That night, Ling Feng's abode was unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
On most nights, his courtyard was a low, living chaos of soft footsteps and rustling robes. Li Shuangyan would be there with her quiet, jade-like presence, reading in the corner or simply sitting nearby as if guarding him without saying so. Xu Pei would hover like a shy little storm cloud, always with some excuse to bring tea or report cultivation progress. Even Su Yonghuang, who called herself sect master first and woman second, would occasionally "drop by" to discuss sect affairs, staying longer than any affairs reasonably required.
Tonight, the courtyard lay empty.
The lanterns burned soft and low, their light held in by formation glass. The night wind flowed in from the distant mountains, carrying the faint scent of pine resin and spirit herbs drying on stone racks somewhere below. The world outside hummed with a remote, restless murmur, but within the boundary of his abode, it was like someone had pressed mute on reality.
Ling Feng pushed his door open with one hand, eyebrow already raised, amusement tugging at his mouth.
"Ran away, huh," he muttered to himself. "Shuangyan's playing cautious. Xu Pei's probably hiding in her cauldron. Yonghuang… pretending she doesn't care."
He stepped in.
Chen Baojiao was waiting for him.
She sat on the edge of his bed like she owned it, one leg crossed over the other. Her robe was simple crimson, but there was nothing simple about how it fit her—the fabric hugged the dangerous, queenly lines of her body, sleeves casually rolled up like she'd just walked away from wrecking an army.
Her usual brazen grin was gone.
In its place was something quieter, sharper. Her gaze was focused, burning like a spring-fed fire that had finally decided which direction to flood.
"Took you long enough," she said.
Ling Feng leaned against the doorframe, letting it close with a soft click behind him. Candlelight slipped across his features, throwing his lazy half–smile into relief.
"Everyone else cleared out," he remarked. "Did you scare them off, Your Highness?"
She sniffed, lifting her chin.
"They walked themselves," Baojiao replied, voice proud. "This princess just didn't move."
Of course they did, Ling Feng thought. For all their different temperaments, the women around him were not stupid. They had seen Chen Baojiao walk back from Ancient Sky City with blood on her sleeves and her eyes fixed on one person.
In that instant, sitting there on his bed, the pieces of her came together—the proud arrogance of a peerless princess, the wildness of her Tyrannical Valley Immortal Spring Physique, and the softer, more human side that had been watered and coaxed into bloom beside him.
All of it concentrated into one steady, unwavering gaze.
"Ling Feng," she said quietly. "Today, when you walked into those heavenly grottos…"
Her fingers tightened against the mattress.
"When you made those Ancient Saints kneel. When you killed that Grand Dao Saint with one flick…"
In her mind, the scenes replayed with uncomfortable clarity.
"I realized something," she said now, staring at him across the quiet room. Her voice was low, the words heavier than usual for someone who liked to laugh at everything. "I don't ever want to be forced to watch your back get smaller."
She had watched it once today already.
Watched him stride forward alone into a storm of killing intent while Ancestors and Saints rearranged heaven and earth against him, while gossip from countless eras shrieked that this was impossible, that a Named Hero could not do what he had done.
She had told herself that this was fine—that this was what it meant to follow someone like him.
But when he flicked his finger and deleted a Grand Dao Saint, when the heavens themselves seemed to stop for a breath, something inside her had clenched.
Fear.
Not of him.
Of losing him.
Ling Feng's expression softened. The lazy amusement did not vanish, but it gentled, like he'd set it aside for something more important.
He closed the door fully behind him, the outside world shut out with a quiet click.
"Then don't," he said, walking toward her at a measured pace. "Stick closer."
She snorted, instincts kicking in as she lifted her chin.
"Shameless."
But her hands reached for him as he reached for her.
He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones. Up close, she was still the fearless princess who would dive first into enemy formations, who could drown armies with a single surge of her Immortal Spring Physique. But in her eyes, beneath the battle-light, there was a fragile, stubborn trust.
"Baojiao," he said, voice dropping lower, warmer. "You did well today. You've been doing well for a while now."
Her breath hitched.
"You… you say it like that, and I…"
Her gaze wavered. She had been praised before by elders, ancestors, flattering nobles. None of it felt like this.
He leaned in and stole her words with a kiss.
It was not the quick, teasing peck he sometimes snuck in the field to annoy her.
It was slower. Deeper.
It carried the heat of battles fought with death breathing down their necks, the electric relief of surviving, the weight of shared killing karma and shared laughter. Chen Baojiao's fingers clenched in his robes, then slid up around his neck, pulling him closer as if she were trying to carve the feel of him into her bones.
The Chaos Force stirred.
Invisible to mortal eyes, the world's fabric inside this small room shifted. Ling Feng's Primal Chaos Genesis Physique drank in her emotions—the fierce pride, the simmering fear, the fierce, possessive love that had taken root inside her without permission. Chaos Energy threaded through their meridians, not violent but deep, like a river swelling quietly after spring thaw.
Affection, in this alien system, was not some ornamental extra.
It was fuel.
It sank into Ling Feng's emeralds, into his spirit energy, refining itself into pure, dense rings that would later guard his life and feed his cultivation. It flowed back into her, into the depths of her Immortal Springs, washing away minute impurities, smoothing bottlenecks that would have taken decades to erode.
Their lips parted for a breath.
Ling Feng rested his forehead against hers, breath warm.
"You don't have to chase my back," he murmured. "If you fall behind, I'll drag you forward. If you're tired, I'll carry you. Simple."
Her eyes reddened slightly, but she laughed anyway.
"Who needs you to carry them? This princess will stand beside you and kick anyone who gets in the way."
"That works too," he said. "We'll kick them together."
She glared at him, but her hands wouldn't let go.
"Ling Feng," she said, quieter than before. "If there comes a day… when you fall… when you face something even you can't—"
He silenced her with a finger against her lips.
"If that day comes," he said casually, "I'll just spit in fate's face and climb back up. I didn't come to this world to play obedient."
He smiled, soft and wicked.
"And if something dares to make you watch my back disappear, I'll kill it first."
Baojiao stared at him for a long moment.
Then she pulled him down again.
"Finally," she breathed against his lips when they parted. "I've been waiting for this since we got back."
"I know." Ling Feng grinned, tugging at the sash of her robe. "You had a look on your face. The 'I'm going to drag you into bed and have my way with you' look."
She laughed, a real, throaty thing, not mocking but bright. "And here I thought I was being subtle."
"With you? Never." He pulled the crimson fabric aside, revealing skin pale against the darker silk. The curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breasts—each inch he revealed was another territory he was determined to conquer tonight. "You're a storm, Baojiao. People don't miss storms."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse against his lips. She arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her.
"Then be my lightning," she whispered, hands tangling in his hair. "And I'll be your thunder."
The last of her robe fell away, pooled on the floor like spilled wine. Ling Feng took a moment, just looking at her.
"See something you like?" Baojiao challenged, but her fingers trembled slightly where they gripped his shoulders.
"Everything," Ling Feng replied, his voice rough with something deeper than desire. He traced the line of her collarbone with a fingertip, watching the way goosebumps followed in its wake. "Everything," Ling Feng replied, his voice rough with something deeper than desire. He traced the line of her collarbone with a fingertip, watching the way goosebumps followed in its wake. "I see the woman who I always want at my side."
"I'm not that easy to get rid of," she said when they broke apart, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. "This princess is stubborn like that."
"That's my girl." Ling Feng grinned against her lips before moving downwards, kissing a path between her breasts. Her gasps turned to whimpers as he took one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue until she was writhing beneath him.
"Ling Feng," she moaned, her hips rising to meet his. "Don't you dare tease me. Not tonight."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Your Highness." He shed his own robes with practiced ease.
Her laugh caught in her throat as she watched the lean lines of his body—the faint shimmer of Chaos Force pulsing beneath his skin. She traced her fingers down his chest, nails scraping lightly. "So sure of yourself," she murmured, but her breath hitched when his hands slid up her inner thighs, palms rough against sensitive skin.
"Always," Ling Feng growled, pinning her wrists to the bed as his mouth found hers again. The kiss was messy, possessive. When he bit her lower lip, she gasped—not in pain, but in recognition. He knew exactly what she wanted. "You think I'd let anyone else see you like this?"
Baojiao laughed, a wild sound that dissolved into a moan when his fingers slipped between her legs. "Arrogant bastard," she managed, even as her thighs trembled. "Even now..."
"Especially now," Ling Feng corrected, his touch slow and deliberate. His thumb circled her clit, each pass sending arcs of heat through her. "Right here, in our bed... this is where I want you. With me. Always."
Her hips rocked against his hand, demanding more. Her pride warred with need—a war she lost spectacularly. "Then stop talking and show me," she challenged.
He obliged.
He drove into her in one smooth, possessive thrust. The sudden stretch sent a jolt of pure pleasure through her. Chen Baojiao cried out, her back arching off the bed.
"Finally," she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. "No more games."
"Who said anything about games?" Ling Feng murmured, pausing just long enough to watch frustration flicker across her face before snapping his hips forward again. The bed groaned beneath them—a sharp contrast to the soft sighs Baojiao tried and failed to suppress. He caught one with his mouth, swallowing it whole. "You think I'd play with something this precious?"
Her laugh was breathless, sharp at the edges. "You—ah!—play with everything." She hooked a leg around his waist, dragging him deeper.
"I only play with idiots that annoys me," he corrected, punctuating the word with another thrust.
Her hips rose to meet him, a challenge in her eyes. "And what am I, then?"
Ling Feng slowed, rolling his hips in a way that made her breath hitch. He studied her face—the sweat on her temples, the flush on her cheeks, the raw hunger she didn't bother hiding.
"My woman." he said.
Then he moved.
The rhythm they found was brutal, a dance of dominance and surrender. Every thrust was a claim. Every kiss a brand. Baojiao met him with equal ferocity, her body a weapon she wielded with expert precision. She bit his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and he answered by tugging her hair, tilting her head back so he could devour her throat.
"You fight dirty," she gasped when he twisted his hips just so—hitting a spot that made her vision blur.
Ling Feng chuckled darkly, thumb brushing the moisture gathered at the corner of her eye. "You love it."
She did. She loved the way he never held back. Loved the way he worshipped her body like it was sacred, even as he drove her to the edge of madness. She arched against him, nails raking down his back, and he groaned into her skin like a prayer.
"Look at me," he demanded, voice rough. When her lashes fluttered open, the intensity in his gaze pinned her more surely than his hands ever could. "You're mine, Chen Baojiao."
"I've always been yours," she confessed, the words torn from her throat by a particularly deep thrust. "Even when I was too proud to admit it."
That admission seemed to shatter something in him. His pace quickened, each movement more desperate than the last. He sought something deeper than mere release, something that transcended the physical boundary of their joined bodies. The Chaos Force around them surged, swirling like a galaxy being born between their sweat-slicked skin.
"Tell me again," he rasped, his forehead pressed against hers. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she breathed, her hips bucking wildly. "This princess belongs to you, Ling Feng. Always."
His growl was primal, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs as he angled her higher, deeper. The room blurred—nothing existed but the heat of their bodies, the ragged symphony of their breaths. When he lowered his mouth to her breast again, teeth grazing her nipple, she arched with a cry that shook the lantern flames.
"You take me apart," Baojiao gasped, hands fisting in his hair. Every thrust unraveled another layer of her pride, leaving raw vulnerability beneath. She hated it. She craved it. "Like—ah!—like you were made for it."
Ling Feng chuckled darkly against her collarbone, driving deeper just to hear her breath stutter. "Maybe I was." His lips found her pulse point—slow, deliberate—before biting down hard enough to brand. "You think the heavens paired us by accident?"
Baojiao's laugh dissolved into a moan as he rolled his hips in that devastating rhythm only he knew. "The heavens," she gasped, clawing at his back, "are terrified of us." Her thighs clamped around his waist as he hit that spot again—the one that made her see stars. "Ling Feng—" Her nails drew blood. "Don't you dare stop."
Her demand was a spark to the dry kindling of his control. With a low curse, Ling Feng hooked one arm under her knee, pulling it up to open her completely. The new angle sent a jolt of pure electricity through her. He watched her face, mesmerized by the way her pleasure contorted her features—lips parted, eyes glazed, brows knitted in concentration.
"That's it," he whispered, thumb brushing her temple as he began to move again. "Let go. Let me see you fall apart."
"Too—too much," Baojiao managed, even as her hips rose to meet each thrust. She was drowning in sensation, in the overwhelming love and pride warring within her. Part of her wanted to fight—to push back against the pleasure, to maintain some semblance of control. But another part, the part that had been waiting for this, for him, surrendered completely. "You're going to break me."
Ling Feng slowed then, pulling back slightly to meet her gaze. His chest heaved, sweat slicking his skin in the soft light. "Never," he promised, his voice raw, unguarded. "I'd die first." He kissed her then—a slow, deep claiming that left no room for doubt.
His hips resumed their rhythm, slower this time, more deliberate. Each retreat was an agony of emptiness, each return a wave of relief so profound it bordered on pain. He was not just taking her; he was memorizing her. The texture of her skin, the sounds she made, the way her body quivered when he shifted just so.
"You feel... like home," Baojiao confessed against his lips, the admission torn from the depths of her soul. It was the most vulnerable she had ever been, and yet, she felt no fear. Only a profound sense of rightness.
The pleasure was blinding, a supernova of sensation and emotion that consumed them both. Ling Feng buried himself deep, grinding against her, prolonging the ecstasy, drinking in her shattered cry. The world narrowed to the frantic beat of their hearts, the slick heat of their bodies, the quiet confession in the aftermath. The air in the room grew thick with power, the condensed essence of their shared love and devotion, a tangible force that swirled around them, sinking into their very bones.
As Baojiao lay trembling beneath him, her body still humming with aftershocks, Ling Feng shifted, gathering her into his arms. He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, never breaking their connection. He tucked her head beneath his chin, her ear pressed against the steady rhythm of his heart.
For a long while, they said nothing. The only sounds were their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. Outside, the moon continued its silent journey across the sky, indifferent to the tempest it had just witnessed within these walls.
Ling Feng was the first to break the silence. He traced idle patterns on her back, his touch gentle, reverent. "You know," he began, his voice a low rumble in her ear, "I hope you're not tired princess. The night is very long."
Chen Baojiao scoffed against his collarbone, but the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. "Are you trying to kill me?" she muttered, even as her fingers drifted down his chest with renewed interest.
Ling Feng caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm before guiding her hand lower. "Only if you want me to," he murmured against her lips, his breath hot. "But I'd rather worship you properly first." His fingers traced circles along her inner thigh, deliberately slow, savoring the way her muscles tensed in anticipation. "Unless my princess has had enough?"
"Enough?" Baojiao scoffed, rolling atop him in one fluid motion, her hair cascading like a silk curtain around them. Her thighs bracketed his hips, her weight pinning him down as she leaned close enough for her lips to brush his. "You forget who you're dealing with, Ling Feng." Her teeth grazed his lower lip, sharp and promising. "This princess doesn't surrender twice in one night."
Ling Feng's laugh was dark with desire as his hands slid up her waist, thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her ribs. "Then let's see how much fight you have left." He surged up, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that tasted of salt and triumph.
Her hips rolled deliberately, grinding against him with a rhythm that made him groan. "You talk too much," she breathed, rising up on her knees. She positioned herself above him, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "Time to remind you who's really in charge here."
Then she took him inside.
The sensation was exquisite—a slow, deliberate claiming that left him breathless. Chen Baojiao watched him with fierce satisfaction, her lips parted as she began to move. Each rise was a deliberate withdrawal that left him aching for more; each fall was a deliberate possession that made stars explode behind his eyes.
"Baojiao," he gasped, hands gripping her hips to guide her, to deepen the connection, to somehow make more of this perfect, devastating pleasure.
"Ling Feng," she moaned in response, her head thrown back, her body undulating with the grace of a goddess and the ferocity of a warrior. The dim lantern light caught the sweat on her skin, highlighting the lean muscles of her abdomen and the proud thrust of her breasts. "This is what you get... for making me wait."
She rode him with a relentless, breathtaking rhythm that spoke of both her arrogance and her adoration. This was not a woman being taken; this was a woman taking what was hers—and taking it with a vengeance. Her movements grew bolder, more erratic as her pleasure mounted, her nails scoring his chest as she sought purchase.
"Always so impatient," Ling Feng managed through gritted teeth, the effort to hold back, to not simply flip her over and ravage her until neither of them could walk, was monumental. "Some things..." He bucked his hips upward, driving into her with a force that made her cry out. "...are worth savoring."
"Savor... this," she retorted, her words dissolving into a strangled moan as he angled himself, hitting a spot that made her whole body clench around him. Her rhythm faltered, her composure cracking.
Ling Feng saw his opportunity. With a low growl, he sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her against him as he surged upward into her, again and again. The new position allowed him to kiss her, to swallow her gasps and moans, to taste the very essence of her surrender.
"Who's in charge now, Your Highness?" he murmured against her lips, his free hand tangling in her hair, tugging her head back to expose the long, vulnerable line of her throat.
That defiant spark, even in the throes of passion, was what he adored about her. It was the fire that had drawn him in, the strength that made her his equal in every way. He chuckled, a dark, possessive sound. "For now? Are you sure about that?"
She wanted to argue, to deny it, but the pleasure was too overwhelming, the truth of his words too undeniable. Instead, she tightened her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her body a furnace of need and adoration.
"Prove it," she challenged, her voice a breathy whisper against his ear.
"My pleasure."
....
Time passed.
Outside the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect's territory, the Grand Middle Territory stirred like a hornet's nest someone had kicked too hard.
Rumors spilled through taverns in Ancient Sky City, down the broad stone arteries of the Ancient Street, across flying ships and teleportation arrays, through minor kingdoms and great sects.
Heavenly God Sect's heavenly grotto—smoldering ruins.
Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom's grotto—pillaged and scarred.
A Grand Dao Saint of the Southern Heavenly Kingdom—Nantian Hudu, eight Fate Palaces, a man whose name had been spoken with reverence for countless years—killed with a single move by a junior at the Named Hero realm.
Every time that last part was retold, storytellers unconsciously lowered their voices. Not out of respect.
Out of fear.
In the Mortal Emperor World, there were realms that belonged to old monsters and realms that belonged to the laws of heaven and earth. A Grand Dao Saint stood with one foot on that higher shore. For a youth barely at Named Hero to erase such a being with a flick of his fingers—that wasn't just genius.
It was heresy.
It broke the logic of the Grand Dao.
Hidden in deep mountains, national teachers and old ancestors ground their teeth and silently swore oaths. In lofty palaces, dynastic kings crushed jade cups without realizing it.
But none of those oaths became open action.
Not yet.
...
In Heavenly God Sect's main hall, incense smoke coiled like trapped dragons.
Elders sat in a half-circle around a shattered ancestral tablet. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor, reaching toward the base of an altar that had once been unblemished. The remnants of their heavenly grotto's collapse lingered here in subtle ways—the faint imbalance in the air, the way dao runes occasionally stuttered when invoked.
Mirror after mirror had been set up, encircling an array of crimson candles.
An ancestor with hair like frost raised his hand and traced a complicated pattern in the air. Light surged; the mirrors glowed as their divination formation reached across distance toward the territory of the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect.
A long, long moment passed.
One mirror quivered.
Then, with a sharp crack, the glass split.
Fragments clattered to the floor.
"Again!" the elder barked, veins rising on his forehead.
They tried three more times.
On the fourth attempt, the mirror did not shatter.
Light flickered, then clarified.
Within the reflective surface, amid a haze of distorted images, a young man slowly raised his hand.
Ling Feng.
His expression was lazy, eyes half-lidded as if this was all somewhat boring.
He lifted his middle finger at the mirror.
The image twisted, distorted, and then the mirror quietly exploded into powder.
...
In the Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom's inner palace, something similar happened.
Their talisman masters, seated around an altar carved from Immortal Emperor copper, carefully prepared a probing talisman. The rune paper flickered with azure and gold light, carrying the scent of ancient Immortal Emperor inheritance. It slipped into the currents of the Grand Dao, traveling toward Cleansing Incense's territory like a fish passing through water.
It arrived.
It was absorbed.
Moments later, back in the Azure Mysterious palace, the same talisman descended from above, its surface burned black. As the elders stared, it unrolled by itself.
A crude, ink-smeared drawing stared back at them: a stick–figure young man, one hand in his pocket, the other raising a single finger.
The veins on countless foreheads bulged.
"Insufferable junior," an old ancestor hissed, fingers trembling with rage.
Yet no one said: "Mobilize the army."
They had seen the fate of heavenly grottos.
They had heard the story of Nantian Hudu.
Even their fury had to share the room with something new for them—caution.
...
Within the boundaries of the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect, the world was quiet.
The sect itself was anything but.
Under Ling Feng's devoted meddling, cultivation became easier than it had been in countless generations. Foundation–building pills that would once have been hoarded as national treasures were now used on promising outer disciples. Obscure but powerful merit laws, long buried in dusty scripture halls, resurfaced as Ling Feng casually broke into old vaults, pulled out manuals, and rewrote them line by line with his absurd comprehension.
He smoothed bottlenecks, patched missing links, and—the scandalous part—added Chaos-based auxiliary circulation routes that allowed the sect's disciples to run their qi with more stability and explosive potential than the original creators had ever imagined.
He did not hand out shortcuts freely.
He taught.
In a newly cleared courtyard, steam rose from a pill furnace like mist after rain. A group of disciples knelt around it, faces pale from concentration. Their flames danced wildly beneath the furnace, too hot one moment, too weak the next.
Ling Feng sat lazily on a stone bench, one leg crossed over the other, back resting against a pillar. He flicked pebbles with idle precision, each one knocking a misaligned formation flag back into place without him so much as looking.
"If your flame is jumping that much," he called out, voice casual, "you're not refining, you're frying. You want a pill, not deep-fried spirit grass."
A few nearby disciples choked, shoulders shaking as they tried not to laugh.
The disciple at the furnace swallowed, sweat dripping down his temple.
"Y-yes, Prime Disciple!"
"Relax," Ling Feng said, more amused than harsh. "Alchemy is just cooking with extra explosions. Watch the color of the flame. Smell the change in the medicine. Use your eyes and nose, not just the manual."
He tapped the pill furnace lightly with his knuckle.
Chaos Force threaded through the metal, smoothing the fluctuation of the heat just enough to give the disciple room to breathe. The roaring flame calmed, turning a steady blue-white. The medicinal scent rising from within shifted from sharp and chaotic to mellow and full.
"Better," Ling Feng said. "Keep that. If it starts acting up again, don't panic—adjust. The Dao doesn't like cowards."
He tilted his head, studying the group.
"Also, if anyone dares to explode this furnace, I'll make you clean the entire outer sect latrine with a stick."
Every disciple went stiff.
He smiled.
"I'm joking," he added, then paused. "Mostly."
...
Elsewhere, in the main training grounds, sword light arced through the sky like a pale dragon.
Li Shuangyan stood in the center of an open field, white robes fluttering, veil lowered over the lower half of her face. Her Pure Jade Physique shone from within, enhanced by Chaos Force until her energy flow became almost frictionless—qi traveling through her meridians like crystal-clear water through flawless jade channels, able to carry near-limitless refined power without harming itself.
Each of her Fate Palaces glowed in the depths of her being like luminous jade towers. The sixth palace had now fully condensed, pushing her into the peak of Supreme Noble; her combat power stepped firmly onto the threshold of Ancient Saint. Against weaker Ancestors, she could already cross blades without flinching.
Her sword moved.
The Chaos World Attacking Sword Immortal Law that Ling Feng had passed down to her did not roar or blaze ostentatiously. It fell with a kind of cold inevitability.
The world around her slightly blurred, then reformed as part of her sword domain—mountains, wind, clouds, and even the distant hum of the sect's formations becoming strands that could be tugged by her will. Heavenly swords descended in a rain of starlight, each one wrapped in Chaos-refined jade intent.
Across from her, a formation puppet shaped like an Ancient Saint roared, its body woven from steel and runes. She lifted one hand and the swords fell—precise, merciless, cutting into its joints.
Ting. Ting. Ting.
Joint after joint locked, then shattered.
When she finally sheathed her blade, there was a polite silence in the air, like the world itself was holding its breath.
On a nearby stone, Ling Feng sat with his arms crossed, watching her with open satisfaction.
"You know," he said, "if you walk around outside like that, some idiot's going to think you're easy prey and then die without even understanding how."
Li Shuangyan's eyes curved faintly behind the veil.
"With Young Noble here, cause and effect is simple," she replied.
"When did I become cause and effect?" he muttered, but he was smiling.
...
Another corner of the sect.
Thunder rolled in place where there was no storm.
Xu Pei sat cross-legged in midair above a small valley, her dark-green cauldron floating before her like a watchful guardian. Her Violent Cloud Chant churned within her meridians, no longer sputtering or wasting power, but rotating and compressing in tight, orderly spirals.
Storm–qi gathered around her, compact, rotational, surgical. Where before she had only been able to unleash clumsy, wide-scale explosions, now her power coiled like dragons in a jar—ready to be released in a series of precise, brutal strikes instead of one wasteful detonation.
She opened her eyes.
Lightning flashed between her fingers.
With a soft shout, she directed her qi downward. Rotating storm pillars crashed into the valley floor, each one precisely placed. The ground quaked, but the valley did not collapse; instead, new channels formed, controlled by the fine manipulation Ling Feng had drilled into her.
In her Fate Palaces, the fifth palace shone, newly opened, pushing her to King Noble. With the Chaos Force amplifying her chant, her combat prowess had already reached the level of a Nine-Star Enlightened Being, allowing her to punch above her cultivation and stand closer beside Shuangyan and Baojiao than any ordinary disciple at her stage would dare dream.
Ling Feng watched from a nearby boulder, arms behind his head, expression lazy.
"Not bad, Pei," he called. "From 'violent cloud that explodes everywhere' to 'violent cloud that actually listens.' I'm proud."
Her cheeks reddened slightly.
"Feng," she said softly, descending toward him on a wind of swirling storm–qi. "It's only because you taught me…"
"I taught a bunch of people," he said. "You're the one who bled for it."
Her eyes warmed, and she bit her lip.
"…Then I'll bleed more."
"Hey," he scolded mildly, reaching up to flick her forehead when she came close. "Don't talk like that. We're cultivating to live better, not to die harder."
"But—"
"No 'but.' You get stronger; you enjoy life; you help me bully our enemies. That's the order."
She nodded, eyes shining.
"En."
...
In another training hall, water roared.
Chen Baojiao stood bare-armed atop a circular platform carved with Tyrannical Valley patterns. Her Immortal Spring Physique had deepened under Chaos augmentation; each of her inner springs now opened into a vast, dark abyss that could swallow any force directed at her.
A formation puppet in the shape of an Ancient Saint, powered by multiple elders and boosted with treasures, slammed a palm strike toward her. The blow carried enough force to obliterate mountains, a wave of qi like a collapsing ocean.
She did not dodge.
The strike landed full on her chest.
Energy thundered into her body—
—and vanished, drawn down into the depths of her Immortal Springs. For a breath, her body glowed from within as those springs boiled, taking the foreign force, breaking it apart, refining it.
Then she laughed.
Her own qi surged upward, twice as fierce, bursting out in an explosive counterattack. The puppet staggered back, its metal arms bending under the pressure; cracks appeared along its chest.
If someone struck her with overwhelming might, the impact would not simply be absorbed—it would drop into her Chaos Springs and be reborn as a ferocious counterattack, doubling as cultivation fuel. With Ling Feng's Chaos enhancement and their frequent, passionate dual cultivation, she had condensed her sixth Fate Palace and broken into Supreme Noble, her combat prowess already able to pressure weaker Ancient Saints.
Ling Feng clapped slowly from the edge of the platform.
"There we go," he said. "Use idiots to fuel your springs. Very efficient."
She shot him a bright, feral grin.
"When our enemies are this generous, it would be rude not to use them."
"That's my princess," he said.
She snorted, but her ears reddened.
...
Near the sword peaks, wind whispered across stone.
Bai Jianzhen stood alone, sword in hand, ink-black hair like a waterfall down her back. Her aura was quiet, but the silence around her was not peaceful—it was the hush before a blade left its sheath.
Ling Feng stood beside her, not close enough to crowd, not far enough to be distant.
He poured Chaos Energy into her foundation carefully, respecting the terrifying balance of her Sword Dao. Her cultivation had stepped into Fate Rebelling Noble with five Fate Palaces, each one honed like a blade lodged in the fabric of the world. Her sword intent grew quieter, sharper; when she unsheathed her blade now, even distant elders found their hearts skipping a beat.
"Your shoulder is too tense," he said, tapping just behind her collarbone with two fingers. "If you hold it like that, the sword can't flow."
"I am not flowing water," she replied bluntly. "I am the sword."
"Even swords need an angle to cut at," he said. "Relax."
She glared at him, but did as he said, a tiny shift in muscle.
He nodded.
"Better."
He did not push more than that. Bai Jianzhen was like a sword standing point-down in the earth. Too much force, and you snapped the blade. Just enough, and you could angle it toward an enemy throat.
He let his hand rest on her shoulder for a heartbeat longer than necessary as he stepped away.
She didn't flinch.
In fact, if one watched very closely, they would see the faintest softening at the corners of her eyes, the tightness in her jaw loosening by a hair.
She still muttered, "…Shameless."
But she did not move away.
He was close to unlocking hugging privileges with her. Slowly. Patiently. Like polishing a peerless sword until it accepted its sheath.
...
And at the peak of the sect, above it all, the sun burned.
Su Yonghuang floated in midair with her eyes closed, Solar Immortal Physique blazing around her in a ring of golden corona. The Chaos Energy Ling Feng had woven into her body acted as a cooling system—a living buffer that allowed her to channel her complete Yang power without burning her own foundation to ash.
Seven Fate Palaces hung behind her like seven miniature suns, each polished to terrifying brightness. Under her steady cultivation, they had become pillars of Cleansing Incense's current era, a foundation that could bear the weight of the sect's revival.
Her expression in cultivation was cold and distant, befitting a sect master who carried the responsibility of an ancient lineage that had once been stomped into the dirt by Heavenly God Sect and its allies.
In public, she remained the cool, unreachable sect master—regal, controlled, untouchable.
In private…
Ling Feng slipped into her chamber that evening with the familiarity of someone who no longer needed to knock.
She looked up from a jade slip, the strict lines of her brows easing for a fraction of a moment when she saw him.
"Done bullying the disciples for today?" she asked.
"Please," he said. "I'm nurturing the future. Very conscientiously."
He crossed the room in a few steps and, without asking, drew her into his arms.
She used to stiffen like a startled bird at that.
Now, Su Yonghuang exhaled, eyes closing as she slid into his embrace, the tension in her shoulders melting away.
For a few precious moments, she allowed herself to lean into him, to act not as sect master but as a woman who was tired and in love.
"If the Su elders could see you like this," Ling Feng said, resting his chin on her hair, "half of them would cough blood and the other half would start cultivating harder to keep up."
"They would start fighting to 'protect my chastity,'" she murmured dryly.
He laughed.
"If they get in the way," he said, "I'll knock them down too. Equality."
She opened her eyes and gave him a sideways look.
"You are too unrestrained."
"That's why you like me."
She didn't answer that.
But when he tilted her chin up and stole a quick kiss, she didn't push him away.
If Ling Feng was lucky—and he was often very lucky—he could steal several more before she remembered she was supposed to be dignified.
...
Under his hand, under the women's relentless efforts, the sect flourished.
The world seethed.
Heavenly God Sect, Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom, Southern Heavenly Kingdom, and other hidden powers who had once conspired to bury Cleansing Incense now sat in their lairs, nursing their wounds and pride, whispering in anger, but not daring to knock.
Ling Feng found it all very funny.
One evening, he lay on a rooftop with Xu Pei resting on his chest and Li Shuangyan sitting nearby, polishing her sword. The sky above the sect blazed with sunset colors, clouds painted in molten gold.
"Thirty thousand years ago, they stomped us into the dirt," he remarked lazily, watching a flock of birds cut across the horizon in a perfect V. "Now they're hiding like chickens in a storm. Karma works fast when I'm around, huh?"
Li Shuangyan's eyes curved gently behind her veil.
"With Young Noble here, cause and effect is simple," she said.
Xu Pei, lying on him like a satisfied kitten, traced circles on his chest with one finger, her expression thoughtful.
"Feng… will it always be like this?"
"What, me smacking annoying people, and you four getting stronger?" he asked, amused. "That's the plan."
She hesitated.
"I mean… will the world always be this hostile? Will you always have to… kill so much?"
He was silent for a moment, eyes half-closed.
"The Mortal Emperor World has too many old debts," he said eventually. "Too many people who think the past gives them a license to do whatever they want forever. Heavenly God Sect thinks thirty thousand years ago means they can still collect on a debt. Azure Mysterious thinks having Immortal Emperors in their history makes them untouchable. Southern Heavenly Kingdom hides behind Fei Yang's shadow and acts like that makes them imperial. I don't care about their stories."
He tilted his head back, looking at the darkening sky.
"If they don't bother me, I won't go out of my way to crush them," he continued. "But if they come knocking, I'll keep erasing them until the world learns a new habit."
Xu Pei's fingers stilled.
"That's… scary," she whispered.
He stroked her hair, fingers gentle.
"Scary is good," he said. "Scary keeps the people I care about safe."
She smiled faintly, pressing closer.
"Then… I'll become scary too."
"Heh," he said. "That's my girl."
Li Shuangyan looked at him, light reflecting in her eyes.
"You are not afraid of the weight of so much killing karma?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"Karma can get in line," he said. "If it dares show up, I'll make it kneel too."
...
Altogether, months slipped by like this.
The sect flourished.
The world simmered.
And eventually, even a man like Ling Feng—who could spend days happily alternating between teaching disciples, flirting with his women, and beating up visiting geniuses—felt the itch.
One morning, he stood at the sect gate, hands clasped behind his back.
Mist rolled off the mountains beyond Cleansing Incense, drifting down to mingle with the clouds over distant plains. The air carried the faint scent of foreign rivers, unfamiliar soils.
He gazed toward a direction only he could clearly see.
"Eastern Hundred Cities…" he murmured.
In the east, beyond the Grand Middle Territory, lay a region known simply as the Hundred Cities—a sprawling land of human nations, old sects, and complicated histories. It was the ancient homeland of the human race, full of ruined citadels, buried grudges, and relics from eras when the world had not yet learned to fear the Dark Crow.
There, Heavenly Dao Academy slumbered in its current, fallen state, waiting for a chance to rise again. There, great schools like Tiger's Howl had once ruled nations until they were broken and swept away. The land was thick with old karmas and fresh opportunities, like a field where weeds and rare herbs grew tangled together.
In another timeline, another life, Li Qiye would one day walk there to stir up old memories and wake old monsters. In this era, in this twisted, Chaos-soaked variation of fate, Ling Feng's gaze shifted earlier.
Not because heaven demanded it.
Because he could smell opportunity like a wolf smelled blood.