The world was a kaleidoscope of fractals in D Minor. Here, with the margins of the soul ripped open, time was without form or function. Daphne was without form or function. She simply was, both within her body, observing it from afar, and observing that observer. As if the tripartite soul was now each its own person instead of a unitary thing.

They heard something warm, if slightly burning. A comforting, omnipresent hum that lurked behind them. Was this the sound of love, or a sunset, or love like a sunset? Maybe all three all at once.

There was a buzzing too, a distortion in their vision as they saw—not heard—the words of those around them. “Travel on,” one said to the other.

It could not hold their attention for long, not when the secrets of the universe were within reach. They were a jade beauty standing atop twin peaks, best defined by having two arms, two legs, and even a mouth that on occasion made mouth sounds! In the distance, the infinite fictional Daphne saw themselves standing before the shining gate. “Light my way,” one of the infinite hers said.

The dao was infinite, eternal. Why was it eternal? It was never born; thus it could never die. They were one, yet not the same. They were one with the qi, yet the qi was with them. It was simple, yet profound.

Since they had come to this realm, they would stay forever. They were infinite. They were eternal. They would never die. Here, they would be the master of death.

This was their dao, their credo.

“I-impossible! This can’t be true!” some might say.

They sighed. There were heavens beyond the heavens and geniuses beyond geniuses. The difference between those of the infinite Daphne and those without were akin to cloud and mud. Others were content to live under heaven, but a true immortal was not afraid to rebuke the heavens, to think thoughts that would have made the gods die from anger.

Was that not the essence of tribulation based on a true story?

It could not be helped if others did not grasp the truth. They were not the hero, for they lacked the symptoms of protagonist syndrome. Heroes, of course, were defined by the following things: being a boy at war, a boy who lived and let die, with a clear lack of tact and not a semblance of decency.

To be fair, one had to have an incredibly profound cultivation base to understand the dao. The simplicity was extremely profound, and without a solid grasp on the flows of your inner qi, most of its wisdom would go over a typical person’s head. There was a certain nihilism deftly woven into the dao, drawn heavily from Mahayana Buddhism, for instance. The elders understood this stuff; for they had the qi condensation to truly appreciate the depths of the dao, to realize that cultivation was not just cultivation—it said something deep about life. As a consequence, people who did not comprehend the dao truly are idiots. Of course, they wouldn’t appreciate, for instant, the humor in an existential catchphrase like “the dao is like an empty bowl, yet it may be used without ever needing to be filled,” which itself was a cryptic reference to the pottery of the Tang dynasty.

Daphne smirked, imagining one of those addlepated simpletons scratching their heads in confusion as the genius of the dao unfolded itself in the apocrypha of the cultivation manuals and their variants.

What fools … how I pity them. And, of course, she did have a heavenly dao tattoo. Or at least she used to. It was for the eyes of heroes only, and even they had to demonstrate that they were within two heavens of her own cultivation (preferably higher) beforehand.

“I think she’s coming down from it,” someone said.

Wait, what was that? Did she just hear a dog bark? Shoo, shoo! Go crawl your way back home and find your master! She shut her eyes, embracing the darkness and the colors of phantasia to be found within that darkness.

If they continued to bother her, she would suffer from qi deviation! Then her grudge would be irreconcilable and they would not be able to live under the same sky!

Not that it would be much of a challenge. She was a huntress, and they were prey.

“A huntress is you,” echoed her mind agreeably.

Daphne inhaled, letting her qi circulate, then exhaled, releasing her distractions. Such was the dao on the importance of lung usage. Such was the dao, simple, but with infinite complexities, and in the end, everything was simple.

The dragon within her woke, setting her heart aflame and her blood flowing in circles and cycles. It was fate. Her eyes shot open, and she spied her maid clutching on a rosario.

But beyond those prayer beads, she could see, truly see underneath the underneath. It was the first time since she’d awoken in this new world, and how she’d missed it. There was a faint flow of energy within and connecting everyone and everything, from the birds that flew overhead to the heads their excrement landed upon.

“I see Mount Tai,” Daphne declared to the heavens and the earth.

“Maybe I was wrong about coming down from it,” Broken Nose said to her maid.

Daphne smiled at him. “Very well done, Broken Nose.”

He stared at her in stunned silence for several long seconds, then turned back to her maid. “Yeah, she definitely hasn’t come down from it.”

“Agreed,” her maid said. “Lady Daphne, can you understand us?”

Ah, what a profound question. She supposed she did understand them in the same way man understood beast. They were driven by the same base instincts—hunger, rage, lust—but where beasts were slaves to their instincts, man could rise above it. Well, in theory that is. Daphne had yet to meet someone who actually had transcended such things. Rage, surprisingly, was the last shackle on the tripartite soul.

“A good question. I suppose I can,” Daphne said.

“Eyes are back to normal at least,” Broken Nose said. “That’s a good sign. Just need to wait for her to speak normally again.”

“This is how I normally speak,” Daphne said.

“Never this nicely,” he said. “And definitely not to me.”

She frowned. It was only proper to praise one’s servants when they had done well, but was this not a reward Broken Nose liked? Perhaps he was one of those deviant men who enjoyed ridicule? Far be it from her to deny him. “You speak too freely,” Daphne snapped at him. “Hold your tongue. When we are at the academy, there will be many arrogant young masters who would beat you to the point of hovering between life and death.”

That simply could not be allowed. Who would provide her with medicinal pills then? It would be tragic for her cultivation to suffer because of her underling’s mistakes.

Broken Nose sighed in relief. It seemed her assessment of his tastes were correct. She made a mental note of this, and decided to treat him all the more harshly in the future whenever he had pleased her.

Daphne took a moment to assess the cultivation of her servants, and found that they were both quite low. It was only to be expected given they were not heroes, but she found herself disappointed nevertheless. She drew open the blinds and peered out the carriage window, spying on her knightly escorts. Each of their qi was at a much higher cultivation stage, though there were no old monsters or elders among them.

Ah, well surely she would come across one at the academy. Old monsters were drawn to the convergence of arrogant young masters and heroes like flies to a candle.