The Spiritual Transformation Sect's mountain glows beneath the night sky.
Red banners drape along stone stairways and railings.
Flags flutter in the wind—each stamped with golden character blessings.
Red lanterns hang from trees, towers, and bridges, filling the mountain with a warm, celebratory glow.
Even the waterfalls carry faint streaks of crimson light, reflecting lantern fire like rippling blood.
Festivity blankets the sect.
Fireworks burst above the mountain—scattering sparks through the sky like falling stars. Laughter echoes between pavilions. Music rolls through the air, festive yet hollow.
Inside one of the sect's grand halls sits the bridal chamber—walls decorated with silk, red talismans, and gold embroidery.
There, *Gu Silan* sits in silence.
She wears red silk and a phoenix hairpin—yet the joy such attire symbolises does not touch her eyes. Her hands rest gently in her lap, posture steady, expression unreadable.
A faint shadow brushes against her skin—a *black wind*, subtle yet intimate, curling around her like a second layer of flesh.
A voice murmurs inside her mind—smooth, calm, almost amused:
"I thought you would be happy. Today is your wedding."
Gu Silan exhales softly, not smiling.
"Merin… don't joke. Are all the preparations complete?"
There is silence—then the voice returns, colder this time:
"We are waiting for the groom to enter the room. Once he does—everything begins."
Outside, fireworks explode again—bright light flashing through the paper window. Music grows louder, mingled with the drunken cheer of guests celebrating a future they believe is bright.
Gu Silan listens to the sound—her jaw tightening.
"…I should have escaped."
Merin's voice softens—not with comfort, but certainty.
"Do not worry. Nothing will go wrong. Tonight is simply—"
A pause.
Then, quietly:
"—the groom's last night."
Minutes pass.
Then—
*The door slams open.*
Zou Meng stumbles inside—reeking of alcohol, his steps uneven but purposeful. His gaze fixes on Gu Silan, hungry and triumphant.
His emotions pour off him like stench:
*Lust. Possession. Pride.*
He believes she belongs to him.
He believes this night will mark his dominance, his achievement, his right.
But Gu Silan sits still—expression unchanged.
Her eyes lowered—not in submission—
But in silence before a storm.
Zou Meng staggers forward, his breath thick with alcohol. He falls onto Gu Silan, hands fumbling at her clothing with crude impatience.
She catches his wrists—lightly, but firmly.
For a heartbeat, his drunken haze thins, and a cold warning flickers in his eyes.
Gu Silan's voice remains soft, almost shy:
"We… we haven't closed the door. And the wedding ritual isn't finished."
Zou Meng blinks, confused—then slowly turns.
The door stands wide open.
He grunts, pushes himself up with effort, and stumbles across the room to shut it. The heavy wooden door slams, sealing the chamber.
The moment it does, Gu Silan moves.
Her fingers press into a nearly invisible mark beneath the bed.
*The array core awakens.*
A hum fills the room.
A barrier rises—silent, shimmering, isolating everything within.
Zou Meng returns, swaying, and they complete the symbolic wedding ritual—motions empty but required.
Then he lunges toward her again.
Before he can touch her, she lifts her gaze and whispers:
"Dear… turn off the lights."
He pauses—not understanding why it matters. With their cultivation, darkness means little. But in his muddled arrogance, he chooses obedience—to savour control.
He reaches and extinguishes the lantern.
Darkness settles.
And in that darkness—
*Merin appears behind him.*
One precise strike.
Zou Meng collapses, unconscious, before he realises danger exists.
Merin lifts the groom like a discarded sack and drops him onto the bed.
Then he meets Gu Silan's gaze—calm, cold, resolute.
"Let's begin."
Gu Silan nods and sits cross-legged beside Zou Meng.
She shifts her breathing, circulates her cultivation method—*Heavenly Dress Technique*—in reverse.
Immediately, Zou Meng's essence begins flowing from his unconscious body into hers.
The room trembles.
Energy ripples outward—breaching walls, then the mountain.
---
At the distant peak, three elderly figures stand beneath the night sky, looking toward the bridal chamber.
One smiles, arrogant and satisfied.
"It has begun. Our plan succeeded. Soon, the Gu bloodline will inherit the right to command the Divine Weapons."
The other two nod, echoing his pride.
But moments later—
Shouts erupt from the mountainside.
The sound of battle breaks the festive air.
---
Below, chaos spreads.
A force has attacked—trying to stop the ritual.
Those aware of the plan defend the chamber with everything they have. Saint-grade weapons unleash devastation across the mountain—each stroke collapsing buildings, splitting stone, killing intruders instantly.
Inside, Gu Silan continues absorbing Zou Meng's essence, unaffected.
Minutes stretch.
Then—
*silence.*
The fluctuations from the wedding chamber stop.
Outside, the fighting ceases—intruders either dead or driven off.
Inside the sealed room, Zou Meng's body lies drained and withered—lifeless.
Gu Silan opens her eyes.
Her cultivation surges—one breath away from breaking into the *Dao Space Realm*.
She looks at Merin.
"Let's finish it."
No hesitation remains.
They shed the last layers of restraint and begin *dual cultivation*.
Energy intertwines—yin and yang, resentment and clarity, body and intent.
For Merin, the process offers no cultivation benefit—but he gains exactly what he sought:
**Gu Silan's aura.
Her transformation.
Her connection to the Supreme Dao.**
For Gu Silan, the effect is immense.
Her essence refines.
Her foundation stabilises.
Her cultivation soars—no longer fragile, no longer polluted.
---
Finally, she rises.
Without looking back, she flies out of the shattered bridal chamber—into the night sky above the sect.
The heavens react instantly.
Lightning gathers.
Clouds churn.
A tribulation descends.
Thunder surges across the sky, turning night into blinding silver light.
Gu Silan floats above the mountain peak, her red wedding garments long burned away, replaced by a body changing.
Her skin ripples—then hardens into *obsidian-black scales*, each one gleaming with cold lustre. Claws form at her fingertips, pupils slit, breath sharpening into something primal and ancient.
She strengthens her defence and braces herself.
The *first thunderbolt* falls.
It crashes against her scaled body with explosive force.
She clenches her teeth—enduring, refusing to fall.
The second lightning descends.
Then the third.
Each bolt is stronger than the last—each one meant to annihilate or refine.
She withstands them all—her body absorbing pain, refining it, transforming it.
---
Below, the Spiritual Transformation Sect watches.
Cries erupt:
"She's doing it!"
"She's crossing her Dao Space Realm tribulation!"
Joy fills many faces—disciples and elders cheering wildly. A successor emerging is a blessing for the sect.
But not all rejoice.
Some whisper in dark corners—minds twisted with envy and anger.
"It should have been Zou Meng!"
"He was the chosen successor—why her?"
"And where is he?"
Their answers will come soon.
Servants, elders, and guards who enter the bridal chamber find only a *lifeless, shrivelled husk* lying on the wedding bed.
A cold terror spreads among the schemers.
Zou Meng was meant to rise—not die.
Plans crumble.
Voices lower.
Eyes avoid one another.
Fear replaces pride.
---
Above, lightning continues.
Gu Silan's aura grows fiercer—sharper—until the final bolt gathers, massive and world-shaking.
It descends.
She roars—not in agony—but in defiance.
The bolt strikes.
Her scales glow—blazing with black and crimson light.
And then—
Silence.
The storm disperses.
Clouds tear open.
Moonlight showers down.
Gu Silan remains hovering in the sky—unbroken, transformed.
She has succeeded.
She has crossed the tribulation.
She has stepped into the *Dao Space Realm.*
---
The next day, the celebratory atmosphere of the sect turns cold.
Elders summon Gu Silan for questioning.
She sits calmly before them, face composed, eyes lowered like a quiet river unaffected by a storm.
One elder slams his palm on the table.
"Zou Meng is dead. You were the only one with him. Explain."
Gu Silan lifts her head slowly—as if confused rather than frightened.
"…Dead?" she repeats softly, voice trembling just enough to appear genuine. "How…? I thought he passed out from drinking…"
Her brows knit together.
She forces tears—small, hesitant, perfect.
"I… I don't understand. Why would Zou Meng die?"
The elders exchange glances.
A woman tries a different approach.
"You and Zou Meng completed the ritual. You shared a wedding chamber. Did you sense anything strange?"
Gu Silan tilts her head slightly.
"…The lights went out," she murmurs. "Then he fell asleep. I didn't… I didn't touch him."
Her tone holds innocence, confusion, and a hint of fear.
Not too much.
Just enough to make her look harmless.
And foolish.
The questioning continues.
She answers every accusation with the same tone—lost, helpless, ignorant.
By the end, most conclude the same thing:
*She is talented—but slow-minded.
Strong—but naïve.
Not someone capable of killing a Dao King, much less at such a perfect moment.*
---
Then a physician arrives for a routine examination.
Moments later, gasps fill the hall.
"She is pregnant."
Shock ripples through the elders.
Some immediately shift sentiment—what was accusation turns to acceptance. A child means lineage continues. A Dao Space Realm mother means a strong bloodline. A wedding night resulting in pregnancy is auspicious.
And the dead groom's absence becomes a tragedy, not a scandal.
But one elder frowns.
"Whose bloodline?"
That question could destroy everything.
Yet before suspicion takes form, a jade talisman confirms the bloodline imprint.
Zou Meng.
Not Merin's.
Not a stranger.
Zou Meng's qi signature marks the unborn child.
Whispers spread.
"A child of the chief disciple…"
"The heavens compensate what was lost…"
"Our lineage continues…"
"This may be destiny."
No one suspects the quiet truth:
At the moment of discovery, *Merin alters the DNA and qi-record with a silent activation of a soul array—replacing the true signature with Zou Meng's.*
A perfect illusion.
A perfect lie.