Immortal Paladin

[POV: Qin Yating]

Qin Yating had always felt that the position of Dean in the Heavenly Academy was a cursed one. History supported that feeling. The dean was supposed to stand above politics, guiding students and maintaining harmony between the Academy and the outside world. Yet the previous dean had fallen from grace after being caught manipulating both factions—internal Temple affairs and external diplomatic networks—for personal gain.

It left the Heavenly Temple no choice but to replace him with someone they could trust completely, someone too powerful to be coerced, too influential to be swayed, and too proud to dirty their hands with petty schemes. That was how Qin Yating, one of the Six Elders, found himself burdened with the responsibility. As one who stood near the Heavenly Master’s side, he was the safest choice.

He reclined lazily inside his courtyard, which resembled less a scholarly retreat and more a luxurious pleasure garden. Though he was ancient beyond mortal measure, he retained a youthful and almost ethereal beauty. His long red hair flowed freely, his features bordered on feminine, and his robes were thin, loose, and extravagant. A small group of attendants, women with beast characteristics such as scaled cheeks, feathered arms, or fox tails, massaged his shoulders and legs with practiced ease.

All of them had once been external disciples who chose the comfort of his courtyard over the harsh competition of the academy. Qin Yating calmly lifted a teacup as another elder, this one from the lower house, painted leisurely nearby.

“Honestly,” Qin Yating murmured, swirling the cup delicately, “where is that useless Gong Bao? He promised he’d visit me. Do you know how rare it is for me to look forward to someone’s presence?”

The painter chuckled without lifting his brush. “Elder Gong is probably lost again. That man roams every corner of the academy. He’s always bragging about the opportunities he stumbles upon.”

Qin Yating snorted softly. “Opportunities? He manufactures them himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if half of his stories were staged. That ridiculous turtle incident… don’t think I didn’t notice his hand in that.”

He placed his cup down, and one attendant immediately approached to pour more tea. She was a graceful young woman with shimmering carp scales down her arms. She used her bloodline arts to levitate the tea so that the liquid swirled through the air like a ribbon of water before descending toward the cup.

A sudden flare of fiery qi leaked from Qin Yating’s body, but enough to make her lose control. It was not his intention, since his essence of pure fiery qi was just that strong. The floating tea splashed and scattered like shattered droplets, drenching her sleeves.

Her face turned deathly pale. She dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the ground so fast she almost bruised herself. “M-my lord! Forgive me! I beg your forgiveness!”

The other attendants froze. Their expressions tightened with fear, and several trembled as if expecting immediate execution. They had all seen how temperamental high-ranking elders could be, especially those who walked the Animal Path like him.

Qin Yating sighed. “Really now. Must you all make such a scene?” He flicked his fingers lightly, sending a warm breeze across the courtyard to evaporate the spilled tea from her sleeves. “I’m in a pleasant mood. Raise your head before you crack it open.”

But none of them moved.

Qin Yating massaged his temples as if even their terror gave him a headache. “Honestly… Gong Bao, hurry up and get here. I’m drowning in boredom.”

For all his power and status, Qin Yating had ascended to the dean’s seat for one simple reason. It was because he despised politics. To him, court schemes and power struggles were vile and inelegant things. He would rather spend a century admiring a single flower petal than an hour debating doctrine with the old fogeys of the internal court. His dao was beauty, his mystic arts were cultivated for refinement, and even his flames burned only to reveal brilliance. That was why what happened before him was unbearable. Beauty should not be clumsy. Elegance should not stumble. Yet here he was, watching both collapse in front of him.

The carp attendant trembled as she lifted the pot. She steadied her breath and brought forth the water-manipulating spell of her bloodline, weaving the tea through the air in an elegant arc. She succeeded, barely. A thin line of blood dripped from her nose from the strain. The sight would have been charming, a kind of fragile beauty… until the teacup in Qin Yating’s hand gave a sharp crack.

A heartbeat later, the cup shattered and hot tea splashed across his lap.

The fiery qi around him surged instinctively, evaporating the liquid with a hiss before it could stain him. The carp attendant fell to her knees again, shaking like a leaf.

“Truly disgraceful,” Qin Yating said, flicking the broken porcelain away. “Pouring tea. Pouring tea. Something mortals do with no cultivation at all. Yet you, Seventh Realm, with a bloodline art, and you cannot manage it.”

The attendant pressed her forehead to the floor. “M-my lord… it is your qi. Your flames are too strong. The water technique collapses—”

“Excuses,” Qin Yating scoffed, waving his sleeve sharply. “How inelegant.”

Of course he understood. His phoenix qi burned too fiercely for weak water spells to handle. But that wasn’t the point. He had noticed long ago that this little carp was too beautiful. Even at her lower realm, she had a natural grace, a softness of movement he found himself unwilling to acknowledge. Curious, he once thought he could learn from her temperament. He had even offered to take her as a disciple, impressed by her talent despite her humble origins in that border village caught between the Union and Martial Alliance.

But now? Now that he saw her flaws? Now that he saw her break, crack, and bleed?

He felt relieved.

How could he have ever thought this mortal-born carp outshone him? Qin Yating, with phoenix blood running through his veins? It was a mistake and a momentary lapse of judgment.

“I have grown tired of this one,” Qin Yating declared. “Her elegance is lacking. Send her to the Alchemy Elder.”

The carp attendant sobbed and bowed until her forehead reddened. “Dean, please! I can improve— I can—!”

A figure stepped out from the shadows behind her, moving with the quiet precision of someone trained to protect. Jia Mu of the Jia Clan, a handsome man with a spearman’s lean build and sharp eyes, saluted Qin Yating before placing his palm on the woman’s back. A thin ripple of world force passed through her, knocking her unconscious without bruising her.

“I shall send the unworthy one to the Alchemy Tower,” Jia Mu said respectfully. His loyalty was absolute, his devotion unshaken, and Qin Yating valued him for that.

Qin Yating relaxed again on his cushion. The affairs of sub-organizations within the Heavenly Temple often confused outsiders. People assumed the dean managed all things related to education, but that was a falsehood born from how the Academy appeared on the surface. The truth was far more layered. Gong Bao, for all his wanderer’s ways, was the one overseeing the education department. Qin Yating, on the other hand, led the Inquisition, an organization shrouded in secrecy, responsible for hunting heretics, traitors, and those who dared threaten the Temple’s order. It was a task he handled with efficiency and absolutely no political meddling.

A breath of silence settled over the courtyard.

The elder who had been painting finally set down his brush, bowing deeply. “Dean Qin, the painting is finished.”

“Finally. Something elegant.”

Qin Yating leaned forward with languid interest as the elder unfurled the finished painting. At first glance, it captured a familiar scene: himself seated in refined posture beneath his flowering apricot tree, tea cup raised with practiced elegance. His reflection in the pond shimmered faintly. Behind him, however, the painter had added a curious detail, a cluster of beautiful young attendants laughing and playing among themselves.

He stared at it in silence, his pleasant smile wavering.

“…Painted as if I were brooding alone,” Qin Yating murmured. “And the women, playing in the background? As if I were merely scenery?”

The painter froze.

Qin Yating tapped a finger against the table, eyes narrowed at the portrait’s details. “I asked for them to appear enjoying my company… not ignoring me entirely. And this—” he jabbed his finger lightly at his own painted face, “—I look ugly. Flat. Lifeless. Almost mortal.”

A chill spread beneath his gentle tone.

“I was thinking of sparing you,” he added casually. “But now? Hmm. I’m reconsidering.”

The painter’s brush slipped from his grasp. “What… what do you mean, Elder Qin?”

Qin Yating looked at him as if the question itself was inelegant. “Embezzling millions of spirit stones. Colluding with the Holy Ascension Empire. Selling Temple-exclusive manuals. Quite unbecoming.” His phoenix eyes curved faintly. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed?”

Panic rippled across the painter’s face. He tried to run, leaping backward, qi flaring in desperation, but he only managed two steps before his legs erupted into clean, controlled flames.

He pitched forward into the courtyard pond.

His lower limbs turned to ash before he even touched the water.

Qin Yating sighed, flicking his fingers. “His artistic talents were exaggerated. I can’t believe I considered recruiting him to paint my official portraits. How shameful.”

The pond began to bubble. His fiery qi seeped through the surface, superheating the water in an instant. Steam burst upward, and everything from the traitor, the fish, and the floral water plants was reduced to a cloud of vapor and drifting ash.

Peace returned to the courtyard as if nothing had happened.

There were few things that stirred Qin Yating’s heart from true beauty, immaculate refinement, and the pursuit of perfection. Anything short of that was ugly. Ugly things deserved no place in his world.

He waved his sleeve. The offending painting ignited, curling into blackened petals before scattering as dust along the tiles.

Jia Mu reappeared at his side, lowering himself into a neat bow. His speed had always been admirable.

“The Alchemy Elder offers his thanks,” Jia Mu reported. “He says the ingredient you sent was of unusually high quality.”

Qin Yating sipped his tea, pleased. “Of course it was.”

Jia Mu straightened. “Elder, is there any news from the Heavenly Master?”

“None.” Qin Yating’s expression dimmed with boredom. “She’s been with the Seers for some time. It’s becoming tedious, really.”

He swirled his tea, flames flickering faintly behind his eyes. “At this rate, I may have to entertain myself by clearing a few heretical weeds. That upstart Da Wei calls himself the Holy Emperor now, hm? Quite dramatic. And then there’s the Sage of the Union…” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Tell me, Jia Mu… who do you think is stronger? The Sunderer or the Sage?”

Jia Mu answered without hesitation. “If Da Wei’s feats are true, blocking a mature Hell’s Gate alone, sundering the summit, and surviving a confrontation with the Abyss, then it must be him.”

Qin Yating hummed. “Perhaps. But the Sage has always been known for the depth of his methods. A refined opponent. Difficult to read.”

Jia Mu’s gaze flickered, clearly wanting to escape the dangerous discussion about heretics and prodigies. He cleared his throat softly and shifted the topic with practiced care.

“…Elder, regarding the investigation on Jia Yun,” he asked, voice steady but cautious. “Shall we continue pursuing the matter? If I there’s a way for me to contribute, please tell me so…”

Qin Yating always insisted on transparency when it came to matters concerning himself or the people around him, so when the existence known as Jia Yun, now calling herself Da Ji, came under scrutiny, he deliberately assigned the investigation to a different subordinate. It would not do for the dean of the Heavenly Academy and one of the Six Elders to let conflict of interest stain an inquiry. The Heavenly Temple was sensitive to such matters, especially after the scandal of the previous dean. So Qin Yating kept himself one step removed, choosing to review reports only after they were filtered through three layers of independent checks.

He shared what he knew with Jia Mu as he lounged back in his cushioned seat, letting a fox-eared attendant fan him slowly. “Most of her story checks out. Birth, wandering years, the circumstances of her mother’s death, her meeting with her disciple… all consistent. Even our information specialists found no visible flaw.” He tapped the rim of his teacup with a jade-like finger. “Annoying, really. I was hoping for at least one elegant crack in her story.”

Jia Mu, who was kneeling at the edge of the pavilion, bowed his head. “Elder, if I may, her attendant concerns me more. The one called Chen Wei. Their facial structure and bone patterning are too similar. They are either siblings or sharing a deeper connection.”

“Don’t be blinded by greed,” Qin Yating said lazily, though his eyes sharpened. “Your position might feel threatened by Da Ji, but should it not be in your best interest to simply work harder than she does? Ambition is fine, Mu’er, but panic makes people ugly.”

Jia Mu lowered his head further. “Forgive this subordinate. I only wish to raise my clan to greatness again. We have faded too much.”

Qin Yating sighed, recalling the tangled politics of the Jia Clan and the one man he had once considered a rival. “Jia Sen would agree with you. That man schemed, lied, and begged to shift me out of the Heavenly Temple just so he could keep the Animal Path position in the Six Elders. Had he not done that, his supporters would have bled him dry. If he died, my own kin would have killed me the moment he fell. Survival makes people clever, but rarely elegant.”

Before Jia Mu could respond, a strange scent drifted into the courtyard, like funeral flowers placed at the foot of a forgotten altar. The sky dimmed as if a cloud had swallowed the sun whole. Both men stood immediately as the temperature plunged and the air itself felt thin and brittle.

Someone appeared.

There was no flash. No ripple. No distortion. One moment the courtyard was empty, and the next an ordinary looking young man with thick eyebags and plain white robes stood beside the pond as if he had always been there. His presence made the attendants bow until their heads hit the floor. This was a man who embodied absence, a walking void in human form.

Xu An, Elder of the Ghost Path, second strongest among the Six Elders.

Qin Yating internally scowled. Of all people, it had to be this man. A creature so plain he offended the very concept of beauty.

“Xu An,” Qin Yating greeted coolly. “You could knock, you know.”

Xu An ignored the jab. His tired, sunken eyes lifted and focused on him. “Gong Bao is dead.”

The words were dropped with the same weight one might use to comment on the weather. Yet they rang across the courtyard like a bell struck by a hammer. Qin Yating blinked, surprised, though not overly shocked. “Dead? Hm. Well… he was the weakest among us. Still sad. He should have been the ideal Asura, and yet he remained the most pathetic.”

Xu An’s voice was soft but cold. “Weak or not, he was still one of the Six Elders. His death is not trivial.”

Qin Yating waved a hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll pretend to mourn later. How did he die?”

Xu An closed his eyes for a brief moment, and dozens of ghostly runes shimmered faintly around his body. He was the elder in charge of the House of Formations, famed for formations so intricate that even the Grand Emperor was said to treat him as an equal. His department oversaw the Candle Flames, the spiritual markers of every important figure in the Heavenly Temple. When one extinguished, Xu An knew instantly.

“The candle of Gong Bao’s life dimmed here,” Xu An said. “Inside the Heavenly Academy. So I came.”

Qin Yating stiffened, his expression turning sharp. “Are you accusing me?”

“No.” Xu An shook his head slowly. “I came to ask the Inquisition to investigate this matter.”

Qin Yating exhaled through his nose, relieved but annoyed. He hated being disturbed by ugly things. Especially by someone as inelegant as Xu An. “Very well,” he said, folding his fan and tapping it on his palm. “My department will handle it.”

Xu An bowed slightly, so slight it almost didn’t exist. Then he vanished. No light. No sound. No presence. Only the lingering smell of funeral flowers remained.

Qin Yating scowled at the empty air, muttering, “Couldn’t he at least leave in a more beautiful manner?”