The Council Chamber always made Li Wei feel like he should’ve ironed his soul before walking in.
Today was worse.
He sat in his own place—Area 003’s seat—coat shrugging slightly around his shoulders. He tried to look like a respectable Commander and not like someone who’d spent the last forty?eight hours half in a vault, half chain?smoking over sealed anchors.
The jade conference table stretched in a perfect ring beneath them, polished so smooth it reflected the lanternlight like a thin layer of water. Above the center, the Cloud?Jade Ledger’s crystallized core hovered in its usual place—an enormous multifaceted shard of jade, shot through with flowing script. Ever-watching, ever-patient.
Today’s meeting theme followed that of Commander Meng Po of Area 004, thus the entire chamber was painted in shimmering cool hues, representing the Passing.
Around the table, the other Commanders waited in varying degrees of calculation. Observing this political vacuum with a pair of overworked eyes, Li Wei’s gaze inevitably drifted to empty Seat 001.
Absence wasn't unusual, per se—Taeril took pride in disregarding council summons—but this was different. With the White Tiger’s forced disappearance and Dormancy Protocol in effect, the vacancy wasn’t a defiant statement. It echoed a far more ominous uncertainty that made everything quieter on the other side of the ring.
And quiet, Li Wei knew from experience, never meant well.
"RealmNet’s practically in mourning,” Great Peng was the first to speak, swiping through holographic reports. “Azure Dragon disappears, Chiyou’s sudden passing—conspiracy threads for days. The influencer economy is thriving, at least.”
“Trust you to think of ad revenue,” Qiongqi muttered.
Foxfire’s lips curved. “Well, someone has to monitor public sentiment. The memorial threads for little Chiyou are quite moving. The artistic edits alone—very compelling.”
Her gaze slid, almost lazily, toward Li Wei. “I believe your Elite Force has also been trending in three realms.”
Li Wei kept his face blank. Trending was the least of his concerns.
Meng Po’s voice cut through the undercurrent. “Chiyou’s reincarnation process falls under my jurisdiction,” she said. “No such soul has entered my queues.”
Her tone was neutral; her eyes were not. They flicked across the table with precision, landing on Foxfire, then Li Wei, then went downcast.
Li Wei pretended to study his notes.
He wasn’t the only one. Foxfire hid a smile behind her fingers, as if amused by an inside joke she’d never explain. They knew very well why nothing had shown up in Meng’s ledgers yet, but “staged deaths to enter the Passing” was one of those phrases that earned you a ninty?page reprimand from the Jade Deity’s office.
And fines. So many fines.
He really didn’t want to add “cross?realm smuggling of living souls” to his list this quarter.
A seat across his, Qiongqi broke the moment with a snort. "Qing Long vanishes ‘presumably dead’, little war demon follows, White Tiger’s core explodes mid-Game and walks off the map… Strange times.” His eyes gleamed, shark?like. “We might as well start a betting pool.”
At his words, Li Wei tensed. The Azure Dragon had always been a chaotic variable, powerful enough to rival Commanders yet answerable to none. Naturally, his supposed “death” call barely convinced any on the table.
“Speculation without evidence serves no purpose,” Lady Meng said.
"I concur.” Li Wei straightened, seizing the chance to redirect. “Qing Long’s fate is troubling but falls beyond our immediate oversight. Unless he directly threatens a realm’s stability, intervention isn’t warranted."
“Tell that to RealmNet,” Peng muttered. “There’s a thread that claims the Jade Deity staged the whole thing to boost ratings.”
Li Wei pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Area 001 remains stable under Dormancy,” Erlang Shen said from across the table, clearly attempting to drag them back on track. His third eye remained closed. “Triple warded. No spontaneous rift activity reported.”
“For now,” Wen interjected, fingers steepled before him. “The longer a seat stands empty, the more interesting it looks to… opportunists.”
His gaze swept once, thin and assessing.
Ah. Here we go.
“Which brings us,” Wen continued, “to a more prudent but pressing topic. Seat 001. Have candidates been discussed?”
A bare hush fell upon the Council Chamber.
Even Qiongqi straightened a fraction. Ao Bing, seated near the icy end of the table, tilted his head very slowly.
It was also he who spoke first.
"Commander Wen,” he said in a crisp tone. “Respectfully, Area 001’s Dormancy isn’t finished yet. To prematurely discuss replacements may only further unsettle stability."
Li Wei blinked. He did not expect that from Bai Hu’s op.
“Precisely my point,” Wen said. “Stability is paramount. If the core fails to re?consolidate, a successor must be chosen before the Dormancy period ends. Leaving it to the last minute is… unwise.”
“So considerate, Commander Wen.” Foxfire’s smile brightened by half a shade. “Perhaps we should redirect this concern toward Area 008, then? The Dark Flood’s seat has been empty for far longer. Very unstable.”
Peng’s eyes lit with curiosity; even Lady Meng tilted her head fractionally.
Qiongqi snorted a quiet laugh. “If the Dark Flood comes back angry that we replaced him, I’m volunteering you as his PR handler.”
“The Dark Flood has been dead for six mortal centuries, but gladly,” Foxfire said. “He did have excellent visuals.”
Erlang Shen cleared his throat. “Let us stay on topic.”
"I suggest we monitor Area 001 closely but maintain protocol strictly,” Li Wei said, then paused. “After all, the Jade Deity’s auditors seem especially active lately."
Stolen novel; please report.
A shudder rippled through the assembled Commanders, subtle but unanimous. Everyone feared audits.
The next two hours comprised a zig?zag through a number of other items: updated rift statistics, regulation of livestream ethics in the afterlife, which demon princes required “monitoring” versus “aggressive harassment”. Qiongqi suggested eating a particularly obnoxious official from the Spirit-Beast Realm to keep him from breaking treaties; Foxfire reminded him that every eaten mortal required three karmic reports and a Q&A session with Black and White Impermanence.
That shut him up for a blissful minute.
Finally, the Cloud-Jade Ledger core chimed again, returning to its original soft glow.
“Council session: adjourned.”
The Commanders rose, murmuring amongst themselves, ready to escape from the Chamber.
Li Wei stayed seated for one heartbeat longer.
He glanced around, hesitated, then internally cursed his hesitation. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he said, “Commander Meng—could you spare a minute?”
Silence dropped like a stone.
Every head at the table turned back in delicious unison, attention locked, escape no longer a priority.
Foxfire’s crimson lips curled instantly, elbow jabbing Peng’s side. “Oh my,” she said under her breath, very audibly. “Post?meeting tête?à?tête?”
Peng had the nerve to raise his holopad like a SpiritTube camera.
Lady Meng’s gaze slid to them, cool and flat.
“Article Twelve of the Inter?Commander Privacy Code,” she said. “No unauthorized recordings in Council Chambers.”
Peng flinched. “...Of course not.”
The tablet vanished so fast Li Wei almost felt the gust. Foxfire’s sigh of disappointment was audible.
“Disperse,” Meng added, and somehow managed to make the word sound like a formal decree and an exasperated sigh at once.
Foxfire laughed softly, looping her arm through Peng’s. “Come along. Let the bureaucrats flirt in peace.”
“We’re not—” Li Wei started, then wisely shut his mouth.
The others drifted out, varying degrees of nosiness still evident in the glances they kept throwing back. The heavy jade doors slid shut with a muffled thunk, and as they did, the Cloud?Jade Ledger’s core dimmed and sank a few inches, lines of text dissolving.
Private mode.
Li Wei always forgot how loud the Ledger was until it wasn’t.
Without its constant, subtle hum of calculations, the chamber felt almost… normal. Just stone, jade, and another Commander on the opposite side of the ring.
Lady Meng folded her hands atop the table. Her expression remained the same serene neutrality she’d worn during the meeting, but her eyes were sharper, now that omniscient bureaucracy wasn’t staring over both their shoulders.
"An official matter, Commander Li?" she asked.
Not exactly, he wanted to say, about three levels of illegal, and probably going to give us both headaches.
"Semi-official,” he settled on. “Potential guests may soon enter your jurisdiction. Potential cross?departmental… traffic."
"Guests?"
"Visitors," he amended hastily.
“Visitors,” she repeated.
Li Wei cleared his throat, focusing on a point just over her shoulder so he wouldn’t get distracted by the way she tilted her head when she listened.
“Not quite authorized, but working on the paperwork for it as we speak,” he said.
He wasn’t. Yet.
Meng’s expression barely changed, but her gaze did. "You’re being unusually cryptic, Commander Li."
"Am I?"
"Exceptionally so."
“I’m…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up in more directions. “…trying not to incriminate either of us more than necessary.”
“Appreciated,” she said. “These ‘visitors’—should I expect familiar faces?”
The question was casual, but he could feel the hit beneath it. Lady Meng had felt the ripples already; of course she had. A realm like hers did not stay still when two anchors lit up on the other side.
“Likely,” Li Wei said quietly. “Yes.”
“Qilin’s vessel.” Not a question. “And Chiyou’s reincarnation.”
The fact that she said it aloud made his shoulders tense. “Your records are more up?to?date than mine,” he admitted.
“A surge of partial death?signatures, two anchors pinging from guarded Areas, and then two very dramatic mortal funerals,” Meng said. “You hardly kept it subtle.”
Li Wei coughed. “Authenticity was important for the ritual.”
“I read the report.” Her lips twitched. “Genuine grief does improve gate stability.”
He relaxed half a breath. “Then you know why they’re coming.”
“I know someone detached themselves and aimed for my bridges without filling out so much as a pre?death notification,” she said, resting her chin on her linked fingers. “And you’re requesting…?”
“A favour,” he said, finally. It tasted unfamiliar. Commanders weren’t supposed to ask for those. “Officially, you will of course treat them as any other… anomaly. As you see fit.”
Meng raised an eyebrow. She studied him as if he was an unexpected entry on the reincarnation scroll. "And unofficially?"
“Unofficially, I would appreciate your… discretion,” Li Wei said, feeling his composure slip under her gaze. “And if trouble follows them—which it will—perhaps a slightly slower swing of the scythe.”
For a beat, something that looked almost fond crossed her face. It vanished so quickly he might’ve imagined it.
“Officially,” Meng said, tone crisp, “I cannot guarantee preferential treatment. Every soul in my realm—living, dead, or in between—must abide by the rules. Even those of the divine.”
“Of course,” he said quickly.
She let the silence linger, as if deliberately deepening his discomfort. When she finally spoke, the barest hint of a smile crept into her voice.
“Unofficially, I will keep watch.”
Li Wei let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you.”
Again, silence stretched, though not entirely uncomfortable. It was the kind of pause that appeared when you’d said the important thing and now had no idea how to segue out of the room without looking like a fleeing duck.
Meng regarded him over steepled fingers, waiting.
Li Wei’s mind, traitor that it was, grabbed for the nearest unrelated problem in his current life.
“Also,” he blurted, “do you—uh—by any chance, happen to know how to hatch an egg?”
The question hung in the air, accompanied by a good five seconds worth of silence.
Meng blinked. That was rare enough on its own.
"Hatch… an egg?"
“Not a random egg,” he said quickly, ears going hot. “A… spiritual one. Divine. I received it recently. And I need advice. It keeps screaming at me. I think. Very quietly. Heard you had... experience.”
He was rambling. He could hear himself and still couldn’t stop.
Meng eyed him quietly. Instead of answering immediately, she asked a question of her own. "You received a divine egg?”
"Yes," Li Wei said, then added, "from a reputable source. Classified source. For now. I recall you had a phoenix egg once. Jade Deity gave it to you after one of the Games, didn’t he?”
Lady Meng’s expression softened. “Ah, yes. The phoenix egg.”
A pause.
“I wasn’t aware you followed the Games so closely,” she said. “That was six decades ago.”
“Professional curiosity,” Li Wei said. “And respect. Purely professional.”
Meng Po blinked again—not in anger, but in a way that said he’d just admitted to stalking old tournament footage.
"Purely professional," she echoed.
"Precisely," Li Wei reaffirmed, willing himself to sound convincing, praying the floor would somehow open and offer him a transfer to another realm.
“I see.” Meng spared him. "Yes, the Jade Deity entrusted me with a phoenix egg after the twelfth Game. It required careful incubation: regulated warmth, consistent qi infusion, and a depressing amount of lullabies.”
“…Lullabies?”
“Phoenix hatchlings are dramatic,” she said. “If they feel unloved, they explode.”
He stared. “That wasn’t in the after?action reports.”
“No one reads the appendices,” she said. “In any case, divine eggs are temperamental. They respond to intent, environment, and karmic resonance. Mishandling can stunt them—or turn them into something you don’t want loose in the world.”
That last bit sounded pointed.
“I’ll send you the manuals I used,” she continued. “And a warming array pattern. Do not improvise your own. I’ve seen what happens when gods ‘get creative’ with incubation.”
“…Qing Long?” Li Wei made a wild guess.
Meng’s expression did something so small most people would’ve missed it. “He tried to hatch a thunder carp in a storm array,” she said. “The fish won.”
“I’ll… stick to your notes,” Li Wei promised. Relief eased some of the tension in his chest. “Warmth, patience, careful qi. No storm?arrays.”
“And,” she added quietly, “do not rush it. Divine growth resents clocks.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the empty Seat 001. “You, of all people, should understand that.”
“…Yes.”
Too well.
Meng’s eyes softened, just for a moment, before smoothing back to neutrality.
“Anything else?” she asked.
"No," Li Wei answered instantly—too quickly. He mentally kicked himself. "That’s all. Thanks for your help."
Meng rose, the motion as fluid as ink across paper. At the door, she paused, fingertips resting briefly on the jade frame.
“You’ve always been terrible at hiding things, Wei,” she said without turning back. “Smuggling mortals, fretting over protocol, wearing worry like an accessory—it’s all very obvious.”
He winced. “I’ll… work on that.”
“Don’t,” she said.
He blinked. “Don’t?”
She glanced over her shoulder. The faintest curve touched her mouth.
“I find it endearing,” she said lightly. “At times.”
Then the door whispered open, and she was gone in a sweep of black robes and quiet authority.
Li Wei remained where he was for three full seconds.
Then, he exhaled slowly, leaning back until his forehead tapped against the cool jade wall.
“Brilliant, Li Wei,” he muttered into the stone. “Just brilliant.”