The hibiscus flower slowed and hovered before the entrance of Fushan Palace, its luminous petals trembling gently in the mountain air. Snow no longer fell here. Warm vitality breathed softly from the land itself.

Heart Demon stepped down first.

The moment his foot touched the ground–

Inside the sea of consciousness…

"Heart Demon," Kiaria's voice echoed faintly, restrained but unmistakably curious.

"Did you fall in love with Fairy Fuxing?"

"Shut up, brat," Heart Demon snapped back without hesitation.

Yet–

He did not look away from the palace.

Neither did Kiaria.

Through Heart Demon's vision, Kiaria saw it too.

Spring foundations woven into jade terraces. A vast Jade Lotus Pond, its surface calm, glowing faintly with spiritual warmth. The sight stirred something familiar.

Aizrel's Lotus Spring Dish…

The resemblance struck him immediately–the balance of vitality, the gentle circulation of essence. For a fleeting moment, Kiaria almost smiled.

Above the pond stretched a vine bridge, its living green strands arching overhead like a half-drawn bow. The vines curved deliberately, forming a shaded passage broken by measured gaps. From within the arch, translucent flowers bloomed among the leaves, scattering soft yellow-green light.

The passage was dim–

Yet beautiful.

Romantic, even.

Heart Demon walked forward beside Fuxing.

Kiaria watched silently as Heart Demon's posture stiffened–his aura tightly restrained, his steps precise, as though every instinct inside him was screaming to either dominate the space or tear it apart… and he was doing neither.

Kiaria barely managed to suppress his laughter.

They crossed the bridge.

At its end, Fuxing slowed and gestured ahead.

"Dear Guest," she said softly, "beyond this garden lies the palace."

Heart Demon nodded once.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked.

Fuxing smiled faintly.

"You may have matters to discuss with Lord Fushan–things not meant for others to overhear. It would be improper for me to pry."

"Nothing secret," Heart Demon replied flatly.

The garden unfolded before them–fields of rare flowers, streams of gentle light, and clusters of newborn fairies drifting playfully through the air, their laughter soft and distant.

They continued forward.

The palace revealed itself fully.

It was not built.

It had grown.

A colossal Lei Ayon Tree–a God Tree–its branches interwoven, knotted, and shaped into halls and terraces wide as a city. Lantern-like Lan Yan Beads floated among the branches, forming artificial constellations that mimicked a night sky. Lei Lan Orchids bloomed along the walls and even upon the throne itself, standing as living symbols of the palace's pride.

The floor was not stone.

It was grass.

At the center stretched a long path–an empty channel filled with clear lotus pond water. Above it, countless rose petals floated, unmoving, suspended like a silent invitation.

Fuxing stopped at the edge of the path.

Far ahead, upon the throne, hovered the Anatomy Chrysanthemum.

"Greetings, Lord Fushan," Fuxing said, bowing.

"Come in," Lord Fushan commanded, his voice calm and absolute.

Fuxing turned toward Heart Demon, bowed once more, and gestured respectfully toward the central path–a silent invitation to walk across the floating petals.

Heart Demon caught her wrist gently and lifted it.

"Straighten your backbone," he said evenly.

"Don't bow to me."

Fuxing froze.

"I admire you," Heart Demon continued. "So there's no need for formality. Be at ease."

She blinked, then smiled sincerely.

"Thank you… for honoring me, dear Guest."

Heart Demon turned forward.

Without hesitation–without even testing–

He stepped onto a rose petal.

The petal did not sink.

It responded.

The path acknowledged his unwavering consciousness. One by one, the petals hardened into luminous platforms, forming a stable road beneath his feet.

He walked forward.

Only Lord Fushan waited.

After a moment, Fuxing followed.

"Greetings, Lord Fushan," she said again.

The Anatomy Chrysanthemum shifted, its form dissolving into a humanized figure seated upon the throne.

"Fuxing," Lord Fushan said mildly, "you are an elder. There is no need to bow so frequently before others."

Then his gaze shifted.

"And this is?"

"He is an outsider," Fuxing replied calmly, "who seeks Fu Cai, with your permission, Lord."

Lord Fushan's eyes turned to Heart Demon.

"Guest," he asked, "who are you?"

"I am what I am," Heart Demon replied.

"No," Lord Fushan said evenly. "You are not. Who are you?"

"I am the one who I am."

A pause.

"You are lying," Lord Fushan said. "That is not your true self. Who are you?"

Heart Demon's lips curved faintly.

"You are correct," he said. "Then allow me to ask in return. Who are you?"

"If I ask who you are, you answer 'Lord Fushan.'

If I ask what you are, you answer 'Anatomy Chrysanthemum.'"

He lifted his gaze.

"And I–am one of the sources of Evil."

"You are wise," Lord Fushan acknowledged. "But I only converse with the true self."

"Fine."

The switch was instantaneous.

Heart Demon receded.

Kiaria returned.

Divine authority unfurled quietly as the Patron's form manifested once more.

"Greetings, Lord Fushan," Kiaria said respectfully.

Lord Fushan nodded.

"Who are you?"

"I am Kiaria," he answered. "From the mortal realm."

"And who are you?"

"I am the Patron," Kiaria said steadily, "bearer of the responsibility to purify Shadows–to cleanse Evil."

"And what are you?" Lord Fushan pressed.

Kiaria inhaled.

"I am merely a mortal," he said, "who wishes to protect the world–by changing fate through fortune and benevolence."

Silence.

"No," Lord Fushan said. "Your intention is correct. But that is not what you–"

Suddenly–

An unknown gaze descended.

Invisible.

Ancient.

Lord Fushan's perception slammed into a wall.

His sea of consciousness churned violently.

He was at the pinnacle of the Transformation Realm–his own meridians sealed deliberately to prevent Transcendence–yet this presence stirred backlash he could not afford to express.

He suppressed it.

Smoothly.

"State your purpose," Lord Fushan said at last.

Kiaria lowered his gaze slightly, then lifted it again–steady, unflinching.

"Lord Fushan," he said, his voice calm but weighted with urgency, "in the Mortal World, I am but a sect disciple undergoing an assigned trial–an adventure governed by the rules of my sect. I entered a land alongside my companions in search of resources and fortune."

He paused.

"But what we discovered was not treasure."

The hall remained silent.

"Entire tribes stand on the brink of destruction," Kiaria continued. "Thousands. Tens of thousands. Perhaps more. Their lives are already entangled in a danger concealed beneath the land itself–one that reveals its fangs only after careful investigation."

His hands tightened slowly at his sides.

"If we do nothing, annihilation is inevitable. Before that moment arrives, I want to save them. To do so–"

He inhaled.

"I need my Big Sister's Anatomy Chrysanthemum bloodline to awaken."

"What?"

Lord Fushan rose halfway from his throne.

"My lineage," he said sharply. "My descendant."

"Yes," Kiaria answered without hesitation.

The excitement in Lord Fushan's eyes was impossible to conceal.

"What is her name?" he demanded. "Did she come with you?"

"Her name is Lainsa," Kiaria replied. "She is a princess. She is not here."

He lowered his head slightly.

"She is still mortal. She cannot enter the Winter Soul Mount. Only I could."

Lord Fushan exhaled slowly.

"That is correct," he said. "She has not yet crossed the threshold of immortality."

Then his gaze sharpened.

"So you seek Fu Cai, to awaken her bloodline."

"Yes, Lord."

Silence fell.

Then Lord Fushan laughed softly–deep, resonant, carrying relief and resolve.

"For the sake of lives," he said, "and for the sake of my descendant… you may take her."

Fuxing's eyes widened slightly.

"But," Lord Fushan added, his tone shifting, "you must satisfy her."

He turned his gaze forward.

"She is a Body Truth Chrysanthemum."

A faint smile appeared.

"I will not explain further. Experience it yourself."

Lord Fushan raised his palm.

Two green orbs emerged from his void ring, floating gently above his hand. Within them rested a Chrysanthemum Armor and a Chrysanthemum Hand Fan, both sealed in miniature form, pulsing faintly with lineage resonance.

"When her bloodline awakens," he said, "these will recognize her and become hers."

He looked at Kiaria.

"Tell her this is an inheritance–from her ancestor."

Kiaria accepted them carefully, bowing deeply.

"I thank you," he said sincerely, "on behalf of my Big Sister."

"Fu Cai," Lord Fushan called.

His voice echoed through the entirety of Fushan Mount.

The palace brightened.

Golden chrysanthemum petals poured through the air like a living stream, spiraling inward. They gathered, folded, and shaped themselves into a graceful feminine form.

A fairy emerged.

"Greetings, Master," Fu Cai said with a bright smile.

Her presence was radiant–youthful, arrogant, and dangerous.

She turned toward Kiaria and waved lightly, as though greeting an acquaintance rather than a stranger who had shattered illusions and walked through divine halls.

"Fu Cai," Lord Fushan said gently, "this Patron comes from the Mortal World. That realm stands on the edge of calamity. There exists a girl of my lineage–my descendant–who requires your help to awaken her bloodline."

He looked at her closely.

"Are you willing to go?"

"After all," he added, "experiencing the outside world may grant you new insight."

Fu Cai's smile sharpened.

"I am willing," she said lightly, "to help awaken Master's descendant."

Then her gaze turned cold.

"But this mortal must answer my question."

The temperature shifted.

"If his answer is correct," Fu Cai continued, "I will go with him and return once the matter is resolved."

Her eyes narrowed.

"If he answers wrongly–he will be beheaded."

"Fu Cai," Fuxing said quickly, "do not be so harsh with our guest."

"I apologize, Sister Fuxing," Fu Cai replied, her voice polite yet dismissive. "But punishment is necessary for the unworthy."

She turned fully toward Kiaria.

"He destroyed a spell formation barrier and impersonated his way into our domain. If he is unworthy–he must die."

Fuxing hesitated.

Kiaria spoke first.

"Elder Fuxing," he said calmly, "please allow it."

He met Fu Cai's gaze without fear.

"I agree with her."

Fu Cai smiled.

"Good."

She folded her hands behind her back.

"Then listen carefully. My question is simple."

Her voice softened–dangerously so.

"I was a seed."

"I was planted."

"I grew, and leaves bloomed upon me. I watched days and nights pass. Each leaf was a life. Each was an entity."

Her eyes shimmered.

"They were happy. We were companions."

She paused.

"One day, they turned yellow. Then dry. Then they fell."

Her smile vanished.

"They died."

Fu Cai leaned forward slightly.

"Tell me–what am I in the end?"

"And whatever I am…"

Her gaze pierced Kiaria.

"Was I happy?"

"Or was I sad?"

Kiaria did not answer at once.

The palace did not disappear–but it receded, as though the world itself had stepped back. Sound thinned. Light softened. Even the presence of Lord Fushan and Fu Cai faded into something distant, irrelevant.

A seed.

He became it.

Not as a thought, not as an image–but as existence itself. A beginning buried beneath weight it did not choose, pressed into darkness without instruction or promise. There was no certainty of sky above, no assurance of survival–only the instinct to continue.

Time passed.

He felt roots stretch blindly into the unknown, resistance and nourishment arriving from the same source. Growth was not confidence. It was persistence–movement without knowledge of the end.

Leaves unfolded.

With them came moments.

Each leaf was a self he inhabited for a while. Each season a connection, a joy, a presence that walked beside him and then drifted away. None were strangers. None were permanent. All were real.

Then came the yellowing.

Not sudden. Not cruel.

Just inevitable.

Leaves loosened and fell–not because they were weak, not because they failed–but because remaining would have meant stagnation. Loss followed growth as naturally as breath followed birth.

And still–

The trunk remained.

Standing.

Bearing the memory of everything that had passed through it.

The palace returned.

Kiaria opened his eyes.

Only then did he speak.

–

"This is my answer," Kiaria said softly.

"You were Life itself."

"A seed is birth.

To be planted is to be placed in time.

To grow is to continue–despite not knowing the end."

"The leaves were not others.

They were moments.

Each leaf a self you became for a while.

Each joy an attachment.

Each companion a reflection."

"They did not fall because they were weak.

They fell because falling is what gives meaning to growing."

"In the end, you are not the leaves.

You are not their coming, nor their going."

"You are the one who remained standing–

while all passing things proved they were passing."

"And were you happy?

Yes–because happiness existed at all."

"Were you sad?

Yes–because sadness proved you were alive."

"But the truth that cannot be wrong is this–"

"Happiness and sadness were never opposites.

They were proof that you lived fully enough to feel both."

"A thing that feels neither does not grow.

A thing that grows must lose.

And a thing that loses was never empty."

"So in the end–

you were not happy.

You were not sad."

Kiaria lifted his gaze.

"You were alive."

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