The rooftop garden of the Lunar Designs skyscraper was a place the original Aylin Moon had visited exactly once for a photoshoot. To Lan Yue, however, it was the closest thing this world of steel and glass had to a proper place for cultivation. At six a.m., the city below was a sleeping beast, shrouded in a low hanging mist that softened its hard edges into a landscape of grey, ethereal mountains. The air was cool, clean, and quiet, disturbed only by the distant, mournful cry of a ship's horn from the harbor and the soft, meditative trickle of water in the garden's zen fountain.
Aylin stood in the center of the meticulously manicured garden, her own form clad not in a corporate suit, but in simple, flowing black silk trousers and a matching tunic that allowed for effortless movement. Here, in the pre dawn stillness, she was not Aylin Moon, the embattled director. She was Lan Yue, the celestial saint, a being of serene, potent grace, reclaiming a sliver of her true self.
The elevator doors hissed open, and Iuno Li scurried out, looking profoundly out of her element. She wore a pair of ill fitting grey sweatpants emblazoned with a faded university crest and a t shirt that had likely been free with a charity donation. The outfit screamed "I have never willingly exercised a day in my life." She clutched a bottle of water like a holy relic, her expression a mixture of terror, confusion, and the grim determination of an employee about to endure a mandatory and deeply bizarre team building exercise with a boss who was, by all accounts, possibly insane.
"Director Moon," she said, her breath misting in the cool air.
Aylin turned, her expression as calm and unreadable as a deep lake. "You are punctual, Miss Li. A commendable trait." She gestured to the open space beside her. "The foundation of a commanding presence is a stable core. Your posture is a direct reflection of the balance within your spirit. Today, we will begin by finding that balance. We will start with the 'Still Mountain' stance."
Iuno stared blankly. "The… the what?"
Without another word, Aylin demonstrated. She set her feet shoulder width apart, bent her knees slightly, kept her back perfectly straight as if an invisible cord were pulling the crown of her head toward the heavens, and held her hands before her, palms facing each other as if holding a ball of energy. It was the most fundamental of all cultivation stances, a posture designed to root the body to the earth and align the spirit with the sky. It looked deceptively simple.
"Your turn," she commanded.
Iuno, with the awkwardness of a newborn foal, tried to mimic her. Her knees locked, then bent too far, placing a painful strain on her joints. Her back, so used to hunching over a spreadsheet, refused to straighten, remaining in a soft, apologetic curve. She wobbled precariously. "Director… with all due respect, I fail to see how this will help me command a boardroom."
"A wavering stance betrays a wavering mind," Aylin replied, her voice the calm, patient tone of a sect master instructing a hopeless novice. "A weak core cannot support a strong will. If you cannot command the seventy three muscles required to hold this simple posture, you will never be able to command the respect of a hostile board of directors. The body and the spirit are not separate. They are echoes of one another. Now, hold the stance."
The next ten minutes were a unique form of torture for Iuno Li. After the first sixty seconds, her legs began to tremble. After two minutes, her thighs were screaming in a fiery protest she had never before experienced. She, a creature of the mind, was suddenly, violently trapped in a body she had never paid much attention to, and it was furious with her.
"Director," she panted, sweat beading on her forehead and trickling down her temples. "My thighs are on fire!"
"That is merely your weakness beginning to burn away," Aylin stated serenely, not moving a single, perfect inch, her own breathing as slow and even as a slumbering tide.
"I think it's my will to live burning away," Iuno muttered under her breath.
Aylin, whose celestial hearing missed nothing, had to suppress a smile. She could feel the echo of Lian's soul in her the stubbornness, the quiet, gallows humor. Your body remembers this posture, even if your mind does not, she thought, pushing a silent, encouraging feeling through the latent ghost of their bond. Push through the discomfort. You are stronger than this mortal shell believes.
Iuno, feeling a strange, inexplicable surge of motivation that seemed to come from outside herself, gritted her teeth and held on. She was about to collapse, her vision starting to tunnel, when Aylin finally moved.
She came to stand behind Iuno, her presence a calming, grounding force. "Breathe," she said softly, her voice close to Iuno's ear. "From your center. Do not fight the posture. Become it."
Her hands, cool and steady, came to rest on Iuno's back and shoulders, gently adjusting her alignment. It was not a manager's touch; it was a master's, correcting her form with an impossible, innate understanding of the body's mechanics and the flow of energy.
As Aylin's hands guided her into the perfect posture, a strange thing happened. For a single, breathtaking second, the clumsy, awkward stance clicked into place. Iuno's body, which had been fighting her every step of the way, settled into a moment of perfect, unnatural balance. The pain vanished, replaced by a feeling of being rooted to the very core of the earth.
And a memory, not her own, flashed through her mind.
It was not an image. It was a feeling. The biting cold of a stone training ground under a bruised purple sky. The sharp, metallic scent of incense and old blood. The distant, booming echo of a harsh training master's voice shouting insults. And this exact feeling of her body, younger, stronger, holding this exact stance for hours, her muscles screaming, not in weakness, but in the white hot agony of being forged into a weapon.
The sensation was so overwhelming that it shattered her concentration. She gasped, stumbling forward, her legs finally giving way.
"Whoa," she breathed, catching herself on a low stone wall, her heart hammering in her chest, a dizzying sense of vertigo washing over her. "What… what was that?"
Aylin, who had felt the powerful jolt of the memory echo through her own soul, looked at her, her face a mask of perfect, neutral calm. It's working, her heart sang with a fierce, silent triumph.
"You found your center, for a moment," she said, her voice betraying none of it. "A sign of significant progress. This session is over for today." She turned to look out at the rising sun as it began to burn the mist away from the towering steel peaks of the city. "Tomorrow," she commanded, not looking back. "Same time. We will work on your breathing."
Iuno, her entire body aching in ways she didn't know were possible, could only stare at her director's back. This was not a corporate wellness seminar. This was something else entirely. Something strange, terrifying, and more profound than anything she had ever experienced. And despite the pain, she knew, with an absolute certainty, that she would be back tomorrow.
And so it continued for the rest of the week. Every morning began with an hour of what Aylin called "core stabilization and breath control," and what Iuno privately called "the gentle torture hour." Yet, as the days passed, something strange happened. The soreness began to fade, replaced by a new, unfamiliar feeling of physical stability. She stood up straighter. Her jittery, anxious energy began to calm. And in the moments where she managed to hold a stance, those fleeting, dizzying flashes of a forgotten life would return, leaving her more confused and yet more centered than ever before.
After their session at the end of the week, as Iuno was gratefully stretching her aching limbs, Aylin made a new, unexpected proposal.
"Miss Li," she said, her tone cool and professional. "Your report on the Henderson project indicated that the primary issue was the unsanctioned acquisition of materials. Your grasp of the fiscal side is sound, but I wish to assess your understanding of the practical application. We are going material gathering."
Iuno blinked, bewildered. "Director, it's just after seven in the morning. None of the architectural suppliers will be open for hours."
"We are not going to a supplier," Aylin stated. "We are going to observe. To understand the essence of the materials themselves before one can command them in a design. Come."
Their "stroll" took them not to a modern design district, but to the city's Old Quarter, a place of ancient, weathered stone buildings and massive, gnarled trees. Aylin stopped before an old, quiet building, its facade made of a dark, almost black, weathered wood. "That," she said, pointing. "Describe its nature."
Iuno stared at her. What kind of corporate training was this? She started from the only place she knew: numbers. "Well, it's… wood. High maintenance. The upkeep costs…"
"No," Aylin cut her off, her voice patient but firm. "Not its cost. Its feeling. Close your eyes. What does it tell you?"
Confused, but compelled, Iuno obeyed. She closed her eyes and focused on the impression of the old building. And slowly, the accountant in her mind receded, and something else, something older and far more instinctual, surfaced.
"It's… warm," she said, the words surprising herself. Her voice had changed, losing its hesitant edge. "It feels solid. Ancient. It speaks of stability, of history. Of secrets." She opened her eyes, looking at the wood with a new understanding. "You would use this in a room meant for quiet contemplation. A library, or a private study. It absorbs sound and it holds warmth. It makes a space feel… safe."
Aylin's serene expression did not change, but her heart gave a painful, joyous lurch. She led them on, to a small zen garden. She pointed to a collection of smooth, grey river stones. "And these?"
Iuno knelt, her hand brushing against the cool surface. "These are cold," she said instantly. "Patient. They speak of serenity, of timelessness. They don't hold energy; they reflect it. You would use them in a place of meditation, or in a grand entryway, to cleanse the spirit."
As they walked, she began to speak with a passion and an innate knowledge that was utterly alien to her. She spoke of the way glass was a fragile bridge between the inside and the outside, and of how polished steel, in its cold strength, was the very soul of ambition.
Aylin listened, utterly transfixed. A powerful, vivid memory from Xue Lian's own soul rose to the surface of her mind. She was standing with the Empress in the half finished Grand Hall of the Silent Palace.
"No, not that obsidian," Xue Lian's voice echoed in her memory, sharp and decisive. "It is too hungry; it absorbs all light and creates a feeling of dread. I want the grey volcanic glass for the main hall. It will reflect the light and make the space feel open, a bridge between my court and the sky. The Bloodwood," her voice had softened, "that is for my private study. It is warm. It holds secrets. It will make the room feel… safe."
The words. The philosophy. The innate, profound understanding of how materials could be used to shape the very soul of a space it was identical. The woman beside her, this timid accountant, was channeling the very spirit of the brilliant architect queen who had designed the most magnificent palace in the Netherworld.
Iuno was still talking, lost in her newfound, inexplicable passion, completely unaware of the cataclysmic revelation she had just triggered.
Aylin walked beside her in a silent, reverent awe. The fierce warrior from the meeting room. The gentle teacher in the cafeteria. And now, the brilliant artist on this quiet morning stroll.
It's not just her spirit, Aylin thought, her heart aching with a profound, absolute certainty. It's not just an echo. It's all of her. You're all in there, Lian. And I will bring every last piece of you back home.