Free Web NovelThe follow-up to the peace talks unfolded naturally.
In the face of the insurmountable mountain that was the Cloud Hidden Sect, and under the brutal blow of the truth behind the national war, the Northern Barbarian delegation had lost every bargaining chip.
Both sides quickly reached agreement on all terms and began signing the formal treaties.
Ink prepared, two identical copies of the state letter lay on the desk.
Xu Qing signed on behalf of Great Xing, dipped his brush, and left his seal.
The Northern Barbarian chancellor signed with trembling hands, then stamped the national seal representing Northern Barbarian royal authority.
Finally, it was the Cloud Hidden Sect’s turn to act as the “witness.”
Su Ming stood from the side seat.
Under the gaze of everyone present, he walked slowly to the desk.
He did not look at the delegates, nor at Xu Qing. Instead, he drew from his sleeve an identity seal carved entirely from purple jade, engraved with intricate cloud patterns.
It was the identity seal of a true disciple of Formation Peak of the Cloud Hidden Sect.
He picked up the seal, dabbed it into crimson ink, and pressed gently on the witness line of both state letters.
A clear mark remained on the paper, faintly vibrating with spiritual energy.
Having done this, Su Ming put the seal away, said nothing, and turned to return to his seat.
The treaty was signed.
This four-year blood-soaked war finally reached its period.
......
One hour later, in the main hall of the Court of State Ceremonies.
Officials had dispersed, and the Northern Barbarian delegation had already been escorted back to the courier lodge by the Imperial Guard.
Only a handful of people remained in the empty hall.
Xu Qing stood beneath the imperial throne, unmoving. His gaze, passing over the vacant hall, fell on that green-robed figure who had just risen from the side seat.
Su Ming felt the stare.
He turned toward Xu Qing and gave a barely perceptible nod.
At last, relief and a sincere smile flickered across Xu Qing’s face. He returned Su Ming’s nod with solemn respect.
No words were exchanged.
A look and a gesture said more than a thousand spoken sentences.
They both understood that after this parting, nobody knew when they would meet again. Perhaps they would never meet again.
He was Great Xing’s pillar, meant to realize his ambitions for a peaceful and prosperous realm on the mundane court stage.
And he was a way-seeking exile of the clouds, destined to chase the elusive path to immortality in the ruthless world of cultivation.
Mortals and immortals walk different roads; separation was inevitable.
Su Ming withdrew his gaze, then followed Elder Qingquan out of the hall.
As he passed in front of the imperial throne, his steps paused slightly.
He turned his body, and bowed slightly toward the Great Xing Emperor, who remained on the throne.
This bow completed the formal parting between sovereign and subject and concluded the last worldly tie.
The emperor watched him, looked at the young man who five years ago he had personally condemned to a desperate fate, and who had now returned in a way he could scarcely fathom.
The emperor’s lips moved as if to speak.
Was he about to ask what had happened these past five years? Was he going to apologize for that unavoidable act back then? Or try to win over this immortal who carried deep bonds with his trusted ministers?
In the end, all words lodged in his throat.
He knew whatever he said would mean nothing now.
They were no longer people of the same world.
At last, the emperor merely raised his hand and gave Su Ming’s retreating figure a faint nod.
Su Ming straightened and did not look back.
He and Elder Qingquan walked out of the solemn gates of the Court of State Ceremonies, one after the other, and disappeared into the brilliant autumn sunlight outside.
......
Clouds surged like oceans, fierce winds cut like blades.
A single seemingly fragile black-hooded wooden skiff cleaved through the heavens at dizzying altitude. A faint cyan aura shimmered around the hull, keeping the ninefold fierce winds—powerful enough to shear steel—entirely at bay, not allowing even the slightest breeze to enter the boat.
Su Ming sat cross-legged at the stern, gaze lowered.
Through the rolling clouds, the mountains and rivers of the mortal realm had shrunk into an insignificant game board. The capital of Great Xing, the wastelands of the Northern Barbarians, the gravel road of Qingshi Town—all were swallowed beneath the thick sea of clouds, not a trace visible.
Cutting off the mortal world sounded easy in words, but at this moment the hollow feeling in his chest was more real than any magical backlash.
Yet he did not turn back, nor did he sigh. His internal Like Water Art operated on its own, the abyss-like, tranquil liquid spiritual energy flushing the final strands of mundane worldly aura from his meridians.
“The wine of the mortal world, when drunk to the end, is always bitter.”
Elder Qingquan sat at the bow; at some point he had another red-clay wine gourd. He tipped his head back for a swallow, the sharp liquor dripping down his graying beard, which he casually wiped with his sleeve.
Su Ming collected his gaze, hands hidden in his sleeves, and bowed his head slightly.
“Only after bitterness ends can sweetness arrive. With mundane karmic ties resolved, my disciple’s Dao heart is three parts firmer than when he descended the mountain.”
Elder Qingquan turned his head. His weathered eyes rested on Su Ming for a moment, then he let out a hearty laugh.
“You boy see through matters well. Better than this old man was at your age.” Elder Qingquan rose, hung the wine gourd back at his waist, and pointed toward the towering peak that pierced the clouds like an inverted blade. “We’ve arrived.”
Formation Peak of the Cloud Hidden Sect.
The skiff passed through the transparent, water-wave-like barrier of the Sect Grand Protective Formation, and the spiritual energy density around them rocketed by dozens of times. The sensation was like a traveler in a desert plunging headfirst into a cold spring; every pore greedily expanded.
The skiff slowly descended on the mid-slope of Formation Peak.
The two of them disembarked. Elder Qingquan did not go further; he patted Su Ming on the shoulder with neither too much nor too little force.
“Report at the Star Pivot Hall. Your master awaits you there.”
Su Ming bowed respectfully, watched Elder Qingquan’s figure turn into a wisp of azure smoke and vanish down the mountain path, then smoothed his gray robe and ascended the white-jade steps carved with complex formation sigils toward the peak’s summit.
Star Pivot Hall, the absolute core of Formation Peak.
This was not Su Ming’s first time here, but every time he stepped into the hall he felt the terrifying pressure that arose from the very source of formation art. The hall’s dome was not brick or tile but a miniature starfield; three thousand six hundred formation nodes drifted like true stars, maintaining the spiritual energy balance of the entire Formation Peak and even half of the Cloud Hidden Sect.
At the center of the hall, Xuanheng Zhenren stood with his back to the entrance, hands folded behind him.
He wore a deep purple, broad formation robe; his silhouette resembled an impassable mountain. There was no incense burning in the hall, only the dry scent of star-iron and wood struck by lightning.
“Disciple Su Ming pays respects to Master.”
