Somewhere high above the clouds, the grand skyship of the Gilded Lotus cut through the heavens, its golden hull gleaming under the sun. The vessel was a marvel of cultivation engineering, powered by intricate formations and rare spirit stones—a symbol of wealth and power that few in the mortal realm would ever witness.

  Yet, for Ming Shui, it was a prison of terror.

  Clutching the edges of her seat with white-knuckled desperation, she squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The moment she had dared to glance out the window, her stomach had lurched at the sight of the world so far below—endless stretches of land reduced to mere patches, rivers winding like silken threads, and clouds drifting beneath them like an insubstantial floor.

  Humans were never meant to fly.

  The thought hammered in her chest, relentless. Every groan of the ship’s wooden frame, every shift in the wind, sent fresh waves of dread through her. What if the ship failed? What if a storm struck? What if—

  She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe.

  How did I even end up here?

  The question echoed in her mind, and with it came the flood of memories—sharp, painful, and inescapable.

  It had not been that long ago that her life had still been simple.

  Her father, a kind man, had lain broken in their small home, his breaths labored. Ming had tended to him with the help of Auntie Lan from next door, grinding herbs and brewing bitter medicines in a desperate bid to keep him alive. Then, Uncle Kai had arrived.

  With his cultivator medicine from his sect, by nightfall, her father recovered. Ming had wept in relief, believing the worst was over.

  She had been wrong.

  That next night, shadows had slithered into their home.

  Demonic cultivators—men and women with eyes like smoldering coals and skin etched with cursed sigils—had shattered their door with a single kick. Before Ming could even scream, one of them had seized her father by the throat and—

  She flinched, the memory too raw, too vivid.

  The sound of his last breath. Telling her to run. The way his body had crumpled.

  Then, those burning eyes had turned to her.

  "Your turn, little rat."

  But when the cultivator lunged, his blade passed through empty air.

  "Where—?!" He had snarled, twisting around in confusion. His companions had joined in, slashing at the shadows, overturning furniture, yet none of them seemed to see her—even as she stood frozen, right in front of them.

  "She’s gone!" one had hissed.

  "Find her!"

  Their fury had turned to frenzy, as they tore the place apart.

  Only when the Emerald Tortoise sect arrived did the horrible demonic cultivators get repelled. Afterwards, Ming finally collapses, her body flickering back into visibility.

  "A mythical physique," one of the cultivators had murmured, examining her with a mix of awe and pity. "The Moon Shadow physique. It bends light away from you, rendering you unseen when your emotions run high."

  Ming hadn’t understood. She still didn’t.

  All she knew was that her father was gone, her home was ashes, and now she was alone.

  After the attack, the Emerald Tortoise Sect had taken Ming Shui in, sheltering her within their mountain stronghold. The disciples there were kind—offering her food, clean robes, and a safe place to sleep—but their pitying glances only deepened the hollow ache in her chest.

  She didn’t belong here.

  And then, the Gilded Lotus arrived.

  Their delegation descended upon the Emerald Tortoise like celestial envoys, their pristine white-and-gold robes shimmering with an otherworldly grace. They spoke in hushed tones with the sect elders before turning their attention to her.

  "Ming Shui," one of them—a woman with piercing silver eyes—had said, "your Veiled Shadow Body is a rare gift. The Gilded Lotus can offer you training, protection, and a future far greater than anything you could find here."

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  Ming’s hands had clenched into fists. A future? What future could they give her? The only thing she wanted was her father back. Her home. Her life before cultivators—righteous or demonic—had torn it all apart.

  But she wasn’t foolish enough to refuse.

  The way they looked at her—like she was a treasure to be claimed, not a person—told her this wasn’t a request. It was an order wrapped in silk.

  Still, before she was whisked away into their world of flying ships and golden palaces, she had one demand.

  "I want to go home."

  The woman’s brow had arched. "There is nothing left for you there."

  "I don’t care," Ming had said, voice trembling but firm. "I need to see it. I need to… say goodbye."

  To her surprise, the Gilded Lotus agreed.

  "If you have any loved ones left," the woman added, "we will take them with us. No one should be left behind in such a place."

  For the first time since the attack, a fragile hope flickered in Ming’s chest. Maybe—just maybe—someone had survived.

  When the skyship descended upon what remained of Haebaek Village, Ming’s breath caught in her throat.

  There was nothing.

  No homes. No market stalls. No laughter echoing from the tea house where her and her father would go to on occasion. Only blackened timbers, scorched earth, and an unnatural silence.

  The demonic cultivators hadn’t just killed. They had erased.

  Worst of all, there were no bodies.

  "They take the dead," one of the Gilded Lotus disciples explained grimly. "Corpses are valuable to them—fuel for their rituals."

  Ming’s stomach twisted. Her father’s body… her neighbors, her friends… all of them stolen, defiled. She couldn’t even bury her dad beside her mother’s grave.

  Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

  Then, a thought struck her.

  Uncle Kai.

  The one cultivator she didn’t hate. He was clever, resourceful. If anyone could have survived, it was him.

  "There’s someone else," she said quickly. "A cultivator from the Ember Sword sect. He lives on the outskirts of the village. We have to check."

  The cultivators exchanged glances but obliged, leading her through the ruins toward the forest’s edge where Uncle Kai’s ramshackle hut stood—or rather, where it had stood.

  Now, it was little more than a collapsed skeleton of charred wood.

  And the ground was covered in dried blood.

  No body. No sign of struggle. Just a dark, rust-colored stain seeping into the earth.

  Ming’s knees buckled. Uncle Kai was gone too. She had no one left.

  No family. No friends. No home.

  Only the sect that had claimed her—not out of kindness, but because of some rare physique she didn’t understand.

  The silver-eyed woman placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come, Ming Shui. There is nothing for you here anymore."

  And after that she found herself in her current position. Ming Shui sat stiffly in the gilded chamber of the skyship, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of her seat. Across from her, two figures regarded her with expressions of quiet amusement—Elder Bai Wuyin and Elder Yaling Hai, high-ranking members of the illustrious Gilded Lotus Sect.

  The wealthiest organization in the Righteous Alliance.

  And one of the most powerful.

  And now, apparently, her new masters.

  Elder Bai Wuyin was a tall, austere man with sharp, hawk-like eyes and a long beard that spilled over his embroidered golden robes like a waterfall of silver thread. There was something calculating in his gaze, as if he were already measuring her worth.

  Beside him sat Elder Yaling Hai—an elderly woman whose face was lined with the wisdom of centuries, her silver eyes warm yet unnervingly perceptive. She reminded Ming of the grandmothers who used to sit by the village well, spinning tales of spirits and old wars. But where those women had been kind, there was something else in Yaling Hai’s gaze—something that made Ming feel like a butterfly pinned beneath glass.

  "Is something wrong? You look tense, child," Elder Yaling Hai asked, her voice as soft as silk over steel.

  Ming swallowed. "I’m just not used to being so high up in the sky."

  The two elders exchanged glances before chuckling, the sound rich with the indulgence of cultivators humoring a mortal’s fears.

  "Ah, yes," Elder Bai Wuyin mused, stroking his beard. "It’s been so long since I last felt fear of heights. But it is something you’ll overcome in time, once you become a cultivator."

  Ming’s jaw tightened. She hadn’t asked to become a cultivator. She hadn’t asked for any of this.

  But she knew better than to say that aloud.

  "What kind of training will I have to do?" she asked instead, forcing her voice steady.

  “Oh, this one is quite eager to learn.” Elder Bai Wuyin chuckled.

  Elder Yaling Hai smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "That’s not something you need to worry about yet. Your… unique physique requires careful consideration. We must consult with the other leaders of the Righteous Alliance before deciding how best to nurture your talents."

  Ming frowned. Unique physique. That was all anyone had called it since the attack. The Moon Shadow physique—a rare constitution that had saved her life but now bound her to a fate she didn’t want.

  "Once we arrive at our sect grounds," Elder Bai Wuyin added, "you may rest. There will be time enough for training later."

  Ming nodded silently, but unease coiled in her stomach.

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