The sky rippled as if someone had brushed ink over wet parchment. High above the sea of crumbling cliffs and dissolving fog, a woman sat casually on a cluster of drifting clouds. Her red eye-blindfold fluttered in the wind like a strip of living flame. She kept flying farther and farther, but even then she murmured under her breath, half worried, half annoyed, "Hey… is he going to be okay?"
Inside the silk realm, where the world had already become threads and glimmering patterns, the real one sat face-to-face with the woman on the tiger. Their physical bodies were elsewhere, but here their spirit forms lounged on carved silk chairs, sipping some shimmering drink from flat ceremonial plates. The giant tiger, still her spirit beast was curled under the table, snoring softly.
The tiger-woman took another slow sip, swung one leg over the other, and clicked her tongue. "Hunh… already worrying about husband's safety? What a devoted wife. Touching. Truly touching. I should find a husband too then for balance."
The real one's eye twitched. "I'm serious."
"Oh? Really~?" The woman grinned, leaning forward with a wicked spark in her eyes. "Shall we go back and save him then? I'll even preside over the wedding. I promise to make it dramatic, lots of firecrackers, maybe summon a few demons as guests—"
The real one almost slammed her plate on the table but stopped herself. "Enough. I asked something else. Your body, what happened to it?"
The teasing woman was about to start another joke, but one glance at that rising anger made her switch gears. She raised both hands in surrender. "Hunh… fine, fine. Long story. Let's talk about it later."
The real one narrowed her eyes. "Then answer my other question. Who is he? And how do you know him?"
That sly smile slid back onto the tiger-woman's lips. "Mm… just a simple commoner. Someone who caught her eye in our place. He begged a little", she shrugged dramatically "and she tossed him in this place for his final awakening before his age ran out. Very tragic."
The real one didn't blink. "Half truth. Half lie. Tell it properly the first time."
The tiger-woman made a dramatic gasp. "Ah, caught. Fine then, before that, go outside and meet someone like you. Ask him instead. He might tell you something I forget. Or don't want to say. Depends on my mood."
The real one stared, unimpressed. "Of course you won't say it."
"Oh please," the woman flicked her wrist, "I love watching you puzzle things out. It's like watching a cat trying to open a jar."
A vein popped near the real one's forehead. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and vanished before she threw her chair at the woman's head.
The tiger-woman smirked and lightly tapped the tiger's head. "Look at her, acting all composed. Hah."
Outside the realm, far above the partially vanished island, the real one spotted a strange scene: a lone monk standing calmly atop a long staff balanced on a single point, and on his shoulder sat a small boy, legs dangling and expression blank, like a wooden doll.
She descended toward them. As she landed, the monk bowed with perfect serenity, palms folded. "Amitabha… greetings, my benefactor. How may this humble one assist you?"
She returned a fist-and-palm salute. "I wish to ask something. If you don't mind, may we exchange answers?"
The monk smiled faintly. "Of course. Please, ask freely."
Behind her, a breeze carried a faint echo—faint laughter from the tiger-woman who was definitely still watching from afar, whispering, 'Go on, wife~ ask about your precious husband.' The real one's eye twitched again, but she kept her composure…
Then she asked, "Is there two people this time who came to the Reverse-Soul Mirage Island?"
The monk paused mid-breath. For a moment even the sea wind seemed to hold its voice. "No… only one person from—" He suddenly stopped, brows knitting. "Wait… there are two. Miss, did you meet another one? I only received intelligence regarding one visitor. Did you encounter any… difficulties?"
She nodded slowly, then told him everything, the illusions, the island vanishing, the boy's fall… everything except the parts that belonged to secrets she had sworn never to reveal. At the end, she added with a calm voice, "He fell into the sea to avoid the punishment from the heaven and I showed weakness to keep the pursuers confused."
The monk pressed his palms together. "Amitabha… Miss, use this." He produced a small jade-green pill, faintly glowing with a cold silver mist.
She accepted it with a respectful fist-and-palm salute. "Fellow cultivator, what is your name? I will repay this in the future."
"My name is Larong," he said with a gentle nod. "Miss… your name?"
"Ceining."
Larong froze.
His eyes widened, his fingers trembled slightly. He stepped backward onto his staff as if retreating from an avalanche. In a hushed and fearful voice he whispered, "C-Crimson Cloud–Silk Maiden…"
Ceining exhaled a thin wisp of aura, soft, pinkish-red threads of silk swirling around her wrists like petals cut from the sunset. "Indeed. That is me. But do not fear. You all know my character well enough…"
Larong instantly bowed even lower on his staff. "N-not fear… only… respect…"
From far behind, hidden in the drifting clouds, the tiger-woman's voice whispered gleefully, "Respect? Hah! He almost fainted. Ceining scaring monks again—classic." Ceining twitched but pretended not to hear it.
"Now, fellow friend," she said calmly, "may I travel with you? Our destination should be the same."
"It would be my honour," Larong replied quickly. Then he hesitated, glancing at her slightly pale cheeks. "But Miss… I must say, you have endured many hardships for that boy. And your injuries—"
"Don't worry," she interrupted. "They won't be a problem."
"Benefactor," he said gently, "we have a long path to walk. Please follow quickly… you already understand the nature of this place."
"I do." Then her tone turned slightly sly. "Let's go back. I want to ask them why their calculations became so wrong."
Inside her, the tiger-woman's laughter burst again, "Yes, yes! Go ask them why they misread your husband's fate. Ha! I want to watch their faces." Ceining did not bother to answer, only tightened her lips and stepped forward.
Larong bowed. "Yes, benefactor. Truth must come to light. Let us depart."
The sea rumbled beneath them, and above, the sky cracked open like torn silk. Together, they moved toward the massive shimmering veil that divided the twin seas—one calm like a mirror, the other roaring with endless storms…
..........
As he was scrambling down the cliffside, his boots slipped again and again on the slick stone. He barely managed to catch himself, fingers digging into sharp, wet edges, yet each time his grip held only by chance, as though the mountain itself pitied him for a moment. Rain hammered the world, cold needles hitting his skin without mercy. His palms were scraped raw; thin lines of blood mixed with the rainwater and trailed down his wrists. The storm roared so loudly he could hardly hear his own breath.
He slid another few feet, boots skidding, almost tumbling forward. Only a jutting rock stopped him from falling straight into the raging sea below. When he looked downward, he saw it: a cave, dark as a sleeping beast's maw, carved deep into the cliff. It was far, too far. The path leading down no longer had steps, only jagged, broken ledges disappearing into nothing. No trees stood there, no vines, not even a stubborn blade of grass. Just wind, stone, and the furious ocean.
Still, he slowly began climbing toward it. Each movement was deliberate; each breath trembled. Rain poured harder, and the waves beneath him rose higher, slamming against the cliff with a fury that felt personal, as if the sea wanted him.
He reached another narrow ledge and stopped, pressing his body against the cold wall of stone. He held onto a cluster of rocks and took a moment to calculate the timing of the waves and the path ahead. But before he could gather his thoughts, a monstrous wave smashed against the cliff and him. The impact rattled his bones. Pebbles and small rocks struck him like thrown daggers.
Then the burning began.
It came without warning, a crawling agony that spread across his skin like a swarm of a thousand invisible caterpillars, each injecting fiery needles into his flesh. "Aaaaaa—!" His scream was ripped away by the wind, swallowed by thunder. His neck, the only part fully exposed, ballooned red and swollen within moments.
He tried to climb up, desperate to escape the burning, but another wave slammed into him, dragging his body downward by sheer force. Saltwater invaded his throat, his eyes, his wounds. The burning intensified, spreading under his skin, moving like a living thing.
His thoughts blurred.He understood one thing clearly: if he jumped, the pain would consume him entirely. His body would burn alive from the inside.
So he forced himself upward.
But the marks across his shoulders and arms pulsed and swelled, robbing him of strength. His fingers trembled as he reached for a crack in the stone. Another wave struck, harder than the last, shaking loose the very rock he clung to. His mental will thinned. The burning crawled deeper, wrapping around his spine, sinking into his bones.
His hand slipped.
He fell into the sea, silently this time, no scream, no gasp. His sword, gripped in the other hand until the last second, struck a protruding rock and recoiled, falling with him into the churning water.
Inside the drowning darkness, a voice echoed.
"Another opportunity."
A second voice answered, old and tired, yet steady. "Sage, your work has come again."
The first voice hummed, almost amused. "Yes… reconstruct his body as it was before. Strip away the useless stagnation. Consume every drop of that corrupted energy."
The storm outside roared, but underwater everything felt strangely muted, distant.
"And let his body grow," the first voice added, softer, almost gentle. "Begin the response that was denied to him."
The Sage-voice sighed, ancient and weary. "You never ask for small tasks…"
"Do it."
Inside the water, bubble after bubble rose from his skin—each bubble bursting with a faint hiss, as if something inside him was boiling. The burning intensified. His flesh blistered, then cracked; thin streams of blood seeped from veins that had been forced open by the pressure of corrupt energy. His skin peeled in places like burned parchment, drifting away in shreds. Beneath the torn skin, faint black lines pulsed—like veins carved by a venomous serpent.
From the depths around him, black dust-like particles drifted toward him, dividing into nine swirling currents. They coiled like serpents preparing to strike, dragging the stagnant death energy toward his heart, ready to infect the final layer of his core.
But then—The wooden necklace around his neck shivered.
A soft crackle echoed, like a seed sprouting within a dead forest.
From the pendant, white energy burst forth, pure and sharp, forming a sphere of transparent light around his body. The nine black currents hit it, and were thrown back with a thunderous ripple.
A voice from the pendant spoke, ancient and commanding, yet strangely gentle.
"I am protecting him. Who dares to disobey what I have chosen?"
The white sphere expanded like a blooming lotus, pushing the black particles outward and holding the chaos at bay. The water around him shuddered, and for a moment it felt as though the sea itself bowed in submission.
His eyes snapped open, glowing 白 white — blank, detached, guided by something old and slumbering inside him. His limbs moved without hesitation. He inhaled sharply underwater, as if taking breath from another realm, and then surged upward, swimming with impossible force.
He broke the surface of the water in a single burst but the world welcomed him with violence again. A colossal wave rose, towering, ready to crush him.
He lifted one hand.
A circle of shifting white and black lines traced itself instantly beneath his palm, like a symbol written by an unseen brush. The wave split, shattered into mist, and fell back harmlessly.
His strength lasted only a moment. As he attempted to move toward the cave, his body faltered. Something pulled him sideways, almost like a hand guiding him.
He fell onto a soft bed of leaves.
The place was impossible. A small clearing hidden inside the cliff, protected by a natural canopy of rain-soaked roots and stone. A bonsai-like golden tree bent over him in a perfect arc of 180 degrees, its leaves shimmering despite the storm. Beneath it lay dozens of candles, some newly lit, some melted long ago, their wax forming rivers around a stone pedestal.
Upon that pedestal sat a carved statue of a meditating figure, placed with reverence. Droplets of rain slid down the trunk but halted before they could touch the candles, as if an invisible boundary preserved this sacred corner.
As his blood trickled across the leaves, a drop touched the tree's twisted roots.
The tree shuddered.
A single fruit, black and white, swirling like mist trapped inside glass, materialized among the leaves. A faint glow of death energy wrapped around it. Without warning, the fruit detached, fell, struck his forehead lightly, and dissolved into smoke that seeped into his skin.
A shadowy figure formed beside the statue, its edges flickering like worn-out cloth caught in wind. A voice, neither young nor old, sighed.
"So… he came. After one thousand years… ten thousand? No… one hundred thousand years."
The figure leaned closer, observing him with amusement.
"He found a successor at last. Pity, just a mortal, already stolen his fate."
It chuckled, the sound like dry leaves scraping stone.
"Well, the one destined to free me has arrived. Let the ceremony of his journey begin…"
Whether the rain stopped, or whether it still fell outside, no one could tell. In this place, time felt hushed.
When he finally opened his eyes, his skull throbbed with a dull ache. He lay on dust and golden leaves, light filtering gently through the small canopy above. He blinked at the countless candles burning steadily despite the storm's presence outside.
Then he saw the statue closely.
A serene figure in dhyān posture, carved from pale stone. A shining conch mark sat upon its forehead. His hair was sculpted like the spiralling shell of a sacred snail. And that conch, not ordinary, glowed with faint radiance.
Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up and sat. Something inside him urged reverence. He pressed his palms together, bent forward, and offered a full pranam to the statue…
To be continued...