I am the Heroine’s Master?

"Qing Zhanyue has arrived!"

The proclamation echoed across the Imperial Capital at dawn. People poured into the streets; cultivators launched themselves into the air, cheerfully ignoring the flying fees; and officials immediately took to the skies after them, shouting for everyone to descend at once or pay the proper fines. Traffic ground to a halt, businesses forgot they existed, and every eye in the capital – or at least every eye within sight of the spectacle, as the capital itself was far too large for everyone to see it at once – turned toward the heavens above the Imperial Palace, where something enormous drifted through the sky.

"It's a dragon!" someone shouted.

"No, it's a bird!" another corrected.

"Idiots, it's a carriage," declared a third voice. As everyone squinted upward, it became clear that the third speaker was right. The immense shape did not fly so much as swim through the heavens, its long body coiling and undulating through the clouds. It passed before the blazing sun, and its silhouette sharpened into view. It was a procession of carriages, each linked to the next by gleaming chains of light. The carriages were fashioned from polished wood and dark steel, each the size of a grand house, while their wheels burned with living flame, leaving trails of embers in the air as they rolled across the sky.

Only the lead carriage differed, because it was no carriage at all. Instead, a radiant peacock of pure light drew the procession, every feather forged into a gleaming sword. It released a long, musical cry that later court historians would describe as hauntingly beautiful (rather than the shrill, warbling screech it actually was) and spread its wings even wider. Thousands of blade-feathers caught the morning sun, scattering dazzling rays across the city until the peacock shone like a second dawn.

Everyone below blinked furiously, trying to banish the spots dancing across their vision. Then, somehow, it got worse as a flamboyantly dressed man – wearing scandalously tight leather of all things – shot through the air toward the peacock. He was evidently using some profound technique, because every spectator, regardless of cultivation realm, could see him with perfect clarity despite the distance. He came to a halt half a li from the peacock and cheerfully boomed, with absolutely no regard for volume, "Little Zhanyue! Right on time!"

The spectators clapped their hands over their ears, though it didn't help. The voice was rich and resonant, carrying the force of a giant bellowing directly beside them. Half-blinded and nearly deafened, the crowd winced and cursed under their breath.

Then another voice answered. Unlike the first, it never touched their ears at all. Instead, it resonated directly within their minds, impossibly clear, as though a celestial herald had spoken from the heavens themselves. It was a voice of flawless grace and divine serenity...

...which only made its words more jarring. "Who," it asked, "are you calling little?" There came the whisper of a sword leaving its sheath.

The clouds above the Imperial Capital split apart.

The heavens parted to either side with the effortless precision of silk sliding beneath a master's scissors, revealing a flawless line of blue sky and pouring a river of golden sunlight over the city. For one long heartbeat, everyone simply stared, before their collective survival instincts asserted themselves. The spectators scattered in every direction. Some dove into houses, others into shops or beneath market stalls. A few sprinted for the nearest park, apparently deciding that trees counted as cover. Those who found nothing at all simply curled into balls in the middle of the road and hoped that, if two terrifying cultivators started fighting, they would somehow be mistaken for paving stones.

Several li away, floating off to one side, Mo Jian had his face buried in his hands. He was not the only one reacting: Muxue was shaking her head – though fondly – while Bai Ning was cheering, of all things. "Cut off his hair! Or kick him between the legs!" she shouted, projecting her voice with qi. Beside her, Yue Shuangyi slapped a hand against her forehead. Li Kang and Chen Zhuhe, somehow acting in perfect unison, both winced and subtly drifted farther away from Bai Ning, instinctively protecting themselves from their violently enthusiastic friend. Liu Rushi looked openly amused. In stark contrast, Wei Shentong was grinding his teeth hard enough to crack stone. Beside him, Duan Cheng appeared completely unsurprised; not merely accepting the scene, but looking as though he had expected exactly this to happen.

"Let's catch up," Muxue suggested, glancing toward Mo Jian while trying and failing to hide her smile. "Uncle Tiger should have explained the situation to General Qing by now."

Bai Ning immediately objected. "Are you sure we can't wait?" she asked hopefully. "It's healthy for venerable cultivators to converse as equals without juniors butting in." The justification, invented entirely on the spot, convinced absolutely no one. Several pairs of eyes turned toward her in perfect synchronization.

"That was a pretty poor attempt," Chen Zhuhe observed. "Are you feeling alright?"

Yue Shuangyi nodded solemnly. "Sister Bai, remember, a young lady should conduct herself with poise." Her expression, however, made it abundantly clear that she had no objection whatsoever to what Bai Ning had suggested, only to how clumsily she had tried to justify wanting to stay and watch.

Li Kang grinned. "Ha! You're getting rusty. Maybe that's why I almost won our spar yesterday-" He cut himself off as a streak of emerald light shot toward him, aiming to bisect him where he stood. It shattered harmlessly against the protective qi surrounding him, while Bai Ning maintained a somewhat chagrined expression.

"I still won," she said defensively, though it was a little weak.

Before Li Kang could answer (his smile was growing wider), Wei Shentong's aura flared. "Are we going or not?" He looked only at Mo Jian, a vein throbbing conspicuously at his temple as he made a monumental effort to pretend no one else was present.

Mo Jian finally dragged his face out of his hands, taking one long, resigned breath. "...Let's go."

The group shot forward as one, leaving brilliant trails of qi streaming through the sky as they sped toward the heavenly procession and the radiant peacock that led it. As they closed the distance, Mo Jian could make out the Tiger General (he was unharmed) conversing with the Peacock General. He had heard countless stories about the latter: that she was the Empire's strongest female cultivator, and its greatest beauty. Ever since the Tiger General had revealed that he intended to summon her as their escort to the Great Wall, Mo Jian had found himself quietly looking forward to meeting her. So, as they approached, he took the opportunity to study her.

He found himself... slightly taken aback. Or rather, she was not what he had expected. General Qing was beautiful, certainly, but not in the breathtaking, impossible way the rumors had suggested. Her eyes were the deep green of moss after rain, and her hair, black as the night sky, had been gathered into a simple, practical bun. The other half of it fell down her back in a thick ponytail, held in place by nothing more elaborate than a slender dagger thrust through it as a hairpin. Her robes were a simple white, with the only ornamentation on them being a peacock feather embroidered on the shoulders.

What truly set her apart was how utterly at ease she seemed in her own skin. She was laughing when Mo Jian first saw her, smiling at something the Tiger General had said, and that simple expression transformed her features. It lent them a warmth and vitality that no sculpted perfection could imitate. Still... Muxue is prettier, he found himself thinking. Not to mention-

He firmly strangled that thought before it could finish itself.

The Tiger General noticed their approach and beckoned them over. They came to a halt beside him, the entire group offering respectful salutes with clasped fists.

"Senior Qing."

"Senior Qing."

"Fairy Qing."

"Fairy Qing."

The chorus of greetings was met with a casual wave of her hand and a wide returning salute. Her gaze swept across the group, lingering on each of them for a heartbeat before settling immediately on the princess. "Muxue!" she exclaimed, delight lighting up her face. "You've grown up! The last time I saw you, you were this big." She held up her thumb and forefinger, leaving scarcely an inch between them.

The Princess examined the tiny gap and snorted. "I don't remember ever being an insect," she replied dryly.

"No, no," Qing Zhanyue insisted. "You just don't remember. Where's your shadow? She can back me up." The last part was delivered with her head whipping from side to side, as though she expected the aforementioned shadow to be lurking behind someone.

Muxue's faint smile disappeared. "...Shen Jinglan is dead." The words were clipped and flat.

Qing Zhanyue's own smile faded, though she neither flinched nor looked away from Muxue. "I see. I am sorry to hear that." The sympathy was simple, direct, and unmistakably sincere, which somehow, only made it hurt more.

Thankfully, the Tiger General broke the silence. He snapped his fingers and a spark of qi accompanied the sharp crack, producing a thunderclap loud enough to make everyone twitch before their attention turned to him. The general looked deeply satisfied with himself. "You can catch up later," he declared. "If we linger much longer, some useless court functionary will show up. Then we'll be stuck through a welcoming feast, a formal audience, three speeches, and whatever other nonsense they can invent. I'll also kick Pao in the butt to get him to board the last coach, so that he can't pretend to get left behind."

He jerked a thumb toward the north. "Go." His expression softened, if only slightly. "And be safe, though that hardly needs saying. With Zhanyue escorting you, nothing short of an immortal should be able to threaten you before you reach the Great Wall."

"I have a basic understanding of the situation," Qing Zhanyue agreed. "You'll be safe with me. Muxue, come with me to the first coach so I can keep an eye on you. The rest of you can take whichever coach you like. We have more than enough room."

Everyone nodded, and Qing Zhanyue led Muxue toward the first coach behind the radiant peacock. Its polished wooden sides were lined with broad windows, while three gates were evenly spaced along each side. As the General approached the foremost gate, it swung open of its own accord, and she and Muxue passed through, descending lightly onto the polished wooden floor within. Then Qing Zhanyue gave a quiet snort and stepped aside.

A moment later, Mo Jian and the rest of the group filed in after her, with Bai Ning cheerfully announcing, "Pardon the intrusion." She had told them they could choose whichever coach they wished; they had simply all chosen the first one. Qing Zhanyue regarded them for a long moment before accepting defeat with surprising grace. That, however, created another problem.

"Right," she said, turning to the carriage's current occupants. "You lot. Out. We need the space."

The interior was arranged much like an ordinary carriage, if an ordinary carriage happened to be the size of a manor. A broad carpet of blue-green silk stretched from one end to the other beneath rows of softly glowing qi lamps embedded in the ceiling. The carriage was astonishingly wide; Mo Jian estimated that twenty people could have stood shoulder to shoulder without touching one another, while its length rivaled that of a respectable courtyard. The walls curved gently upward into a vaulted ceiling supported by carved wooden ribs that resembled the spread plumage of a peacock. Along either side stood elegant stone pavilions, little more than raised platforms with delicately carved roofs, each positioned beside a window that offered magnificent views of the Imperial Capital receding below. Three doors lined each wall, while a seventh stood at the rear, presumably leading into the next coach in the procession.

Most amazingly of all, the entire coach felt uncannily still. Although it hurtled through the heavens faster than any bird could fly, there was no swaying beneath Mo Jian's feet. The only reminder that they were moving at all came from the endless landscape drifting serenely beyond the windows like a painted scroll, the city's rooftops, canals, and palace walls gliding silently past far below, along with the occasional glimmer of clouds sliding past the crystal glass.

About a dozen cultivators occupied the carriage. They wore matching suits of steel armor – Bin Steel, Mo Jian noted immediately, recognizing the distinctive snowflake-like patterns that shimmered across the metal. Peacock-feather cloaks hung from their shoulders, while their helmets were fashioned into elegant avian beaks. Most carried both swords and spears. One of them, a broad-shouldered man whose long hair spilled from beneath his helmet, held a control token in one hand.

"General," he said mildly, "if we all leave, you'll have to steer the convoy yourself."

Qing Zhanyue visibly shuddered. "...Then you stay, Gue." She pointed at him, then waved the rest of them away. "The rest of you, out."

They left with surprising composure, most of them looking more amused or resigned than offended. One by one, they passed through the rear door, stepping out into empty air where only a chain of forged qi connected this carriage to the next, and without hesitation crossed that invisible bridge and drifted onward as though walking a familiar corridor. For all Mo Jian knew, they probably were. As he moved deeper into the carriage, he discreetly released the Netherworld Scorpion from his sleeve. Not that he particularly distrusted anyone here, but an extra pair of eyes, or rather pincers, had never hurt when gathering information.

He glanced toward Qing Zhanyue as he did so, but she showed no sign of noticing, and that, more than anything, eased a quiet tension in his mind. The General was already happily conversing with Muxue, steering her toward a nearby stone pavilion at the front before dropping into it with all the grace of a child claiming a favorite seat. The Princess followed with considerably more restraint, casting a quick glance toward Mo Jian and Bai Ning as she did so. The two of them took their places beside her.

Li Kang made for the remaining space, but Yue Shuangyi promptly hooked him by the arm and dragged him away toward another pavilion. Liu Rushi offered Mo Jian an apologetic look as she herded Chen Zhuhe after them, both disappearing into the same cluster of seats. Wei Shentong chose the farthest corner of the carriage, isolating himself near the rear. He sat alone, already summoning his natal artifact to hover before him as he resumed refining it; its color shifted gradually from a dull loamy green into a deeper, more tempered ochre as his qi flowed through it. Duan Cheng, meanwhile, did not sit at all. He simply leaned against one of the crystal windows, half his face washed in streaming sunlight as he watched the world drift silently past below.

"…and wondering how long it will take us to arrive?" Muxue was asking, though most of Mo Jian's attention was split elsewhere. The Netherworld Scorpion continued its quiet exploration, its small body slipping along seams and joints as it tapped and probed at hidden surfaces. The carriage might have looked like a simple luxury conveyance, but that was only appearance, for beneath it lay over nine distinct formations – at least, that was as many as he had managed to identify so far – and several of them extended across the entire convoy, interlocking from carriage to carriage like a single vast array. And that was without even considering the peacock at the front. That thing, as far as Mo Jian could tell, was neither a construct nor an artifact spirit. It was simply a technique, sustained continuously by Qing Zhanyue herself, without visible strain.

Qing Zhanyue answered Muxue with a laconic shrug. "If we push, three days. But Huwei told me it would be better to take our time, so I'm aiming for a week."

Muxue nodded, satisfied. "No, that's excellent. We can't afford too much delay, but a week is fine. I intend to conclude this campaign as quickly as possible, ideally within a month."

Qing Zhanyue made a thoughtful sound at that, though Mo Jian only half heard it. Part of his attention remained on the scorpion, though another part lingered on the timeline: a week to the Great Wall, at a leisurely pace. That same distance, from the capital to the Wall, was roughly equivalent to the span between the Thousand Shattered Islands and the Imperial Capital. It had taken Mo Jian eight months to cross it then. Even now, at his current cultivation realm, it would still take him at least three months. And yet this convoy would traverse it in seven days. Mo Jian had always understood that there was a gulf between cultivators at different stages of the Nascent Soul realm, but only now did he feel it in a way that made abstract knowledge suddenly, uncomfortably real.

"…I wish I could, but I can't," Qing Zhanyue was saying. "If I linger too long, Lou will take offense. He's always been a rather persnickety sort. The most I can do is get you to the Wall and back, that's it."

Muxue nodded, mildly disappointed but not surprised, as Mo Jian quietly placed the name: General Lou Ma Gong, the Horse General, and commander of the Great Wall's defenses. He had heard he was a dutiful, dour, and difficult-to-please man, though given the source of that description was Tang Huwei, Mo Jian felt it wise to treat it with a healthy degree of skepticism.

"But," Qing Zhanyue was saying now, "I am really glad to see Huwei back on his feet. The last time I saw him, he was like an extinguished lamp. It's wonderful that you managed to convince him to return." She leaned back slightly, gaze drifting toward the front of the convoy as though she could see the distant past reflected there. "Back when I first joined the Imperial Army, he taught me a few things. I've always wanted to return the favor."

Huh. Mo Jian had not been aware there had been such a relationship between Tang Huwei and Qing Zhanyue. Still, he was glad to hear it, especially since it clearly worked in their favor. He subtly redirected his attention, guiding the Netherworld Scorpion closer to one of the pavilion-side windows so he could extend his perception outward through its senses.

Muxue leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "He did tell me he thinks of you like a daughter."

Qing Zhanyue snorted. "I am almost three hundred years old. The only reason I haven't beaten him like a mule is because I never got the chance to fight him properly. If anything, he should be calling me 'Matriarch.'"

Muxue smiled, clearly amused. "Oh? I don't know. If-"

It happened so suddenly that there was no time for reaction. Mo Jian barely registered the movement at all, only the sensation that the world had slowed, as though reality itself hesitated to keep up with what was about to occur. Qing Zhanyue rose in a single smooth motion and her hand flicked. A dagger shot sideways – except no, it was not quite a dagger; it was a bolt of condensed qi, refined to such density and precision that it mimicked the shape and lethality of thrown steel. It struck the Netherworld Scorpion mid-motion and dissolved it into mist.

Mo Jian forcibly suppressed his instincts and the world snapped back into normal speed.

Bai Ning's head whipped around, alarm flashing across her face, while Muxue froze, eyes widening in sharp confusion. They weren't the only ones. Half the carriage turned at once. Liu Rushi and Bai Ning's companions were already on their feet. Duan Cheng had shifted his gaze from the window, still leaning casually as he observed the scene. Gue, the convoy driver, remained seated, though his spiritual sense swept through the carriage like an invisible tide. Only Wei Shentong did not react at all, still absorbed in refining his natal artifact as it hovered before him.

Qing Zhanyue lifted a hand. "Calm down," she said evenly, her tone carrying no urgency, only certainty. At Mo Jian's subtle nod, the tension in the carriage eased. One by one, they returned to their seats, though he could feel attention like pressure in the air, all of it fixed on their pavilion.

"General," Muxue asked quickly, "what happened?"

Mo Jian forced his expression into something suitably startled and uncertain. At the same time, he reached inward, sensing… the Netherworld Scorpion still existed, undamaged, though dispersed. He could feel it, intact in essence but scattered in form, though reforming it would require summoning his ding, something that right now would be… unwise.

"I could neither see it nor sense it," Qing Zhanyue said calmly, "but I know something was there."

Then she vanished. One moment she stood within the pavilion; the next, she was where the Scorpion had been, leaning slightly forward as though inspecting something only she could perceive. Mo Jian's eyes widened and he was not alone.

Teleportation? Something even more exotic?

Neither of those should be possible.

And the timing – only moments before, the Scorpion had been at a safe distance, and it had only become vulnerable after he directed it closer. Which meant that whatever she was sensing had range, and limits. Yet she had still struck it. Meaning she could wield xian, and not merely wield it, but do so with a refinement that made Mo Jian's own control feel crude by comparison.

Qing Zhanyue turned, and now there was a sword in her hand. It was a simple steel blade with a plain hilt, its surface polished enough to reflect the ambient light of the carriage without any decorative inscription or ornamentation. Her gaze shifted, and then settled directly on Mo Jian.

Her instincts, it seemed, were ruthlessly sharp.

For a moment, the world slowed again as everyone else moved as though submerged in thick water – Muxue's expression only halfway through turning to alarm, Bai Ning mid-gesture, a faint green glint already gathering in her hand.

Then Qing Zhanyue swung. The strike fell directly toward Mo Jian, fast enough that even the Heaven Enshrouding Ding did not fully manifest in time.

Steel met steel with a clean, ringing clang, and the blade shuddered to a halt scant inches from his throat.

Wind tore outward from the impact, snapping through the pavilion like a sail catching a sudden gale. Mo Jian felt it rake across his skin, hot and sharp, sweat breaking instantly along his neck and brow. Time, which had thickened into something slow and dreamlike, snapped back all at once, and only then did he understand what had actually stopped the blade.

Bai Ning stood before him, arm locked straight, her sword trembling faintly under the weight still bearing down through it. She had drawn it fast enough to save him.

Across the pavilion, Qing Zhanyue did not lower her sword. She only smiled – slowly and utterly without apology – as though they had just answered a question she had never bothered to ask aloud.

.......................................................................................

AN: It's Superman!

Meet Qing Zhanyue, the woman regarded as the closest thing to immortality within the Empire. If you asked, "Who has the greatest chance of becoming an immortal?" nine out of ten people would point to her.

As for the tenth... she'd probably cut off the offending finger, or at least shave its owner's head bald for the sheer audacity. Humility has never been one of her defining virtues.

Mo Jian really should have known better than to try showing off in front of her. That's all I'm saying.

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