In recent years, the White Elephant sacred kingdom had pushed deeper into the Dry Sea, expanding its reach with quiet, relentless force.
Village after village fell, then vanished beneath earthen walls and military outposts. Towering ramparts rose where homes once stood. Deep moats ringed the compounds. Inside, cramped buildings swarmed with soldiers and cultivators.
The atmosphere was stifling.
The soldiers were veterans, battle-hardened killers with blades that had drawn too much blood. Their presence radiated violence.
But the cultivators were worse.
They weren't from noble sects or disciplined schools. They were loners, mercenaries and madmen who'd slaughter a family for a single relic, who'd burn a temple just to watch it fall. Their chi was vile. The kind of presence that set your teeth on edge and made the air feel rotten.
Commander Phong's outpost marked the deepest spearpoint of White Elephant's advance.
Captured "two-legged cattle" were dragged here first, before being "processed", "re-educated if need be", and sold deeper within the sacred kingdom.
Lạc Trần and his companions were granted a passable room. Spartan, but clean. Phong warned them not to wander, then left with his men.
The deaf blacksmith placed a strange lamp on the table. With a practiced flick, he lit the wick. A soft glow bloomed outward, then coalesced into a dome of warmth, subtle, but unmistakable to those with cultivation.
Lạc Trần couldn't sense it anymore, but he could guess: it was an anti-eavesdropping artifact. A powerful one.
Only once the barrier settled did the deaf man speak, calm and flat:
"In a few days, there'll be a state funeral in the White Elephant sacred kingdom."
Tô Mạc Tà straightened. "You mean… Lord Lý's going to die?"
The Little Tathāgata blinked, incredulous. "That's Lý Trường Bạch—the Sword King. He's terrifying. When he releases his King's Domain, sword qi blankets three thousand miles. He once fended off three Crowned Sovereigns at once. Few alive can match him."
Tô Mạc Tà scoffed. "And what happens when he meets someone those three couldn't match?"
She turned to the deaf man.
He grinned.
"Girl's sharper than both of you combined. Right on target. That bastard never forgave me for refusing to bow. Tried to kill me with a cheap trick."
"And so?" Lạc Trần asked.
"And so," the old man chuckled, "I left him a gift. The moment he crosses swords with Lam Vân Hoa… he won't have a path left to retreat."
Then, his tone shifted, serious now, with a heavy, quiet weight.
"You lot... you're the elites of your generation. Backed by sects, kingdoms, titles. You can treat common lives like ants. Kill without blinking. And most likely, no repercussion would come."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But don't forget to look down, once in a while. Not everything worth seeing flies in the sky. Pettiness... it can rots a man from the inside."
Tô Mạc Tà and the monk bowed their heads.
"Thank you for the reminder, senior," they said in unison.
The next morning...
Commander Phong burst through the door, frantic and drenched in sweat. Before Lạc Trần could fully open it, the man shouted:
"Little Tathāgata! Help! It's urgent!"
Aside from the deaf blacksmith, who stayed impassive, the others exchanged a knowing glance. They had a good idea what this was about.
The Little Tathāgata coughed lightly, putting on an air of surprise.
"Commander Phong, what's the rush? We were just wondering when you'd escort us deeper into the White Elephant sacred kingdom."
Tô Mạc Tà leaned over and traced a message on Lạc Trần's palm with her fingertip:
That bald cockroach, respectable on the surface, pure poison inside. A wolf in sheep's clothing at his core.
Commander Phong stomped his foot, half-panicked.
"It's bad. Truly bad. The sky's falling! Lam Vân Hoa is right outside the gates!"
The monk raised an eyebrow.
"And Lord Lý? Isn't he the Sword King who held off three Sovereigns on his own? Surely a fresh breakthrough like Lam Vân Hoa can't match that, no?"
His tone dripped with mock admiration.
Commander Phong gulped.
"She brought his head. She's outside now, calling for a parley!"
The monk sighed deeply.
"Ah… didn't I say grudges should be buried, not sharpened? If only His Highness had listened. Very well, Commander. Take us to her. We'll try to calm General Lam down."
Commander Phong all but collapsed in relief. He bowed low, then turned to lead them to the city wall.
And there she was.
Across the moat, atop a towering Sun-Chaser, sat Lam Vân Hoa.
In one hand, she gripped a long iron rod, dripping blood. A torn strip of hide fluttered from it like a war banner. In the other hand, she held a head.
There was no mistaking it.
Lý Trường Bạch.
Lạc Trần narrowed his eyes.
She kept just beyond the range of the Chi Ballistae. From this distance, with his cultivation gone, he could barely make out her features. But the frail, hunched shadow from The Ranch had vanished. What stood there now was something else entirely, cold, sharp, unflinching.
Lam Vân Hoa called out:
"Who commands this outpost? Show yourself, or I burn this bastard's corpse to cinders!"
Commander Phong stumbled forward, voice shaking:
"General Lam! Please, restrain your anger! I—I'm just a minor commander. Unworthy of negotiations. But I've summoned a mediator, one whose words even gods heed!"
Then, louder, so even the wind could hear him:
"The Little Tathāgata of the Pagoda of Inner Peace is here to mediate! We beg you to hear him out!"
Tô Mạc Tà elbowed the little monk.
"He's using you as a meat shield, you know."
He muttered,
"Funny. You didn't say anything when the Sword King was alive, coward."
Tô Mạc Tà just laughed and tugged on Lạc Trần's sleeve as the monk stepped forward.
The little Tathāgata drifted out over the moat, suspended in midair, palms pressed together, head lowered in reverence.
"This humble monk, the little Tathāgata of the Pagoda of Inner Peace, offers greetings to donor Lam."
Lam Vân Hoa curled her lip.
"Bald fraud. Did none of your elders warn you about the blood feud between me and your precious pagoda? And yet here you are, posing as a mediator. Tell me, little monk, who do you think you are? Who filled your head with such borrowed courage?"
The monk sighed.
"You led the assault into Aparagodānī. You killed my predecessor. We severed your cultivation, but we let you live. Wouldn't you call that restraint?"
Lam's eyes flared.
"So what's your point?"
"When the heron and the clam fight, the fisherman wins. You've clashed with us. You've clashed with the White Elephant sacred kingdom. But your true enemy... is the Crimson Tide. Why spill blood here, only to hand them victory?"
Lam nudged her steed forward, a slow roll of iron hooves on dry stone.
"I want ten years."
The monk blinked.
"Pardon?"
"Ten years. During that time, the White Elephant sacred kingdom will halt all expansion into the Dry Sea. No razing villages, no new outposts. I'll do as I wish in the southern Dry Sea. Uninterrupted."
The monk frowned.
"That's... a bold demand."
Lam Vân Hoa raised the severed head slightly, blood still dripping.
"In return, I vow that in ten years, I will personally storm the Crimson Tide capital and redeem my exile. If I break this vow, may lightning strike me a hundred times and shatter my corpse into ash."
The monk studied her carefully, then nodded.
"I'll pass your words to His Majesty. But at best, I can only promise that the White Elephant sacred kingdom won't interfere in the Dry Sea. I can't speak for others."
"Fair enough." She leaned forward, tone sharp.
"But mark this: if a single White Elephant soldier steps beyond this outpost, I will bleed him dry and hang his entrails from my standard."
"Understood. Then, with respect, may we retrieve Prince Lý's body for proper burial?"
Lam Vân Hoa snorted.
"You bury your dead in Aparagodānī. We cremate ours in Jambudvīpa. I've roamed the Dry Sea, not lost my mind. That lie was pathetic."
She paused, then added:
"Still, I'll cremate Lý Trường Bạch with full marquis honors. Come tomorrow, you may collect his ashes."
With that, she turned and galloped off, Lý Trường Bạch's head swinging from her hand like a trophy.
The little monk exhaled softly and touched down on the battlements. The hard part was over.
Commander Phong was ecstatic. That very evening, he hosted a grand banquet in honor of the guests. Outside, he arranged a dozen tall, handsome men to wail for the dead prince, half funeral, half festival. Grief and celebration blurred into something strangely theatrical.
The next morning...
As envoy of both the Pagoda of Inner Peace and the White Elephant sacred kingdom, the little Tathāgata received the urn of ashes with quiet ceremony.
Commander Phong, not daring to stall, immediately readied a Nimbus Cloud. With respectful haste, he sent Lạc Trần and his companions on their way deeper into the heart of the sacred kingdom.