Chapter 40
"I didn't just reach First-Level Bright Sky as you assumed," Huan Zheng continued while scratching his head that didn't itch, his lazy eyes staring at the cracked ceiling of the city hall, "but Tenth Stage Bright Sky. One hundred Heavenly Longitude. Without needing to gather them one by one, without walking the long path that cultivators usually take. All of it came just like that, as if the Dao itself handed it to me—without price, without conditions."
Ling Xu fell silent.
Not because he didn't hear, but because he heard too clearly, and those words entered his ears like a blade slowly driven into his back—not fatal, but painful in a way he couldn't explain.
Because he knew—he knew that Huan Zheng had no intention of boasting, that this lazy man was merely stating facts in the most insensitive way possible—but deep within his heart, Ling Xu felt something cutting through him.
They had started from the same point.
They had meditated together.
They had struggled side by side.
Yet Huan Zheng—who had solidified his foundation since that night in the sea city—was now ten stages above him, while he had only just reached the threshold, with the roots and foundation of 9,999 Longitude that should have allowed him to leap higher, yet somehow did not, as if something was holding him back, as if something whispered:
"Not now. Not yet."
Within his chest, among the 9,999 Meridians that pulsed faintly, Ling Xu felt something else.
Not jealousy, for he had been with Huan Zheng for too long to envy the lazy man's progress.
Not disappointment, for he knew Huan Zheng would never intentionally hurt him.
But a strange sadness—one born from the realization that he might never catch up, that he might always be left behind, that he might always be the second, the weaker one, the one who needed protection, not the one who protected.
"Tenth Stage Bright Sky," Ling Xu repeated softly, his voice neither trembling nor bitter, but flat, like someone reading news about rising rice prices in the market.
"One hundred Longitude. Congratulations, Zhao Wei. I'm happy for you."
And strangely, he truly was happy—happy in a way that confused even himself.
Because on one hand, he wanted to be angry, to shout, to question why fate was so unfair.
But on the other, when he saw Huan Zheng still sitting lazily before him, with wrinkled robes, messy hair, and the same expression as when they first met in that dark cave, he felt that those one hundred Longitude belonged to both of them, that the lazy man's advancement was their shared victory, that they had never truly walked alone, even if their steps were not always in sync.
After tidying themselves up—straightening their wrinkled robes, tying back strands of white-streaked hair, and ensuring no trace of the grayish-green mist still clung to their bodies—Ling Xu and Huan Zheng walked out of the city hall toward the commander's headquarters to report the results of their assignment.
That the small city they had observed for twelve days turned out to be empty.
That there were no traces of battle, no signs of life, no divine forces nor human soldiers—only a silence thicker than death, a silence that had made the hairs on their necks stand when they first stepped into the city twelve days ago.
"A dead city," Ling Xu reported to the commander, who received them with weary eyes and a face that no longer cared about anything, having heard too many reports from watchers who never brought good news.
"No enemy activity. No activity at all. Only empty buildings and dust two fingers thick."
The commander nodded tiredly, then signaled his adjutant to provide their supplies.
Several sacks of spirit rice, several bundles of dried herbs to stabilize cultivation Qi, several small bottles of energy-recovery pills, and a pouch of copper coins—just enough, not much, but sufficient to buy a large portion of chicken noodles with an extra egg, just as Huan Zheng always wanted.
The sky above the third city, which was gradually being abandoned, was grayish-green—the remnants of the Cancer fog that refused to fully leave, like memories that refused to fade even as time moved forward.
And beneath that sky, two figures in worn robes flew side by side across clusters of low-hanging clouds—sometimes too close, their robes dampened by dew, sometimes too far, appearing as two black dots above the land slowly consumed by twilight mist.
"The fourth sky city," Ling Xu said while opening a thin cloth map that had begun to fade in places, his eyes narrowing as he read the name written in worn ink.
"Wuji City. According to old records, it's famous for its black market. Anything can be bought there—from rare herbs to secret information, from forbidden weapons to… slaves."
He did not finish the sentence, because the word "slaves" tasted bitter on his tongue, reminding him of the days when he hid his white hair beneath a thick hood, pretending to be a lowly healer with no past, while deep inside, the fire of hatred had never truly died—it had only slept, waiting for the right moment to ignite again.
Huan Zheng, flying beside him at the same speed—even though he could move faster if he wished but chose not to—nodded lazily.
His half-closed eyes did not seem particularly interested in the description of their destination, but Ling Xu knew that beneath that laziness, this indolent man was calculating possibilities, measuring risks, preparing for whatever they might face.
"Black market," Huan Zheng repeated, his voice as flat as someone reading a shopping list.
"Could be a good place to gather information. Or a bad place to lose your wallet. Or both."
Amid the quiet journey—filled only with the whisper of wind in their ears and the occasional hum of Qi flowing from their feet—Ling Xu suddenly remembered something.
Something that had been bothering him since they left the city hall, like a small pebble in his shoe that he couldn't ignore no matter how hard he tried.
"Zhao Wei," he called, his voice soft but clear against the wind, "I want to ask something. About the Celestial Meridian realm."
Huan Zheng did not answer.
He simply raised one eyebrow slightly—a signal that he was listening and that Ling Xu should continue, because at this altitude, speaking too much would only dry the throat, and he was too lazy to drink water.
"Is the method of advancing cultivation in the Heavenly Longitude the same as in the Star Foundation?" Ling Xu asked, his eyes fixed forward, toward the horizon where the clouds began to turn golden as the sun tilted westward.
"Do I have to gather Longitude again, one by one, like I used to collect Star fragments? Or is there another way?"
To be continued…