On the ninth day of the second lunar month, outside Dongning City, the wasteland lay under a gloomy sky.
"Yo!" A melodious birdcall echoed. A massive thunder-infused flying beast descended from the clouds, carrying two figures seated cross-legged on its back.
"Boom!"
As the beast neared the ground, its enormous wings discharged lightning in all directions. The earth trembled beneath them, arcs of electricity dancing across the barren plain before finally dissipating.
Only then did the two figures dismount. One was a middle-aged woman; the other, an elderly lady leaning on a cane.
"Junior Sister Huang, I've arrived. This is my homeland. You should return," the elderly woman said with a smile.
"Sister Meng…" The middle-aged woman's eyes shimmered with tears. Her 'Sister Meng' had never looked so aged. The recent injuries had left her frail, yet beneath the wrinkles and gray hair, the beauty of her youth was still faintly visible.
"This may be our last meeting," the elder sighed. "But I am fortunate. At least I can return to my homeland, to spend my final years here. Those who fell in battle… they have become nothing but heaps of yellow earth."
"Sister Meng, if there is anything you need, just send a letter. I, Huang Xiangning, will do all in my power to assist," the middle-aged woman said solemnly.
"I shall call upon you when needed," the elderly woman replied with a gentle smile. "Now, go quickly."
The middle-aged woman gazed at her companion one last time before leaping onto the beast's back. With a powerful flap, lightning erupted across the sky.
Whoosh.
The beast soared skyward, vanishing at the horizon.
Watching her companion disappear, the elderly woman turned toward Dongning City, smiling. "Time to go home. To return to one's roots… Heaven has treated me kindly."
Thump.
She tapped her cane lightly on the ground. Ripples spread through the void, extending outward over a hundred yards. The cane in hand, she walked toward the city, each step spanning dozens of yards. Travelers and merchant caravans along the road appeared utterly oblivious to her presence, chatting merrily as she passed.
Moments later, she arrived at the city gates.
"Dongning City."
The elderly woman gazed at the majestic walls of her hometown. The place of her youth. Smiling, she continued forward. Though crowds and guards thronged the gates, none saw her. She moved as if invisible, walking through streets until she reached the Meng ancestral estate.
Inside the estate, patrolling clansmen were everywhere—but still, none could perceive her.
"Gulp, gulp, gulp…" In a small courtyard, a stout elder nursed his wine in silence.
"Pingping, sneaking a drink again?" a voice called.
Startled, the elder glanced around. "Third Sister? Is that you? Third Sister?"
In the courtyard, a faint figure appeared, leaning on a cane, smiling at him.
"Third Sister."
The stout elder's eyes reddened. He was Meng Xiangu's only younger brother. Though other elders also called her 'Third Sister,' the family was vast—centuries old—and many younger generations were separated by layers of lineage. This elder, named Meng Yanping, was the current clan patriarch. Nearly twenty years younger than Meng Xiangu, he had been raised by her, as both sister and mother.
In his heart, his Third Sister had always been youthful, beautiful, and omnipotent. Now, she appeared aged.
"Why cry? Am I not alive and well?" she laughed.
"Third Sister… your injuries… truly cannot be healed?" Meng Yanping asked.
"As long as I avoid deadly battles, I can live another seven or eight years," she said calmly. "Life and death, youth and age, are natural. Even godfiends have limits. No need to grieve. The next few years are enough for me to properly oversee the Meng family. With the news of my injuries spreading, has there been any stir in Dongning Prefecture?"
"The Yun family and ours dissolved the marriage—Meng Chuan's betrothal," Meng Yanping replied. "As for other matters, the four great godfiend families have only made minor moves. None dare truly anger the Meng."
"Indeed. That betrothal was originally Yun Wanhai's attempt to leverage our family's influence. Now that I am gravely wounded, ending the junior's engagement is natural."
She instructed, "Pingping…"
"Third Sister, I'm ninety years old, and still clan patriarch. Can you at least call me by name?" he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"Oh, very well." She smiled. "Meng Pingping, summon all the elders to the Hall of Blazing Fire. I wish to see them."
"Pingping… my name is Meng Yanping," he muttered, yet hurried to summon the elders.
The sister who had raised him, mothered him, protected him… calling him 'Pingping' filled him with vigor.

The Meng ancestral estate, Hall of Blazing Fire.
Only matters of utmost importance were held here. Today, security was exceptionally tight.
Inside, Meng Xiangu stood, leaning on her cane, eyes lifting to the plaque above: "Blazing Fire."
The patriarch and elders stood respectfully, none daring to speak.
By age, Meng Xiangu—one hundred and twelve—was the eldest in the clan. By strength, she had become a godfiend at thirty-five, guarding the Meng family for nearly eighty years. Under her protection, the clan had prospered. Her authority was unquestioned. A single command from her, and many would die without hesitation.
After gazing at the plaque for a long moment, she turned, eyes scanning the assembled elders. Each bowed, tense.
"Among the younger generation of the Meng, who shows talent? Who has potential to become a godfiend?" she asked.
Though the Meng had been rooted in Dongning Prefecture for over a millennium, they had produced only two godfiends: the ancestor Yu Shan, five centuries ago, and Meng Xiangu herself. Now, her deepest wish was to cultivate the family's third godfiend.
Time was pressing, leaving no room for patience; she had to select from the younger generation.
"Dajiang has considerable talent. At nineteen, he mastered a secret blade technique; at thirty, he comprehended sword momentum. Now forty-seven… he may still have a chance to become a godfiend," said a bald, frail elder.
"Dajiang?"
Meng Xiangu's gaze fell on Meng Dajiang, who stood respectfully.
"Auntie," the plump man saluted.
"Has he condensed a core?" she asked.
He shook his head.
Meng Xiangu frowned. Forty-seven and not even a core condensed… the hope of godfiendhood was slim.
"And the younger juniors?" she pressed.
"There are three with potential," patriarch Meng Yanping replied. "Meng Zhu, twenty-three, in the Wulou Realm, serving at Qinyang Pass; he mastered a secret technique at nineteen. Meng Wenying, sixteen, achieved top-tier sword mastery at twelve. And Dajiang's son, Meng Chuan, fifteen, mastered a top-tier blade technique at thirteen. Both Wenying and Chuan are young, yet neither has unlocked a secret technique."
Meng Xiangu fell silent.
Meng Zhu, mastering at nineteen, was far too late for godfiend ascension. Wenying and Chuan, still young and without secret techniques, left limited options. She wished to select from the juniors, but choices were scarce.
"You may all return," she said coldly. "In the coming years, cultivate the younger generation intensively. This is the clan's foremost task. Other matters are secondary. Before I die, I want to see a junior with potential to become a godfiend."
Clearly, lacking outstanding candidates, she would cast a wide net, hoping for genius to emerge among the eight- to twelve-year-olds.
"Yes," the patriarch and elders responded in unison.
"This matter concerns the clan's prosperity and cannot be neglected. Any who embezzle resources shall be dealt with by clan law," she said, then, leaning on her cane, walked out.