Chapter 14
Sang Sang did not wake for three days.
During that time, the Broken Epoch Foundation sealed itself completely. No bells rang. No formations flared outward. The mist thickened until even sound struggled to pass through it. Shenping remained beside her the entire time, seated on the stone floor, one hand resting lightly over her wrist to feel the faint pulse of her life.
Each beat felt fragile.
Too fragile for someone whose blood anchored futures.
Mo Yuan stood at the edge of the chamber, silent. He had not spoken since the Blood Cult gardener vanished. When he finally did, his voice was low.
"What you erased was not a man," he said. "It was a method."
Shenping did not look up. "Then they'll send another."
"Yes," Mo Yuan replied. "And the next will be careful."
Sang Sang stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered, silver light leaking briefly before dimming. Shenping leaned forward instantly.
"Sang Sang."
She breathed in sharply, like someone surfacing from deep water. Her gaze focused slowly, first on the ceiling, then on Shenping's face.
"You're still here," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
She tried to sit up and winced. Shenping supported her gently. The silver glow did not surge this time. Instead, it pulsed weakly, unevenly.
Mo Yuan approached. "Your bloodline has been partially awakened—and partially damaged."
Sang Sang frowned. "Damaged how?"
"Pruned," Mo Yuan corrected. "The Blood Cult did not take your power. They shortened its reach."
Shenping's hand tightened. "Can it be restored?"
Mo Yuan shook his head. "Not fully. But what remains is denser. Harder to manipulate."
Sang Sang let out a shaky laugh. "So I'm less useful to everyone."
Mo Yuan met her eyes. "You are less predictable. That terrifies them."
Shenping exhaled slowly.
Outside the chamber, the foundation shifted. Cultivators gathered in quiet groups, voices low, tension thick. News had spread quickly.
Machines had breached them.
Heaven had marked them.
The Blood Cult had bled inside their walls.
The Broken Epoch Foundation was no longer invisible.
Mo Yuan convened the Epoch Bound at duskless twilight. Shenping stood among them, Sang Sang seated beside the old woman under protective seals.
"The Foundation will scatter," Mo Yuan said. "We cannot hold a fixed point any longer."
Murmurs rippled.
The one-armed man spoke. "You're dissolving us."
"I'm saving you," Mo Yuan replied. "Those who remain will be erased."
His gaze settled on Shenping. "You will leave tonight."
Shenping nodded. "I expected that."
Mo Yuan paused. "You will not be given protection."
"I don't want it."
"You will be hunted."
Shenping glanced at Sang Sang. "Already am."
Mo Yuan reached into his sleeve and withdrew a thin, cracked disk etched with spirals.
"This is a Severance Seal," he said. "It will hide your trail once. Only once."
Shenping accepted it. The disk felt warm, almost alive.
"After that," Mo Yuan continued, "you survive by subtraction alone."
The old woman approached Sang Sang, pressing a simple cord bracelet into her palm. "This will stabilize your bloodline flare. Not conceal it—steady it."
Sang Sang bowed deeply.
The scar-handed man stopped before Shenping. "If we meet again," he said quietly, "it will be because you failed to die."
Shenping almost smiled.
They left the Foundation without ceremony.
Mist folded inward, swallowing paths, halls, histories. When Shenping looked back once, there was nothing there but empty air.
They traveled east, through forgotten valleys and broken trade routes. Shenping avoided villages. Burn marks still scarred the land—some fresh, some old. Machines had been thorough.
On the seventh night, Shenping felt it.
A tug.
Not a scan. Not heaven's pressure.
A pull from the future.
He stopped abruptly.
Sang Sang sensed it too. "They found us?"
"Not us," Shenping said slowly. "Me."
The air ahead rippled.
A figure stepped out—not an Archivist, not a cultivator.
A man in torn modern clothing, bloodied and exhausted.
His eyes widened when he saw Shenping.
"Captain," the man breathed. "We finally found you."
Shenping froze.
That voice.
That face.
"You're not supposed to exist yet," Shenping said.
The man laughed weakly. "Yeah. Neither are you."
He collapsed to his knees.
"They wiped the crew," he gasped. "Time jump failed. I was thrown here."
Sang Sang stared. "From the future?"
The man nodded. "2090. Resistance Unit Seven."
He looked up at Shenping with desperation. "They're changing tactics. No more full erasure."
Shenping's jaw tightened. "Then what?"
The man swallowed.
"They're rewriting loyalty. Turning people before they're born."
Silence stretched.
Shenping helped him stand.
"Then we move faster," Shenping said. "Before there's no one left to save."
Far above them, unseen threads shifted again.
The future adjusted.
And this time, it smiled.