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029 Wrong Phrasing
🕑 Added 2025-02-21 10:39:18 +0000 UTCJia Yun dreamt of soaring palaces.
Of jade spires wreathed in mist, polished floors gleaming under moonlight, and silken halls brimming with laughter. She dreamt of gentle hands brushing through her hair, of murmured words promising that she was special. That she was cherished.
She dreamt of love.
And then, she dreamt of its ruin.
The gazes that once held pride turned distant. The hands that once comforted her grew cold. The halls that once echoed with laughter fell silent.
She had no talent, they said. Unworthy, they whispered.
She was cast aside.
Not in name, of course. Officially, she had been sent to the Riverfall Continent as an ambassador, a chance to ‘temper herself in the lower realms.’ But Jia Yun knew the truth. Exile. A severed path.
So she clawed her way back. She honed her cultivation with reckless abandon, forced her meridians beyond their limits, gathered allies, forged a name anew. Step by step, she ascended the mountain from which she had been cast down.
Starting with the Cloud Mist Sect.
She would rise again.
And then—
She was betrayed.
The moment her spiritual link was severed, the first thought that struck her wasn’t that she had been outplayed, nor that she had been weak.
It was that Pan Xia had betrayed her.
Her eyes snapped open, and there he stood.
“Elder Pan,” she rasped, her throat raw. Her hands clenched into feeble fists. “Why did you betray this seat?”
Pan Xia stiffened. “It is a misunderstanding—”
“A MISUNDERSTANDING?!” Her voice shook with fury. “THIS ONE NEARLY DIED!”
A cough interrupted them.
“Ahem.”
Jia Yun’s head jerked toward the door. A young man in verdant robes leaned lazily against the lacquered frame, his posture unhurried, his presence an uninvited shadow.
“It seems I am not needed here anymore…” he murmured. “What a pity.”
Then, he looked at her with an almost apologetic look.
Also… Pity. Resignation.
As if she had already been written off.
Her blood burned. Without thinking, she moved. Even weakened, her instincts screamed at her to strike—to wipe that gaze from his eyes.
The moment her qi flared, agony consumed her.
Pain lanced through her body like a thousand blades. Her meridians groaned, the fractures within them widening as her vision blurred.
The young man tilted his head, as if only now recognizing her intent. He sighed.
“I am going to regret this,” he muttered.
Slowly, green veins traced with gold began to glow along her arms.
"Divine Word: Life," he intoned.
A warmth like the first breath of spring after a harsh winter flowed through her body.
Jia Yun’s frayed nerves wove themselves whole. The cracks in her meridians mended—no, they were reforged, stronger, as though they had never been broken at all. She clenched her fingers, feeling the renewed circulation of qi surge through her limbs. It was… miraculous. The kind of healing that even the finest physicians of the Imperial Capital would struggle to achieve—save for the Divine Physician himself.
Her gaze sharpened, shifting to the man who had performed it.
Verdant robes, fine in make yet unmarked by any sect insignia—either a rogue cultivator or one who preferred to remain unnoticed. His face was youthful, his posture careless, yet his eyes… Those eyes were keen, amused, utterly unfazed by her earlier fury. And his breathing? Steady. Unstrained.
A true expert.
Regret flickered through her. She had lashed out in a moment of weakness, assuming the worst. Emotions—rage, betrayal, helplessness—were not shameful. But acting on them without thought? That was a mistake.
Mistakes had to be corrected.
Without hesitation, Jia Yun clasped her hands and bowed deeply.
“This one asks for Senior’s forgiveness for her prior folly.”
She felt no shame in her abrupt shift. The strong were to be respected, even revered. And if there was a chance to establish rapport with such a person, she would seize it.
The man blinked at her. Then, with exasperation, he muttered, "Oh, come on. Do you actually talk like that? Seriously? Is that why you barely spoke during the arena match?"
Jia Yun stiffened.
The arena.
Who had won?
Her stomach clenched, but her expression remained still. It didn’t matter. There was always tomorrow. She would rise again.
More importantly… what was wrong with speaking in the third person? That had been the height of refinement in the Imperial Capital the last time she was there.
Despite the turmoil in her heart, Jia Yun's expression remained serene.
As expected of an ice-hearted beauty.
She held her bow, waiting. The mysterious cultivator’s gaze was unreadable—assessing, yet not unkind.
Before she could speak, Elder Pan Xia finally cleared his throat.
“Jia Yun,” he said cautiously, “allow me to formally introduce Senior Da Wei.”
Her brow furrowed.
Da Wei?
She turned the name over in her mind, but it rang hollow. No such master had ever graced the Riverfall Continent’s ranks. A high-level expert without renown? Unlikely.
“Senior Da Wei was the one who healed you,” Pan Xia continued, his tone oddly restrained. “You owe him your life.”
Jia Yun swallowed back the urge to ask his cultivation level outright. Among lesser circles, such a question was common. Among the Imperial elites, it was uncouth. The strong did not ask—they observed, inferred, and understood.
Yet the urge remained.
Before she could speak, Pan Xia’s voice slipped into her mind, his words carried by Qi Speech.
‘Tread lightly, Jia Yun. This master follows the extremely righteous path.’
Her breath hitched.
That meant no tolerance for evil—none, no matter how small.
She darted a glance at Pan Xia, catching the faintest flicker of unease in his gaze. His lips barely moved as he continued the silent transmission.
‘Do not antagonize him. Do not question him. Do not test him.’
What?
She nearly scoffed but stopped herself. Was Pan Xia serious?
His next words turned her blood to ice.
‘If you must know, Jia Yun, this man is likely the reason we lost the arena match.’
Her fingers curled.
‘We dared to cheat,’ Pan Xia admitted. ‘Using immortal qi, activating your bloodline art… A mere Second Realm tournament was beneath you, yet we pushed the limits. This was our punishment.’
A mere Second Realm tournament?
Not quite. That was merely the average cultivation level of the participants. Jia Yun’s trump card allowed her to borrow external force, elevating her strength far beyond her realm.
Her breath came short.
‘More importantly,’ Pan Xia pressed, ‘this Da Wei is a peer of the Isolation Path Sect Master.’
Silence.
A peer of a… Sect Master?
The color drained from her face.
Pan Xia coughed into his fist, regaining composure. Then, carefully, he turned to Da Wei and spoke in a measured tone.
“Senior Da Wei, would you be so gracious as to grant us a moment? There are matters I must discuss with my disciple.”
Da Wei arched a brow but seemed unbothered. Instead, he crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Sure. But I have a few things to discuss with you two as well.” He waved a hand dismissively. “No rush. I’ll wait outside.”
Jia Yun narrowed her eyes. “Jia Yun offers her thanks fir Senior’s generosity,” she said, voice calm yet laced with a hint of sharpness. Then, after a measured breath, she added, “Senior wouldn’t happen to be eavesdropping on Jia Yun and Elder Pan Xia, would he?”
Da Wei frowned. “Eavesdropping? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
She met his gaze, unimpressed. Still, tension coiled in her chest.
Da Wei clicked his tongue. “Alright, alright. I’ll excuse myself properly. Spying on you two isn’t worth the effort.” He flicked his sleeves and turned toward the door. “I’ll be in the VIP area if you need me. Try not to take too long.”
With that, he strolled out.
Jia Yun and Elder Pan Xia remained motionless, waiting. Only when Da Wei’s presence fully faded from their senses did Pan Xia move. Without a word, he reached into his robes and retrieved several talismans.
One by one, he activated them, each vanishing into the walls in a shimmer of light, forming a layered barrier of protection.
Jia Yun watched in silence, her mind already racing through possibilities.
Pan Xia let out a deep sigh, then clasped his hands together. “It is truly my utmost pleasure that you still live, My Lady.”
Jia Yun, still propped against the bedding, crossed her arms and gave him an unimpressed look. “Yes, I imagine you’d be quite relieved. After all, you’d likely be beheaded if the noble daughter directly descended from the main sect were to perish so miserably.”
Her tone was sharp, but there was no true anger behind it—only cold pragmatism.
“This Jia Yun warns you,” she added.
Pan Xia swallowed. He did not need the reminder.
Jia Yun exhaled, allowing herself to relax against the cushions. “That aside, how is the Immortal Qi?”
Without hesitation, Pan Xia reached into his robes and withdrew a small jade vial. Inside, near-invisible wisps of translucent energy swirled, so faint that one might mistake the container for being empty.
Jia Yun’s gaze darkened.
Immortal Qi—the essence of those who had set foot upon the Eleventh Realm, the threshold of true divinity.
For something as volatile and powerful as this, she had needed Pan Xia, whose cultivation was higher, to facilitate its use.
She studied the vial in his palm, her fingers twitching, but she did not immediately take it. Instead, her voice dropped to something nearly imperceptible.
“How much did we lose?”
Pan Xia hesitated.
Jia Yun’s expression remained impassive, but inwardly, her thoughts turned sharp.
She had entrusted him with managing their funds. When he first proposed the gambling opportunity, she had given him full consent to wager everything. It had been a calculated risk, a means to secure vital resources for the future.
But now…
She feared the answer.
Pan Xia hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering.
“…The Nether Ghost Flames.”
Jia Yun’s jaw tightened. She had expected losses—but not this.
Unlike ordinary treasures, the Nether Ghost Flames weren’t just a rare auction item. They were the Cloud Mist Sect’s own property, a resource carefully allocated to amass funds for ths one auction. The plan had been simple: leverage its value to acquire rare materials and techniques for the sect’s top disciples. And use the rest of the funds… to acquire a certain item.
Losing the Nether Ghost Flames wasn’t just a financial setback. It was a humiliation.
Her fingers curled beneath the covers, nails pressing into her palm. A part of her seethed, but another part knew there was no use dwelling on it. What was lost was lost.
The only thing left was to plan her next move.
Jia Yun sat up, her thoughts racing. She had come too close to death—far closer than she had ever expected in this forsaken continent. But failure itself wasn’t what burned her. It was the fact that she had been completely outmaneuvered.
How?
She exhaled slowly, forcing down the turmoil within her.
“This Jia Yun shall continue to trust Elder Pan in light of recent events,” she said at last, her tone measured. “However, the Elder must do better. Incompetence shall not be tolerated.”
Pan Xia lowered his head, hands clasped in gratitude. “I shall not betray your trust, My Lady. However…” His voice turned grave. “I fear we are outmatched. We cannot scheme our way into this auction.”
The reason was clear—Da Wei.
If Pan Xia’s assessment was correct, then this Da Wei was not just a cultivator of an unfathomable realm. He was an extremely righteous cultivator.
Jia Yun frowned. Extreme righteousness was not a compliment. In higher imperial circles, it was a term of derision—used to describe those fanatics who held an absurdly rigid sense of justice. The kind who pursued their ideals with reckless abandon, often to the point of self-destruction.
More than once, such figures had risen in history, leaving chaos in their wake. To them, virtue was a blade, and they swung it indiscriminately, unmoved by politics, power, or consequence.
If Da Wei truly embodied this extreme righteousness…
Then it was no surprise he had acted the moment he discovered their use of Immortal Qi.
Jia Yun clenched her fist beneath the covers. But that wasn’t what unsettled her most.
“Jia Yun is curious how Da Wei found out about the Immortal Qi.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes were cold and piercing.
Immortal Qi wasn’t something just anyone could perceive. It was a formless, pervasive essence—visible only to those with highly specialized means. Even among the main sect’s most learned elders, only a handful could directly detect it.
And yet, in this backwater continent, Da Wei had not only sensed it.
He had sabotaged it.
That was the true mystery.
Pan Xia sighed. “I suppose we may never know.” He shook his head. “If nothing else, we were fortunate that he was a healer and not one of those zealots who would have struck us down without hesitation. And if he is a foreigner, as I suspect, then it is likely he possesses esoteric knowledge about Immortal Qi.”
A foreigner?
Jia Yun’s gaze darkened.
An unknown variable. A loose thread in the grand weave.
She did not believe in luck.
Folding her arms, she fixed Pan Xia with an unreadable expression. "We need to decide how to handle Da Wei."
Pan Xia sighed, rubbing his temples. "My Lady, there is no handling someone like him. He is beyond our means."
Jia Yun’s frown deepened. "Are you suggesting we cower? That we bow our heads like lowly servants? Da Wei may be stronger, but I refuse to believe we are completely without options."
Pan Xia gave a wry smile. "This is not a matter of strength alone. He follows extreme righteousness. People like him are unpredictable. If we antagonize him further, we may bring ruin not just upon ourselves but upon the sect as well." His voice lowered. "Do you not understand? If he truly wished it, he could have erased you from existence in the arena, and no one would have even known it was him. Trust me on this one, My Lady."
Jia Yun clenched her jaw, unable to refute his words.
The humiliation of her defeat still burned. But the reality was undeniable.
Had Da Wei been the type to eradicate all he deemed unjust, she would not be standing here now.
“…Then what do you propose?” she asked, voice tightly controlled.
"We keep our distance." Pan Xia’s tone was firm. "Or, should an opportunity arise, we accost him." He met her gaze evenly. "Someone like him does not weave schemes in the shadows—he acts openly, without hesitation. If we can earn his favor, we may turn a potential calamity into an unexpected ally."
Jia Yun scoffed. "You want me to befriend him?"
"I want you to survive." Pan Xia’s expression was solemn. "For now, that means ensuring Da Wei does not come to view us as enemies. He has already crippled our greatest advantage in the upcoming auction, but we still have other paths to recovery. Let us not invite unnecessary conflict."
Jia Yun inhaled deeply, quelling the frustration rising in her chest.
“Fine,” she said at last. “I will leave him be—for now.”
Pan Xia nodded. “That is for the best.”
Later that day, Jia Yun stepped onto the dueling stage once more for the rest of the quarter-finals.
Her second opponent was a contestant from the Lu Clan, a well-built young man wielding a spear. The fight had been grueling, a clash of precision and endurance. Despite her injuries from the previous day, she had managed to push him into a draw, their battle ending when the time limit was reached with neither side able to decisively claim victory.
Her third match was against a Sword Canopy disciple, a cultivator whose style relied heavily on overwhelming sword formations. It had been a test of patience, waiting for the right moment to strike amidst the sea of blades. When she finally found an opening, she capitalized on it, securing a hard-earned victory.
With one win, one draw, and one loss, her record was now balanced.
But balance was not what she wanted.
As she left the stage, she clenched her fists.
Tomorrow, she would fight again. And she would win.
Jia Yun moved with measured steps, her exhaustion settling deep into her bones. She wanted nothing more than to return to her quarters, meditate, and recover her strength. The battles had taken their toll, and her mind reeled from the weight of everything that had transpired. Yet, the world of cultivation was unkind to those who sought rest too soon.
A shadow loomed before her.
Her muscles tensed.
The cultivation world had always been a cruel place, where the strong ruled over the weak. And sometimes… once in a while… unreasonable powers would descend upon you, stepping all over you without warning.
Jia Yun exhaled slowly, suppressing her unease as she cupped her fists and bowed. “This Jia Yun greets Senior.”
Da Wei regarded her with an unreadable expression, arms crossed behind his back.
The light of the moon illuminated his features, and for a moment, he appeared almost ethereal, as if the heavens themselves had sculpted him.
“I believe you still owe me that conversation,” he said.
Jia Yun hesitated. Her heart beat just a little faster, though she would never admit it. “Jia Yun shall accompany Senior.”
It was already night. Elder Pan Xia had left earlier, intent on topping off their funds for the auction. She was alone. Vulnerable. She disliked the feeling immensely.
Da Wei smiled. It was the kind of smile that had undoubtedly made countless young ladies weak in the knees, the kind that could disarm even the most cautious of hearts.
But Jia Yun was an ice-cold beauty.
She had trained herself to remain unmoved.
Then Da Wei spoke.
“How about we spend the night together?”
Jia Yun's fingers twitched, her breath catching ever so slightly.
Had she misheard?
Her instincts screamed caution, but her expression remained unreadable.
“…Senior Da Wei speaks boldly,” she said coolly, lifting her gaze to meet his. Her tone was steady, though her mind raced through a hundred possibilities in an instant.
Da Wei blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Ah, that came out wrong, didn’t it?” He shook his head, amused. “I meant, let’s talk over drinks. There’s a person I want you to meet, and I happen to be craving street food. No hidden meanings, I promise.”
Jia Yun studied him, searching for deception.
None.
That, in itself, was unsettling.
Cultivators of the higher ranks rarely said what they truly meant. Every sentence was a layered battlefield, every word a weapon. But Da Wei… he had the audacity to be straightforward.
And that made him dangerous in an entirely different way.
“…Very well,” she said at last, adjusting her sleeves. “Jia Yun shall accompany Senior.”
Da Wei smiled again—unfazed, unburdened. “I’m glad. I promise, it’ll be worth your time.”
Jia Yun doubted that.
