The secret hall was not hidden in a dungeon or a remote peak. It was in the heart of the Jiang Capital, beneath the public archives—a place of such mundane bureaucratic tedium that no one would think to look for power here. The chamber itself was a perfect sphere of unadorned white stone, illuminated by a single, sourceleless light that cast no shadows.
Immortal Jiang materialized at its center. He was not the first to arrive.
Six other figures occupied the seamless curve of the wall, each standing in their own space, their auras so tightly contained they were like dormant stars—invisible to the lower world, but holding cataclysms within.
To his right stood Tiang Feng, the Stag, his granite presence making the air around him seem denser. Beside him was a mountain of a man whose bare, scarred torso seemed to be made of living, volcanic rock—Unbrekable Varja, the Brawler of the Four Kingdoms.
Across the sphere, a woman hovered an inch above the floor, her form shifting and unclear, like a reflection in troubled water—The Lost Triangle Master. Near her, an ancient-looking man leaned on a staff of petrified, black-green wood that seemed to pulse with a slow, sickly heartbeat—Black-Green Wood, the Hermit of the Poisoned Grove.
The other two were less distinct: a scholar in faded robes whose eyes held swirling galaxies, and a huntsman with a face hidden by a hood woven from twilight.
If the world knew these seven were in one room, the peace they upheld would shatter from sheer awe. They were the unspoken pillars. The final argument.
"Jiang," Tiang Feng's voice broke the absolute silence, the word a statement, not a greeting.
"The stars have shifted," Immortal Jiang said, his serene voice filling the sphere. No preamble was needed here. "The convergence is upon us. The children—all of them, across the lines—must be shielded."
Unbreakable Varja cracked his knuckles, the sound like splitting stone. "The Tribulation," he grunted, not as a question, but a confirmation.
"They will come for the symbol," the Lost Triangle Master said, her voice echoing from multiple directions at once. "To break the peak is to demoralize the mountain."
Black-Green Wood tapped his staff on the non-existent floor. A tiny, thorned vine sprouted from the point of impact and withered to dust in a second. "You wish a Matrix. A defensive web."
"Yes," Jiang said. "Centered on the Sky-Swallow Peak during the sunset viewing. A shield against celestial judgment."
A Matrix. It was the highest form of cooperative cultivation. Not simply fighting side-by-side, but weaving their understandings of the Wheels into a single, layered tapestry of effect. One cultivator's Jingdao would reinforce the entire structure's endurance. Another's Shidow would manipulate and deflect incoming energies at a macro scale. Zhidow would create the lattice of the shield itself, Heidow would combine and amplify their powers, Fendow would sever any hostile energy that touched it. The power of such a construct would depend entirely on the depth of their individual mastery and their perfect synchrony. With these seven, it could theoretically hold back a falling moon.
"For how long?" the scholarly man asked, his galactic eyes narrowing.
"Long enough," Jiang replied. His serenity was unnerving. It was not the calm of one who expects to win, but of one who has seen the end of the path and walks it without flinching. He was asking for a shield to protect the future, not for a sword to defend the present.
Tiang Feng studied him, the flint in his eyes grinding. "You have seen your role."
"I have seen the necessity," Jiang corrected softly. "The children are the only variables that matter now. Their potential must be preserved. The Matrix will be their sanctuary. Your duty."
There were no arguments. No debates on odds or tactics. These were beings who understood scales of power beyond armies. A silent agreement passed between them, sealed with slight nods.
One by one, they winked out of existence. The scholar dissolved into a shower of stardust. The huntsman faded into the wall's shadow. The Lost Triangle Master simply ceased to be there. Varja sank into the floor as if it were lava. Black-Green Wood turned to petrified wood and crumbled. Tiang Feng was the last, giving Jiang one final, inscrutable look before his form compacted into a single point of immense gravity and vanished.
Jiang stood alone in the white sphere. The plan was set. The last, best defense of an era was arranged. He showed no relief, only a quiet, profound acceptance.
He emerged from the archives into a quiet corridor. Madame Su was there, waiting, her face pale. She had felt them—not individually, but the collective, momentary pressure of seven world-pillars in one place, a psychic tremor that would have screamed danger to any cultivator of her sensitivity.
"Immortal…" she breathed, her usual composure shattered. "What… what is happening? I felt… presences. Like standing at the foot of a collapsing sky."
He placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of contact. His touch was steady, anchoring. "Do not trouble yourself, Su. It is a matter of… celestial alignment. A precaution."
She looked up at him, and he saw not fear for herself, but a deep, frantic worry for him, and for the boy she helped raise. "A precaution against what? I felt Varja. Black-Green Wood. Anyone of them could… they are beyond anything I could ever…"
"They are allies," he said, his voice gentle but final. "The children will be safe. That is all you need to know. See to Gen's preparations for the sunset. Let him have his adventure."
He walked past her, leaving her standing in the dim hallway. She clasped her hands tightly to stop them from trembling. The Immortal's serenity should have been comforting. Instead, it terrified her. He was not a man who took precautions. He was the final solution.
And if he was gathering the other pillars to form a Matrix—a legend she had only read of in crumbling scrolls—then the threat he foresaw was not just an army or a monster. It was an ending.
She took a shaky breath, forcing her will into order. Her duty was clear. Protect Gen. Even if she couldn't understand the storm gathering on the horizon, she could make sure he was ready to face the wind. But the weight of those vanished presences hung in the air around her, a silent, devastating truth: she, a respected Third Wheel cultivator, was less than a leaf in the gale that was coming.