As per Alois’s and D H’s request –
Bai Ning’s parents ruminating on how Mo Jian has changed their lives + their reactions at the end of the tournament (I may have taken some liberties with the actual request).
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Bai Zing rose quickly as she spotted Sect Master Zhang Xiaoli of the Crashing Waves Sect making his way toward them through the crowd. Beside her, Zhou was already cupping his hands in salute, raising his voice to carry over the roaring noise that filled the Cloud Ring from platform to sky.
"Sect Master Zhang-"
"No, no." The older man was already waving his hands, reaching out to firmly lower Zhou's arms with both of his own. "What is this? There's no need for that between us. If anything, I should be the one paying respects." He smiled, lines deepening around his eyes. "How have you both been? Bai Zhou. Bai Zing."
Zing felt a flicker of satisfaction that he remembered to include her as well. Some of Zhou’s associates could be rather… conservative about such things.
Her husband smiled broadly, not bothering to continue the endless dance of polite greetings that generally accompanied such meetings between sect leaders. Just half a decade ago, they would have had to keep at it until Zhang Xiaoli formally accepted their greeting, trading polite refusals and insistences for several more exchanges before settling.
But times had changed.
Now it was the Greater Dharma Sect that stood ascendant. The signs were everywhere. So many leaders from the middling sects had come personally to visit them in recent months, paying their respects and renewing the ties that bound their factions together. The reason was simple enough. They possessed a Core Formation elder, one who was not merely a distant figurehead invoked for prestige, but someone who remained involved, someone who could be relied upon. And below them, on the stage, one of the finalists was also a disciple of their sect.
Though, on that point, Bai Zing was far less pleased. Senior Mo Jian should have curtailed Ning’er’s recklessness, not encouraged it.
Still, setting that aside, there was no denying the larger truth. Both she and the sect she led alongside her husband were rising, and the cause of that rise ran back, one way or another, to Mo Jian.
Even some of the so-called great sects had begun sending envoys. Zing permitted herself a private moment of scorn at that particular title – any sect with a Core Formation elder at its head could technically claim the name – and then let the scorn go. Before, they would not have bothered with the Greater Dharma Sect at all. Their faction produced pills and artifacts and traded them across the Central Seas, surviving largely through commerce. But they had been too small, and far too weak, for anyone truly powerful to notice. Now? Already, many of the middling sects in the region were beginning to gather around them, cautiously at first, then with more confidence. If the trend held, the Greater Dharma Sect might one day stand as a true hegemon of these waters.
Below them, the organizers finished adjusting the viewing array above the arena. The transparent cloud at the center of the Cloud Ring shimmered and steadied, preparing to display the final match to all corners of the island.
Zing’s gaze lingered there for a moment before drifting away again. Because it wasn’t only the sect that had changed. So much had shifted over the years, in what felt like barely any time at all, that Bai Zing often found her thoughts wandering back across that span. Again and again, she found herself tracing the thread of those changes to the same source.
Senior Mo Jian.
His involvement had altered the shape of their lives in ways she never could have predicted. Before he took Ning'er as a student, her impression of him had been, in all honesty, almost nothing at all.
Zhou had encountered him once, years prior, and brought him into the Greater Dharma Sect as an external elder through whatever combination of persuasion and circumstance she had never been entirely clear on. They sent him a portion of their annual income in exchange for the right to use his name. That had been the full extent of the relationship for her, a line item in the accounts, a name on a document, a precaution purchased for a reasonable sum.
Such arrangements were hardly rare. For Core Formation cultivators, it was an effortless way to secure a steady income. For sects like hers, the cost was worth paying for the protection, and the reputation, that came with claiming a Core Formation elder among their ranks. So it had been for the Greater Dharma Sect, and so it likely would have remained, if not for that fiend, Chao Qinzi.
Even now, years later, the name sent a sharp jolt of anger up her spine. She suppressed it with practice. Wherever that cretin was hiding, she hoped he was suffering. Daring to target her daughter for his vile schemes…
Below, movement stirred in the arena as the two finalists stepped onto the stage.
Still, that encounter had brought about one good thing. Senior Mo Jian had come to their rescue, proving himself a true friend and a good man, unlike the many fair-weather “elders” who would abandon their affiliated sects without a second thought. Despite the danger, despite everything, he had come. He had battled that fiend in the skies above their sect, driving him away and saving all their lives.
When she first saw him after the Chao Qinzi incident, she had expected a towering figure radiating divine authority. Power like his tended to produce a particular bearing; an expectation of gratitude, a comfort with being looked at, a subtle occupying of whatever room it entered. Instead, she had found a man who was uncomfortable with praise, uncomfortable with worship, and just as human as anyone else.
“I hate dealing with demonic cultivators,” he had complained. Then he had declined the banquet they tried to prepare in his name, insisting they spend their money and effort on repairing the sect and caring for their disciples after the attack.
And above all, when he discovered that the demon’s target was none other than Zing and Zhou’s daughter, he had taken her in as a student. Despite his initial reluctance, he had done so simply because he refused to leave a child to the depredations of a demonic cultivator. Over the years, he had taught her well, shielding her from all manner of dangers… and somehow continued to remain her teacher despite all of Bai Ning’s… creative tendencies.
Yes, Bai Zing was deeply grateful to him for everything.
Below them, the fight was about to begin. Bai Ning was exchanging words with her opponent – and wasn’t that another fresh worry? Why couldn’t she simply forfeit? – while the images displayed on the transparent cloud hovering at the center of the Cloud Ring slowly stabilized.
They showed Fu Zhan, tall and confident, his signature banner resting easily in his hand. And they showed Bai Ning, sword and parasol at the ready, not the least bit cowed.
Just give up, Bai Zing prayed silently. When he uses that dragon form. Don’t risk your life for a tournament.
Beside her, Zhou’s lips were pressed into a thin line, likely the very same thoughts running through his mind.
In truth, Bai Zhou’s thoughts were even more anxious than hers. He had once believed he understood the level of the Foundation Establishment cultivators of the islands. But after witnessing the bouts in the bonus round, watching competitors draw upon treasures and techniques so powerful he could barely believe they were wielded by cultivators in the same realm as himself, that belief had been dismantled with thoroughness.
Had he participated, he doubted he would have made it past the second round. What he felt now, watching Ning'er prepare to fight the most dangerous opponent she had yet faced, was a combination of pride so sharp it almost hurt and dread that had not eased since the semi-finals. He had joked about it earlier, but in truth he dearly wished she were not fighting at all. Whatever advantages might come from following the rules of the tournament and earning the favor of Ancestor Qing meant little to him if it placed her in danger.
But Bai Ning had inherited her mother’s stubbornness…
…and her master’s spirit.
From the beginning, it had been a lost cause.
In a way, Bai Zhou almost wished she had not inherited that spirit. He was grateful, more grateful than he could properly express, to Mo Jian for everything the man had done for their lives and their sect. Yet his daughter had also learned from him how to throw herself into danger with reckless confidence, and that was a difficult truth to accept.
The auction, the Gu incident, and now this tournament…
All Bai Zhou truly wanted was for her to remain safe, healthy, and happy. Perhaps, one day, she might even start showing an interest in taking over the sect.
And if Senior Mo Jian could also be persuaded to help with the day-to-day management… well, the man had already brought them more profit than they had ever paid him in tribute. The trading route through the Cosmic Bubble Chasm, used sparingly so as not to draw attention, had allowed the Greater Dharma Sect to spread its influence far more widely than before. And with the Golden Marrow Sect’s backing and the warriors they provided, their ships and trade routes were more secure than they had ever been.
Beyond all of that, Bai Zhou genuinely liked Mo Jian as a person. In truth, he admired him.
It was a thought that would have been impossible decades ago, back when he had first met the man and dismissed him as little more than a weasel in human skin.
A weasel that could be bought. The sort of wandering cultivator who sold his name to small sects and vanished the moment trouble appeared.
Then Chao Qinzi had come, and Mo Jian had stayed. Now, looking back, Bai Zhou could only admit that his judgment had been shallow. He felt ashamed that he had ever entertained such thoughts about the greatest benefactor their sect had ever known.
Below them, the fight finally began.
All around the Cloud Ring, the spectators gradually settled into their seats, the earlier cheering fading into a restless murmur and low background chatter. Down on the stage, Fu Zhan’s red mist surged outward and began to take the shape of a dragon.
Beside him, Zing’s muttered curse was swallowed by the roar of excitement that rippled through the crowd. He was using that move right from the start?
"She can dodge it," Zhou said immediately. He said it the way a person says something they have decided to believe.
"Will she?" Zing replied, sharp and cutting.
Zhou could hardly blame her, because Bai Ning wasn’t dodging at all. Instead, she raised her parasol, as if she intended to block the dragon’s breath.
And… that was exactly what she did. The crowd watched, Bai Zhou and Zing with them, their hearts lodged in their throats, as Bai Ning did the impossible. The dragon descended. And then its blazing breath split cleanly in two, its power shattered and deflected. The same attack that had carved through half the island and sent the seas surging toward the clouds… knocked aside as though it were nothing. For a moment, Bai Zhou saw not his daughter on the stage, but her teacher.
A memory rose, old and worn, from years ago. The first time Mo Jian had returned to the sect after accepting Bai Ning as a student. Bai Zhou had passed the training courtyard and heard Bai Ning shouting.
“That’s unfair!”
Mo Jian’s voice had drifted back calmly. “Yes. The world often is.”
Then the sound of a small explosion, as the lesson continued. Now those lessons were bearing fruit in full.
Bai Zhou did not even realize when he leapt to his feet. He was already cheering, shouting himself hoarse like a novice disciple at his daughter’s success. It was only when the red mist spread to cover the entire arena that he finally sat down again, still grinning like a fool.
Beside him, Zing let out a quiet breath. “Gods, why couldn’t she have just stuck to having a crush on her teacher? It would have been so much easier than this tournament.”
Zhou shook his head, relieved to hear a hint of humor in her voice. That particular topic, after all, was…
Complicated.
The truth was, Zing had been deeply grateful that Mo Jian had never taken offense, and even more grateful that he had never taken advantage. Some men might have, treating a child’s admiration as permission to cross lines that should never be crossed. But he had always treated it like a joke.
Bai Zing's initial reaction had not been amusement. She had punished Ning’er whenever she brought it up. Truthfully, in the beginning, she had been afraid, almost terrified, that Mo Jian might intend to claim her daughter as a future concubine. It was hardly unusual for senior cultivators to have multiple wives and concubines, and she wanted no such fate for Bai Ning. Her daughter had been far too young to understand what she had been saying.
Yet watching Mo Jian’s visible exasperation every time the subject came up had done more to calm her fears than anything else.
And, as the years passed… she had even found herself wondering whether it would truly be such a terrible outcome. Oh, not now, and not for many decades more, but if those feelings had persisted into adulthood… then why not? Mo Jian was a powerful cultivator. He had no vices or hidden scandals that she knew of, and he had proven himself trustworthy, reliable, and fundamentally decent. In truth, catching his interest would be considered a great fortune by most women she knew. Yes, he was not quite as handsome as Zhou, but then, who was, and his social instincts left something to be desired, but neither of those things weighed heavily against the rest.
For someone of their station, it would have been a far better match than anything Bai Ning could reasonably hope for. Bai Zing would even have given her blessing, if her daughter had truly been serious, and if she had been grown. But just as Mo Jian had predicted, the childhood feelings had run their course. They only served one purpose now: leverage in the eternal and loving project of keeping Bai Ning from developing too much confidence in herself.
"I should bring it up again," Zing murmured. "Once this is over. Wouldn't want her to get a big head."
"I haven't forgotten she called me old, either," Zhou added.
Zing rolled her eyes. They were old, or at least getting there, and this insistence that he wasn’t was terribly vain of her husband. Still, she would allow him this indulgence, if only to avoid encouraging Bai Ning’s poor manners any further.
Below, the mist that had claimed the lives of so many skilled cultivators swirled and danced. Occasionally, a bellow of pain tore through it, and Zing would grip Zhou’s hand with crushing pressure, but it never lasted. Because above all, the sound was not Bai Ning’s. Was she doing it? Was she winning?
Apparently so. The next moment, the mist burst apart like a rotten fruit crushed too hard and dispersed rapidly, revealing the two cultivators on the stage. The parents’ eyes immediately sought out Bai Ning first. She stood weary and battered, on her last legs, but not seriously injured. Aside from a faint cut on her cheek, she looked pristine, just terribly exhausted.
Fu Zhan, however, was different. Untouched throughout the competition until now, he looked as if he had gone through the wringer. Deep cuts lacerated his face and torso, and his eyes were wild and feral. He teetered on his feet, exhausted like Bai Ning, but in worse condition.
It was clear: both were on the brink of collapse. The crowd understood it before either fighter moved. The roar that went up was the kind that didn't crest and fall but simply continued, the sound of thousands of people all arriving at the same moment simultaneously. Spectators leaped to their feet, roaring, stamping, cheering, and shouting. No one had expected this, and in the chaos, Bai Zing and Bai Zhou’s shouts of support were swallowed by the sea of sound.
Bai Ning realized it too; she steadied herself, and launched a final attack. Fu Zhan held for one more breath, and then, he forfeited.
Just like that, the match was over. Bai Ning had won. For a heartbeat, neither parent reacted. Then the realization struck with full force. She had done it.
Zhou made a sound beside her that was not entirely composed. Zing said nothing. She was watching the image of Bai Ning on the viewing cloud. You did it, Zing thought. You stubborn, reckless, brilliant girl.
Once again, even as the stands erupted in cheering, Bai Zing found herself tracing the thread of their fortunes back to the same man: Senior Mo Jian.
She exhaled slowly. Around her, the celebration continued to swell, voices and stamping feet and banners being waved by people who had no personal stake in the outcome beyond having witnessed something remarkable. Zing let herself sit inside the relief for a moment, fully, before putting it away.
It was enough. Whatever came next, this moment had happened. Her daughter had won.
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Then the day went from triumphant to terrible.
It happened quickly enough that Zing did not understand it at first, not as a sequence, but as a series of impressions arriving faster than they could be processed.
The crowd was still roaring. The spectators were shouting Bai Ning’s name, stamping their feet against the cloud platform, waving banners and talismans in celebration. The sound crashed against the sky like a tidal wave of noise. Then it died. It was not a gradual thing, but all at once, as if the world itself had drawn a breath and forgotten to release it.
A presence descended from above. The cloud ring trembled beneath their feet. A vast, invisible pressure rolled across Daisai Island, not crushing, but undeniable. It sank into the bones and settled there, a reminder that something far greater had arrived. Ancestor Qing hovered above the arena.
Bai Zhou straightened instinctively, every instinct in his body screaming at him to bow. Even Zing, who rarely bent for anyone, lowered her head slightly out of sheer reflex.
The Nascent Soul ancestor spread his arms wide, smiling. “Well fought,” he said. His voice was soft, yet it reached them as clearly as if he stood beside them.
Around the arena, thousands of cultivators held their breath. Bai Zhou felt his chest swell with pride despite the pressure bearing down on him. Whatever came next, whatever ceremony followed, the truth could not be denied. His daughter had won. Ancestor Qing’s voice rolled on, praising the tournament and declaring Bai Ning the most talented Foundation Establishment cultivator of the islands. Each word landed like a gong striking a bell.
Zing felt the tension slowly draining from her shoulders. It was over. The danger was past.
Even the divine treasure, revealed moments later in a cascade of shattered crystal, seemed almost unreal compared to the simple relief flooding her chest. The South Pointing Chariot hovered above the ancestor’s palm, gleaming softly in the sunlight. Around them, whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through tall grass.
A divine treasure. Even knowing the thing would pass immediately into the hands of the Nascent Soul elders, Bai Zing could not deny the awe it inspired. For a moment she imagined Ning’er holding it, if only briefly, and a strange warmth spread through her chest. Beside her, Bai Zhou leaned forward slightly.
“Look,” he murmured.
The treasure was descending, and Bai Ning stepped forward to receive it. For the first time that day, Zing allowed herself to properly smile.
Then someone began clapping. The sound was slow, deliberate, and mocking; the particular rhythm of someone making a performance of their contempt. Zing’s smile vanished instantly. Her eyes snapped toward the arena just as Fu Zhan finished another exaggerated clap, his grin stretched wide across his face. A chill crept down her spine.
“What is he doing?” Zhou whispered.
Before either of them could make sense of it, the atmosphere shifted. The pressure in the air deepened, turning cold and heavy, as Ancestor Qing’s aura pressed downward like a mountain settling onto the island. The divine treasure froze in midair. Above, some cultivators even forgot to breathe.
Fu Zhan began to speak. At first, Zing barely listened. Her attention remained fixed on the subtle change in Ancestor Qing’s expression, on the faint tightening around his eyes. Something had gone wrong.
Then Fu Zhan uttered the words. “…Bai Ning is an unorthodox cultivator.”
The world seemed to tilt around her. The words themselves landed strangely, the way words do when you hear them before you've understood them. Zing blinked once, certain she had misheard. Surely, Ancestor Qing would not entertain this pathetic lie.
Then Song Shaoyue descended on silver light, smiling, and Zing's stomach dropped.
“Let’s see this proof of yours.”
The words felt like a door slamming shut. Zing wanted to rise, to protest, to shout that it was nonsense, but she was frozen. She could not even allow anger or panic to show on her face. Next to her, Zhou was just as helpless, the two of them nothing more than statues, forced to watch their world unravel.
Fu Zhan turned toward Bai Ning. He was savoring it. Zing could see that even from here, the way he was drawing the moment out, and the deliberateness of it made her throat close. Fu Zhan was speaking, his voice growing louder, more triumphant with each word. “…only an unorthodox cultivator would consume a False Core Pill.”
Bai Zing felt the blood drain from her face. For a heartbeat she could not breathe. Beside her, Zhou had gone utterly still. The arena, the crowd, the Nascent Soul ancestors; everything faded to the edges of her awareness as those three words echoed in her mind. False Core Pill. No, that was impossible.
Her gaze snapped toward the arena. Bai Ning stood frozen beneath Ancestor Qing’s pressure, her expression rigid, her posture perfectly straight. And even though she was motionless, Zing could read her daughter’s face, and what was going across it: Don’t let it show.
The realization struck like a blade sliding between her ribs, and her fingers dug into Zhou’s sleeve.
“…she wouldn’t,” Zhou managed hoarsely. Even as he spoke, doubt crept into his voice.
Ancestor Qing’s gaze had shifted. Now, he was looking directly at Bai Ning. Zing felt something cold and hollow open in her chest. Don’t fall for it, she prayed.
The seconds that followed were the longest of the day, longer than any moment in the fight itself, because in the fight she had at least been permitted to react; to stand, to shout, to feel the fear move through her body and out into noise. Here she could do nothing. She was frozen in her seat among thousands of frozen strangers, and below her, her daughter stood alone, and there was nothing either of them could do about what was happening.
Say something, she begged silently. Deny it.
However, Bai Ning could not move either. Ancestor Qing’s aura still pinned her in place.
Surely, something… someone…
Thunder split the sky. A streak of blue lightning tore through the opening in the Cloud Ring like a spear hurled from the heavens, screeching to a halt above the arena. Bai Zing knew that qi instantly: Mo Jian. Relief surged through her so violently she nearly sagged against Zhou, if not for the invisible pressure holding her upright.
He would fix this. The certainty was immediate and total, and she held onto it with both hands as his voice rang out across the island, his fury directed squarely at Fu Zhan. Zing clung to every word as though it were a lifeline. For a few fragile seconds, hope returned. For a moment the momentum of the thing seemed to pause. Fu Zhan looked smaller. Song Shaoyue's smile had dimmed slightly. The crowd, which had begun its silent judgment, held still.
However, Ancestor Qing did not speak. He remained silent, his expression grave. And slowly, Zing watched the silence do its work on Mo Jian's face in the viewing cloud. Watched the fury compress into something colder and quieter. Watched him understand what the silence meant, and understand it fully, and not be able to change it.
If no one will step forward to protect her out of fear of Old Devil Fu, then so be it.
The words crossed the arena and landed in Zing's chest like something final.
She understood what was coming a breath before it happened. She saw him make the decision, saw it in the quality of stillness before he moved, and she did not look away. The qi blast struck the South Pointing Chariot, sent it spinning into Fu Zhan's face, and the arena made a sound she had never heard a crowd make before: a single sharp intake, followed by total silence, the kind that falls when thousands of people all witness the same impossible thing at the same moment.
Mo Jian gathered Bai Ning into azure light, and they were gone.
Gone, just like that. For several long seconds, no one moved. Ancestor Qing remained hovering above the arena, silent and unmoving, while Fu Zhan slowly climbed to his feet in disbelief, clutching the divine treasure.
And around the cloud ring, thousands of cultivators sat frozen in place. Zing could feel their thoughts shifting. Shock. Suspicion. Judgment. Fear.
Then, the hold loosened. The great aura pressing down on them all vanished, if not entirely, then enough to allow breathing. The whispers began almost immediately.
“False Core Pill…”
“So it’s true?”
“No wonder she was so strong-”
Zhou's hand found hers. His grip was not steady.
Zing stared at the horizon where the streak of azure light had already disappeared, taking with it the shape of her daughter and everything that had come immediately before this moment; the victory, the crowd's roar, the warmth of the relief she had allowed herself to feel. All of it already past. Already a different country from where they were now.
Beside her, Zhou's voice was barely a breath. "They'll hunt her."
Zing knew this. She had known it in the moment Fu Zhan spoke, the same way you know the shape of a fall in the instant before it begins. She did not say anything in response. There was nothing to say that would make it less true.
What she thought instead, sitting still in her seat as the Cloud Ring slowly came back to life around her, as the Ancestor departed and the cultivators found their voices again and the machinery of consequence began its turning, was a thing she would not have been able to say even to Zhou. Not yet. Maybe not for some time.
Mo Jian had taken her daughter and vanished into the sky.
And despite everything, despite the accusation, the divine treasure in Fu Zhan's hands, the hostility that had just declared itself openly against them, Zing was not afraid for Bai Ning. Not truly.
Because she knew, as certainly as she knew anything, that whatever came next, wherever that azure light had gone, Bai Ning was with the one person in all the Thousand Shattered Islands who she trusted, completely and without reservation, to bring her daughter home. She held that knowledge in both hands. She did not allow herself anything else. She could not.
Around her, the whispers built. Below, the arena emptied. The celebration that had filled this place an hour ago was a thing from another world.
Bai Zing sat, and waited, and kept her face still, so she would not cry.
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AN: This chapter was a challenge in the best way. Reaction-heavy scenes demand a different kind of pacing and precision, especially when the characters are responding to events we’ve already seen. I hope I managed to strike the right balance, and I’m really glad to finally share it with you all.
That said, chapter done, and I’m excited for what comes next. I’ll be taking about a week off from bonus chapters so I can put my full focus on Book 2, which is starting to ramp up in a big way.