Chapter 4: Nine Immortals

The first rays of dawn filtered through the mist that perpetually shrouded Xuanqing Palace, painting the jade pavilions and ancient trees in soft golden light. Thirteen-year-old Zhao Yang sat in perfect lotus position atop the Meditation Stone, a massive crystal boulder that hovered mysteriously six feet above the ground at the center of the Celestial Reflection Pond. Three years had passed since his arrival at the palace, and in that time, he had grown from a frightened orphan into a disciplined young cultivator.

Well, mostly disciplined.

"You're cheating again," he said without opening his eyes.

A soft, musical laugh answered him from somewhere to his left. "How can one cheat at meditation, little brother?"

"By using a sound concealment technique to sneak up on someone who's supposed to be focusing on their inner void," Zhao Yang replied, finally opening one eye to find Yan Ruoxue—his unofficial Ninth Senior Sister—floating cross-legged in the air nearby, her white robes billowing despite the lack of wind.

At eleven, Yan Ruoxue had already mastered techniques that many adult cultivators struggled with. Her control over spiritual energy was so natural that she often performed advanced feats without realizing they should be impossible for someone her age. Like floating effortlessly for hours while most disciples her age could barely manage a few minutes.

"Master said your awareness training would begin today," she said, grinning mischievously. "I'm just helping."

Zhao Yang sighed, his concentration thoroughly broken. "By scaring me into an early grave? How thoughtful."

"Oh please, your heart didn't even skip a beat. Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I bring news! The Eight Immortal Sisters have returned from seclusion!"

Zhao Yang's eyes widened. "All eight of them? Together?"

Yan Ruoxue nodded excitedly, her dark eyes sparkling. "They arrived at dawn. Master has summoned all disciples to the Grand Hall for formal introductions. Even you!"

"Even me?" Zhao Yang repeated, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. As the only male disciple of Xuanqing Palace, he was often excluded from certain ceremonies and gatherings, particularly those involving the most elite and traditional members of the sect.

"Yes! Come quickly, or we'll be late!" Without waiting for a response, Yan Ruoxue drifted backward through the air, her excitement palpable.

Zhao Yang rose from his meditation, curiosity overcoming his annoyance at the interruption. He had heard whispers about the Eight Immortal Sisters since his first days at Xuanqing Palace—eight prodigies who had entered closed-door cultivation three years ago, coincidentally right before his arrival. They were said to be the pride of Xuanqing Palace, each a once-in-a-millennium talent in her own right.

And today, he would finally meet them.

---

The Grand Hall of Celestial Harmony was packed with disciples of all ranks. Hundreds of female cultivators in white robes stood in perfect rows, arranged by seniority and achievement. At Yan Ruoxue's insistence, Zhao Yang had reluctantly taken a place at the very back, hoping to attract as little attention as possible.

"Stop fidgeting," she whispered, elbowing him gently. "You look like you're preparing to flee."

"Maybe I am," he muttered back. "Have you noticed everyone staring?"

Indeed, despite his best efforts to remain inconspicuous, Zhao Yang's presence had not gone unnoticed. Throughout the hall, disciples turned to glance at him, some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled disapproval. After three years, he was still a controversial figure within the sect.

Before Yan Ruoxue could reply, a bell rang out—a single, pure note that resonated through the vast hall, bringing immediate silence. All eyes turned toward the dais at the front, where Murong Qingxue had appeared, resplendent in formal white robes embroidered with celestial scenes in silver thread.

"Disciples of Xuanqing Palace," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the hall. "Today is a momentous occasion. Three years ago, eight of our most promising disciples entered seclusion to attempt breakthrough to the Ethereal Realm. Today, all eight return to us, their goals accomplished."

A murmur of awe rippled through the assembly. The Ethereal Realm was notoriously difficult to achieve, with many cultivators spending decades attempting the breakthrough. For eight young disciples to succeed simultaneously was unprecedented.

Murong Qingxue raised a hand, and the hall fell silent once more. "I present to you the Eight Immortal Sisters of Xuanqing Palace, exemplars of our teachings and guardians of our legacy."

She gestured toward a side entrance, from which eight figures emerged in procession. Zhao Yang found himself standing on tiptoe to see over the heads of the disciples in front of him.

The first to enter was a tall, slender woman with features so perfect they seemed carved from the finest jade. Her movements were precise and graceful, her expression serene yet remote, as if her thoughts dwelled in realms beyond ordinary comprehension. A sword of unusual design hung at her waist, its hilt fashioned from what appeared to be a single massive diamond.

"Lin Shuoyue, First Disciple of the Immortal Eight, Master of the Frost Blade Technique," announced Murong Qingxue.

Next came a woman whose every movement seemed a dance, her hips swaying subtly as she walked. Unlike the first, whose beauty was cold and distant, this woman's allure was immediate and potent. Her lips curved in a perpetual half-smile, her eyes—an unusual amber color—seeming to find and hold the gaze of every person in the room simultaneously. The air around her shimmered with barely visible patterns, like heat rising from sun-warmed stone.

"Su Mengyan, Second Disciple of the Immortal Eight, Mistress of the Thousand Illusion Art."

The third woman moved with an effortless grace that made her seem to float rather than walk. Her features were delicate and refined, her complexion like the first light of dawn on fresh snow. Where the second disciple radiated sensuality, this woman emanated a sense of tranquility so profound that Zhao Yang felt his heart rate slow just looking at her. She carried no visible weapon, but a small pouch of what looked like medicinal herbs hung at her waist.

"Ye Qingzhu, Third Disciple of the Immortal Eight, Healing Sage of the Jade Remedy."

The fourth was perhaps the most striking of all—a woman with skin so pale it seemed almost translucent, and hair as white as new-fallen snow despite her apparent youth. Her eyes were a crystalline blue rarely seen among the people of the Middle Kingdom. She moved with a curious stillness, as if conserving energy with every gesture. The air around her seemed several degrees cooler, and disciples nearest her path shivered involuntarily as she passed.

"Bai Bingxue, Fourth Disciple of the Immortal Eight, Ice Fairy of the Frozen Heart Technique."

The fifth disciple was a stark contrast—a woman of smaller stature who practically bounced as she walked, her face animated and curious, eyes darting around the hall with undisguised enthusiasm. Her hair was arranged in an elaborate style adorned with small golden bells that chimed softly with each step. She carried a zither on her back, its strings occasionally vibrating of their own accord, producing notes that seemed to harmonize with the ambient sounds of the hall.

"Hua Lige, Fifth Disciple of the Immortal Eight, Melodic Prodigy of the Soul-Stirring Zither."

The sixth moved like flowing water, each gesture blending seamlessly into the next. Her features were soft and appealing, framed by hair that seemed to shift in color from black to the deepest green depending on how the light struck it. The sleeves of her robes were unusually long, concealing her hands completely, and a subtle, sweet-yet-dangerous scent followed in her wake—like flowers that bloom only under moonlight.

"Liu Ruyan, Sixth Disciple of the Immortal Eight, Mistress of the Hundred Poisons and Thousand Cures."

The seventh woman's entrance caused a stir even among this illustrious company. She stood taller than most men, her posture military-straight, her movements precise and economical. Unlike her sisters, who wore the traditional flowing robes of cultivators, she was dressed in armor—not the heavy plate of mortal soldiers, but a lightweight, form-fitting design of some mysterious material that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. A massive spear was strapped across her back, its blade covered but still radiating an aura of barely contained violence.

"Qin Shuoyue, Seventh Disciple of the Immortal Eight, War Sage of the Undefeated Battle Heart."

The eighth and final disciple appeared the most conventional at first glance—a woman of average height with regular features that, while beautiful, lacked the otherworldly quality of some of her sisters. Yet as she moved through the hall, Zhao Yang noticed something odd: the space around her seemed to bend slightly, as if reality itself was unsure of its footing in her presence. Her eyes reflected a keen intelligence, taking in the assembly with a single sweeping glance that seemed to catalog and analyze every person present.

"Shen Qingcheng, Eighth Disciple of the Immortal Eight, Formation Master of the Cosmic Patterns."

The eight women took their places on the dais, arranging themselves in a perfect semicircle behind Murong Qingxue. The hall erupted in applause, disciples stamping their feet and crying out in admiration. These eight women represented the pinnacle of achievement at Xuanqing Palace, living proof of the effectiveness of their cultivation methods.

As the applause died down, Murong Qingxue raised her hand once more. "Today, these eight disciples officially become instructors at Xuanqing Palace. Each will take apprentices and share the insights gained during their seclusion. This marks a new chapter in our long history—one that coincides with... other significant changes."

Her gaze swept the hall, then settled, with deliberate obviousness, on Zhao Yang. Hundreds of heads turned to follow her line of sight, and Zhao Yang felt his face grow hot under the sudden scrutiny of the entire assembly.

"Zhao Yang, step forward," Murong Qingxue commanded.

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Even Yan Ruoxue looked shocked, her eyes wide as she gave him a gentle push. "Go on," she whispered urgently.

On legs that suddenly felt like water, Zhao Yang made his way through the parting crowd. The walk to the dais seemed to take an eternity, with every eye in the hall boring into him. When he finally reached the foot of the steps, he bowed deeply to Murong Qingxue and the Eight Immortal Sisters.

"Zhao Yang, unique disciple of Xuanqing Palace," Murong Qingxue announced, her voice carrying a subtle emphasis on the word 'unique.' "Three years ago, you came to us as an orphan with untested potential. Today, you have proven that potential is being realized."

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Zhao Yang kept his gaze lowered, unsure where this was leading.

"The Path of Cultivation is not walked alone," Murong Qingxue continued. "Even the most talented require guidance, companionship, and challenge from their peers. I have instructed you personally these three years, but there are aspects of cultivation where different perspectives are required."

She turned to the Eight Immortal Sisters. "Each of you will, in rotation, oversee a portion of Zhao Yang's training, complementing my own instruction. You will share your specialized knowledge with him, as you will with your other apprentices."

The Eight Sisters bowed in unison, accepting the command without question—though Zhao Yang noticed varying degrees of enthusiasm in their expressions. The First Sister, Lin Shuoyue, regarded him with cool assessment, while the Fifth, Hua Lige, seemed barely able to contain her curiosity, bouncing slightly on her toes as she stared at him.

"Zhao Yang, you will address these eight as your Senior Sisters and show them the same respect you show me," Murong Qingxue instructed. "They have much to teach you, if you are willing to learn."

"Yes, Master," Zhao Yang replied, bowing again. "I am honored by this opportunity."

Murong Qingxue nodded, seemingly satisfied. "You will begin tomorrow at dawn with First Senior Sister Lin Shuoyue. Prepare accordingly."

As the assembly was dismissed and disciples began to file out of the hall, Zhao Yang remained where he was, still processing this unexpected development. He would be training with the legendary Eight Immortal Sisters—cultivation prodigies whose achievements were whispered about with awe throughout the sect.

"Well, well," came a soft, melodious voice from behind him. "So this is Master's special project."

Zhao Yang turned to find himself face to face with Su Mengyan, the Second Sister. Up close, she was even more beautiful, with features that seemed designed specifically to enthrall. Her amber eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked him up and down.

"Such a serious little brother," she teased, reaching out to tap him playfully on the nose. "I look forward to our time together. Perhaps I can teach you to smile?"

Before Zhao Yang could formulate a response, a cool voice interrupted: "Su Mengyan, do not tease Master's disciple."

Lin Shuoyue had approached silently, her expression serene but her eyes sharp as frost. "We have been entrusted with his education, not his entertainment."

Su Mengyan pouted, but the expression held no genuine displeasure. "Always so strict, First Sister. The boy will freeze under your tutelage."

"Better frozen than frittered away on illusions and distractions," Lin Shuoyue replied evenly. She turned her attention to Zhao Yang, assessing him with a gaze so penetrating he felt she could see through flesh to the very core of his being. "Tomorrow, dawn, at the Frost Peak Pavilion. Do not be late."

With that, she turned and glided away, her movements as precise and elegant as calligraphy brushstrokes.

Su Mengyan sighed theatrically. "Don't mind First Sister. Her heart is warm beneath all that ice... somewhere very, very deep." She winked at Zhao Yang. "Until our lessons begin, little brother."

As she too departed, Zhao Yang found himself surrounded by the remaining six Immortal Sisters, each regarding him with varying degrees of interest.

Ye Qingzhu, the Third Sister, offered him a gentle smile. "Your meridians show signs of strain. Come to me after First Sister's training tomorrow. I have herbs that will help."

Bai Bingxue, the Fourth Sister, merely nodded at him, her icy blue eyes unreadable, before following in Lin Shuoyue's wake without a word.

Hua Lige, the Fifth Sister, was far less reserved. She practically bounced up to him, the bells in her hair chiming merrily. "Is it true you can channel both yin and yang energy? Can you show me? Oh, I have so many questions! Do you like music? I'm composing a new piece that requires both energies, perhaps you could help me test it?"

Liu Ruyan, the Sixth Sister, gently pulled the enthusiastic Fifth Sister back. "You'll overwhelm him, Lige." To Zhao Yang, she offered a smile that was both kind and mysterious. "Forgive her excitement. You are something of a curiosity to us all."

Qin Shuoyue, the tall Seventh Sister, regarded him with the calculating eye of a general assessing a potential recruit. "Your physical conditioning is adequate, but your stance betrays weaknesses in your lower back and right ankle. We will correct these when your training with me begins."

Finally, Shen Qingcheng, the Eighth Sister, circled him slowly, her gaze analytical. "Interesting energy pattern," she murmured, almost to herself. "Asymmetrical but balanced. Counter-intuitive yet functional. Yes, most interesting indeed."

Feeling increasingly like a specimen under examination, Zhao Yang was relieved when Murong Qingxue's voice cut through the sisters' observations. "Enough. You will have ample time to satisfy your curiosity during training. Zhao Yang, return to your meditation. Sisters, attend me in my study. There are matters we must discuss."

As Zhao Yang bowed and retreated from the hall, he felt a curious mixture of intimidation and excitement. The Eight Immortal Sisters were even more impressive than rumors had suggested—each a unique combination of beauty, power, and specialized knowledge that had taken them to the pinnacle of cultivation at remarkably young ages.

And now, they would be his teachers.

---

Later that evening, as Zhao Yang prepared for sleep in his small jade pavilion, a soft knock came at his door. Opening it, he found Yan Ruoxue bouncing excitedly on her toes outside.

"Tell me everything!" she demanded, pushing past him into the room. "What did they say to you? What are they like up close? Is First Senior Sister Lin really as cold as everyone says? Did Fifth Senior Sister Hua play music for you? Does Seventh Senior Sister Qin really have a hundred battle scars? Is it true that Second Senior Sister Su can make anyone fall in love with a single glance?"

"Slow down," Zhao Yang laughed, closing the door behind her. Despite being technically against the rules, Yan Ruoxue's visits to his pavilion had become a regular occurrence over the years. As the youngest disciples at Xuanqing Palace, they had formed a friendship that bridged the gap between male and female cultivators that was so carefully maintained throughout the rest of the sect.

"They're... intimidating," he admitted, sitting cross-legged on his bed while Yan Ruoxue perched on his desk. "Each one seems so different from the others, yet they move and act as if they share a single mind sometimes."

"That's because they underwent the Eight Harmonies Ritual before their seclusion," Yan Ruoxue explained. "It allows them to share thoughts and experiences across vast distances. Some say they can even merge their consciousness into a single entity in times of great need."

Zhao Yang blinked in surprise. "How do you know this?"

Yan Ruoxue grinned impishly. "I listen at doors. How else would a junior disciple learn anything interesting around here?"

Despite himself, Zhao Yang smiled. "Well, door-listener, do you know why Master has suddenly decided to have them train me? After three years of keeping me isolated from the rest of the sect, why expose me to eight new teachers at once?"

Yan Ruoxue's expression grew serious. "I don't know for certain, but... there are rumors. The elders have been meeting more frequently, and messengers have been arriving from the outside world at unusual hours. Something is happening, something that has the highest ranks of Xuanqing Palace concerned."

"And they think I have something to do with it?" Zhao Yang asked, bewildered.

"Or they think you need to be prepared for it," Yan Ruoxue replied. "The Eight Sisters aren't just powerful cultivators—they're specialists. Each has mastered an aspect of cultivation that others can only dream of approximating. If someone wanted to prepare a disciple for... anything, really... exposure to all eight would be the most thorough approach."

Zhao Yang pondered this, a familiar sense of being a piece in a game whose rules he didn't understand washing over him. "But prepared for what? And why me?"

Yan Ruoxue shrugged. "That, my curious friend, is the question everyone in Xuanqing Palace has been asking since the day you arrived." She hopped off his desk and headed for the door. "Get some sleep. First Sister Lin is notoriously punctual, and I've heard she considers arriving exactly on time to be the same as being late."

After she left, Zhao Yang lay awake for a long time, thinking about the Eight Immortal Sisters and the mystery of his place at Xuanqing Palace. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new phase in his training—one that would bring him into closer contact with the sect's elite than ever before.

As sleep finally began to claim him, he found himself remembering the way each sister had looked at him—with curiosity, assessment, interest, and in some cases, what almost seemed like recognition, as if they saw in him something beyond the awkward thirteen-year-old boy on the cusp of adolescence.

What did they see? What did his master see? And why did he sometimes feel that everyone at Xuanqing Palace knew more about his destiny than he did himself?

These questions followed him into dreams of eight beautiful women standing in a circle around him, their hands extended, offering gifts he couldn't quite identify but somehow knew would change his life forever.