laugh and extended a large hand. “Adam, right? you showed great talent during the aptitude test. Thanks for looking out for Xiaomei.”

  Adam shook his hand firmly. “You’ve got it backward. Thank you for protecting her in the ruins.”

  Thorgar’s smile softened. “She saved us both. Brave kid. Stronger than she knows.”

  Kealith tilted her head. “So, you coming inside, or just admiring Thorgar’s arms?”

  Adam chuckled. “Both.”

  From within the spaceship, lights pulsed to life and the interior gleamed with clean corridors and tech far beyond anything the cultivators had seen. Formation glyphs along the walls flickered as Qi-reactive elements began adapting to the ship’s environment.

  Adam took a breath and followed them inside, the beginning of a new age unfolding before his eyes — where Dao met data, and curiosity promised revolution.

  Inside the colossal spaceship, silence hung thick — not of emptiness, but awe.

  The cultivator-scientists, Peak Masters, and even Thorgar walked slowly, taking in the pristine halls lined with humming lights and seamless metal. Crystal-clear screens displayed flowing schematics. Drones buzzed silently above, weaving through the air like metallic butterflies.

  Commander Virelle took the lead, accompanied by a few soldiers and scientists, proudly displaying the pride of their civilization.

  “This is a plasma cold weapon,” she began, gesturing toward a sleek, short-bladed weapon emitting a soft blue glow. “Same principle as a plasma blade, but designed for stealth and tactical strikes without the heat signature.”

  One of the cultivator-scientists examined it, brushing a finger near the hilt. “So... cold lightning encased in form. Can it be tempered?”

  Virelle smiled. “It doesn’t degrade. Pure plasma channeled through a magnetic containment field.”

  Another chamber revealed a display of drones in suspended animation — beetle-sized to dog-sized, all lined with blinking lights and armor plating.

  “These,” said one of the scientists, “serve as reconnaissance, repair, and in rare cases, frontline support. Some even have artificial intelligence for autonomous decisions.”

  A cultivator muttered, “Puppets... but born without artificial souls?”

  “They learn through data,” came the reply. “They adapt.”

  The scientists then guided the group to a massive chamber. Rows upon rows of cryosleep pods filled the space, stretching endlessly into the distance. The lights were dimmed, the atmosphere still.

  “There are almost fifty million people asleep in here,” one of the scientists said quietly, reverently. “Only a few hundred of us are awake — soldiers, scientists, engineers. The rest are in full cryostasis.”

  Peak Master Ying stepped closer to one of the pods and peered through the glass. Inside lay a young woman, skin pale, chest rising slowly.

  A nearby scientist explained, “During cryosleep, their metabolic processes slow to a crawl. They remain slightly conscious, but their perception of time is warped. Here, they age roughly one week per year.”

  Ying’s eyes narrowed. She took out a glowing talisman and whispered an incantation. The talisman shimmered, then dimmed.

  “Curious,” she said. “By the Dao of life... they are aging at five months per year now.”

  The scientist blinked. “That... shouldn’t happen.”

  Han Wuqing nodded, hands behind his back. “Your world’s laws of time and spirit differ from ours. Your technology now resides under a new set of natural principles.”

  There was a long silence before someone muttered, “This will change a lot.”

  Next, they were taken to a spacious chamber where gravity shifted — not just down, but inwards, outwards, sidewards.

  “This is our artificial gravity core,” a technician explained. “We can create -level gravity or reduce it to zero. It helps during flight, surgeries, and even—”

  He paused, because fee cultivators had already sat down in mid-air, legs crossed.

  “We’re... meditating,” one said. “The Qi here—strange—it’s concentrating unnaturally.”

  Another nodded. “The gravity Qi has become thicker... denser.”

  “Gravity Qi?” asked the -side scientists.

  “A conceptual energy in our world,” Peak Master Ying explained. “Normally only found in certain mountains... But your artificial force mimics its behavior.”

  Then came the final room — heavily guarded and sealed. When the doors opened, even Han Wuqing tilted his head slightly in curiosity.

  The weapon inside hovered above a pedestal: black, small, humming.

  “This is a controlled antimatter charge,” one of the scientists said slowly. “If unleashed fully... it could vaporize an entire city.”

  Gasps rippled through the cultivator group. Even Peak Master Ying frowned in rare concern.

  “And what... is antimatter?” she asked.

  The scientist launched into a technical explanation — particles opposite to matter, annihilation upon contact, energy release beyond nuclear scale.

  The cultivator-scientists struggled. “So... it’s... inverse Yin?”

  “No, it destroys Yin and Yang both,” said another.

  Kealith Rune was silent, arms crossed. Thorgar whispered, “...This thing makes soul-crushing punches look like pebbles.”

  Han Wuqing stepped forward, looking into the antimatter core’s flickering containment.

  “To weaponize pure destruction,” he said softly. “No elemental affinity, no Dao path. Just erasure.”

  “That's... accurate,” one of the scientists said.

  Kealith’s eyes lit up. “Can we touch it?”

  Everyone collectively shouted: “No!”

  The next destination was a heavily reinforced chamber—deep within the spaceship’s central spine. At its heart hummed the reactor core, suspended midair in a gyroscopic cage. Soft pulses of light throbbed through transparent conduits around it, painting the walls with flowing circuitry and pale, blue glow.

  “This core powers the entire ship,” one of the engineers said proudly. “Fusion at first, but reinforced with exotic matter harvesting mid-voyage.”

  A cultivator-scientist stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “May I... probe it with Qi?”

  The soldiers hesitated. Commander Virelle glanced toward the scientist, then nodded. “As long as it’s minimal. This core is—quite literally—our lifeline.”

  The cultivator placed both hands forward, spreading his Qi gently like mist across the surface of the containment field.

  CRACK—!

  A sudden flash of lightning burst from the reactor, throwing him back several meters. He flipped midair, landing with practiced grace—but with smoke curling from his sleeves.

  Everyone tensed.

  One of the scientists checked the readouts and muttered, “...Output just spiked by 0.3%.”

  A cultivator exclaimed, “Your core... it responded to Qi?”

  The room fell silent.

  Peak Master Ying raised a brow. “That’s unexpected. Could Qi theoretically power this. ”

  Virelle, suddenly cautious, said, “We shouldn’t press it further. If this core destabilizes, we all die before any lesson is learned.”

  Nods of agreement followed. Curiosity was tempered—for now.

  ---

  Next, they were led into a high-ceilinged testing chamber where a compact device stood within an isolated field.

  “This is our hyperspace drive interface,” one of the scientists explained. “It lets the ship fold space—traveling astronomical distances in seconds. We have a small-scale demonstration portal here.”

  However, she continued with a sigh, “Unfortunately, we lack sufficient energy to open it safely for viewing.”

  At this, Peak Master Ying stepped forward calmly. With a flick of her wrist, a massive crystal battery materialized—five feet tall and glowing with vibrant Qi.

  The scientists’ jaws dropped.

  “This is a condensed Qi battery, used to power mobile arrays or small sect fortresses,” she said. “Will this suffice?”

  "We can try"

  The techs rushed forward, adapters already in hand.

  With some adjustment, the hyperspace portal shuddered—then bloomed open like a lotus of stars. Within its event horizon shimmered warped light and undulating ripples, like liquid glass reflecting entire galaxies.

  Even the cultivators grew quiet.

  Han Wuqing narrowed his eyes, studying the portal. “I will test this.”

  Adam turned sharply. “Sect leader, perhaps—”

  But Han Wuqing had already stepped through.

  ---

  Seconds passed. Then minutes.

  Adam felt his chest tighten. Scientists and cultivators alike exchanged glances, waiting. Some paced, others stared at the warped portal, uncertain if they should prepare for an emergency shutdown.

  Inside hyperspace, Han Wuqing stood in a realm of endless distance and folded dimensions. For anyone else, this would have been madness—a corridor without walls, a hallway without time. But to one who held dominion over space, it was a blank canvas.

  He floated still, observing the way matter curled, how light refracted backward, how force folded inward and expanded at once.

  Then it struck him: the Dao of Folded Paths.

  A rare concept within the broader Dao of Space—one that dealt not only with distance but with the possibility of overlapping spatial positions.

  He sat cross-legged in mid-void and began to comprehend.

  ---

  Outside, the portal pulsed irregularly. Alarms blinked on the control consoles. Virelle began muttering, “Something’s wrong. He’s been inside too long.”

  But then, in a blink, Han Wuqing stepped out, calm and composed.

  His eyes gleamed faintly with deep silver. Power pulsed around him subtly—restrained, but palpable.

  “I have returned,” he said. “Do not worry. Time flows differently within.”

  Everyone stood still, as if afraid to speak.

  Han Wuqing looked toward Peak Master Ying and the cultivator scientists. “I have gained insight into a concept of the Dao of Space.”

  He paused, then continued, voice low and measured.

  > “Hyperspace... is not a single space, but an interwoven mesh of potential paths. What you call 'folding' is the act of aligning two threads of reality until they overlap. Inside, I could sense distant places—not by movement, but by resonance. It is space remembering where it has been.”

  His gaze turned distant, as if still partly within that boundless void.

  > “But there was something else… something I could only just perceive.”

  > “I felt... directions that had no name. Not forward, back, left, right, up, or down. Something beyond that. Like space itself turned inward, or peeled sideways into another possibility.”

  He furrowed his brow.

  “It wasn’t distance. It wasn’t position. It was... the orientation of space’s meaning shifting. As if I had not moved at all, and yet everything around me had redefined what 'movement' meant.”

  “I do not know what to call it. But I believe it may be the threshold to a deeper realm—something beyond the three dimensions we take for granted. A path that cannot be walked, Yet.”

  His words fell like ripples in still water, soft yet far-reaching.

  He closed his eyes briefly. The air around him shimmered, folded inward—and then smoothed itself, as if reality was adjusting to accommodate what he had seen.

  The room fell into reverent silence. The Earth-side scientists looked as though they were seeing a legend awaken before them.

  Commander Virelle, to her credit, managed a nod. “Impressive.”

  “More than impressive,” Peak Master Ying said. “This could be... revolutionary.”

  Adam chuckled. “You might want to check your containment fields. Our sect leader may have just upgraded your drive with intent.”

  As the day drew to a close, the once-skeptical eyes of both factions now shimmered with mutual respect and curiosity. From plasma rifles to hyperspace drives, from talisman arrays to Qi-reactive cores, each side had glimpsed the boundless horizon that lay before them.

  Standing beside the humming hyperspace portal, Peak Master Ying gazed into its depths, arms folded behind her back.

  “With this union,” she said softly, “we will not just bridge worlds—we will leap ahead by a millennium.”

  The scientists—cultivator and otherwise—nodded in unison. Equations, diagrams, and blueprints filled the air like glowing projections and etched spirit scripts, fusing thought and cultivation into a single language.

  For the first time in centuries, the unknown did not feel like a threat.

  It felt like destiny.