To the royals and nobles of the Peacock Kingdom, Lu was little more than a rumor—a young master from Great Zhou, a name whispered in distant lands. They had never laid eyes on the man himself.

  So they cursed him freely, drawing courage from their faith in Buddha, letting their rage and fear spill out in a torrent of insults.

  The white-robed youth in the wheelchair said nothing. He simply watched them, silent and unmoving.

  One by one, the voices faltered and died.

  An inexplicable chill settled over the crowd, as if an invisible glacier had descended, freezing their blood and locking their bones. Under Lu’s gaze, each of them felt an enormous hand tighten around their throat, stealing their breath and their words.

  “Do you really think you’re qualified to judge whether I’m a sinner?”

  Lu’s voice was soft, almost lazy.

  His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his wheelchair—tap, tap—each sound ringing clear across the desert like the toll of a death knell.

  Mo Liuqi and Yiyue watched in cold indifference.

  Xu Chu clenched his fists, eyes blazing with excitement and worship.

  This was their Young Master Lu.

  The unrivaled cultivator under heaven.

  “Buddha has foretold…” the King of the Peacock Kingdom roared, bald head gleaming under the sun, “you will bring catastrophe to the world! The world will perish because of you!”

  Lu propped his chin on one hand, flicked a finger against the armrest.

  A silver flash.

  The blade returned before anyone saw it leave.

  The king’s roar cut off mid-breath. With a dull thud he collapsed to his knees, head bowed, lifeless eyes wide. Blood poured from the neat line across his neck.

  In that instant, terror crushed every last shred of faith in their hearts.

  The sound of knees hitting sand rose like a wave.

  Lu gave a bored yawn, spun his wheelchair, and rolled slowly away from the Peacock Kingdom’s border.

  “You’re Xu Chu, right?” he asked without looking back. “Can you clean up the rest?”

  Xu Chu thumped his chest. “Leave it to me!”

  Lu smiled faintly, reached out, and patted the man’s belly as he passed. Then the Thousand-Bladed Chair vanished into the swirling yellow dust.

  Mo Liuqi drew a deep breath as he watched Lu disappear.

  Yiyue’s emotions were far more complicated. She tightened her fists—she had to work harder.

  Ding Jiudeng’s pupils shrank to pinpricks; his whole body trembled. He wanted to shout that he was the real sinner, that everything was his fault.

  But none of the Peacock nobles had spared him a glance. They had only wanted to curse Lu.

  And Young Master Lu was not someone trash like them could curse.

  Ding Jiudeng’s eyes lost focus.

  Xu Chu strode over. He had once admired the monk, but now only disappointment remained.

  “No matter your reasons,” Xu Chu growled, “consorting with foreigners is a stain on Xiliang’s honor.”

  He jabbed a finger toward the kneeling Peacock nobles. “Are you pitying them?”

  “When these people invaded Xiliang, burned our cities, slaughtered and plundered, did any of them pity the civilians drowning in blood and fire?”

  “The little monks in your temple—why did they become orphans sold into slavery across the border? Because their parents died fighting these same Peacock soldiers!”

  The more Xu Chu spoke, the louder and angrier he became. He, too, had lost family to these invaders.

  Ding Jiudeng crumpled to the ground, speechless.

  “All that cultivation,” Xu Chu spat, “and you wasted it on a dog.”

  He turned his back on the monk and walked toward the kneeling nobles.

  Two spiked iron balls clanged down from his back.

  Whoosh—

  The chains whirred as the massive weapons spun like windmills.

  Step by step, the giant advanced.

  Blood soaked the yellow sand.

  Ding Jiudeng stared in a daze.

  Mo Liuqi and Yiyue remained unmoved, their faces cold as frost.

  Three days later, Xu Chu returned at the head of Xiliang’s iron cavalry. With every royal and noble dead, the Peacock Kingdom offered no resistance.

  The kingdom fell.

  …

  Lu paid none of it any mind. With all of Xiliang backing Xu Chu, cleaning up had never been in doubt.

  He returned to Beiluo City, emerged from the Dragon Gate, and drifted across the lake to the island at its heart.

  The island was as tranquil as ever.

  On the second floor of the White Jade Pavilion, Lu settled into his Thousand-Bladed Chair and sank his consciousness into the preaching platform.

  He began studying the formation he had copied from the Buddha’s pagoda.

  At first glance he had noticed something extraordinary: it involved space itself.

  The eight Dragon Gates already contained traces of spatial manipulation to shorten distances, but this formation was different—deeper, more dangerous.

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  Lu constructed rune after rune in the air. They stacked and floated, soon forming an enormous spinning disk of light inscribed with ever-shifting symbols.

  He rose into the air, narrowed his eyes, and stepped inside.

  BOOM!

  A terrifying suction yanked at his body.

  The world flipped. For a moment he was lost in endless, directionless void.

  When the formation ran out of energy and spat him back out, Lu landed cross-legged on the Eight Trigrams platform, frowning in thought.

  “The spatial element in that pagoda is incomplete. It can’t form a proper teleportation array. Activate it, and you’re dragged into the endless void—no destination, no return.”

  He refused to give up. For days he did nothing but study that broken spatial formation.

  Every so often he would emerge, summon the Demon Lord’s clone, and play a game of chess—using the matches to accelerate the conversion of the spiritual energy he had proposed.

  His cultivation rose steadily.

  …

  Meanwhile, the Overlord sat motionless before the Dao stele for an entire month.

  At the Body Storage realm, circulating spiritual energy through the body’s hidden reservoirs allowed one to forgo food and water entirely—the principle behind “abstaining from grains” in cultivation.

  Inside the Nine Prisons Secret Realm, everything had changed.

  Genius cultivators from the Tianyuan Region had poured in, and everyone already inside felt the pressure like a storm on the horizon.

  The stone monument in the Village of the Dead updated constantly with unfamiliar names climbing at terrifying speed.

  At first Kong Nanfei and Nie Changqing still held the top two spots.

  But soon the native Five Phoenix cultivators began sliding down the ranks.

  Cong Zha, once third, plummeted all the way to eighth.

  “Feng Yilou (Tianyuan) — Progress: 190”

  “Xiao Yue’er (Tianyuan) — Progress: 190”

  “Zhong Nan (Tianyuan) — Progress: 190”

  Soaking in the Pool of Rebirth, Cong Zha watched name after name surpass hers. Her long lashes trembled.

  “The Nine Prisons are brutally difficult for Body Storage cultivators. Even someone at the peak like Jing Yue only reached around 180. To hit 190 you need at least a Golden Core Heavenly Lock… Are all these people Heavenly Lock experts?”

  She crushed another blue spirit crystal; the energy drained and the crystal crumbled to dust.

  The pool water churned.

  Cong Zha stepped out, wrapped a white dress around her damp body, and took out a red spirit crystal.

  She had tried many times before—mostly getting more blue crystals or a single bottle of Qi Condensation pills.

  This time, though, her eyes lit up.

  Something different emerged from the light.

  Not a crystal.

  Curious, she pulled out the object: a bamboo scroll.

  Disappointment flickered across her face—she had hoped for a chance to comprehend the Dao stele. Those were impossibly rare.

  She unrolled the scroll.

  Profound-tier low-grade offensive technique: Iceheart Moon Slash.

  Her disappointment vanished instantly. According to the Young Master, techniques and arts were ranked Heaven, Earth, Profound, and Yellow.

  Everything she had used before was merely Yellow tier.

  Now she held a genuine Profound-tier skill.

  From that moment on, Cong Zha devoted herself entirely to mastering Iceheart Moon Slash.

  In the first prison city, Qin Guang City, Kong Nanfei staggered back from yet another failed soul attack, drenched in sweat.

  He stared at the monument—dozens of new names had nearly caught up to him.

  “Who are these people…?”

  Anyone who reached this far had to be at least Golden Core.

  Had that many Golden Core experts suddenly flooded the secret realm?

  Nie Changqing, on the other hand, felt only fighting spirit when he saw those familiar names.

  “They really came.”

  His gaze locked on Feng Yilou, the monstrous genius from Martial Emperor City who had always pressured him.

  When Du Longyang and the others appeared, Nie Changqing had suspected the rest would follow. Reality had proven him right.

  He took a deep breath and charged into Qin Guang City’s soul trial once more.

  …

  Before the Dao stele, the Overlord continued his silent vigil.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead; blood threaded the whites of his eyes. He looked half-mad.

  Many shook their heads and sighed at the lonely figure.

  Liu Yuanhao was secretly delighted—the longer the Overlord failed, the better.

  Liu had only comprehended a sixth-grade Dao intent, but even that had dramatically increased his strength. He was now confident he could take the Overlord in a fight.

  Let the man sit there forever and comprehend nothing.

  Word spread quickly: the Overlord had gained nothing after an entire month before the stele.

  Imperial City.

  Luo Mingsang heard the news and worry creased her beautiful face.

  She paced her palace chambers, staring at drifting clouds for a long time before letting out a soft sigh.

  She ordered a carriage prepared and set off for Wolong Ridge.

  She remembered this place vividly—the man who had once stood against ten thousand soldiers, carving a river of blood through the enemy ranks.

  Back then he had been unstoppable, full of fire and ambition.

  Now he was blocked, the brightest star of the cultivation era dimming, on the verge of falling.

  Watching the scenery flash past the carriage window, a thousand emotions surged in her heart.

  She knew the knot in his heart.

  It was both a promise and a chain.

  When her carriage appeared at the entrance to Wolong Ridge Secret Realm, many noticed.

  The heads of the great families recognized her; their expressions turned strange.

  Everyone knew her relationship with the Overlord—and that she had been planted by the philosopher Kong Xiu as a spy at his side.

  Yet no one mocked the Overlord.

  Even heroes fell for beauty.

  But the fact remained: his cultivation had stalled.

  He had sat before the Dao stele for a full month with nothing to show for it.

  Others had already grasped Dao intents—even Mo Tianyu, who hadn’t won a comprehension slot, had obtained fourth-grade intent!

  Most now believed the Overlord would fade into mediocrity in this new era of cultivators.

  Luo Mingsang stepped down from the carriage, skirts gathered in her hands.

  She ignored the stares and looked toward the lonely figure beneath the Dao stele.

  “My Lord,” she called softly.

  The Overlord’s motionless body shuddered. Slowly he opened bloodshot eyes filled with frustration and exhaustion.

  He turned and saw the face he had avoided for so long.

  “Mingsang…”

  Luo Mingsang smiled gently. “My Lord, you’re finally willing to look at me.”

  Silence.

  Then she began walking forward—straight into the pressure zone of the first prison gate.

  Immense pressure slammed down on her.

  She grunted, face going deathly pale.

  She was no great cultivator.

  “What are you doing?! Get back!” the Overlord roared.

  She only smiled and kept walking. “Do you remember this place, my Lord…?

  “That day, watching you hold the line against an army alone, I felt safer than I ever had. But I always understood—you never truly wanted to conquer the world. You wanted to chase the Dao.”

  Every step brought more pressure. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

  If she continued, her organs would rupture.

  She stopped speaking. Countless memories flooded her eyes.

  The Overlord who had once carried his Ganqi axes and looked down on the world with unmatched arrogance.

  Beneath the stele, the man with blood-streaked eyes grew frantic.

  “My Lord… follow your heart.”

  Luo Mingsang wiped the blood from her lips, swaying as she stood straight, voice soft but resolute.

  To the Overlord, those words struck like thunder.

  Follow his heart?

  In an instant, his entire life flashed before him.

  In the era of martial artists, he had been a heaven-defying prodigy, the youngest grandmaster, invincible in battle.

  In the era of cultivators, he had walked the waves to Beiluo, sought audience in White Jade Pavilion, pursued the Qi Core, charged into Body Storage…

  Every breakthrough had been agony, every step paid for in blood and pain.

  Yet he had never stopped. He had loved it.

  That was his true heart.

  Dragon qi surged behind him.

  The Overlord began to laugh.

  That dragon qi represented imperial authority—but to him it had become nothing but shackles.

  His heart demon was not just Luo Mingsang; it was the choice between power and the Dao.

  The dragon qi was a thick fog obscuring his path.

  Her words were the blade that cut through the fog and shattered his chains.

  A wild grin split his stubbled face.

  His eyes sharpened with new determination.

  Luo Mingsang could walk no farther. Two soldiers from the Xiang Army braved the pressure to carry her out.

  The Overlord gazed at her deeply, then closed his eyes.

  ROAR!

  Golden dragon qi exploded from his back.

  Seated on the prayer mat, demonic black qi boiled around him as he laughed.

  The golden dragon coiled in the sky and bellowed at him in fury.

  “Imperial dragon qi…”

  The Overlord’s laughter grew louder.

  From the moment he had obtained it, the dragon qi had weighed on him like duty made manifest.

  At first it had slightly boosted his combat strength. But as time passed, it helped him rule yet shrouded his cultivation path in mist, leaving him lost.

  Today he would choose.

  He raised his hand. Demonic qi condensed into a black axe.

  No more hesitation.

  One swing—

  He severed the dragon qi!

  To the onlookers, the golden dragon qi peeled away from his body in sheets, rising into the sky as a true golden dragon that roared across the heavens before vanishing.

  Before the Dao stele, the Overlord sat free and unburdened.

  Torrents of demonic qi surged. His aura climbed higher and higher…

  His spine thundered. Blood and qi roared like a storm.

  BOOM!

  His eyes snapped open, sharp as blades. He stared at the stele as realization crashed through his mind like a tidal wave.

  His soul itself trembled.

  His Dao intent…

  He had grasped it!