Chương 7: Chapter 6

The Wu Plateau looked better when cleaned of gnats. Much better, Wu Zetian judged with a small, satisfied nod. A tiny part of her was shocked by the ease with which she had destroyed thousands, and even more for the lack of any impact it had on her. It was more than familiar: it was obvious. That a single being could wipe out a whole army in a matter of moments. It wasn't madness, injustice, or anything of the like. It was a natural, a given, a measured, logical response to the outrage of invading her home.

Panic and guilt tried to surface, but they were little things, darts thrown against an iron wall. Wu Zetian tried to grab them, but they burst under her fingers like soap bubbles. Meanwhile, the cold satisfaction of a doorstep swept clean from dust was overpowering. Thankfully, she was used to compartmentalizing. She grabbed the small, scared part of her that flailed to emerge from the black sea and showed her into a vault. She would deal with that in time. But not now, no.

The vault door clanged shut, and Wu Zetian felt like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Hesitations disappeared like smoke and she found herself admiring once more the beauty of the Wu Plateau unmarred by invaders. The glassy stone absorbed light in a way that mingled and reflected the Night above. It should have meant full obscurity, but it instead resulted in different shades of gleam that reflected each other and melded. Above, the sky was ebody, subtly warm and with a dark wood tone.

Beneath, the land was a grayish, cool stone tone. They met in the middle, mingling in waves of smoky graphite. It shouldn't have been visible, none of it. And yet, it was. Not only for her, in tastes and depths as layered as the best wine bouquet, but for all present. A dark radiance filled the air, turning the world into a foggy counterpart where the Night showed itself as light did. Wu Zetian briefly wondered if she would ever have enough of it. It was an idle thought.

Her attention was on the three constructions, living and dead, that waited amidst the now-empty plateau.

"I sense twelve powerful cultivators," she said, scanning the giant, molten palace and frozen vortex.

"Top-rank Nascent Soul or close to it, all of them." Her grandson – a grandson! She had a grandson… - tensed immediately. He glanced toward the same, eyes narrowing and calculating. Alert, but not scared. Very good. She didn't say it aloud. Words from authority figures had power, and she would examine this grandson before deigning to praise him.

"All the Masters of the demonic sects must have assembled for the assault. It surprises me that they haven't attempted to disperse yet. They must be desperate, or…" He winced, as if only mentioning the possibility was an insult.

"… they believe themselves able to contest the honored Ancestor's might if they stand together." Wu Zetian hummed. It was a possibility, and she appreciated that her grandson wasn't such a sycophant that he couldn't voice it. It was a long shot that bordered on mad recklessness, but it was theoretically possible for twelve cultivators at the top of an inferior realm to be a match for her if they had perfect coordination, the proper artifacts and didn't fear death. Yet, she wasn't alone.

The Godless Night forces may be drained, but with the fresh injection of Night Qi she gave them, they would be able to fight at her side, especially the Nascent Soul cultivators among them. With that kind of support, facing an Earth Immortal became suicide, even for such a large group. Of course, they may just be so desperate that even escape may feel a gamble too big to take. During her long career in management, Wu Zetian had learned to trust her instinct.

And now, her instinct suggested that there was more to this. These demonic cultivators assaulted the seat of the Godless Night. The Sect's power was at its strongest here, and they must have taken into account the chance that their Ancestor would rouse herself to defend her home, secluded cultivation notwithstanding. Anything different would mean considering them reckless fools, and she never made such a mistake with her opponents. No, she would assume they were prepared for her and move accordingly.

What would I do in their place? First of all, I would strip away my support. After all, wasn't that the way they had acted until now? Throwing their forces at the walls achieved nothing but to force the Sect to spend its manpower while they preserved theirs. Wu Zetian cut the air with a sharp gesture. Instantly, the Night replied, condensing around each Disciple and Elder in layered shields that resembled translucent cocoons carved from amethyst.

"Founder?" She glanced toward Wu Nenqin, and her grandson was cognizant enough to shut up. Smart boy. What was next? Her working theory revolved around the idea that she was the main target. Should she fall or be incapacitated, the battle was well and won. So, what would a larger group of hunters do when faced with a larger beast? Cutting off her movement, obviously. Wu Zetian's fingers twitched. The Night billowed out, flooding down the plateau in a tidal wave.

Some kept on going, inky tendrils expanding over the countryside like the tentacles of a colossal beast. The majority clung to the plateau's walls and base, condensing into jagged crystals that gleamed with an inner dark light. Thirdly, an ambush. After isolating and immobilizing her, there had to be a secret, hidden attack meant to incapacitate or kill her outright. Against an opponent so much more powerful, a simple head-on confrontation was deeply unwise.

Far more likely that one or more would hang back, ready to unleash a decisive blow at a moment's notice. A third finger twitched, hidden in the sleeve of her robe. In the nooks and crannies of the plateau and the land around it, body doubles, all of them wearing white porcelain masks, emerged from the shadows and took hiding spots. The plateau's surface swam like oil. Indents formed, flags shaping themselves from shadows before they disappeared under sheets of false ground.

A pleasantly efficient array of countermeasures, and yet… I am… weak. Wu Zetian frowned at her hand, the fingers trembling ever so slightly. The breakthrough had left her drained. Exhaustion was a flickering thing, easily smothered under her will, but it was there. She would recover soon – her Night was already planting roots in the Dragon Vein and the surrounding ley lines, pulling Qi at an industrial pace -, but until now, she would be limited in the ways she could employ her power. Not like it would change much.

She may possess the previous Wu Zetian's memory and skill, but she needed some time to adjust to them nonetheless. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. It will be enough. Doubts and hesitations, what-ifs and regrets; they were pointless when not of any use, a waste of mental space. She didn't do waste. She didn't in her previous life and wouldn't in this one, so they just went out of her mental landscape, never to be seen again.

Wu Zetian kept working on her preparations, adding layers of deception to herself and the world around her. It wasn't a long work: she meant to conserve her Qi. Still, it was quite impressive how quickly the Disciples gave her space. Without a question, they just scurried around with methodical discipline, mending the wounded and checking weapons. Wu Nenqin was taking care of his sister personally, a concerned scowl on his face. Wu Zetian exhaled slowly, lowering her arms.

"How is she?" It spoke about Wu Nenqin's focus that it took him a split second to reply.

"Stable!" He said, and for a moment, he looked far younger than he was, features alight with relief. For a moment. Then he realized who he was talking to and jumped at his feet like the floor was lava. Too late. Wu Zetian had grabbed the image and neatly filed it in her memory, in the newly-christened "cute grandchildren" section.

"Erm, stable, honored Ancestor!" Wu Nenqin bowed low enough that one might think he had dropped something.

"She… she's just unconscious. This unworthy Wu Nenqin thanks the Founder from the bottom of his heart for remeding to his reckless lack of control over his siblings." Wu Zetian hummed, holding back the smile tugging at her lips. Under the attempt at respect, there was no mistaking the almost teary gratitude. He truly loved his little sister, didn't he? The moment was broken by a sudden rumble. The ground vibrated, cracks shooting through the onyx stone.

Wu Nenqin and the Disciples tensed at once, hands rushing to weapons and auras flaring. They never got the chance to use them. Qi erupted from the three constructions. Three flames, each of a different color, rose from them, punching into the sheet of Night above. The Night Qi curled around them, pushed aside by the sheer weight of the attack.

"That is…" Wu Nenqin made to reach for her. A massive wave of Qi exploded from the constructions. It swept the plateau like the wrath of the Gods, ripping through the mist and hitting the Ring with a crash of metal on stone. Then it was gone. The air settled, a soundless calm asserting itself. Wu Zetian frowned, looking at her hand. Her Qi flowed smoothly underskin, but there was a layer between it and her control; it… got in the way, limiting her. Above, the Night hovered serenely and yet diminished.

Its impossible depth had dimmed to a simple pitch-black fall. All around, the Disciples had gone still like figures caught in a photo.

"F-Founder," Wu Nenqin managed through gritted teeth. The boy was frozen halfway in an attempt to summon a weapon. Beside him, the hulking warrior she took to be his bodyguard was struggling with all his strength, but couldn't move an inch. Wu Zetian watched him critically. A layer similar to the one sealing part of her power enveloped him like a plastic wrap. But what was a diminution for her was a total seal for him and all the others.

Not only were their movement canceled, their Qi nestled in their Dantians, unable to breach its confines. A Grand Formation… but something is powering it. To be able to freeze the whole Sect in its tracks… an Earth Immortal-level, or even Heavenly Immortal Treasure? Her precautions had come just in time then. Her protections had blunted the damage. Without them, she guessed that many would have been slain outright by the Qi blast. She gently tapped her grandson's chest.

Her Qi reached out tentatively, only to slide over the envelope like oil on water. Some kind of Qi-repelling current. But it's and remain Qi. An inverted polarity of some kind? How fascinating… Her calm didn't surprise her. During all her years, she had refined steadiness in a crisis into an art form. On the bastions, Godless Night Disciples were stuck in an array of improbable poses that made them look like statues built by an eccentric. The silence was quite picturesque.

Her study was interrupted by twelve auras flaring up at once. Streaks of multicolored light shot from the three constructions. One after the other, they landed in front of the walls amidst bursts of Qi, dust and shattered rock before resolving themselves into twelve practitioners. Wu Zetian took them in with a measured look. They were quite the motley bunch. Dressed in ornate finery and armor, wielding natal artifacts and weapons, each was a small star of Qi and skills refined across centuries.

Nascent Soul Cultivators at the top of their realm, a couple of them pressing against the boundary. Each was a monster on their own right, able to dominate demonic sects and to crush armies of lesser cultivators with overwhelming power. Three in particular attracted her scrutiny. Gan Nim of the Writhing Flame embodied his moniker well. Decades of foul cultivation involving poison and fire had turned his flesh molten.

Rivers of fire Qi spiderwebbed rocky skin, converging on hair that had been replaced with tongues of flame and eyes that burned with a feverish greed. One-Thousand-And-One-Cut was the patriarch of the similarly named Sect and was less of a man and more a gruesome mass of scarred tissue and exposed bone. Yet, there was no mistaking the hungry lights in the scarred eyesockets. Sight may have been surpassed by self-inflicted pain, but vile desires did not. Madam Tu of the Cannibal Blood was… something.

Blood and shadow jabbed with carved metal and arranged into a shape that may have been human once but was little more than thirst guided by sentience at the moment. A pleasant trio to have for tea, for sure… Of the Nascent Soul cultivators, they were by far the most dangerous. Standing head and shoulders above the others, they were monsters barely clothed in human skin, with the power and the ruthlessness to match. Gan Nim held an artifact aloft: a simple straw doll pierced by an iron nail.

It would have been a curio in any other situation, what you may find decorating a mantelpiece. With the colossal amounts of Qi it radiated, there was no mistaking it for anything but a treasure that cultivators would fight to the death to possess. Watching them, Wu Zetian realized with an irritated pang that relying on her previous incarnation's memories had been a grave mistake. The old Founder had gone into seclusion almost a millennium before the events now unfolding.

In her memory, top-rank Core Formation cultivators were opponents to look out for, even if not dangerous enough to warrant true alarm. She had been wrong. Her obsession had skewed her perceptions and the long centuries of isolation had done the rest, turning once clear assessments of the difference between realms into muddy judgements. These people… they were dangerous. Of course, not so much that her previous assessment could be thrown entirely out of the window.

Isolated, with her powers curtailed by the artifact, her reserves drained by the breakthrough and with the Sect to protect, her situation warranted caution. Should it come to a fight, the odds were still skewed in her favor, but only just so. Now, was that enough? No, it wasn't. Even in her old job, there was always a certain amount of risk. No endeavor was truly without it, and the greater part of her tasks had involved curtailing the percentage to acceptable levels.

At the moment, she judged that the threshold hadn't been met. In her memories, the previous Wu Zetian had been the classical overpowered cultivator. Prideful, obsessed and incredibly sensitive when it came to defending herself from supposed inferior existences. Should she have been in her place, she would likely have lashed out already. She preferred a different approach. Words, after all, could be just as powerful as weapons. Wield them well, and maybe she could gain the decisive edge she needed.

And then, we have the matter of the hidden assassin. Wu Zetian let her perceptions slither across the plateau, looking for hidden opponents. Ah, there you are. Zhang Fu, her memory supplied. Honored Sect Elder, raised by the previous Deputy Master and provided with everything his cultivation and wishes may ask for by the Sect, still a traitor, still hidden beneath a cloak of powerful, artifact-fueled Qi as he waited for the right moment to strike. Such a shame that he underestimated her connection to the plateau.

Entwined as it was with her Night Qi, there was little beneath Immortal-rank powers that could mask one from her sight. Wu Zetian didn't mind the betrayal. This world seemed to possess plenty of reason to justify the change of heart, and she wasn't a good enough person to pin her finger on the ethical deviation. Yet, she could see the material problem such an attitude threatened to produce and was quite curious as to its reasons. She would be sure to ask him before turning him into a stain on the floor.