The alliance's elders could not take it.
"You dare!"
The roar split the square like a thunderbolt.
An old Brilliance Ancient Kingdom elder shot to his feet, veins standing out on his temples, Longevity Blood already burning. His face flushed the color of pig liver as his fury surged.
"You dare!" he repeated, voice cracking into a shriek. "Stop! If you kill them, your entire lineage—"
He didn't finish the threat.
He moved.
His body blurred, Longevity Blood ignited, an ancient cultivation of countless years erupting. His hand became a claw that tore through the air, leaving behind distorted ripples. The claw grabbed straight for Li Shuangyan's throat, Longevity Laws roaring, murderous intent opened to the limit.
At the same time, a Heavenly Sovereign from Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom stepped out. His aura rolled out like a collapsing mountain range, Emperor seals spiraling around his palm in layers, each one bearing the shadow of a forsaken era.
"Arrogant junior!"
His palm strike descended like a falling sky toward Chen Baojiao, shrouding half the Dragon Arbiter Stage, dragging a gale behind it.
Several more elders—minor clans and sects that had followed the two Ancient Kingdoms like remoras trailing sharks—finally showed their fangs as well. They had remained quiet while Zu Huangwu and Qing Xuan were beaten bloody, hoping the tides would turn. Now, seeing their geniuses trampled, they rushed out in a frenzy, hoping that if they "corrected" matters quickly enough, history would remember them as righteous mediators instead of carrion beasts.
Their Life Wheels roared, Life Palaces opening, a forest of Life Treasures exploding into the sky. The void trembled. The Dragon Arbiter Stage shuddered under the pressure of so many old monsters moving at once.
For the watching disciples, it all happened in a single breath.
Geniuses defeated. Elders enraged. Ancient Kingdom banners snapping in the wind as if cheering for blood.
Murder filled the air.
Ling Feng sighed.
"Really?"
His voice was quiet, almost bored, but in the sudden silence it sounded louder than the elders' roars.
He stood there amidst the ruins of Zu Huangwu's pride and Qing Xuan's arrogance, hands relaxed at his sides, as if this were some small argument at a village market instead of a storm capable of drowning the Eastern Hundred Cities.
"You old things waited until they were already beaten half to death before deciding to 'protect' them," Ling Feng said, tone light, almost conversational. "And now you want to lecture me about justice?"
The Brilliance elder's claw descended.
The Azure Mysterious Ancient Saint's palm pressed down.
The minor elders' treasures screamed through the air.
Ling Feng lifted his hand.
He didn't roar. He didn't circulate some heaven-shaking Merit Law.
He just made a small, almost lazy motion, as if brushing dust from his sleeve.
Chaos Force stirred.
The world changed.
The space in front of the charging elders thickened, not visibly, but in essence. The void itself seemed to congeal, turning sluggish and viscous. Where a moment ago it had been like clear air, it now felt—for them—like wading through tar.
Their bodies tried to move forward.
Reality said no.
The Brilliance elder's claw, which should have crossed a hundred zhang in an instant, slowed as if sinking into unseen mud. The Azure Mysterious Heavenly Sovereign's palm found itself crushing down on solidifying space instead of Ling Feng's women. The minor sect elders felt their momentum vanish under an invisible weight.
"Down," Ling Feng said.
He didn't shout.
He didn't even look at them.
He spoke to the space they occupied. To the threads of reality itself.
The result was the same.
It was not that their knees "bent."
It was that the space around their knees collapsed.
Their bodies were driven into the Dragon Arbiter Stage like nails hammered into hardwood.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One after another, the elders slammed down. Ancient bones creaked, snapped, shattered. Longevity Blood churned, reversely flowing as their bodies were crushed under a weight they couldn't see, couldn't resist, couldn't even begin to measure.
Protective treasures flared desperately—armor plates, jade pendants, golden rings, talismans suffused with the blessings of ancestors and Immortal Era fortunes.
In the next breath, they shattered.
The fragile wails of broken treasures rang out, mingling with the wet, ugly sounds of bodies collapsing under pressure.
The elders' Life Wheels spun madly, stars whirling in their Fate Palaces, Grand Dao Laws invoked in haste—everything they had accumulated over hundreds, some over a thousand years of cultivation.
None of it mattered.
Under Ling Feng's unfiltered existence, under the Chaos Force pressing down like an unseen ocean, their defenses were as meaningful as scraps of paper pasted over a falling mountain.
Blood sprayed.
Longevity Bones cracked like dry branches.
A Brilliance Ancient Kingdom elder's chest caved in, his sternum imploding under the pressure. An Azure Mysterious Ancient Saint's spine snapped in three places, the crunch audible even over the roar of collapsing laws. One of the minor elders, eyes bulging, tried to scream an incantation—his throat crushed halfway through the syllable.
And then—
Their bodies failed.
Boom.
They didn't merely fall.
They burst.
Old men who had cultivated for centuries, some for more than a thousand years, exploded into mist and meat on the polished stone. Their bodies could not withstand simple proximity to Ling Feng's oppression, could not bear existing in the same compressed space he casually commanded.
The stage was painted red.
Fragments of bone, scraps of Elder robes, shards of shattered treasures scattered like trash at the feet of the young man they had tried to suppress.
The auras of Great Powers went out one after another, as if someone had pinched out a row of candles.
...
Silence fell.
Not the uncertain murmur of earlier, when Zu Huangwu and Qing Xuan had been beaten.
This was a true, suffocating silence.
The Dragon Arbiter Stage, which had seen countless battles of names, kingdoms, and geniuses, now felt like a tomb.
Some weaker disciples forgot to breathe. They stood there with eyes wide and mouths half open, faces drained of blood, as if afraid that even swallowing would draw Ling Feng's attention.
Up on distant peaks, hidden experts who had been watching through secret methods and Heaven-fragment mirrors felt a chill crawl up their spines. Many of them had scoffed earlier—at the alliance's geniuses, at the juniors' little feud, at the foolishness of youth.
Now, they quietly withdrew their spiritual senses, disguising their presence even more carefully. A few who had planned to "teach the junior a lesson" later, to seize Fate Palaces or treasures, erased those thoughts decisively.
On the high platforms reserved for Ancient Kingdoms, the banners of Brilliance and Azure Mysterious fluttered in the wind above a scene of utter humiliation.
The heirs they had polished for generations lay broken.
The elders they had trusted to uphold Princely dignity were reduced to stains on stone.
And the one responsible was a Named Hero whose cultivation base, on paper, could be crushed between their fingers.
Ling Feng lowered his hand.
He looked up at the banners snapping above, red and blue cloth catching the wind.
He smiled.
"If you all form an alliance," his voice rang out, carried by a thin layer of Chaos energy so that it reached every ear—on the stage, in the square, up on every viewing platform, past every isolation barrier, "if you gather your Ancient Saints and Heavenly Sovereigns, if you burn your Longevity Blood and call down your Emperor shadows…"
His eyes sharpened.
"…the road in front of you is still only one word."
He let the word drop like a stone into a still lake.
"Death."
The syllable rolled out like a low, distant thunder.
On the distant peaks, some hidden Ancients unconsciously clenched their fists. A few felt a slight quiver in their Dao Hearts, an unfamiliar sensation they had not tasted since their youth—not fear, but an instinctive awareness:
Dangerous.
Far below, in the crowd, countless young cultivators felt their blood surge, their hearts pounding in a mix of terror and savage excitement. This was madness. This was blasphemy. This was what it meant to spit in the face of the Heavens.
Ling Feng's gaze swept the square.
"If you want revenge," he continued lightly, as if discussing the weather, "line up. I'll process you in order."
The choice of words made more than one person's scalp tingle.
"If you're patient," Ling Feng added, "I'll even let my women and my sect crush your kingdoms personally later. Consider that me being merciful."
He flicked his sleeve once.
Zu Huangwu's and Qing Xuan's Emperor Life Treasures, which had been hovering in the air—glorious, heavy, radiating the aura of imperial lines—trembled.
Then they flew to him like frightened birds, vanished directly into his Inner Void.
He didn't give them a second glance.
"The only reason your full lineages are still breathing today," he said, tone cooling, eyes like still water reflecting a storm, "is because I like to see my people step on you with their own feet."
He paused.
"Don't misunderstand that for fear."
The last word struck harder than any fist.
On the platforms of Brilliance and Azure Mysterious, some elders' faces twisted, Longevity Blood surging uncontrollably. A few coughed blood into their sleeves, too proud to let it stain the air.
The banners above quivered, but no one dared move.
No one from Brilliance.
No one from Azure Mysterious.
No one from the dozens of kingdoms and sects who had been waiting for this trial to become their stage.
Afterwards, the square remained stunned for a long time.
It took a while before the buzz returned, whisper by whisper, like a hive cautiously coming back to life after someone had smashed a rock into it.
On the Dragon Arbiter Stage, Li Shuangyan stood quietly.
Her breaths were slightly faster than usual, the faintest sheen of sweat dampening her jade-like forehead. The battle against Zu Huangwu, the pressure of Ancient Kingdom gazes, the near-interference from elders—all of it would have shaken anyone else's Dao Heart.
But her eyes were steady.
Like a glacier under moonlight.
Chen Baojiao rolled her shoulders with a sharp exhale, storms settling under her sun-bright skin. The Tyrannical Valley Immortal Spring Physique in her body still bubbled, the springs of power not yet calm.
She still looked like she could fight three more Heavenly Princes for fun.
Ling Feng stepped onto the stage.
The crowd instinctively parted even though there was nowhere to go. It was a small thing—just a subtle shifting of bodies—but it was the kind of instinctive reaction reserved for disasters and Immortal Emperors.
He ignored them.
He walked straight to Li Shuangyan first.
She met his gaze.
"Young Noble…" she began, voice soft, but her fingers were clenched so tightly around her sword hilt that her knuckles had gone white.
He didn't let her finish.
He reached out and pulled her into his arms.
Her forehead pressed against his chest. For a heartbeat, her body stiffened—cultivated reflexes, her Pure Jade Physique used to meeting force with ice.
Then she melted, the sword in her hand lowering, her free hand curling in a tight fist against his robe.
"You did well," he said softly.
The simple words carried more weight than any praise shouted in front of ten thousand cultivators.
Her fingers trembled, then tightened in his robe.
"…We have offended Brilliance beyond redemption," she whispered against him. Her breath was slightly cool, carrying the faint fragrance of her body. "They will not stop. The Immortal Emperor's shadow behind them—"
"That shadow can come too," Ling Feng cut in, tone casual, as if discussing who else to invite to a banquet. "I'll light it up for you."
She huffed a breath that was half disbelief, half helpless relief.
His hand rose, fingers gently smoothing her long hair.
He bent his head a little closer.
"Listen," he murmured so only she could hear. "Your job is to keep walking. Cultivate. Laugh. Argue with Baojiao. Scold me if I slack off."
His arm tightened around her waist for a moment.
"My job," Ling Feng said, voice still quiet, "is to make sure no one who dares to touch you walks away with all their limbs."
Her heart, which had been beating like a drum under siege, slowly settled. In the vast, roaring square, pressed by countless hostile gazes, she suddenly felt… safe.
Li Shuangyan nodded once, face still hidden against his chest.
"This Shuangyan… understands," she said.
He held her a moment longer, then gently let her go.
He turned.
Chen Baojiao was already waiting, chin tilted, eyes bright.
She smirked up at him.
"How was that?" she demanded, hand planted on a slender hip. "Did I trample your little Heavenly Prince properly?"
Ling Feng reached out and flicked her forehead lightly.
She yelped, staggering half a step back, eyes widening in outrage.
"You almost got too excited near the end," he said, lips quirking. "You rushed the last few exchanges. The finishing strike was messy."
She glared at him, then grinned, eyes burning hotter instead of dimming.
"Next time, I'll smash him so hard his ancestors feel it," she declared.
"They already did," Ling Feng replied dryly. "That's why they're probably coughing blood in some distant palace right now."
A few nearby disciples choked, half from shock, half from the absurdity of the image.
He stepped closer and pulled Baojiao into a hug as well.
Unlike Shuangyan, who had instinctively stiffened then relaxed, Baojiao went still for a full heartbeat—like a beast suddenly pressed against warmth after a long winter.
Then both arms came around his waist, fierce and tight.
She squeezed him as if trying to anchor herself.
"If they come again," she muttered into his shoulder, voice low and rough with lingering battle-intent, "I'll kill them again. I'm not afraid."
"I know," he said. "That's why I let you go first."
Her grip tightened for an instant, then slowly eased.
Behind them, Chi Xiaodie and Bing Yuxia approached the stage.
Chi Xiaodie's face was pale. Not the fragile white of fear, but the color of someone who had just watched a precious thing thrown into a pit of knives and come out alive.
Her gaze swept the ruined stage. The bodies of fallen geniuses dragged away. The crushed elders' remnants being collected in silence. The banners of Ancient Kingdoms stirring like wounded beasts.
"…The hatred… has gone past the point of return," she said quietly, mostly to herself. "From today on, the Eastern Hundred Cities will treat Heavenly Dao Academy as the center of a storm. Lion's Roar's position…"
Her mind ran ahead, seeing trade routes shifting, alliances fraying, old grudges revived, Ancient Kingdom emissaries knocking on doors with smiles and knives.
Ling Feng reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up.
"Princess," he said gently, eyes unexpectedly soft. "What did you promise me the other night?"
Her lips pressed together.
She remembered.
Under the quiet sky over Heavenly Dao Academy, when he had spoken of the future, of storms and foundations, of Lion's Roar's possible fate.
"…That I would be greedy," she whispered. The words tasted strange on her tongue, but she pushed them out. "Greedy for the future of Lion's Roar. Greedy for power. Greedy for… life."
"Good," he said.
His thumb gently smoothed a line at the corner of her mouth that had tightened without her noticing.
"So do that," Ling Feng told her. "Take the time I'm buying you and use it. Strengthen Lion's Roar. Train your people until even their shadows have sharp edges."
He tilted his head toward the sea of banners around the square.
"When the alliance comes, I'll be standing in front," he continued. "You just need to have a vessel ready to hold the peace after I flip their table."
Her eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. She had been a princess of Lion's Roar too long to cry in public.
Chi Xiaodie bowed her head, the motion carrying not just politeness, but a weight of resolve.
"This Chi… will trouble Young Noble again," she said.
He smiled.
"Trouble me more," he replied. "I don't mind."
Bing Yuxia had been watching all of this, fan half-raised, eyes like glacial lakes.
Ling Feng turned to her.
"And you," he said. "Did you see clearly? These so-called Ancient Kingdom geniuses…"
He gestured with his chin toward the cleared stains on the stage, and beyond that, toward the platforms where Brilliance and Azure Mysterious now sat like toothless tigers forced to watch their cubs be skinned.
"…aren't even enough to warm up your new law."
Her fan snapped shut with a crisp sound.
"This young master knows without your boasting," she replied, voice cool. "But you are dragging the Ice Feather Palace's future into muddy waters as well. The Ancient Kingdoms will not forget whose dao struck their descendants."
"Good," Ling Feng said cheerfully. "Let them remember. Next time they see your sect's emblem, they'll feel a toothache in their dao heart."
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then she sighed, the sound somewhere between resignation and amusement.
"…You are truly… incorrigible," she said at last. "If you fall, this young master will… consider burning incense for you once or twice."
He grinned.
"If I fall, I'll make sure to haunt you," he said. "Then you won't have to bother with incense."
Her ears reddened, an almost imperceptible flush under the white of her skin.
"…Shameless," she muttered.
But the worry that had lurked in her eyes when she first stepped onto the stage—fear for her sect, for their involvement, for the weight of Ancient Kingdom hatred—had vanished.
What replaced it was something colder, sharper.
Expectation.
...
Night fell.
The Eastern Hundred Cities did not sleep.
Information spread like wildfire, faster than any messenger bird or jade transmission. Every tavern became a storyteller's stage. Every ancestral hall buzzed with whispered reports.
By the time the second round of rumor retellings began, Ling Feng's two punches against Heavenly Sovereigns had already become ten in some mouths. Chen Baojiao had supposedly wrestled an Emperor's hammer with her bare hands. Li Shuangyan was said to have frozen an entire army with one sword strike.
In some stories, Brilliance's elders had begged on their knees before being crushed.
In others, Ling Feng had killed an Immortal Emperor's clone with a glance.
Exaggerations layered on top of truth until the line blurred. But the core of it—that a Named Hero had slapped Ancient Kingdom face in front of the world and walked away untouched—spread like a plague.
Somewhere, in hidden halls and shadowed palaces, old monsters opened dusty dossiers and added a new line:
Ling Feng. From Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect.
Danger level: Unknown.
...
In a quiet, high pavilion deep within the Everlasting Courtyard's restricted area, Old Daoist Peng sat across from Ling Feng.
The pavilion had been constructed around a branch of the Everlasting Tree itself, its trunk passing through the floor like a pillar of ancient time. Moonlight filtered through dense leaves, painting the room in shades of silver and soft green.
Outside the isolation array, the Everlasting Tree's massive shadow swayed under the moon, casting long, shifting silhouettes across the courtyard stones.
Inside, though, the air was still.
The old daoist's usual laziness was gone. His normally half-lidded eyes were open and clear, an unexpected depth in them. He wore the same old robe, the same worn shoes, but his spine was straighter than usual, like a bow pulled taut.
"For you to have the leisure to drink tea with this old man tonight," Old Daoist Peng said slowly, "while the Eastern Hundred Cities burn with your name…"
He lifted his gaze, meeting Ling Feng's eyes.
"…your heart is truly large."
Ling Feng lounged on the opposite seat.
He sat sideways, one leg hooked over the other, teacup balanced between thumb and forefinger. To any outsider, he looked like some unruly junior who had stumbled into the wrong room and decided to make himself comfortable.
But the pressure he exuded—carefully suppressed, yet leaking out in tiny waves—was like a tidal sea held back by a thin dam. The space between the two men felt thicker than the surrounding courtyard, as if the world itself knew to pay attention here.
"Old Daoist Peng," Ling Feng said, tone light, almost amused. "If we don't take advantage of the quiet in the middle to sip tea, when will we? When the war drums start?"
Old Daoist Peng's lips twitched despite himself.
"You are very certain," he said, "that there will be war."
Ling Feng's smile faded a fraction.
He set his cup down with a soft clink.
"Brilliance. Azure Mysterious. Furious Immortal. Tiger's Howl," he said, listing the names as if reciting a bland shopping list. "The beasts sniffing around now are only the first wave."
He leaned back, eyes drifting toward the moonlit branches outside.
"The Realm God is unstable," Ling Feng continued. "The Heavenly Dao Academy is rich. The Everlasting Tree still breathes. If you try to stay 'neutral' at this point…"
He flicked a finger lightly against the cup's rim.
The delicate chime rang through the pavilion, vibrating in the bones.
"…you'll just get eaten."
Old Daoist Peng sighed, shoulders loosening a fraction as he exhaled.
"The Realm God…" he muttered. "Earlier, its fury almost destroyed the academy. My old brothers and I had to join forces just to calm it for a moment. If it truly goes mad…"
He looked out at the Everlasting Courtyard, at the halls that had stood since the Desolate Era.
"The academy falls. The Eastern Hundred Cities follow," he finished grimly.
"Yeah," Ling Feng said. "I know."
Old Daoist Peng's gaze sharpened.
"You speak as if you have seen it."
Ling Feng's lips curved faintly.
"Let's say I've seen enough similar stories," he answered vaguely. "Old trees that try to dodge lightning instead of growing toward it. It always ends the same way."
The old daoist's fingers drummed lightly on the table.
"The academy is not afraid of war," he said slowly. "We have stood since the Desolate Era. We have gone through many storms."
His expression darkened.
"But our foundation is… not what it once was. The War God Temple is strong, but…"
He paused, brows knitting.
"Against several Ancient Kingdoms and countless sects acting together… the casualties would be terrifying."
He lifted his head again, staring directly into Ling Feng's eyes.
"I will not throw generations of disciples into a meat grinder," he said. "Not even for the 'glory' of the human race."
There was no false righteousness in his tone. Only the heavy responsibility of someone who had watched too many bright talents be buried under banners and slogans.
Ling Feng's smile returned, but the mockery in it faded, replaced by something calmer.
"Good," he said. "I like working with people who have both a spine and a conscience."
Old Daoist Peng snorted.
"Your tongue is poisonous."
"Your tea is good," Ling Feng countered. "So we're even."
They let silence fall for a moment.
Outside, the wind stirred the leaves of the Everlasting Tree. Somewhere distant, a bell chimed, marking the late hour. The chaos of the Eastern Hundred Cities seemed far away—but both of them knew it was merely pressing at the edges of the Courtyard's isolation.
"Tell me," Old Daoist Peng said at last. "What do you want from the Heavenly Dao Academy?"
Ling Feng tilted his head, considering.
"First, I want you to live," he said simply. "A Heavenly Dao Academy that keeps existing is useful. It's one of the few schools that still remembers the idea of 'human race' as a whole, not just their own little line."
The old daoist's expression flickered, some deep, old emotion stirring in his eyes.
"Second," Ling Feng continued, "I want you to choose."
"Choose what?" Old Daoist Peng asked, though the answer was already taking shape in his heart.
"Do you want to be the first to swing," Ling Feng asked lightly, "or the last to bleed?"
The words fell into the quiet room like heavy stones.
Old Daoist Peng stared at him.
Ling Feng sighed softly.
"Fine," he said. "Words only go so far. You're a cultivator; you trust what you feel."
He pushed his chair back.
"So…"
He stood.
"Let me show you."
...
They moved outside.
The Everlasting Courtyard's inner garden was bathed in gentle moonlight. Old pines stood like silent guards, their branches heavy with centuries. A slow, clear stream wound through the stones, its soft murmuring the only sound.
Ancient stones bearing half-worn carvings of long-forgotten disciples' names lined a small path. These were not tombstones, but milestones—marks of students who had reached certain realms, once celebrated, now mostly ignored by time.
"Watch closely," Ling Feng said.
He drew in a slow breath.
He didn't roar. He didn't summon Heavenly Phenomena. No thunderclouds gathered, no illusions of dragons or phoenixes appeared.
His aura rose.
Silently.
From Named Hero… to Legendary Godking.
And then denser.
The night shook.
To Old Daoist Peng, who had walked through countless cycles, who had once traded blows with beings that stood near Eternal Physiques, the pressure felt… wrong.
"This pressure…" he whispered. "Far beyond ordinary Godkings…"
He knew what a Godking's aura felt like. He had taught them, argued with them, buried them.
This was more.
It did not rise like the expanding sun of an Emperor's might, but it pressed down like an ocean in the dark depths of the world—silent, heavy, crushing. It was not the feeling of someone borrowing external power or stacking treasures; it was the raw density of a foundation that had pierced through the usual limits and then kept going.
Within Ling Feng's Inner Void, Chaos Emeralds flared faintly—green, red, yellow, cyan—like distant stars in an alien sky.
Outwardly, he only showed a slight narrowing of the eyes, the faint tightening of his mouth.
"Space is a road," Ling Feng said calmly. "Most people walk it. Some dig tunnels."
He lifted his right hand.
The air in front of him rippled like water touched by a fingertip.
"Me?"
His gaze sharpened.
"I create a path."
A faint cyan light flickered along his fingertips—not a garish glow, but a thread of something that made the surrounding void seem suddenly thin and fragile.
The garden stretched.
To an untrained eye, it might have seemed like an illusion. But Old Daoist Peng was no junior.
He watched as the distance between two old pines appeared to stretch—and yet, when he reached out with his perception, he realized it had not stretched at all.
It had folded.
The space between those two trees had been pinched, compressed, and then layered over itself like folded silk.
One step carried Ling Feng from one side of the courtyard to the other.
He did not move quickly.
He didn't blur.
He simply took a step—and arrived.
Not by speed.
By compressing the distance itself into a thin sheet and stepping across.
To Old Daoist Peng's senses, it felt as if the world itself had been bent slightly out of shape and then ironed flat again.
"Space control…" Old Daoist Peng murmured, throat dry. "You have already surpassed the War God Temple's best along this path…"
Ling Feng glanced back over his shoulder, smile crooked.
"That's the appetizer."
He snapped his fingers.
Space shivered.
This time, the garden did not stretch or fold. Instead, a small section of it—the stones beneath their feet, the stream, the moonlight falling across it all—suddenly separated from the rest of reality.
It lifted.
Half an inch.
The patch of world was wrapped in an invisible shell, like a bubble of glass that had encased that piece of reality and gently raised it above the ground.
Old Daoist Peng's heart skipped a beat.
He could feel it. The Dao lines of the world—normally continuous, flowing like rivers through the land—had been cut and reconnected, rerouted around a floating island of isolated reality.
"A sealed battlefield," Ling Feng said casually. "Sized as needed. I can peel sections of space off the main world and stack them like plates. Whoever I invite in… stays in. Whatever happens inside… stays inside, as long as I maintain it."
He clenched his fist gently.
The floating slice of the garden compressed, shrinking down, folding and folding again until it was the size of a fingernail.
The pressure around them intensified for a heartbeat—the sensation of a small world being squeezed.
Then he opened his hand.
The tiny speck unfolded like a paper fan.
The slice snapped back into place. The stream resumed its lazy murmuring. The moonlight lay where it had been a moment before.
To a casual observer, nothing had changed.
To Old Daoist Peng, who could feel the Dao, the scar lingered. Space had been cut, reassembled, and healed in the span of a few breaths.
"…This is no longer the level of ordinary spatial dao," Old Daoist Peng said hoarsely. "This is…"
Ling Feng shrugged.
"Chaos Control," he said. "Call it whatever makes you sleep better."
He looked up at the moon hanging over the Everlasting Tree.
"In the coming war," he continued, tone even, "your enemies will come with formations, armies, and Ancients."
Images flashed in Old Daoist Peng's mind—massive arrays covering cities, Ancient Kingdom war chariots, Enlightened Beings and Saints marching in neat rows, War Chariots drawn by divine beasts.
"If you stand still and defend, you'll be ground down," Ling Feng said. "If you charge without preparation, you'll bleed too much."
He turned fully toward Old Daoist Peng.
"But if we prepare the ground," he went on, tapping his chest once, "if I carve out battlefields, isolate their Ancients in slices of space where your elites can gang up on them…"
His smile curved, not kindly.
"…we harvest heads."
Old Daoist Peng's breathing quickened.
"You're saying…" he began.
"I'm saying," Ling Feng interrupted, "that if the Heavenly Dao Academy chooses to swing first, I can guarantee you this."
His eyes, which had been relaxed, went cold and sharp.
"The ones who will die screaming will be their Ancients."
He lifted a hand, ticking off imaginary names on his fingers.
"For your old brothers in Everlasting Courtyard, and for you," Ling Feng added, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "There are a few particular old faces in the crowd, right? People you've wanted to cut down for a long, long time."
Old Daoist Peng's eyes flashed.
Old enmities, old betrayals, old scars stirred in his chest.
"You talk as if the outcome is already decided," he said.
Ling Feng's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if looking at a thread only he could see, stretching into the future and past.
"Because," he said quietly, "for them, it is."
He refocused, expression returning to its usual relaxed laziness.
"For us, though," Ling Feng added, "it's still work. Bloody, annoying work. But work that will get us results."
He spread his hands.
"If we grab the blade first," he said, "we decide where it falls."
Old Daoist Peng fell silent.
The Everlasting Tree's leaves rustled overhead, whispering of past battles and forgotten emperors.
He straightened his back.
For a moment, he seemed older than the mountains, burdened by the weight of generations.
Then, slowly, that weight shifted.
As if he had set some of it down.
"Very well," he said.
He looked at Ling Feng, eyes deep and clear.
"The Heavenly Dao Academy will not cower behind its walls," he declared. "If war is coming, we will be the ones to knock first."
Ling Feng grinned, white teeth flashing in the moonlight.
"That's what I wanted to hear."
Old Daoist Peng's mouth thinned.
"But understand this, boy," he said, voice low. "If you fail, if your 'space tricks' falter, the Eastern Hundred Cities will drown in blood."
Ling Feng's smile softened.
"Then I'll just have to make sure they don't," he said. "I'm not really into losing."
He turned as if to leave, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Oh, right," he said. "Be sure to have your vaults open. You'll be getting an influx of items after this is all over."
Old Daoist Peng snorted, some of his old laziness returning.
"Greedy," he said. "You speak as if you are planning a festival."
Ling Feng laughed, the sound easy and bright against the heavy night.
"In a way," he said. "A festival of heads."
He stepped once.
Space folded.
By the time Old Daoist Peng blinked, the courtyard was empty save for himself and the whisper of leaves.
He stood there a long while, staring at the spot where Ling Feng had vanished.
Then, very slowly, a thin, dangerous smile curved his lips—one that had not appeared there in many years.
"War, then," he murmured to the Everlasting Tree. "Old friend… it seems we will stretch our legs again."
The Everlasting Tree's leaves rustled as if in answer, casting shifting shadows like blades across the stones.