Chapter 490: This Is It?

"The rocks will be very useful. Stow the jerky in the side compartments."

"Okay!" Zechuan happily began stuffing quantities of dried meat into the hidden compartments of the wheelchair.

"He is going to eat all of your rations before you even reach the first celestial checkpoint," Yan Zhaoge noted dryly.

"He’s a growing void; he needs his protein," Ji’an defended him automatically.

The preparations were complete. The farewells had been spoken.

The air on the Drunken Peak suddenly grew incredibly still. The wind died. The peach blossoms stopped falling, suspended in mid-air.

A heavy, resonant, vibrating hum began to echo from the sky.

The clouds parted.

A blinding pillar of pure, radiant, golden-white celestial light shot down from the heavens, striking the center of the courtyard exactly ten feet away from Ji’an’s wheelchair. The heat was immense, but it was not destructive.

It was the warmth of ascension.

The physical manifestation of a mortal transcending their flesh.

The crowd of disciples fell to their knees, blinded by the glory, weeping openly at the majesty of the sight.

"FAIRY JI’AN!" Gu Zhiwei screamed one final time, losing his mind, slamming his head against the dirt. "DO NOT FORGET US! MY PECTORALS WILL ALWAYS BELONG TO YOUR VANGUARD!"

Ji’an rolled her eyes, but a fond smile touched her lips. "Take a bath, Zhiwei! And stop breaking your own bones for attention!"

She gripped the armrests of her wheelchair.

Shen Zechuan took his place behind her, his hands gripping the handles firmly, unfazed by the blinding light of the heavens.

Ji’an looked at Yan Zhaoge. The Overtime Boss offered a slow, deeply respectful bow, crossing his arms over his chest.

She looked at Jiu Zui.

Her master was standing at the edge of the light. He wasn’t crying anymore.

The Sovereign of the Drunken Peak stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, looking at his disciple with an expression of such fierce, unyielding pride that it could have shattered mountains.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t offer a final platitude.

He nodded once.

Give them hell, brat.

Ji’an nodded back.

Watch me, old man.

"Ready, Zechuan?" Ji’an asked, her voice calm, cold, and focused.

"Ready, Ji’an!" Zechuan chirped happily. "Should we do a wheelie into the light?"

"No wheelies during ascension, Zechuan. Maintain professional dignity."

"Okay!"

***

The golden, blinding pillar of the ascension beam faded with a soft, resonant hum that sounded like a tuning fork vibrating against crystal. The crushing gravity of the trans-dimensional transit slowly evaporated, leaving a faint scent of ozone and blooming lotus in its wake.

Lin Ji’an slowly opened her eyes, her long, dark lashes fluttering against her pale cheeks.

She sat perfectly still in her hovering starmetal wheelchair, her hands folded gracefully in her lap over the heavy, pristine white frost-silk of her robes.

Behind her, Shen Zechuan stood holding the handles, happily chewing on a piece of spicy crystal-mantis jerky, completely unbothered by the fact that they had just crossed the boundary between the mortal world and the divine.

Ji’an took a deep breath, expecting the air to burn with the overwhelming spiritual density of a realm populated exclusively by gods, prosecutors, and celestial auditors.

Instead, the air just smelled like... a really nice Tuesday.

Ji’an blinked her abyssal black eyes, looking around.

The Highest Realm was not a chaotic, swirling nebula of cosmic judgment. It was not an endless, sterile white void of bureaucratic horror.

It was, frankly, pleasant.

They had materialised in the center of a plaza made of smooth, iridescent pearl-stone. Surrounding the plaza was a bustling, vibrant urban downtown that looked suspiciously like an outrageously wealthy mortal capital.

The architecture was a stunning blend of ancient temple roofs and sleek, tall towers carved from solid jade and polished quartz.

There was no poverty, no beggars in the streets. The pedestrians strolling past the plaza were all dressed in exquisite, high-quality silks, chatting amicably, carrying glowing parasols to shade themselves from the perpetually sunny sky.

Above them, the sky was a canvas of deep, flawless cerulean, crisscrossed by the sleek, silent forms of floating carriages.

Some were pulled by majestic, glowing spirit-beasts with wings of condensed light, while others glided effortlessly along invisible ley-lines, propelled by glowing arrays that hummed with a quiet, efficient luxury.

It was peaceful. It was ordinary.

It was a high-fantasy utopia.

Ji’an sat in her wheelchair, a perfectly sculpted, serene smile frozen on her face, while her internal monologue experienced a cynical disappointment.

’This is it?’ Ji’an thought, her right eyebrow twitching. ’I survived seventeen lifetimes of apocalyptic trauma, fought a cosmic server room, and got my kneecaps pulverised by the architects of fate... to end up in a celestial strip mall? Where are the cyber-xianxia neon signs? Where are the floating fortresses of doom? This place looks like a retirement community for wealthy elves.’

"Ji’an, look!" Zechuan mumbled happily around his jerky, pointing a finger toward a nearby street corner. "That floating carriage is shaped like a giant lotus! And the man selling steamed buns over there is using a tiny cloud to keep them warm! The Heavens are very good at temperature control!"

"It is very quaint, Zechuan," Ji’an murmured, her voice smooth, rich, and dripping with an elegant, lazy grace.

She casually reached up, her delicate, pale fingers brushing against the crude wooden hairpin pinning her cascading black hair.

The gesture was a grounding mechanism. A reminder that beneath this peaceful, pristine exterior lay a fundamentally broken universe that had stolen her prep cook.

"Let us find the contact Zhaoge arranged," Ji’an said softly, resting her hand back in her lap. "I imagine the zoning laws for commercial real estate here are quite—"

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.

The crisp, terrifying sound of heavy military boots hitting the pearl-stone plaza shattered the peaceful ambiance.

Before Ji’an or Zechuan could even turn around, the plaza was swarmed.

Dozens of celestial soldiers materialized from the surrounding alleys and porticos.

They did not look like the casual, silk-wearing pedestrians. They were clad in heavy silver armor engraved with the glowing blue insignia of the Stargazing Tower’s enforcement division. Their faces were hidden behind visors of polished starlight, and they moved with the unyielding precision of an execution squad.

In less than three seconds, Ji’an’s wheelchair was completely surrounded.

A bristling wall of razor-sharp silver halberds, glowing spears, and humming broadswords was leveled directly at her throat. The tips of the weapons hovered exactly one inch from her delicate neck, vibrating with lethal, suppressed Qi.

The pedestrians in the plaza gasped, scattering like frightened birds, retreating to the safety of the colonnades to watch the sudden, terrifying military escalation.

Ji’an did not flinch.

She did not raise her hands or summon her cast-iron spatula.

Five years ago, she would have roared, ignited her Heart Fire, and attempted to beat the entire squad to death with her cookware.

But Lin Ji’an was twenty-two years old now.

She was a fully matured, Great Ascension-stage anomaly. She had spent half a decade sitting beneath a peach blossom tree, refining her rage, distilling her feral, tomboyish fury into a weapon of devastating charm.

She didn’t need to yell anymore.

Yelling was for people who lacked leverage.

Ji’an slowly, gracefully tilted her head to the side. The movement caused her inky black hair to spill over her shoulder, contrasting starkly with the pristine white frost-silk of her robes. She looked up at the wall of weapons with her abyssal black eyes, her expression completely unnerved.

A soft, shallow, yet breathtaking smile bloomed across her flawless face.

It was a smile of such pure, innocent serenity that it completely short-circuited the ambient hostility in the air.

"My goodness," Ji’an murmured. Her voice was not a bark; it was a low, melodic, velvety purr that washed over the armed soldiers like warm honey. She looked directly at the Commander standing at the head of the formation, her dark eyes wide and sparkling with polite curiosity. "Is this a traditional welcoming ritual in the Highest Realm? You all have such magnificent posture. The choreography is truly exquisite."

The Commander of the celestial squad, a tall, imposing immortal with a stern, angular jawline visible beneath his visor, visibly stiffened.

His right eyebrow twitched violently.

The intelligence briefing he had received from the High Council had painted a very different picture.

He had been told to intercept the ’Apex Anomaly’, a feral, violent, foul-mouthed, spatula-wielding demon who had threatened to melt the astrolabes.