Immortal Paladin

[POV: Da Ji]

Da Ji had long since learned that wars did not need to cross walls to leave scars.

Even though the great conflict raging beyond the Celestial Wall had yet to touch Celestial Step City directly, the Heavenly Temple Academy had changed beyond recognition. The most visible change was also the most ironic. She now sat as acting dean, with Peng Ru as her vice, presiding over an institution that claimed to represent wisdom, balance, and order.

Their ascent had been swift, unnaturally so. In another era, such positions would have taken centuries of maneuvering and consensus. Now, it had taken death. Three of the Six Elders had fallen during the combined assault of Da Ji and her brother, leaving power vacuums that the Heavenly Temple was eager to fill with younger, more malleable figures. Da Ji understood this much clearly. They had not been elevated because they were trusted. They had been elevated because they were convenient.

Yet titles were the least of the changes.

Inside the academy, the atmosphere had grown sharp and oppressive, like air before a storm that never broke. External cultivators, particularly those wearing dark robes or practicing heterodox paths, were monitored relentlessly. Some were barred from entire districts. Others were quietly seized, their names removed from registries overnight. At the same time, there was an aggressive conversion of external disciples into internal ones, carried out under the guise of protection and privilege.

The worst cases never reached official records.

Some external disciples were kept as leverage, hostages meant to coerce enemy sects into compliance. Others were retained for more insidious reasons. Da Ji had learned, through documents she was never meant to see, that many were being dissected, refined, and studied for the secret arts engraved into their bodies and bloodlines.

Every sect carried something unique, something honed over generations. Even inferior arts could become lethal in the right hands. The Heavenly Temple had always claimed to be a beacon of knowledge, but Da Ji now understood the truth behind that reputation. Knowledge was not shared here. It was hoarded, dissected, and monopolized. Wisdom, when stripped of morality, was merely another weapon.

She had only grasped the full extent of this after sitting in the dean’s seat herself.

The knock on her office door came softly.

Elder Zhu Bo entered with hurried steps, his usual composed demeanor fractured. His robes bore the insignia of the Heavenly Temple, but the subtle beast sigils along the hem marked him as a member of the Beast Court as well. His loyalty, Da Ji knew, was divided, and that division weighed heavily on him.

“Dean Da Ji,” Zhu Bo said, clasping his hands deeply. “I beg you to intervene.”

She gestured for him to speak, though she already knew what he would say.

“The soldiers,” he continued, voice strained. “They are forcing their way into the Heavenly Temple Academy facilities. They demand accelerated research, forced training regimens, and elite conversion protocols. These are children. Disciples who have not even stabilized their foundations.”

Da Ji lowered her gaze slightly. “I know.”

Zhu Bo stiffened. “Then you must stop them.”

“I cannot,” she said quietly. “These orders do not come from the academy. They come from the state.”

Silence settled between them. Zhu Bo’s shoulders sagged, as though the weight he carried had finally become unbearable.

“You sit as dean,” he said, more softly now. “And yet you are bound tighter than any of us.”

Da Ji did not deny it.

Zhu Bo exhaled, then bowed deeply. “Forgive my presumption. I allowed my emotions to overstep my station.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Da Ji replied. “If anything, you have endured more than most.”

He hesitated, then nodded, turning to leave. When the door closed behind him, the room felt emptier than before.

A moment later, Peng Ru stepped out from behind one of the carved pillars lining the office wall, her expression dark.

“It’s getting worse,” Peng Ru said. “Children from beyond the Celestial Wall are being brought in batches now. They’re not even pretending anymore. They’re using them to refine that technique.”

Da Ji’s fingers tightened against the armrest of her chair. “I know.”

Peng Ru scoffed bitterly. “They’re wasting lives. Stripping them down for parts, for formulas, and for results they might never even achieve.”

Da Ji said nothing at first.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Peng Ru continued, frustration edging her voice. “Even with your Jia Clan backing and my family’s influence, we’re still just ornaments. Symbols to calm the masses.”

“That was always the intention,” Da Ji replied.

Peng Ru turned toward her sharply. “Then why stay?”

Da Ji met her gaze, calm and unreadable. “Because leaving now would accomplish nothing.”

She did not say the rest. That she was waiting. That Gu Jie’s arrival would mark the true beginning. That her presence here was not compliance, but positioning.

Some truths were too dangerous to share, even with allies.

Peng Ru studied her for a long moment, then looked away. “They accepted us so easily,” she muttered. “Too easily.”

Da Ji nodded.

“Of course they did,” she said. “Our positions have little relevance to the war. And on the rare occasions they do, they expect us to abandon our morality and participate in the scholars’ experiments from the Promised Land.”

Peng Ru broke the silence first.

“Did you learn something new?” she asked, her voice low, wary of the walls.

Da Ji nodded slowly. “I’ve been reviewing the sealed records of the academy,” she said. “The ones that never circulate beyond the inner vaults.” She paused, then added, “There’s a secret there. One the Heavenly Temple never intended for anyone in my position to see.”

Peng Ru exhaled sharply and raised a hand. “Don’t tell me. I wouldn’t even ask.”

Da Ji glanced at her. Peng Ru’s expression softened, losing some of its sharpness. “As long as my niece is safe,” Peng Ru continued, “I can endure the rest.”

She placed a hand over her chest. “I keep a life talisman on Ding Cai. Her pulse is steady. I know when she’s wounded, when she’s exhausted, when she’s alive.”

Da Ji felt a quiet pang at that. “I don’t have anything that convenient,” she admitted.

Before Peng Ru could respond, a voice echoed calmly through the room.

“I wish to make a report.”

Peng Ru startled, half-turning as space rippled beside Da Ji’s desk. A small figure emerged as if stepping out of thin air.

“Chen Wei?” Peng Ru said, incredulous.

The boy standing there looked no different from an ordinary disciple. His features were youthful, his robes plain, his presence unassuming. Yet Da Ji felt it immediately, a pressure so carefully restrained it bordered on invisibility. This was no child.

Peng Ru stared at him, then frowned. “You mastered transformation,” she said slowly. “And stealth.”

Chen Wei waved a hand dismissively. “That’s a misunderstanding, Lady Peng.”

He puffed his cheeks slightly, almost sulky. “The transformation comes from Uncle Wei’s Chibi Perfume. As for the stealth, that’s just a side effect of my design. I’m a vessel of the Supreme Void. Void properties tend to erase presence.”

Peng Ru opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Da Ji tapped the desk lightly. “Enough chatter. Make your report.”

Chen Wei straightened at once. “Yes.”

He turned to Peng Ru first. “I’ve confirmed the identities of the scholars from the Promised Land.”

Peng Ru’s brow furrowed. “And?”

“They are not ordinary scholars,” Chen Wei said. “They are Seers of the Promised Land. Directly answering to the Heavenly Master.”

The room went still.

“The Seers?” Peng Ru echoed. “Why would they leave the Promised Land? That’s the safest place in existence for them.”

Da Ji’s eyes narrowed in thought. From what she knew, the Seers were among the Heavenly Temple’s most valuable assets. They interpreted fate, mapped threats, and refined predictive models that shaped entire campaigns. Sending them into the open, especially into something as volatile as experimental research, was reckless on the surface.

Yet recklessness was not the Heavenly Temple’s style.

“It isn’t far-fetched,” Da Ji said slowly. “Precognition isn’t only for war. Nongmin proved how devastating it could be when applied to refinement and experimentation.”

She paused, her thoughts drifting briefly to Gu Jie. Even in her earliest days, before her powers had stabilized, her insight had been terrifying.

“If Seers are involved,” Da Ji continued, “then whatever they’re developing isn’t meant to be incremental. It’s meant to change the balance outright.”

Peng Ru’s fingers curled into a fist. “And they’re using children to do it.”

“Yes,” Da Ji said. “Which means the Heavenly Temple believes the cost is acceptable.”

“There is something else,” said Chen Wei. “About the Seers.”

Peng Ru looked at him sharply. “Go on.”

“They are not merely researching techniques,” Chen Wei continued. “They are making Children. I believe the term should be familiar to the two of you. It’s the same ‘Children’ you should know about.”

The word landed heavily.

Peng Ru’s face darkened at once. “Disgusting.”

Da Ji felt her fingers tighten against the edge of the desk.

The Children were not a rumor. They were a horror whispered about only in the deepest shadows of the cultivation world. Artificially forged cultivators, said to be personally refined by the Heavenly Master herself, beings of terrifying potential created at the cost of their materials’ lifespan.

Materials, in this case, meant children.

“The Heavenly Master always denied it,” Peng Ru said coldly. “She called them miracles.”

“She never lied,” Da Ji replied quietly. “She only omitted the price.”

Peng Ru exhaled through her nose. “Now it makes sense why the Seers are here. They’re trying to refine the process.”

“Yes,” Da Ji said. Her eyes sharpened. “And I believe I know how.”

Peng Ru glanced at her, then deliberately looked away. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “I’m already dying of curiosity, and I’d rather stay ignorant than careless.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “We’re lucky as it is. If the Inquisition were still active, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

The Inquisition.

A special branch under Qin Yating, tasked with rooting out traitors through pursuit, interrogation, and execution. No appeals. No trials. Only results.

Da Ji nodded faintly. “Luck is the only reason we’re still breathing.”

Chen Wei cleared his throat softly. “There’s more.”

Peng Ru turned back to him, her expression easing slightly. “You really are meticulous,” she said. “I wish my niece had even a fraction of your talent.”

Chen Wei tilted his head, clearly unsure how to respond to the praise, then continued with the same calm cadence. “A mysterious child was recently acquired by the Heavenly Temple,” he said. “He was delivered here, to the academy, for the Seers’ direct study.”

Da Ji straightened at once. “A child?”

“Yes,” Chen Wei said. “A special one.”

Her heart thudded. “Does he have a name?”

Chen Wei did not hesitate. “Ren Zhe.”

For a brief moment, Da Ji forgot to breathe. Her fingers rose to her mouth, teeth pressing into her nail as her thoughts raced. Ren Zhe. The child of the Dragon King. Not a hostage, not a bargaining chip, but research material.

“That’s…” Peng Ru began, then stopped. “That’s bad.”

Da Ji nodded slowly. “Worse than bad.”

The scale of the war had expanded far beyond what she had anticipated. Capturing Ren Zhe for experimentation meant the Heavenly Temple was no longer merely reacting. They were escalating, pushing toward something irreversible.

She felt, acutely, how isolated she truly was.

Here, within the Heavenly Temple Academy, deep behind enemy lines, close to the very heart of their territory. Information moved sluggishly, if at all. The Shadow Clan had devised ways to reach her through shadow techniques, but it had been some time since her last contact.

She had told herself it was only delays. Increased security. Temporary disruptions.

But what if it was worse?

What if calamity had already struck the Holy Empire?

Her thoughts spiraled, then stopped.

No.

The Holy Empire still had Alice, a true Ascended Soul. If that was not enough, her brother still possessed the remainder of his Six Path souls. And if even that failed, there was Jue Bu, an Ascended Soul in his own right.

Da Ji closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.

Panic would solve nothing.

When she opened them again, her gaze was steady, her impatience buried deep.

Running was pointless.

If the Heavenly Temple believed it held all the pieces, then she would simply have to prove them wrong.

Da Ji exhaled slowly.

“Then it’s time,” she said, her voice even, “to meet these scholars from the Promised Land. But before that… Chen Wei, tell me everything you know about Ren Zhe. Everything. And I don’t mean merely the fact that the child carries two souls.”

Chen Wei inclined his head. His expression grew more serious as he spoke, as though reciting something he had weighed carefully before committing to memory.

“The reports are fragmented,” he said. “And many were sealed almost immediately. But what I heard is this… Ren Zhe has two faces. Literally. A boy and a girl, sharing the same body.”

Peng Ru stiffened. “Two souls and two aspects…”

“Yes,” Chen Wei continued. “Despite having no discernible cultivation, Ren Zhe killed several Seventh Realm cultivators. One Eight Realm cultivator was severely injured. Multiple soaring vessels were destroyed. After that, the child slaughtered a large number of lower-level Heavenly Temple forces.”

Silence fell over the office.

Peng Ru stared at him. “That’s impossible,” she said flatly. “Formations alone would have suppressed him. Not to mention treasures. Even a genius would—”

“I agree,” Chen Wei said. “Which is why the prevailing theory is Transcendent Cultivation.”

Da Ji’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“A cultivation path that does not register within the Hollowed World’s conventional frameworks,” Chen Wei explained. “That could account for killing Seventh Realm cultivators. But it does not explain severely injuring an Eighth Realm expert while fighting alone, under active suppression.”

Peng Ru shook her head. “Then the Heavenly Temple must have seen something else.”

“They did,” Chen Wei said. “Whatever it was, they classified it immediately.”

Da Ji folded her arms. Her thoughts moved swiftly.

“There’s another detail,” Chen Wei added. “Ren Zhe appears to be a child… but records suggest the child is over a hundred years old.”

Peng Ru inhaled sharply. “A constitution that does not age?”

“Possibly,” Chen Wei replied. “That alone would warrant interest.”

Da Ji’s gaze drifted, unfocused, as memory stirred.

She remembered her own son, how Chen Wei had gone from infancy to adulthood in the span of moments and days, shaped by the power of a Supreme Being rather than time. That was forced growth, artificial acceleration.

Ren Zhe, however, was the opposite.

A child who did not grow.

Her thoughts turned, inevitably, to Ren Zhe’s parents.

“I may have a hypothesis,” Da Ji said quietly. “But speculation is meaningless without confirmation.”

She straightened. “Chen Wei, take me to him.”

Chen Wei nodded and turned toward the door.

They did not make it three steps.

The door did not open.

Something walked through it.

Da Ji froze.

Before them stood a child no more than five years old. Small. Barefoot. His clothes were plain, almost too plain for the Heavenly Temple Academy. His eyes were wide, his expression earnest and lost.

“Please,” the boy said softly. “Can you help me?”

His voice trembled. “I’m looking for the person who can bring back my mama and papa.”

Da Ji felt her breath catch.

Then the boy’s hair shifted, silver flooding through dark strands like spilled moonlight. His posture straightened. His eyes sharpened, pupils narrowing. When he spoke again, the voice was feminine, cold, and edged with something feral.

“Who killed them?” she asked. “Tell me. I’ll punish them myself.”

The air grew heavy.

Then the silver drained away. The hair darkened once more. The child shrank in on himself, bowing awkwardly, hands clasped together.

“I—I’m sorry,” the boy said quickly. “My sister doesn’t usually talk to strangers. She’s shy. Quiet.”

He hesitated, then added in a small voice, “But ever since the bad men came… she gets angry really easily.”

So this was Ren Zhe, huh? Quite the little tyrant…