Chapter 25

Another quarter-hour passed before Ling Qingxiao returned to Qianyang Gate. This time, he wasn’t alone.
A young woman dressed in white followed beside him, looking exhausted.
The morning wind swept over the mountain, making her drowsiness even worse.
Zhongshan stood above the clouds, its altitude already high. Now, before sunrise, the chill in the air was biting.
Luo Han glanced at the time and nearly broke down. "It’s barely past six! Are you insane, dragging me out here this early?"
Ling Qingxiao, unmoved, replied solemnly, "It’s already the first quarter of the Mao hour. The low-ranking disciples are nearly finished with their morning training."
Then, with a final note of warning, he added, "This is a one-time exception. From tomorrow onward, you must be at Qianyang Gate no later than the second quarter of Mao hour. No more oversleeping."
Luo Han hugged her arms, utterly disheartened. Even her most exhausting high school years hadn’t been this brutal. She trudged up the steps behind him, mumbling, "The sun isn’t even up yet. This is torture…"
Ling Qingxiao paid no heed to her grumbling. Instead, he lifted his slender hand and pointed toward the east. His voice was calm as he said, "It has risen."
Luo Han turned her head and saw that, indeed, the horizon was already streaked with crimson.
Before she could react, a golden orb broke through the clouds, illuminating the sky in a matter of moments.
She instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes from the dazzling light.
Ling Qingxiao stood beside her, watching her reaction. Then, in his usual quiet voice, he said, "Let’s go."
Luo Han nodded and followed him into Qianyang Gate.
As expected, by the time they arrived, the disciples had already finished their training and were scattered in small groups across the square. They whispered among themselves when they saw Ling Qingxiao, but no one dared to approach.
Ling Qingxiao never trained in the main square like ordinary disciples. He had his own private cultivation grounds.
He led Luo Han all the way to the edge of a cliff. Just as she was about to ask where they were going, he formed a hand seal.
A series of floating stone platforms emerged from the clouds, winding into the mist.
At the end of the path stood a massive, inverted stone peak—suspended high above the sky.
Luo Han stared at the floating path ahead in stunned silence.
After summoning the Floating Cloud Platform, Ling Qingxiao took a step back and gestured for her to go first.
A single floating stone hovered right at the cliff’s edge. Luo Han tentatively stepped onto it—and to her surprise, it was remarkably solid. If not for the sea of clouds swirling beneath her, she might’ve thought she was still on the ground.
She glanced ahead at the next stone—about a meter and a half away—and promptly fell silent.
“If I miss the step...do I fall?” she asked.
Ling Qingxiao deactivated the protective array and answered, calm as ever, “Of course.”
Luo Han winced. “You didn’t mention that before I stepped up here.”
He remained unbothered. “You’ve already learned the basic flight technique. Even if you fall, you can just fly back up.”
Was that supposed to be comforting?
She glanced down at the sea of clouds and immediately felt dizzy. “I think I developed a new fear. I might be afraid of heights.”
“No matter,” Ling Qingxiao replied mildly. “Exposure cures it. Theory is meaningless—today, you’ll put your lightstep technique into practice.”
He paused, then added, as blandly as ever, “You memorized the incantation last night, didn’t you?”
Luo Han choked on a silent groan. Heaven above could testify—she really had studied it. What she didn’t expect was to go from beginner’s theory to live testing the very next morning.
She began silently reciting the lightstep incantation, twice over, just to be sure. As the Heavenly Dao, carefully sent back by the Bodhi Tree and the great powers of the world to preserve balance, how humiliating would it be to fall to her death...jumping between stones?
After a long pause and several deep breaths, Luo Han still hadn’t moved.
Ling Qingxiao, patience slowly thinning, finally asked, “What are you waiting for?”
“I’m preparing,” Luo Han replied solemnly. “This is a matter of life and death. I can’t be careless.”
Where was this dedication when she was studying?
Ling Qingxiao exhaled lightly. “You won’t fall. I’m right here.”
True to form, he would never let anything happen to her. This was all just a method to force her to take things seriously. Yet Luo Han seemed far too committed to the act. For a mere meter and a half, her caution bordered on excessive.
Finally—after confirming she hadn’t misrecited a single word—Luo Han cautiously leapt forward.
As the name suggested, the lightstep technique allowed one to move with feather-like agility, soaring over distances with barely any effort. Luo Han wasn’t exactly athletic in the mortal world, just an average girl. But with a mere push off her toes, she floated across the gap like a breeze.
She landed, turned, and blinked in surprise.
Ling Qingxiao stood at the edge, his gaze calm and steady. “See? You’re safe. Keep going.”
Confidence building, Luo Han began to make her way across. With each leap, the distance between the stones increased, and with each step, she paused, assessed, and only proceeded when she was absolutely sure.
Her cautious approach made it abundantly clear—this girl was deeply afraid of dying.
Behind her, Ling Qingxiao sighed soundlessly.
Luo Han didn’t think she was afraid. She called it caution. After all, she was now the Heavenly Dao itself. As long as the Six Realms remained peaceful, and Ling Qingxiao didn’t go insane and try to end the world, she could live forever, bound to the heavens and earth. No effort, no ambition—just survive long enough, and she would win.
In one word: survive.
Lost in focus, she didn’t notice how far she’d gone until silence surrounded her. Mist swirled all around, her robes rustling with the wind. She glanced back—and realized she couldn’t see Ling Qingxiao anymore.
She knew he wouldn’t let her fall. And yet, knowing was one thing—being alone in the clouds was another.
Luo Han hesitated, then called out softly, “Ling Qingxiao?”
Only fog answered. Until—
Whoosh! A blade of ice shot through the cloud, straight at her.
Luo Han yelped and instinctively used the lightstep technique to leap to the next stone. Before she could even steady herself, another ice lance came flying.
A cool voice echoed through the mist: “Focus. Don’t lose concentration.”
Dodging wildly, Luo Han barely had time to think. She jumped from stone to stone, no longer hesitating, no longer calculating. There was no time. Every delay meant an incoming ice spike.
Inwardly, she cursed him furiously. This man is a demon. He is absolutely not human!
And yet, somewhere between panic and survival, she realized something—she was moving smoothly now. The lightstep incantation flowed without effort. The technique had become instinct.
At last, the barrage of ice ceased. Luo Han gasped for air and shouted, “Enough! I need a break!”
Moments later, Ling Qingxiao emerged from the clouds behind her. His white robes fluttered with elegance, each step seemingly slow yet swift as a breeze. He landed beside her, voice as calm as ever: “It’s only been a short while, and you’re already asking for rest?”
“This isn’t resting, it’s balanced cultivation!” Luo Han said righteously, already flopping onto the stone like a puddle.
With someone like Ling Qingxiao, if she didn’t shamelessly push back, she’d get ground into dust. He was cold, quiet, and completely immune to guilt.
Usually, that tactic worked. This time, however, he didn’t answer.
Suspicious, Luo Han glanced down. Her expression turned wary.
“…Is it just me, or is this stone moving?”
Ling Qingxiao’s face remained unreadable.
Luo Han looked up, met his eyes—and immediately had a very, very bad feeling.
“You didn’t…!”
Before Luo Han could finish her sentence, the stone beneath her feet suddenly dropped. She yelped in panic and dropped to her knees without a shred of dignity, clutching desperately to the edge of the floating stone.
Ling Qingxiao, standing two or three stones away, gave a helpless sigh. “Stand up. This is not a fitting posture for a cultivator.”
Luo Han shook her head furiously, holding on for dear life. She couldn’t care less about appearances right now. Seeing no other option, Ling Qingxiao maneuvered another stone toward her, forcing her to move.
Luo Han was on the verge of tears. Was there no juvenile protection bureau in the Immortal Realm? Ling Qingxiao was becoming more and more inhuman—was no one going to stop him?
She scrambled from one floating stone to another, limbs flailing, barely hanging on as the stones began to drift and bob, rising and falling in erratic rhythms. Not one of them was stable. Luo Han didn’t dare rest; she had to constantly circulate her lightfoot technique, prepared to leap at a moment’s notice.
It was the longest quarter of an hour of her life.
When the stones finally stabilized, Luo Han collapsed like a dead fish, sprawled out across the cold rock, completely drained.
Ling Qingxiao stood atop the largest inverted mountain-shaped stone, composed and immaculate, like a being untouched by dust. Seeing Luo Han sprawled so shamelessly on the ground, he winced at the breach of etiquette. “Sit or lie with proper posture. Show some decorum.”
The more he scolded, the more stubborn she became. She remained splayed on the stone, unmoving. Seeing that, Ling Qingxiao had no choice but to compromise. “Fine. But at least sit up. Don’t lie there like that.”
Luo Han knew that meditation would help her recover faster. She grumbled, sat up slowly, and glanced at Ling Qingxiao’s pristine figure—neat robes, not a single hair out of place. He looked like a celestial being carved from jade. The contrast only made her feel more aggrieved.
“You should’ve warned me if you were going to do this,” she said, voice thick with indignation. “I was scared when the stone suddenly dropped.”
There was a faint tremble in her tone, a fragile quiver that sounded dangerously close to a sob. Ling Qingxiao froze.
Was she...acting spoiled with him?
He’d never experienced this before.
Ling Qingxiao had always been a cold and solitary child, never good at pleasing others. He had spent his childhood alone, and the years had only deepened his isolation. Eventually, he had grown so distant that no one sought closeness with him—and he didn’t desire It either.
He had never clung to his parents. No one had ever clung to him. This was the first time someone had looked to him so naturally, so trustingly, to voice a grievance...as though It were the most natural thing in the world.
It was such an ordinary thing, but to Ling Qingxiao, it was foreign and strangely touching.
In front of outsiders, everyone wore armor. But in front of family, one could be soft. This tone...it belonged only among those dear to each other.
He stood frozen for a long moment before silently stepping forward. He stopped a pace from her side and conjured a clean silk handkerchief from thin air.
His original intention had been to comfort her, but what came out was: “Wipe the dust off your face.”
Even he found it too stiff once he said it. Fumbling through his memory for how fellow disciples usually interacted, he hesitantly reached out and lightly touched the top of her head.
His palm brushed over her hair, soft and fleeting, like the whisper of a breeze. To his surprise, the contact didn’t make him uncomfortable. In fact...the downy texture made him want to try again.
But Luo Han had already stood up.
Her emotional outburst had passed. Now that she’d calmed down, she realized she might’ve overstepped. Ling Qingxiao wasn’t her parent or family. He was strict because he wanted her to grow, not to coddle her. Her whining had probably caught him off guard—and made things awkward.
She’d made things difficult for a cold immortal.
Just thinking about it made her feel guilty.
She hadn’t even noticed the fleeting touch to her head. Seeing how ill at ease Ling Qingxiao seemed, she quickly straightened her robes, raised a bright smile, and said, “I was just messing around. I’ve rested enough—we can continue now.”
Although there was a noticeable height difference between them, Luo Han, after all, was no ordinary mortal. As a carefully nurtured divine-blooded youth, she had grown in accordance with the highest celestial standards. She wasn’t short. Standing straight, she reached Ling Qingxiao’s shoulder.
Now, if he tried to pat her head again, it would seem too deliberate. Ling Qingxiao had to retract his hand, feigning composure as he gave a curt nod. “Very well. Let us continue.”
He turned and resumed his earlier position. From afar, he looked cold and aloof as ever—yet inwardly, there was a twinge of disappointment.
That soft, fluffy sensation...really did feel quite nice.
Luo Han resumed her practice.
She may have been lazy at heart, always looking for a way to slack off, but she knew better than anyone that effort was ultimately for her own good. She wasn’t especially disciplined. If no one pushed her, she could lie down and do nothing forever. But Ling Qingxiao pushed her—relentlessly—and she was willing to endure it.
She understood clearly: all those promises of love and devotion, the extravagant gifts and vows of protection, were easy to make when one was young and beautiful. Beauty was a gift from heaven—but also a dangerous snare. If she could make her beauty work for her, it would be a weapon. But if she allowed herself to rely on it, then every word of affection from a man was a slow erosion of her future.
Strength must come from within. A man like Ling Qingxiao...he was someone who truly meant well.
Her thoughts were noble and inspiring.
But when it came time for practice, she still ended up crying under the torture of her cold-hearted instructor.
Luo Han was not meant for close combat. Her role was not to charge into danger, but to survive. Unless she intended to destroy the world herself, there was nothing worth risking her life over.
But the cultivation world was full of perils. She couldn’t afford to be completely defenseless. If she refused to learn anything, Ling Qingxiao wouldn’t rest easy—and neither would she.
Immortals refined the world’s spiritual energy into strength, growing from nothing into something, from weak to mighty. Their path was fluid, self-driven. Gods, by contrast, were born with fixed roles—solid and unchanging.
Take Pangu and Nuwa, for example. One could hardly compare their powers. They existed in entirely different domains.
As for Luo Han...her abilities were evident in her day-to-day duties. She was never meant to win through brute strength.
Not that her drillmaster had any intention of letting her off easy.
Gods had the ability to command all existing forces—be it wind, frost, rain, snow, or the ambient spiritual and demonic energy—but a god’s true power lay in laws.
To the living beings of the Six Realms, blue skies and green waters, the turning of seasons, the rising and setting of the sun, the cycles of life and death—these were accepted as natural truths. Apples fell from trees, water flowed downhill, time moved forward and never backward. Everyone treated these as common sense. But in the beginning, none of these were guaranteed.
The purity of the heavens and the heaviness of the earth—that was Pangu’s decree. That life could only be born from the union of man and woman—that was Nuwa’s design. That time flowed like water, never to be reversed—that was the law set by the God of Time. It was the layering of these divine laws that gave rise to the present shape of the Six Realms.
Had Pangu, after cleaving the heavens and earth, declared that lightness must fall and heaviness rise—then when apples ripened, they would fly up instead of falling down.
The countless laws together formed the framework of existence. Immortals, demons, beasts, mortals, and ghosts—each lived within this framework, drawing strength from the world itself. Immortals absorbed spiritual qi, demons cultivated demonic energy—they were all of the Six Realms.
But gods stood apart.
A god existed within the realms, yet was above them. Gods created the very rules that governed the world. No one deity could shape everything; the world as it stood was the result of countless laws layered upon one another—each god contributing, overlapping, perfecting.
Gods measured their lives in tens of millions of years. Luo Han, with her mere eighteen, didn’t even qualify as a fraction of a decimal. She was still far from the stage of comprehending and defining her own divine law. So, for a very long time, she would need to rely on spells and immortal techniques to protect herself.
And so, for now, mastering precise manipulation of spiritual energy—and more importantly, learning how to escape danger swiftly—was the most critical of her lessons.
Luo Han understood that Lightening Step was a matter of life and death. So she trained seriously. Painful as it was, Ling Qingxiao’s methods were devilish—but the results spoke for themselves.
She couldn’t say she’d reached the level of thought-to-movement, but when faced with sudden turbulence or unstable ground, she could now respond with relative calm. She had truly come to understand the importance of building a solid foundation—one couldn’t raise a towering pagoda on shifting sands.
In battle, there was no time for hesitation. Whether your hand seals were precise, whether you had memorized the chant by heart—every tiny detail added up. And enough small differences could become deadly.
Now, Luo Han could use Lightening Step without pause, no longer needing to mentally rehearse the incantation each time. Ling Qingxiao paced her perfectly—just enough challenge to push her, never enough to break her.
Gradually, the floating stones began moving faster. The barrage of ice shards intensified.
Luo Han dashed between the stones like a swallow threading through clouds. She had to land precisely and dodge continuously; one mistake, and she would be pierced.
Ling Qingxiao decided to push her further. Without warning, he increased the speed and frequency of attacks. Luo Han had just stabilized her footing when a golden flare suddenly lit the sky. The clouds churned violently, even the array around the Floating Cloud Platform began to tremble. The stone beneath her feet shuddered—and dropped.
She barely had time to react before falling straight down, her body fully exposed to the deadly hail of ice.
Ling Qingxiao’s expression changed in an instant. With a wave of his hand, he dispersed the surrounding spiritual energy and leapt after her.
Luo Han had trained with many spells by now, but at the core, she was still more human than divine. In that moment of freefall, all spells vanished from her mind. She could only react with pure instinct—grasp for anything.
Then, she saw Ling Qingxiao diving after her, hand outstretched. She grabbed his wrist—and without a second thought, threw her arms around his shoulders, clinging tight.
Ling Qingxiao was completely caught off guard.