Chapter 56

Chapter 56: An Immortal Comes Through the Smoke

Inside a grand stone hall, a man in gauzy gold robes and a jeweled crown bowed his head. “State Preceptor—Heaven Mountain collapsed yesterday. Is disaster upon us?”

The elder seated below him had white hair and beard, his brow knotted with worry. Only after a long silence did he answer, “Your Majesty, our ancestors said Heaven Mountain was the pillar that held up the sky. Now it has broken without reason. I fear there is danger of the heavens falling.”

The king’s face drained of color. He gripped his crown so hard his knuckles whitened. “State Preceptor—there must be a way!”

The old man sighed, eyes closing as he shook his head.

Their ancestors had only passed down methods for observing and calculating omens. Nothing more. Even with a few true disciples under him, he was powerless in the face of the world’s survival.

If even the State Preceptor had no answer, the king’s shoulders sagged. He slumped back onto the throne, lips trembling, words caught in his throat.

Then a shout ran through the palace grounds like fire.

“Divine Immortal!”

“There’s a Divine Immortal in the sky!”

Already strained to the breaking point, the king assumed it was panicked nonsense. Anger flared. He surged to his feet. “Who dares make such a racket outside?”

An attendant rushed in, breathless, and fell to his knees. “Your Majesty—there truly is a snow-white little boat in the sky. The palace believes an Immortal has descended, and everyone’s in an uproar!”

“It’s real?” The king shoved past him and strode out. The attendant hurried to help the State Preceptor up, and the two followed together.

The palace sat on the highest ground in the city. The moment they stepped outside, they saw it.

A white boat floated in open air, drifting without oars or wind, gliding across the sky as if it belonged there.

And standing within it was Zhao Chun, trying to understand what she’d stumbled into.

Ever since she’d entered the ring of mountains, she hadn’t sensed a single cultivator. Her wariness hadn’t eased—but what she saw below wasn’t a battlefield or a lair.

It was a city. Small, compared to Heng Yun, but not truly tiny—its scale was comparable to Ping Yang Commandery, where the Zhao Family lived back in Fei Hu Small World.

Tens of thousands of people, no more. No sign of cultivation.

Zhao Chun exhaled through her nose. Of course. With no spiritual energy, no one here could step onto the Dao.

That made things simpler. She could go down and ask questions openly.

The Mist Skiff answered her will and descended, drifting toward the palace.

From below, the onlookers watched the boat grow from a dot into something impossibly close. Unease rippled through them. Only the white-haired State Preceptor stood firm at the front, cane in hand, with the king beside him.

As the skiff neared the palace platform, it burst into a cloud of smoke.

Cries erupted. They’d never seen anything like it.

The smoke thinned, then gathered again into wisps, and within it stood a young girl—calm-faced, slender, no older than her early teens. The smoke streamed back into the yellow talisman in her hand as if it were being reeled in.

The king stared, too shocked to speak. The State Preceptor bowed deeply. “Greetings, Immortal…”

That jolted the others into motion. They hurried to bow as well. “Greetings, Immortal.”

“No need.” Zhao Chun’s gaze settled on the white-haired elder. “Tell me. Where is this place? And who are you?”

The question made everyone exchange nervous looks, but no one dared whisper. The State Preceptor answered slowly, carefully. “This is Da Jun Kingdom, the only nation within 1,000 li. And this is our king.”

The man in gold robes and jeweled crown stood stiffly beside him—supremely noble, unmistakably the ruler of this place.

“As for me,” the elder continued, “I am this kingdom’s State Preceptor. My name is Mao Wu.”

Da Jun Kingdom sounded grand, but in truth it could hardly be called a great nation. Still, as Mao Wu explained, within 1,000 li there was only this one country. Either the land of this world was unimaginably vast, leaving people scattered thin, or else human settlements were simply rare.

Mao Wu and the king invited Zhao Chun inside and offered wine.

“May I ask,” the king said, voice tight with hope and fear, “where the Immortal comes from?”

Zhao Chun didn’t drink. She asked only for clear water, took it in one swallow, and set the cup down. “I’m not from this world. I wandered into this place by mistake. I’m looking for a way back. Tell me—has anything unusual happened here lately?”

The king and Mao Wu looked confused by the phrase “this world,” but the moment she asked about strange events, the king seized on it, relief and panic twisting together.

“There is!” he blurted. “A mountain that holds up the sky—yesterday it split apart without warning. The earth shook so fiercely we thought the city would crack open. We don’t know what it means.”

A mountain collapse.

Zhao Chun’s mind snapped to the same sight in the Windflame Sect ruins—the mountain there, breaking apart the same way. Her instincts screamed that the two were connected.

Or worse—what if they were the same mountain?

But how could one mountain exist in two worlds?

Unless… she hadn’t left Heng Yun at all.

Questions piled up faster than she could sort them. She forced herself back to what mattered. “Can you take me to see it?”

The king faltered, courage failing. “Th-that…”

Mao Wu braced himself with one hand on the table. “Immortal, forgive us. It isn’t that we refuse. It’s that we truly cannot. Heaven Mountain is so far away that even if we walked until our bones turned to dust, we might never reach it.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Zhao Chun said. “I can carry you on the Mist Skiff. When we reach Heaven Mountain, I’ll send you back.”

Mao Wu’s eyes sharpened as he weighed it. If she could go, perhaps she could prevent the calamity of the heavens falling. “Then it can be done. The king must remain here to govern, but I can go with the Immortal. Even if Heaven Mountain is gone, I still remember where it stood. I can guide you.”

Zhao Chun nodded.

After Mao Wu took some time to prepare, Zhao Chun summoned the Mist Skiff again, brought him aboard, and set off in the direction he indicated.

Before they departed, the streets and palace grounds filled with people. Knowing the journey would be long, they wept as they watched the white boat rise and drift out past the ring of mountains.

“They care for you,” Zhao Chun said quietly to Mao Wu.

Tears shone in the old man’s eyes. “The Mao Clan has served as State Preceptors since the kingdom was founded. Generation after generation, we protected the royal line. In the past we practiced the mysterious arts—reading heaven’s will, predicting fate, offering rites to the fields, praying for rain. That earned us the people’s respect…”

“Rites to the fields?” Zhao Chun glanced down at the barren world sliding beneath them. “I haven’t seen any farmland here.”

Mao Wu’s grief deepened. “That was in our ancestors’ time. They said every household had fertile fields, rivers everywhere, water grass thick and lush. Rice grew heavy and fish grew fat.”

He swallowed hard. “No one knows when it changed. Those stories became legends. It’s as if from the day we were born, we’ve lived in desolation.”

Zhao Chun said nothing. There was nothing she could say that would soften it.

They traveled for a full half month before reaching the remains of Heaven Mountain.

From above, it barely deserved the name. The mountain was gone—only jagged rubble and scorched earth remained.

The strangest part was what lay at its heart: the ground had collapsed into a vast Heaven Pit, black as ink. When Zhao Chun looked down, it didn’t even seem like ordinary stone.

“The Heaven Pillar…” Mao Wu clung to the edge of the Mist Skiff and broke down, his voice raw. “It’s broken…”

He was crying for disaster, and for the people who would bear it.

Zhao Chun stepped off the skiff. “You’ve brought me here. That’s enough.”

She watched the old man’s tears with a heaviness she couldn’t name. She didn’t know if there truly was a calamity of the heavens falling, but she also couldn’t promise she could change anything. Still, she couldn’t leave him with nothing.

From her storage bag she took a bottle of Vitality-Nourishing Pills and pressed it into Mao Wu’s hands. “Dissolve it in water. Mortals can drink it. It will strengthen the body and cure chronic illness. Consider it my thanks.”

Then she guided the Mist Skiff under her will, sending Mao Wu safely back toward Da Jun Kingdom.

Zhao Chun remained at Heaven Mountain alone, eyes fixed on the pit.

If there was an answer, it would be down there.