That night, in a quiet inn within Lion's Roar's imperial capital, Ling Feng's courtyard was anything but quiet.
Starlight spilled over tiled roofs and white walls, softening the sharp lines of the city. In the courtyard's small garden, lantern light and moonlight tangled together, painting everything in warm gold and cool silver.
Li Shuangyan leaned against the balcony railing on the second floor, white robes brushing her ankles, long hair drifting in the night breeze. Her gaze was fixed on the stars, but her aura was different now—denser, clearer, like flawless jade tempered in a furnace.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Ling Feng stepped up, close enough that his warmth brushed her back. Without asking, he wrapped an arm loosely around her waist, his chin almost brushing her shoulder.
She stiffened for a heartbeat, Dao Heart wavering between instinctive distance and the way his presence had become… familiar.
Then she let herself lean back into him, just a little, letting his warmth sink into her increasingly refined jade aura.
"You're squeezing," she muttered, voice cool, but lacking its usual edge.
"Your meridians are tense," Ling Feng murmured near her ear. "If you lock up like that before we even reach Heavenly Dao Academy, I'm charging you for massage fees."
"…Massage fees?" Her lips twitched despite herself. "You…"
Down in the courtyard, Chen Baojiao sprawled on a stone bench, one leg thrown over the other, head pillowed in his lap. She traced idle patterns on his knee with a fingertip, the picture of lazy arrogance.
"You know," she complained half-heartedly, "you always steal the best fights. I let you have your fun for one day and you clear out half a capital."
Ling Feng looked down at her, one hand absently combing through her thick, ink-black hair. "You? Talking about letting others have fun?" His tone was amused. "When we coming here you tried to punch a True Fate into the sky just to see if it would wobble."
She snorted, but the corner of her mouth curled up. "That was training."
"That was you bullying the Heavens for stress relief."
"You're the one who taught me," she shot back, but there was laughter in her eyes.
He pinched her cheek lightly. "Please. You like stealing finishing blows too much to complain. The moment someone's half-dead, you're already winding up your fist."
Baojiao opened her mouth to retort, then ended up laughing, rich and unrestrained. "Fine," she admitted. "I do like that part."
Not far away, Xu Pei sat at a small table, hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. Her storm-qi, once prone to turbulence and sudden spikes, now flowed in smooth spirals through her body, quieter and deeper than before. She listened to the murmurs of their voices, the casual teasing and familiarity, and for the first time in years, the roar inside her chest felt like distant thunder instead of a constant storm.
Her gaze drifted to Ling Feng's hand moving through Baojiao's hair, to the way Shuangyan's shoulders had finally relaxed against him on the balcony. Something warm and aching tightened in Xu Pei's chest.
She took a slow breath, grounding herself. She had chosen this path. She had chosen him. Whatever storms the future brought, she would walk into them at his side.
...
Later, when the night deepened and the stars grew brighter, Ling Feng slipped away from the warm tangle of voices and soft light.
He found Bai Jianzhen alone under a tree at the far end of the courtyard.
The tree was old, gnarled roots coiling out of the stone, branches reaching for the sky. Bai Jianzhen sat beneath it, sword resting upright against the trunk at her side, palm lightly touching the hilt.
Moonlight poured over her white robes, outlining the sharp, clean lines of her figure. She sat too straight to be relaxed, too still to be comfortable. Even at rest, she was a blade sheathed, not put away.
She looked up as he approached, eyes clear and cold as a mountain spring in early winter.
"What?" she asked plainly. "You have more Dao to preach?"
He chuckled, hands tucked into his sleeves.
"No," he said. "Just wanted to check on my sword."
He stopped an arm's length away.
Her eyes narrowed. "This Bai is not—"
He took one more step.
Then, without flowery words, he reached out and pulled her into a hug.
Bai Jianzhen went rigid.
Her hand moved reflexively toward her sword hilt, fingers tightening on the wrapping. Sword intent flashed for half a breath, sharp enough that the air between them almost cut.
Then she stopped.
His arms were firm but not crushing, presence steady, heartbeat calm. There was no lustful intent, no mocking condescension hiding in his embrace—only simple, direct warmth.
For a heartbeat, she stood there like a statue, stiff and unyielding in his arms.
Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her shoulders relaxed. The killing edge of her aura dulled by the smallest fraction.
"This Bai is a sword," she muttered into his chest, voice muffled. "Swords do not need hugs."
"Sure they do," Ling Feng said softly, chin resting lightly atop her head. "Even swords rust if you leave them alone in the rain too long."
She snorted, the sound somewhere between derision and unwilling amusement.
"You speak nonsense."
"And yet you're still here."
Silence fell between them. In the distance, faint laughter drifted from the other side of the courtyard, Chen Baojiao's bold voice mixing with Xu Pei's gentler tones and Li Shuangyan's restrained replies.
Under the tree, Bai Jianzhen listened to those sounds, to the steady rise and fall of Ling Feng's chest.
After a while, she pushed at his chest with a small, sharp motion.
"Enough," she said. "Do not overdo it."
"Alright, alright." He let her go at once, hands falling back to his sides, smile easy and unforced. "No need to stab me over one hug. I like my internal organs where they are."
She gave him a flat look that might have counted as killing intent to anyone else.
To him, it was almost… flustered.
"Go," she said curtly, fingers lightly tapping her sword hilt as if reassuring herself it was still there. "Tomorrow, you will have more important matters than bothering this Bai."
"Tomorrow?" He tilted his head. "Right. Lion's Roar wants to roll out the red carpet."
He turned away, waving a hand lazily over his shoulder.
"Sleep early," he added, tone casual. "Sword or not, you're still a woman. Dark circles don't suit you."
Her eyes narrowed. "Ling Feng."
"Mm?"
"If you say something like that again, I'll cut you first and ask questions later."
He laughed and didn't answer, walking back toward the warm courtyard lights.
Behind him, beneath the old tree, Bai Jianzhen sat back down. Her fingers brushed her sword's hilt, grip a fraction looser than before.
The night passed in warmth and quiet laughter.
...
The next day, just after dawn, the jade talisman in Ling Feng's sleeve tingled.
He was half-reclined on the same stone bench Chen Baojiao had claimed the night before, eyes half-closed, letting the cool morning air wash over him. Li Shuangyan was already awake, of course, hair neatly tied, robe immaculate as she sipped tea. Xu Pei was arranging a tray of breakfast dishes. Chen Baojiao was still stretching like a lazy cat.
The talisman's faint vibration threaded through his spirit sense.
He glanced at it and smiled. "Speak of the devil," he murmured.
He lifted the talisman between two fingers and crushed it.
A thread of Chi Xiaodao's voice, laced with excitement and nervousness, flowed directly into his mind.
"Brother Ling," the prince said quickly, "it's Xiaodao. Our elders… Father wants to meet you. They all do. The way you preached the Dao yesterday, and how you helped us open another Fate Palace… they say such kindness cannot be lightly received. They hope you can come to the Lion's Roar Gate…"
Ling Feng stretched, joints cracking like small firecrackers.
"Got it," he said lazily. "Tell them to put on some tea. We're coming."
He let the last wisp of the message burn out in his palm.
Chen Baojiao sat up, eyes bright. "Lion's Roar wants to bow their heads?"
"Lion's Roar wants to see what kind of lunatic grabbed their Fate Palaces and shook them," Ling Feng corrected, smiling faintly. "Either way, we're going."
His gaze slid over his women—Shuangyan's icy poise, Baojiao's wild confidence, Xu Pei's steady gentleness, Bai Jianzhen's silent, sword-like presence lingering at the courtyard's edge.
"Finish eating," he said. "We have a furious country to offend."
...
Lion's Roar Gate.
The mountain-propping sect that ruled the country spread across a wide range, peaks rising one after another like crouching beasts. The main mountain's outline resembled a roaring lion, its jagged ridges forming mane and jaws. Banners bearing the lion emblem snapped in the wind, each flutter carrying the accumulated prestige of generations.
As they approached along the main stone path, Ling Feng walked with his four women beside him.
He didn't slow his stride, didn't straighten his clothes, didn't try to appear more solemn.
If anything, he looked more relaxed the closer they came, hands folded behind his head, gaze roaming over the sect's formations and hidden arrays as if he were admiring scenery rather than walking into the heart of a great power.
Disciples lined the path, whispering among themselves.
"That's him…"
"The Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect's… no, Lion's Roar calls him Dao Friend… Ling…"
"Four… such women…"
Envy, awe, jealousy and curiosity mixed in their eyes.
At the great gate, Chi Xiaodao and Chi Xiaodie waited in formal attire.
Chi Xiaodao wore princely robes, hair tied high, but the excitement in his eyes made him look more like an overgrown child than a proper prince. He took an involuntary step forward when he saw Ling Feng, smile breaking across his face.
"Brother Ling!" he called, hand lifting in a wave—
His sister's hand pressed lightly on his arm.
Chi Xiaodie, in full princess robes embroidered with the lion emblem, stood with her back straight, chin slightly raised. Her expression defaulted to serious, but the faint curve at the corner of her lips betrayed her current mood.
Chi Xiaodao coughed, realizing where he was. He hastily reined himself in and cupped his fists with proper etiquette.
"Fellow Daoist Ling," he corrected, though the glow in his eyes did not dim.
Chi Xiaodie stepped forward, hands folding into a textbook-perfect greeting.
"Fellow Daoist Ling," she said, voice clear, carrying the natural dignity of someone raised to bear a country. "You honor our Lion's Roar Gate with your presence."
Ling Feng let his gaze sweep over her from head to toe, not lecherous, but direct.
The way she held herself, the faint tiredness at the corners of her eyes, the tension buried beneath her impeccable manners—he saw all of it.
"Beautiful as always," he said simply.
Her breath hitched.
Color rose in her ears before she forced her expression back under control. "You…" she began, then swallowed the rest of whatever she had been about to say.
Behind them, several disciples who had come to watch nearly dropped their jaws.
Who talked to their princess like that?
Only someone whose existence had shaken the entire capital the previous day.
"Come," Chi Xiaodao said, eagerness leaking into his voice despite his attempt at formality. "Imperial Father and Grandfather are waiting in the main hall."
"Good," Ling Feng replied. "If we're going to cause trouble, better to do it in front of everyone who matters."
Chi Xiaodao almost tripped.
Chi Xiaodie exhaled slowly. She wasn't sure if he was serious or joking.
Unfortunately, with Ling Feng, the answer was usually "both."
...
Inside the main hall, power gathered like storm clouds.
The Lion's Roar Royal Lord sat on the sect master's seat, imperial robes draping over a frame that had not yet bent to age. He looked to be about fifty, spirit bright, with the steady, restrained majesty of a ruler who had carried a country through storms.
Beside him, several elders of the Chi Clan and the sect's council sat in rows, expressions solemn, eyes sharp.
In the innermost seat, slightly elevated, sat an old man whose presence seemed to merge with the very mountain.
Lion's Roar Heavenly King.
Descendant of Lion Monarch Ba Xian. Husband of a Chi woman. Bearer of a Saint Physique a Tyrannical Saint Physique forged from the shadow of the Furious Immortal Tyrannical Physique Merit Law.
Once, the Hundred Cities had trembled at the mere mention of his name.
Now, if one looked closely, there was a faint, almost invisible unease deep in his aura—a trace of imperfection in the way his Physique's power circulated, like a mighty river that had been forced into a slightly crooked bed.
When Ling Feng stepped into the hall with his women, all eyes turned.
Chi Xiaodao and Chi Xiaodie led him forward.
The Royal Lord rose to his feet at once, cupping his fists with rare solemnity.
"This one is the Lion's Roar Royal Lord," he said. "I greet Fellow Daoist Ling. Yesterday's matter… my Chi Clan owes Dao Friend a great debt."
Ling Feng returned the gesture with easy politeness, the movement clean but unpretentious.
"Royal Lord is too serious," he replied. "I already told Xiaodao and Xiaodie—this was just me being nosy."
Some of the elders twitched.
Just?
The Royal Lord gave a wry smile. "If all 'nosy' people were like Dao Friend," he said, "our world would have far fewer tragedies."
He gestured toward the inner seat.
"This is my father," he introduced, "the Lion's Roar Heavenly King."
Ling Feng's gaze moved.
The Heavenly King studied him in return. In those deep, ancient eyes, more than one era's worth of storms flickered. He had once roamed the Hundred Cities and made a name for himself with his Saint Physique, had gone to the Heavenly Dao Academy to seek traces of his ancestor, had received help that tied his line to the academy's fate.
He had also watched his path crack, slowly, under the weight of age and compromise.
"You are the one who shook the Eastern Hundred Cities with a single Dao fragrance yesterday," the Heavenly King said, voice calm. "This old man is Ba Xian's descendant. I greet Dao Friend Ling."
Ling Feng nodded with cupped fists. "Nice to meet you."
As he straightened, he let his Chaos-tuned perception sink quietly into the Heavenly King's body.
A complex structure met his senses.
Tyrannical Saint Physique. Born from the branch of Furious Immortal Tyrannical Physique, forged in the Chi line, tempered by battle. Incomplete not in realm, but in fit.
The roaring, tyrannical energy did not merge smoothly with the King's True Fate. There were places where the flow stuttered, old scars where the borrowed template of the Saint Country's law had never quite harmonized with the man's own Dao.
Incomplete because it was built off someone else's path.
'Not bad,' Ling Feng thought. 'But you've been wearing someone else's shoes for too long, old man.'
His Chaos Sense filled in the gaps almost on its own, tracing missing loops, unused circuits, neglected channels that could have allowed the King's power to rise to another height if he'd had the right push.
The potential pleased him.
'So my Chaos can even edit Immortal Physique branches without clashing,' he mused. 'Good to know.'
He pulled his senses back before anyone noticed.
"Ling Feng," the Heavenly King said, "yesterday, through your Dao preaching, this old man also benefited a little. The knot that had restricted my Tyrannical Physique for many years loosened slightly. For that, I am grateful."
Ling Feng waved a hand as if brushing away dust.
"If you want to thank me properly," he said, smiling, "let me take a look at it up close."
The hall went quiet.
Several elders shifted in their seats.
"Dao Friend Ling," one council elder said carefully, "the Heavenly King's Tyrannical Saint Physique is… not a trivial matter. It was cultivated based on the Furious Immortal Saint Country's merit law, and…"
His gaze flicked briefly toward Chi Xiaodie, then away.
"And we have some ties to them," he finished.
Ah.
There it was.
Ling Feng smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"About that," he said casually. "Let's be honest. You don't actually need Furious Immortal Saint Country's help anymore. Not for the Heavenly King, and definitely not for your princess's marriage."
The atmosphere in the hall tightened instantly.
The Royal Lord's fingers clenched on the armrest.
Chi Xiaodie's expression froze, a crack appearing in the mask she'd carefully worn for years.
The Heavenly King's eyes narrowed.
"Dao Friend Ling speaks boldly," he said slowly. "The Saint Country is not a minor power."
"Mm." Ling Feng acknowledged that with a small nod. "Created by Furious Immortal Progenitor, Lower Tyrannical Immortal Physique Law, a whole country built around bloodlines and Physiques. Impressive background. Big banners. Lots of noise."
His eyes met the Heavenly King's directly.
"But all of that," he continued, tone flattening, "is still just someone else's path."
He stepped forward, ignoring the rustling of robes, the tensing of guards' hands on their weapons.
"Let me show you," he said quietly. "What your path could be if it wasn't shackled to theirs."
Before anyone could object, he moved.
His hand rose and lightly tapped the Heavenly King's shoulder.
To outside eyes, it was almost casual.
To the Heavenly King, it was like a meteor falling into a calm sea.
Chaos energy flowed like a whisper.
Inside the Heavenly King's body, the roaring, tyrannical blood energy of his Saint Physique surged as if startled awake. Old, incomplete circuits lit up one after another as Chaos gently nudged them into place, weaving them into a new pattern that fit his bones, his Dao, his life—not the idealized version the Saint Country's law imagined.
The limitations that had been imposed to match the template shattered. The Physique aligned itself around the man, not the law.
For a moment, the Tyrannical Saint Physique's aura burst forth, no longer merely forceful, but terrifyingly complete.
The entire hall trembled.
Stone pillars groaned. Protective formations flickered into visibility for a breath and then stabilized under the pressure.
Elders who had followed the Heavenly King for decades felt their hearts stop.
"This is—!"
"The Heavenly King's power… it wasn't at full potential before this?"
The Heavenly King himself closed his eyes.
He could feel it. The heaviness in his chest that he had carried for so long—part injury, part flaw, part regret—lightened. The constant faint obstruction at the core of his Physique dissolved like ice in boiling water.
He drew a deep breath. The air tasted different. Clearer.
When he opened his eyes again, they shone brighter than they had in many years.
"Dao Friend Ling," he said quietly, voice carrying a new weight, "your methods… are truly frightening."
Ling Feng grinned.
"Frightening?" he echoed. "This is the polished version. The frightening one would have blown you up three times in the process."
Several elders choked.
Chi Xiaodao stared at him like he was looking at a god.
Chi Xiaodie felt something in her chest tighten and loosen at the same time.
If someone like this stands on our side… then maybe…
She did not finish the thought, afraid of what it might mean.
The Royal Lord exhaled, shoulders easing as he realized what had just happened. In a single tap, this young man had given his father back the peak of his strength—and then pushed that peak a little higher.
All without asking for a single thing in return.
Which only made the debt heavier.
...
The hall had barely begun to digest this change when a servant hurried in, knees hitting the floor hard enough to echo.
"Reporting to Royal Lord, Heavenly King, Council Elders," he said, voice trembling slightly. "The council elder from Furious Immortal Saint Country has arrived, along with Young Master Sima, to discuss the princess's marriage."
Silence fell.
A harsh, brittle kind of silence.
Chi Xiaodie's fingers clenched in her sleeves.
The Royal Lord's jaw tightened.
The Heavenly King's gaze slid toward Ling Feng.
At the back, Chen Baojiao's knuckles popped, the sound sharp in the stillness as she slowly cracked her fingers one by one.
Ling Feng's eyes lit up.
"Oh," he said, smile turning distinctly predatory. "Right on schedule."
Chi Xiaodao swallowed hard. His heart had never felt this conflicted—caught between childhood helplessness and the new, burning hope Ling Feng's presence represented.
"Let them in," Ling Feng said pleasantly, before anyone else could answer.
The servant looked toward the Royal Lord.
The Royal Lord glanced at his father.
The Heavenly King's lips curved in the faintest of smiles, the sort of expression that would have been impossible before the blockage in his Physique was removed.
"Let them enter," he said.
...
In the reception hall, the air shifted.
Sima Longyun swaggered in with the Saint Country's council elder at his side.
He was handsome in a sharp, aggressive way, eyebrows like blades, features carved with arrogance. His Golden Savage Bull Physique radiated power, blood energy surging like a river barely contained by his skin. Faint golden light flickered around him, forming the illusory outline of a colossal, horned bull looming over his shoulders.
He had expected to walk into a hall heavy with anxiety—a weak little country too afraid to refuse the Saint Country's "kindness," elders forced to laugh and nod as their princess was sold off.
Instead, the very air pressed on his shoulders.
He paused.
The council elder beside him, an old man with a proud bearing and a faint aura of the Lower Tyrannical Immortal Physique Law, also stiffened.
This pressure…
It was not the same hesitant, half-complete aura he had sensed from Lion's Roar in past years.
It was sharper. Fuller. More dangerous.
On the high seat, the Heavenly King sat with eyes half-lidded, Tyrannical Saint Physique now perfectly harmonized with his True Fate. His presence was like a towering lion quietly resting, claws withdrawn—but still there.
The Royal Lord at his side looked more relaxed than the Saint Country elder remembered him ever being.
And in the main hall, where only family and the highest elders should have been, sat a young man in simple robes, flanked by four terrifying women and two Chi siblings whose auras had clearly taken a step forward since last time.
Sima Longyun frowned, displeased.
"Royal Lord," he began loudly, cupping his fists in a perfunctory salute. "Elder. This junior greets you. I have come to formally discuss the marriage—"
Ling Feng raised a hand lazily.
"No," he said.
The word landed like a hammer.
Sima Longyun's face darkened.
"And you are?" the Saint Country elder asked coldly, eyes flashing. "Since when does an outsider speak in Lion's Roar's main hall?"
Ling Feng draped one arm over the back of his chair, posture loose, smile without warmth.
"The one telling you to get lost," he replied, tone light. "Sit down, old man. You're blocking my view."
The crude dismissal, spoken in an utterly relaxed tone in the middle of a formal hall, froze the room for half a heartbeat.
"You—!" Sima Longyun exploded, blood energy flaring.
In that instant, his Golden Savage Bull Physique surged. Muscles swelled, veins bulged, and a golden bull phantom roared into being behind him, hooves stomping on invisible ground.
The floor under his feet cracked in a spiderweb.
"Arrogant brat!" he snarled. "Do you think Furious Immortal Saint Country is a place you can—"
Ling Feng didn't even look at him.
"Baojiao," he said.
Chen Baojiao was already moving.
Her foot hit the floor once.
The sound was muffled, but the reaction was not. Invisible Immortal Springs erupted in her body as her Tyrannical Valley Immortal Spring Physique roared to life. Her blood energy didn't surge wildly; it plunged downward, sinking into unseen depths, then came flooding back up with doubled ferocity.
She moved.
There was no grand technique, no complicated hand seal. Just a fist.
But the way she threw it, every muscle, every tendon and bone aligned perfectly, guided by years of brutal training under Ling Feng's eye. The force didn't leak; it compressed into a single point, like an entire valley collapsing into one punch.
The air screamed.
Sima Longyun had just enough time to think impossible.
His Golden Savage Bull phantom lowered its head, horns gleaming, trying to meet the blow head-on. Bull roars shook the hall.
Fist and bull collided.
BOOM.
The impact sound wasn't loud. It was deep, like a mountain cracking under its own weight.
The golden bull phantom shattered like thin glass under a hammer. Its horns broke first, then its skull, then its entire body, collapsing into motes of dim light that scattered and died.
The backlash tore through Sima Longyun's body.
Bones snapped. Protective merit laws crumpled. The Golden Savage Bull Physique's carefully tempered structure caved in under the overwhelming, concentrated counterforce.
His body flew.
He hit the far wall hard enough to embed into the stone, cracks radiating outward like a spiderweb. Dust rained down. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a thick, dark arc.
Silence slammed down on the hall.
The Saint Country elder's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
"Y-you—!" he roared, Lower Tyrannical Immortal Physique Law erupting as he launched himself at Chen Baojiao. Tyrannical energy gathered around his fist, the faint shadow of a Furious Immortal Tyrannical Physique branch law manifesting behind him.
He had killed for less offense than this. To cripple their prized young genius on Lion's Roar's own territory—
Unforgivable.
He never reached her.
Ling Feng flicked his finger.
Just a tiny motion, as if casually flicking away a crumb.
A thread of Chaos shot out from his fingertip, coiling around the elder like an invisible whip. It didn't tear space; it bent it. One moment the elder was halfway across the hall, fury blazing. The next, his body vanished from the room entirely, swallowed by a harsh, twisting distortion.
There was a dull bang as the old man reappeared outside the sect—already moving, already flying backward along the very path he'd taken to come.
Except now, the air itself had hardened around him.
Every foot of distance turned into a wall he had to smash through.
From the elder's perspective, the world became a blur of stone and sky.
He tried to circulate his Physique, tried to stabilize his footing, but every time he gathered force, another invisible wave crashed into him, amplifying his own momentum, turning his attempts to resist into fuel.
He punched through a hill.
He shattered a small mountain.
Then another.
Somewhere far in the direction of Furious Immortal Saint Country, a streak of light would eventually crash into a distant peak, carving a deep crater and sending flocks of spirit birds shrieking into the sky.
Inside the hall, dust slowly drifted down.
The scent of blood lingered in the silence.
Chen Baojiao lowered her fist, shoulders rising and falling once. She glanced at her hand, then at the Sima Longyun-shaped crater in the wall, then at Ling Feng.
"Too light?" she asked quietly.
Ling Feng considered the embedded young master, whose chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths.
"For him?" Ling Feng said. "More than he deserves. Less than he's earned."