The hidden valley, once a sanctuary, now felt like a tomb. The desperate messages from their families had sucked the air from their lungs and the fight from their hearts. Lei Gang's lightning, once a roaring tempest, now crackled weakly around his clenched fists before dying out. Feng Zhi's clever eyes were hollow, seeing only the image of his uncle counting severed fingers. The resolve that had carried them from the secret realm was shattered against the immutable wall of the Ancestor's cruelty.
Ye Fan stood before them, his own spirit a maelstrom of agony and rage. He saw it in their eyes—the terrible, dawning acceptance. To continue was to sign the death warrants of everyone they loved. The shadow war was over before it had truly begun.
"We cannot…" Lin Xian'er whispered, her voice breaking. "My grandmother… they have her in the Citadel gardens. I can't…"
"My father will dance until his heart gives out," Bai Wei said, her tone flat, all sharpness gone, leaving only blunt despair.
Lei Gang slammed his fist into the ground, the impact a dull thud of utter defeat. "We lose."
The words hung in the air, final and suffocating.
Ye Fan looked at them, his comrades, his family. The weight of their collective sacrifice threatened to crush him. "No," he said, the word torn from him. "I will not ask this of you."
"You don't have to," Feng Zhi said, looking up, a bitter smile on his face. "It's the only move left on the board. We surrender. You escape."
A plan, born of utter hopelessness, was forged in that moment. They would give him a chance. They would be the distraction.
The next day, under a flag of truce, Lei Gang, Feng Zhi, Bai Wei, Elder Sister Lian, Luo Ying, and Lin Xian'er walked out of the valley and into the main square of Netherwater City. They did not kneel. They stood, backs straight, as a full contingent of Phoenix Guards surrounded them.
The Phoenix Empress descended from her palanquin, her expression unreadable behind her mask of imperial authority.
"The rebellion ends here," Lei Gang announced, his voice echoing in the silent square. "We submit to the Dynasty's justice. Our fate for our families' safety."
Su Wan's eyes, glowing with silver fire, scanned them. "The Emperor is merciful. Your terms are accepted."
What followed was not an execution, but a dismantling.
For the women, a different fate was reserved. The Ancestor's design was more nuanced, more perverse.
"Bai Wei," the Empress declared. "Your sword intent, though misguided, is sharp. You shall serve as the personal arms instructor and attendant to the Third Wife, Wang Xia. Your duty will be to hone her spirit and protect her fragility." The proud Bai swordswoman was to become a nursemaid to a docile flower.
"Elder Sister Lian," the Empress continued. "Your connection to lunar energy is… pure. You are assigned to the Fourth Wife, the Silken Matron Su Moqing. You will tend to her needs and provide her with spiritual comfort." She was to serve the broken matriarch, a constant reminder of the abomination she had been forced into.
"Luo Ying," the Empress's gaze fell on the spatial adept. "Your talents are unique. You will serve as the personal spatial courier and attendant to the Second Wife, my maid, Chu Ling. Ensure her movements are efficient and her needs are met." She was to be bound to the woman who had been Ye Fan's first love, now a branded servant.
"Lin Xian'er," the Empress's voice softened into a false, chilling kindness. "Your healing touch is a gift. You will reside within the Citadel and serve as my personal physician and the primary caretaker of the Crown Prince, Lu Feng. You will ensure my son thrives." The gentle healer was given the most terrifying duty of all: nurturing the toddler tyrant, her life and her family's lives contingent on the health of the monster's heir.
They were not thrown in dungeons. They were assigned. Made into accessories to the very harem they sought to destroy, their proximity to the Dynasty's heart a more exquisite torture than any cell.
For the men, the punishment was blunt and brutal.
Lei Gang and Feng Zhi were forced to their knees. Two high-ranking Lu Clan elders stepped forward, their hands glowing with corrosive energy.
"For the crime of rebellion, your cultivation is forfeit."
Hands were placed on their dantians. There was no explosion, only a slow, agonizing unraveling. The intricate structures of their cores, built over a lifetime of struggle, were meticulously torn apart. The light in Lei Gang's eyes, which had crackled with lightning, dimmed to that of a mortal. The clever shimmer in Feng Zhi's gaze was extinguished, leaving behind the hollow look of a man whose mind had been disconnected from the energy that fueled it. They were left as empty shells, their connection to the Dao severed forever.
Furthermore, the decree was issued: "The families of the traitors Lei Gang and Feng Zhi shall, for one hundred generations, pay a tribute to the Imperial Throne that is ten percent greater than that of any other citizen. Their bloodline shall forever finance the Dynasty they sought to topple."
Their punishment was to live, as mortals, witnessing the endless penance of their families, a monument to their failed rebellion.
As this was happening, a ripple of spatial energy, expertly masked by a final, desperate gambit from Luo Ying before her surrender, opened a mile away. Ye Fan, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces, witnessed the entire scene from a hidden vantage point. He saw his friends broken, his love assigned to a life of servitude. He saw the last of their hope extinguished.
A Phoenix Guard captain spotted the ripple. "There! He escapes!"
But Ye Fan was already gone, vanishing into the wilderness, not with a triumphant retreat, but with the agonized flight of a sole survivor. He carried not hope, but a burden of unimaginable loss and a vow of vengeance written in the ashes of his comrades' spirits.
In the Citadel, the Ancestor observed the reports. His new servants were being assigned their roles. His enemies were crippled and taxed. And the Protagonist was alone, wounded, and filled with a rage that would make him reckless.
The gardener smiled. The weeds had been plucked. The most beautiful flowers had been placed in new vases. And the most stubborn weed of all was now isolated, ready to be dealt with at his leisure. The game was proceeding perfectly.