In the third year of the Kaiyuan era, during the height of summer.
General Zhao Xunan of the Western Expedition, leading 700,000 troops including the Left/Right Guard Divisions, Left/Right Leading Divisions, Yinshan Garrison, Longcheng Garrison, and the newly formed Wangchuan Guard, marched out of West Pass to confront the grassland khanate's 300,000 iron cavalry.
Within an hour, they killed fifty thousand enemies, accepted the surrender of twenty-five thousand, and suffered fewer than a thousand casualties—a resounding victory.
The next day, the Left/Right Leading Divisions, Wangchuan Guard, and Yinshan Garrison pressed their advantage, chasing the enemy seventy li deep into the grasslands and sweeping through the ancient city of Kurdun.
The Kurdun garrison fought to the last, with General Surilige pierced by ten thousand arrows. Of the remaining defenders, fewer than forty thousand survived. Over three hundred thousand tribal leaders, herders, and commoners fled inland.
After looting the city, General Dong Haodong of the Yinshan Garrison ordered it burned. The 1,300-year-old ancient city collapsed in roaring flames, leaving only rubble to whisper of its past glory.
That same day, the Great Qin Ministry of War issued an edict: the 250,000 surrendered iron cavalry and 40,000 Kurdun garrison troops would form the Youling Three Guards, sworn to defend the northwest forever.
With this, there were no more cities or strongholds within a hundred li of West Pass. The grassland khanate had lost its eastern supply hub, and the balance of power between the two nations shifted entirely.
News of the victory spread across the Central Plains within ten days. The Great Zhou, Southern Yue, and Western Liang—nations that had massed troops along Great Qin's borders—retreated ten li overnight. Their courts quickly sent envoys to negotiate peace, swearing eternal amity.
The envoys humbled themselves deeply. The reason was simple: Great Qin had reclaimed West Pass after fifty years of loss, plugging a bleeding wound. With its forces largely intact and having gained 450,000 elite grassland cavalry (plus 600,000+ tribal migrants who'd surrendered and moved inland), Great Qin's military strength had surged. It was now poised to challenge the top tiers of cultivation powers once more.
Word of Zhao Xunan's rewards soon followed, leaving the northwest in shock. His title as General of the Western Expedition remained unchanged, but he was also granted command of the Left/Right Leading Divisions, Left/Right Guard Divisions, Yinshan Garrison, Longcheng Garrison, Wangchuan Guard, and Youling Three Guards—nearly a million troops—to defend Great Qin's northwest.
A royal entourage led by an inner eunuch would carry his rewards from Jade Capital to the northwest, along with honors for the various guards. When the time came, all would know.
The generals exchanged stunned glances. Prince Li Yulong, the former Sixth Prince of the grasslands now enfeoffed as Prince Fuyou, even congratulated him early: "In a month or two, when we meet again, I might have to call you 'Prince'!"
His words held truth—only a prince's title merited such a royal escort.
Zhao Xunan waved it off indifferently. "You know my heart. I care not for such titles. But a six-month leave… that truly warms my heart."
"In a few days, I'll head west. With West Pass now strong, even if the khanate's entire horde marches here, we'll hold. While I'm gone, Dong Haodong will lead. Prince, please visit often—you'll steady the surrendered troops' morale. When I return, we'll drink and laugh!"
After weeks of companionship, the generals knew Zhao's resolve once set. They only wondered: Why the sudden journey west?
Zhao smiled. "I'm one step shy of the Fifth Heaven. My opportunity lies there."
Zhao returned to his residence—not in West Pass, but the same courtyard in Jiaojiao.
At the sound of hooves, Malan hurried out, holding a damp cloth to clean his hands and face. Her eyes brimmed with reverence.
These days, Zhao's deeds had shaken the world. For Malan, even more so. The fall of Kurdun was due in large part to her. To her, Zhao was more than a master or mentor—he was the divine avatar of Heaven on earth.
Hearing of his westward journey, Malan blurted: "Master, I'll go with you. How can I serve you if I stay behind?!"
"No." Zhao shook his head, earnest. "You've only just stabilized at the First Heaven. Now is a time for stillness, not movement. I've left you ample spirit herbs—take them as needed. Build a solid foundation first."
Malan tugged his sleeve, reluctant to let go. "But you said… in life, Ping'er always waited on you. Since coming to the northwest, it's been me. You can't even wash your own clothes—can you really take care of yourself?"
Zhao grinned. "Relax. I'm a grown man. Can I not care for myself?"
"But you once said… in life, Ping'er waited on you. Since coming to the northwest, it's been me. You can't even wash your own clothes—can you really take care of yourself?"
Zhao laughed. "Alright, fine. Washing clothes isn't so hard. A few slaps with the technique, and they'll be clean enough. Trust my skills!"
Malan's eyes twitched. Washing clothes? One slap with that fist would tear the clothes to shreds!
On the 21st day of the fifth lunar month, under the bright midsummer sun, Zhao Xunan rode west alone from West Pass. The city walls were lined with well-wishers.
Though he'd spent time in the northwest, news from merchants returning from the interior had revealed much. Yet the northwest still felt like a place of mystery. As Yuwen Zhenyan had said: He carries the aura of an otherworldly immortal.
News of Zhao's solo journey reached Jade Capital quickly. The Ministry of Works was baffled: How does the northwest, a land of harsh cold, afford so many spirit stones to open so many formations?
When word reached the Martial Arts Academy's Upper Hall, Feng Pingbo was fishing with Zhao Ping'er and Xiao Nuo'er by the academy lake. He frowned. "Zhao's mind grows more inscrutable by the day. He reclaimed West Pass, cleared tens of miles of grasslands, and now rides west alone as General of 100,000 troops. Why?"
Xiao Nuo'er, sensing Feng's gaze, shook her head vigorously. "I don't know, Master. I just… miss him."
Feng turned to Zhao Ping'er. The girl pouted thoughtfully. "Could it be… related to that past life of his?"
Feng perked up, leaning close. "What past life? Tell me more!"
"It was a dream," Zhao Ping'er said, grinning as she reeled in a golden carp that thrashed in the air.
Zhao's horse galloped west, covering a hundred li without spotting a single grasslander. Along the way, he saw traces of abandoned camps—signs the grassland khanate had been alarmed. Not just soldiers, but entire tribes had fled deep into the grasslands.
Zhao smiled at the vast, empty plains. This desolation reminded him of the Far North.
His goal was clear: the legendary Little Kunlun.
Little Kunlun lay deep in the grasslands, parallel to the Kunlun Mountains two thousand li away. Unheard of in the mortal realm during Zhao's past life, it had been revealed to him only after entering the mountain-secluded sect.
Legends said it was a land of abundant immortal herbs and countless fallen celestial secret realms. With luck, one might even find a celestial treasure.
In Zhao's past life, tales of Little Kunlun abounded, but no mortal had ever secured a great treasure there. The grasslands were too exclusionary.
Mountain-secluded sects, however, had claimed Little Kunlun early, leveraging their backing from powerful sects. Even after the Kunlun Grand Secret Realm opened and order shifted, mortal cultivators could only watch enviously as geniuses from great sects claimed treasures.
Without a sect's support, mortal cultivators had no hope.
But now, it was the third year of Kaiyuan—two years before the Kunlun Grand Secret Realm opened. Even if mountain-secluded sects sent someone, they'd likely be low-level Qi Refiners. Zhao had a better chance.
Little Kunlun held other treasures, but Zhao sought one in particular: Tiemu (Iron Mother).
Since the Kunlun Grand Secret Realm opened, celestial meteorites had rained down, most landing in Little Kunlun. The sects that controlled it grew wealthy selling these materials.
Legend said it was because Little Kunlun held vast reserves of Tiemu—tough, spirit-nurturing metal that enhanced weapons. Zhao wanted Tiemu to refine his Tianji.
Though Tianji was extraordinary, it paled next to the ever-strengthening divine weapons of legend. Tianji was an extension of his body, a weapon against foes—but it lacked true evolution. If there was a way to enhance it, Zhao would dare to try.
Ten days later, Zhao scaled the first mountain range of the grasslands. To the east, the air hung heavy with summer heat; to the west, snow-clad peaks pierced the clouds, biting winds howling.
Even Zhao was startled. Standing on the ridge, he watched as summer and winter clashed at the mountain's base—a phenomenon both wondrous and unnatural.
"Could it be… the Human Emperor's Sword sliced crookedly long ago, warping the laws here?" He plucked a snowflake, watching it melt on the eastern slope.
Gazing at the arc of mountains stretching north-south without a single bend, he frowned. Unnatural.
Snow melted into drizzle east of the ridge, nurturing lush vegetation; west of it, frost blanketed the land. Zhao wondered: Why would the grassland khanate build their capital in such a frozen waste? How do their livestock survive?
Guiding his horse through the snowstorm, Zhao pressed west. Most days, blizzards raged; clear skies were rare. Life was scarce, but the land held a strange beauty.
The Central Plains had clear skies, but the grasslands' vastness made the heavens feel closer—like a blue canopy, within reach.
At first, Zhao thought it an illusion. But as his calculations confirmed, and his vague sense of the Great Dao sharpened, he realized: The grasslands' sky is truly lower than the Central Plains'.
One night, the snow stopped. The sky blazed with stars, a painting of ink. Zhao sat in the snow, reaching up—and actually grasped a wisp of starlight.
It vanished in an instant, but a realization took root: There is no great or small, no near or far. Heaven and earth are one. What divides them… is the self.
As he spoke, the heavens trembled. Stars swayed like jujubes on a shaken tree, threatening to fall.
"Star Officer—this disturbance grows. Do you not care?" Mo Yin's voice rumbled.
A Central Domain Star Officer replied indifferently: "The Fourth Heaven doesn't intervene. Why would the Fifth?"
"We act only on Heaven's will, sweeping unseen corners. Does Heaven not see these changes?"
"Where do you place yourself?"
Mo Yin said nothing, bowing and retreating.
"The Patching Heaven Sage has changed… but has he forgotten his original intent?" The Star Officer shook his head, turning away.
Zhao laughed. He hadn't expected to cross the Fifth Heaven so easily.
He extended his right hand, channeling true energy. Soon, a pigeon-egg-sized transparent bead formed in his palm. Exposed to the cold wind, it solidified into an ice sphere.
Grinning, Zhao knew: Reaching the Fifth Heaven means 'Treasure-Seeking Record' can convert true energy into spirit liquid—nurturing herbs, healing wounds. A rare treasure indeed!
This trip to Little Kunlun just got safer.
But his smile faded as he frowned. When breaking through from Third to Fourth Heaven, my true energy was five. Now, from Fourth to Fifth… it's forty-nine.
Even this stroke of luck worried him. Is my cultivation… flawed?
In the Kunlun Grand Secret Realm, top geniuses maxed out at ninety-nine. At Fifth Heaven with forty-nine, if this rate continued… would he reach a hundred? A thousand?
Zhao sighed. Three lifetimes have taught me my limits. I'm no prodigy. My progress relies on steady steps, not leaps.
Such an extraordinary leap… it shouldn't happen to him.
After a long while, the stars stilled. Snow resumed falling, burying the land. Zhao sat motionless, a stone amid the storm.
The next day, the snow cleared. Zhao shook off the frost, mounted his now-awake horse, and pressed west.
After days of contemplation, he'd accepted it: If rebirth can bring such marvels, forty-nine strands of true energy are nothing. It's Heaven's grace. When the time comes, I'll offer three sacrifices to thank it.
"...Damn it. I've made so many vows but never kept one. Heaven hasn't struck me down—truly generous!"
Zhao laughed to himself, chiding his own empty promises.
Ten more days of travel brought him to the second mountain range. His heart quickened.
The journey to Little Kunlun was longer and duller than imagined. He'd expected clashes with grasslanders, but in thirty days, he'd seen only wild beasts—no humans.
Had the khanate evacuated en masse? Or had he taken a wrong turn? Anxiety gnawed at him.
Sighting the second range, his tension eased. Climbing the steep slope, he gazed westward—at the lush, green mountains—and scratched his head.
Like the first range, the east and west slopes were opposites: one sweltering, one frigid.