The moment Qingxuan finished speaking, a woman standing upon a flying sword within the Ming God Temple ranks changed expression at the name “Ma Liang.” Her face flickered uncertainly. Gritting her teeth, she halted midair and turned toward them.

  She was dressed as a young married woman—graceful and alluring, naturally beautiful. Her fingers were slender as scallions, her lips red as vermilion. She glided forward in delicate steps.

  She was Xu Si—the junior sister whom Ma Liang had long adored, even during the Nether Battlefield.

  After bowing politely to Qingxuan, she turned to Yun Che with cold indifference.

  “Where did this villain come from, daring to impersonate a disciple of my Ming God Temple? Senior Brother Qingxuan, please assist me in killing him.”

  With that, she slapped her storage bag and produced a two-inch black feather needle. With a flick of her wrist, the needle multiplied like torrential rain, transforming into a storm of black streaks that shot toward Yun Che.

  The needles expanded midair, streaked with gray light, descending like a black tempest.

  Qingxuan paused but did not intervene. He stepped back, watching silently.

  Yun Che remained composed. A trace of mockery flashed in his heart. With a flick of his sleeve, an invisible giant hand formed in midair and seized every incoming needle effortlessly. He snorted, wiped away the spiritual imprint, and stored them in his bag.

  Xu Si’s face turned pale. Blood trickled from her lips. Her flying sword dimmed beneath her feet. Shock filled her eyes.

  In her memory, Ma Liang could never have possessed such ability—ignoring her treasure was one thing, but erasing its spiritual imprint so casually sent waves crashing through her heart.

  At that moment, three sword lights flew from the Ming God Temple ranks. After landing, three youths appeared. At the center stood Yang Xiong.

  He glanced at Xu Si, then cupped his fists toward Qingxuan.

  “Thank you, Daoist Qingxuan. Junior Brother Ma Liang is indeed of our Ming God Temple. We appreciate your guidance.”

  Qingxuan cast a meaningful look at them, smiled faintly, and departed. As he flew away, he glanced back and saw Yang Xiong standing beside Yun Che with evident respect. He frowned slightly and altered his course toward the Luo River Sect.

  Ignoring others, Yang Xiong stood before Yun Che and spoke softly:

  “Master, do you know Ancestor Feng Luan? The one upon the five-colored phoenix carriage is her. She ordered me to bring you to see her.”

  Yun Che looked ahead. In the central formation of the Ming God Temple floated a five-colored phoenix carriage. Upon it stood a woman in palace attire. As if sensing his gaze, she turned and looked at him.

  Yun Che remained calm. Feng Luan was the same woman who had previously asked him for Zhou Zihong’s soul blood.

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  After a brief pause, Yun Che followed Yang Xiong forward. As he passed Xu Si, he shot her a cold glance and quietly left behind a trace of divine sense within her body.

  It would activate in one month. She would die without fail.

  Since the upheaval in Zhao Kingdom, Yun Che eradicated all threats at the root. Xu Si had struck first. He would not show mercy.

  As they advanced, Yang Xiong whispered:

  “Lin Tao was caught by Ancestor Feng Luan while copying the map. The map is now with her. Lin Tao was punished—if not for this migration, he would have been confined for ten years.”

  Yun Che’s caution deepened.

  They approached the phoenix carriage. Yang Xiong slowed, while Yun Che stepped past him and landed atop the carriage.

  “Yun Che greets Senior.”

  Feng Luan withdrew her gaze from the battlefield and looked him over.

  “Yun Che—is that your true name?”

  He nodded silently. The name was common; hiding it was pointless.

  After a pause, she said gently:

  “The Fiery Nation faces catastrophe. Once we reach Xuanwu Nation, another war awaits. Your past matters are erased. If anyone troubles you, I will protect you—once. After that, your debt for saving Zihong is repaid.”

  At that moment, the heavens darkened.

  In the distant battlefield, ten massive volcanoes were torn from the earth by Nascent Soul cultivators and hurled through the sky. Fire Beasts scattered; those struck were crushed into pulp.

  The cultivator army seized the opening and surged forward like a breaking tide. The twenty thousand Fire Beasts chasing Yun Che were split apart.

  Sword lights surged. With a breach formed, retreat became inevitable for the Fire Beasts. The army’s goal was not annihilation—but escape.

  Feng Luan’s carriage accelerated, following the army.

  Meanwhile, the sixteen colossal beasts, restrained by Nascent Soul experts, eventually ceased pursuit. They joined hands in a strange posture, chanting differently from their roars.

  Red threads emerged from their crowns and converged into a fire ring.

  Their expressions turned devout.

  Their bodies withered visibly, crimson beams flowing into the ring.

  For nearly an hour this continued. Cultivators who approached were instantly annihilated by destructive energy.

  After an hour, the sixteen beasts fully dissolved into the ring. It turned blood-red—then shattered silently into red specks.

  At that instant, every Fire Beast in the Fiery Nation stopped and knelt.

  One collapsed. A red mark appeared on its brow. Its body swelled to ten zhang tall within moments.

  Then another. And another.

  Within two hours, all Fire Beasts had transformed—each ten zhang tall, their strength multiplied more than tenfold.

  They rose into the sky and pursued the fleeing cultivator army in a vast, magnificent tide.

  —

  Within the army, after the ten Nascent Soul cultivators returned, four rejoined the Ming God Temple ranks.

  An elderly man with gray hair scanned the crowd, eyes settling on Yun Che.

  “So it was you who led the Fire Beasts here?”

  Yun Che met his gaze and nodded.

  The old man snorted and reached out to seize him.

  Feng Luan’s expression darkened. She slapped the phoenix carriage. A five-colored bird manifested, spreading circular ripples of light.

  The old man withdrew.

  “Feng Luan! This brat not only possesses our disciple but drew disaster upon us. Over a thousand died just now!”

  “With me here, you cannot kill him.”

  The elder glared.

  “He is not Ma Liang—therefore not of our sect. I will not kill him. But he cannot remain.”

  Feng Luan turned to Yun Che.

  “Yun Che, will you become my nominal disciple?”

  He bowed immediately in acceptance.

  The elder narrowed his eyes but ultimately relented. Feng Luan’s cultivation matched his, and her dual cultivation partner Yang Sen was mid-stage Nascent Soul. Offending them was unwise.

  He left.

  Of the remaining three Nascent Soul cultivators, one approached Feng Luan—a middle-aged scholar. Yang Sen.

  He sighed.

  “Luan’er… why?”

  Feng Luan’s gaze was cold.

  “If not for him, Hong’er would have died in the Nether Battlefield. And whose order sent her there?”

  Yang Sen fell silent.

  After a long pause, he bowed deeply to Yun Che.

  Rising, he handed over a jade talisman.

  “This is a Nascent Soul-grade treasure I refined years ago. I have withdrawn my imprint. After refining it, your life should be safe in the coming turmoil.”

  ?? Or is she investing in something greater?

  ?? Was this desperation—or a calculated awakening?