Time lost meaning inside the Timeless Portal.
No one knew how long they had walked before the world itself began to converge.
The countless overlapping paths narrowed. Floating mountains, broken palaces, and river-illusions receded like waves dragging back from a shore. The illusion of endless choice collapsed into singular inevitability. In front of them, a boundless emptiness appeared—an expanse of white light so bright it looped back around to feeling ordinary, like looking at blank rice paper that hid a murderous decree.
At the center of that emptiness hung a sphere of radiance.
It wasn't large—only the size of a mansion—but every strand of light it shed carried primordial life force. Dao lines intertwined within, forming the shadow of an unimaginable tree whose roots pierced countless epochs and whose branches cradled worlds. Within its hazy outline, one could faintly see entire continents rising and falling like breaths; each branch seemed capable of holding a grand world, each leaf vast enough to be a land by itself.
"The World Tree…" Mei Suyao whispered.
Her Immortal Bone flared, crystalline brilliance lighting up beneath her skin, as if the supreme treasure hidden in her body wanted to kneel in reverence.
Ye Chuyun's breath caught; even Chi Xiaodie, who had trained herself not to gape in front of anyone, felt her eyes widen despite herself. The Dao-sea in their bodies stirred instinctively before this ancient origin that existed outside the current epoch's Heaven's Will.
But there was something else.
In front of that radiant sphere, scattered across the emptiness, were people.
Or rather—people in varying states of failure.
A genius wearing the emblem of an Ancient Kingdom stood closest. His body trembled as he forced one foot forward. He might as well have been trying to move a mountain; invisible pressure pressed down from every direction, trying to crush his True Fate into dust. His Fate Palaces shook, their Dao foundations groaning. Blood trickled from his seven orifices and evaporated midair, unable to stain this pure white space.
Behind him, his sect's elders had already thrown out countless treasures—life treasures, talismans, ancestral weapons—layered into temporary barriers that shattered one after another like glass under a tidal wave.
"Fall back!" someone shouted hoarsely. "It's not for us!"
Not far away, a group of Heaven's Will candidates from other territories had already been driven to their knees. The marks on their foreheads pulsed feebly; their Dao Fruits—or whatever equivalent condensed at their level—quivered, fissures spiderwebbing across their cores.
An old ancestor grabbed them like sacks of grain, dragging them back bodily, his own knees shaking from the pressure. His face was ashen.
"Damn it… even with all this preparation…" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
On another side, a solitary figure approached with steady steps.
Each footfall resonated with the grand dao; space itself bent slightly, as if reluctant to bear his weight. Above his head, countless naturally formed dao patterns appeared—ridges of mountains, turns of rivers, the subtle twist of space—like the heavens were trying to write his name directly into their laws.
"Jikong Wudi…"
"The deity of Space Trample Mountain…"
Many geniuses who had been forced back watched with bated breath.
He drew closer than anyone else.
Five steps away from the radiance, the invisible pressure intensified. Dao lines shot out from the ball of light like threads, wrapping around his body, probing his origin, measuring his potential against an invisible standard that did not belong to this generation.
For a brief, breathless moment, it seemed he might pass. His King Physique and ascension path roared in defiance, his Fate Palace humming with spatial dao.
Then—
A muffled boom echoed.
Cracks appeared in the illusory space around him, as if the realm itself were issuing a warning. The laws here didn't shatter; they simply pushed back, rejecting him.
Jikong Wudi's expression tightened. Behind him, ancient treasures lit up in unison, circulating profound spatial defenses, trying to push aside the probing Dao lines.
He held for three breaths.
Four.
On the fifth, he stopped.
His eyes narrowed. With a low exhale, he turned around and walked back. His steps were still steady, not a hint of stagger, but a nearly imperceptible shadow had appeared in his Dao Heart. For one who had always believed himself destined for the Heaven's Will, rejection at this place cut deeper than any blade.
"The World Tree does not accept him," Mei Suyao murmured, gaze complicated.
Ye Chuyun's fingers curled in her sleeves. Her Dao had always been gentle and concealed, like a spring rain, but even she could feel it—the faint yet absolute rejection emanating from the light. It was not malicious. It was simply… disinterested.
Around them, whispers spread like wildfire.
"So even Deity Jikong can't enter…"
"Then who can?"
"Is this really an opportunity for our generation… or is it just here to mock us?"
Many Heaven's Will candidates lowered their heads. Sweat—cold, clammy, and humiliating—slid down their backs. Their confidence, carefully built over decades, faltered before a door that did not even bother to open for them.
Ling Feng watched all this with calm eyes.
The Chaos inside his body stirred, tasting the radiance, the flavor of an ancient origin that had nothing to do with the current Heaven's Will—something older, deeper, stretching back to eras where even Immortal Emperors were children.
"Interesting," he said softly.
The word wasn't mocking. It was genuinely pleased, like a man finding a rare dish on the menu.
He glanced sideways at Bing Yuxia.
She stiffened instinctively, sensing the look before she even turned. "Why are you looking at me?" she demanded, chin lifting in reflexive arrogance. "This young master didn't fail anything."
Her voice was sharp as ever, but the way her hand tightened around the Immortal Emperor mirror at her waist betrayed her tension. The Heaven Cutting Tablet resting against her back vibrated faintly, as if responding to some distant call.
Ling Feng's lips curved.
"Yuxia," he said lightly, voice pitched just loud enough for the surrounding geniuses to hear, "how about showing everyone the results of your future husband's teaching?"
Silence.
Then—
"F-future… husband?!" Bing Yuxia choked. Her folding fan snapped open with such force that it nearly broke. "Who agreed to—who is your wife?!"
Her ears went pink. The Immortal Emperor mirror flashed, catching her flustered face in perfect clarity before she quickly angled it away.
Chen Baojiao burst out laughing. "He's been announcing it for a while," she said happily.
Li Shuangyan's fingers tightened slightly on her sleeve, a tiny smile flickering at the corner of her lips. Chi Xiaodie and Bai Jianzhen's brows twitched at the same time—one in exasperation, one in faint amusement. Xu Pei coughed to hide a grin. Even Mei Suyao and Ye Chuyun, usually as calm as still water, had a faint sparkle in their eyes.
Ling Feng just smiled, utterly unbothered by the storm he'd stirred.
"I mean," he continued, as if explaining something very reasonable, "like I said before, you didn't throw the mirror or the tablet back. That's basically half a marriage contract already."
Bing Yuxia's fan trembled. "You—you—shameless! This young master will—"
"Mm." He cut in gently, the teasing fading from his eyes. "You can yell at me later. For now…"
His gaze sharpened.
"…go open the door."
The last five words dropped like a stone into a still pond.
The laughter around them died.
The Heaven Cutting Tablet at Bing Yuxia's back shuddered, awakening like a beast roused from slumber. Her Nine Palaces foundation stirred under her feet; the Immortal Emperor mirror reflected the radiant ball of light, then fractured that reflection into countless angles.
In those reflections, she saw heavens—domes layered atop one another—shatter as in her previous visions, only this time they didn't break into chaos. Instead, they rearranged themselves, forming a rough map of the barrier's structure in her mind.
She remembered his lectures.
Don't slash blindly. Don't cut at the branches. Cut at the road that supports them. When you use the tablet, don't think about breaking the heavens. Think about editing them.
It had sounded insane the first time he'd said it. But Ling Feng always spoke of heaven and dao so casaully.
Her chest rose and fell.
"…Fine," she said at last.
She lifted her chin, arrogance settling back into place, but her voice was steady.
"This young master will show you how your… stupid teachings look when used properly."
She stepped forward.
...
Each step she took, her Nine Palaces rotated beneath her—vast, invisible structures turning like heavenly gears. The mirror at her waist spun slowly, capturing strands of radiance from the ball of light and refracting them into an ever-shifting web.
Above her back, the Heaven Cutting Tablet awoke fully.
The ancient slab floated up from its resting place, its surface etched with countless dao lines carved by Immortal Emperor Bing Yu in a distant era. Those lines weren't just marks; they were rules, the scars left behind when someone once dared to slice directly at Heavenly Dao itself.
Dao lines shot out from the radiant sphere, probing her.
They found arrogance—bold, unruly, refusing to bow even before heaven.
They found unyielding resolve. A foundation built not on someone else's shadow but on the stubborn will of a woman who wanted to cut open her own sky.
And beneath that, traces of Chaos—Ling Feng's Dao fragrance—coiled like invisible threads around her Fate Palaces, gently adjusting her resonance so it wouldn't clash head-on with the World Tree's origin. He wasn't forcing the door for her. He was tuning her, like a musician tuning a string so that it would vibrate with the right note.
Bing Yuxia lifted her hand.
The Heaven Cutting Tablet floated higher behind her, its surface lighting with countless ancient dao markings. The mirror caught those markings and spun them outward, projecting them onto the barrier of light in front of her like inscriptions being written across heaven.
"Cut," she whispered.
She did not shout.
She did not swing wildly.
Her will narrowed to a single line—sharp, clean, merciless.
The Heaven Cutting Tablet moved.
It did not "break" the radiant sphere. It traced a seam—one that had always existed, a join between two layers of origin power, hidden from ordinary senses. Under Ling Feng's prior guidance, she had learned to see that seam. Now, she simply followed it to the end.
Light flared.
For a moment, it seemed the entire Timeless Portal shook. Dao lines screamed, overlapping pathways briefly flickering into existence and then collapsing again. Countless geniuses staggered, feeling their Dao Hearts tremble under an indescribable pressure as their cultivation paths were forcibly reminded of their own insignificance.
Then they watched, stunned, as a thin crack opened in the radiant sphere.
Not chaotic, not violent—just… precise.
From the crack, a single root tip emerged.
It was small, emerald-green, dripping with life force so dense they could smell it—fresh greenery, spring rain, the first breath after surviving a tribulation. The root writhed once, then split the light further, unfolding into a narrow path of intertwined branches and luminous bark.
"..."
The entire realm fell silent.
Even Jikong Wudi's pupils contracted. Mei Suyao's Immortal Bone shone with rare intensity, like a divine relic forced to acknowledge a rival presence. Ye Chuyun's gentle composure could not hide the shock and admiration in her eyes.
Bing Yuxia lowered her hand slowly. The Heaven Cutting Tablet drifted back down into its place behind her, its runes dimming. Her shoulders, which had remained perfectly straight under the pressure of the World Tree's scrutiny, loosened by a fraction.
She turned her head stiffly.
Ling Feng was already grinning at her.
"See?" he said, tone light and dangerously pleased. "My future wife is reliable."
Her fan snapped shut with a sharp pa. "If you keep talking nonsense," she hissed, her face pink to the tips of her ears, "I will use this tablet on your mouth first."
"Promise?" he asked, delighted.
She made a strangled sound that could have been either a threat or choked laughter and walked past him onto the newly opened path, refusing to look back.
Chen Baojiao laughed until tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Xu Pei shook her head, lips curved, eyes soft. Li Shuangyan exhaled a tiny breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, relief and pride blending in her gaze.
Mei Suyao's eyes lingered on Bing Yuxia's back, then shifted to Ling Feng. The Immortal Bone in her body hummed, reacting to this man whose path refused to follow any script of this world.
"Your teachings truly are… unreasonable," she said softly.
"That's the brand," he replied cheerfully. "Let's go. Fortune doesn't wait forever."
...
The path within the light wasn't long.
But each step carried them further from the Timeless Portal's distorted realm and closer to something older than this epoch. The usual anchors of time and space—direction, distance, even up and down—blurred. For cultivators used to reading the world through qi currents, this place was disorienting; there were no "currents" here, only origin.
When they emerged, they stood on bark.
Not ordinary bark.
The "ground" beneath their feet was a slightly curved surface stretching into the horizon, textured with vast, ancient patterns like dried rivers and mountain ranges. Each groove pulsed with faint life energy; each knot emanated a weight that made their souls want to bow.
Above them, there was no sky—only leaves.
Each leaf was the size of a small island, veins running through it like networks of dao lines. Some shone with pure green vitality, some glimmered with lightning, some reflected starlight, and some radiated strange, esoteric laws that no one had words for. Far in the distance, massive branches arced like continents in the sky, each bearing countless such leaves.
The World Tree.
Even Ling Feng's casual smile dimmed a little.
"Pretty," he murmured.
Under his Chaos Force, the World Tree's aura felt both alien and familiar—like something that had once brushed against his path in another possible future, only to slip away again. Its presence reminded him faintly of that demonic tree slumbering beneath the academy—the Realm God—and of the fear that ancient pine had shown toward the Void Gate.
"The Realm God's older brother…" he muttered under his breath.
Life energy here was so thick it nearly drowned out the echo of that distant darkness. Just standing on the bark, everyone felt their Fate Palaces hum, like parched soil suddenly soaked in rain.
He clapped his hands once, the sound oddly muffled under the weight of this vast existence.
"Alright," he said, voice turning brisk. "Two jobs. One: you all steal as much insight as you can without getting yourselves killed. Two: I grab medicine and water before the old trees outside realize someone raided their pantry."
"Medicine?" Chi Xiaodie asked quickly, instincts as a princess and future ruler immediately catching the key word.
"For a friend," he said. "You'll see later."
He lifted his foot.
To most of them, it looked like he vanished and reappeared dozens of feet away, standing at the edge of a leaf that glowed with dense, pure life force—the kind of vitality that could force an Eternal Existence back from the brink if refined properly. To Mei Suyao and Jikong Wudi, who both kept half an eye on him through their own senses, it looked less like movement and more like space itself had folded around him, letting him step between layers.
Chaos drifted around his ankles, subtle and colorless, like invisible smoke.
He reached out and placed his hand on the leaf's edge.
"Easy," he said softly, as if coaxing a giant beast. "I'm not here to chop you down."
The World Tree's instinct flared. Dao lines like roots probed into his body, tasting Chaos Force, tasting an origin that did not belong to this world's river of time. For a heartbeat, the air grew tense, as if the tree were deciding whether he was pest, parasite, or partner.
Then, slowly, the leaf's light softened.
"…Good tree," Ling Feng murmured, almost amused. "I'm not stealing your heart. Just borrowing a few hairs."
He gathered a handful of "young leaves"—smaller growths clustering at the base of the giant leaf, still tender but already saturated with origin life force. Compared to the golden leaves higher up, they were gentler, better suited for medicine than destruction. He carefully sealed them in jade containers he had prepared beforehand, Dao lines weaving over the lids to keep the essence from dissipating.
Elsewhere, he flickered again.
High overhead, where three massive branches crossed, they formed a shallow basin. Within it, water had pooled.
Not ordinary water.
Each droplet reflected a tiny star. When they touched the surface, those reflections merged into constellations, then scattered again. The liquid carried both the cold of the high firmament and the warmth of life, a paradox that made even Mei Suyao's Immortal Bone hum with interest.
"Worldly Prime Liquid…" Ling Feng's eyes brightened. "Nice."
He waved his sleeve.
Chaos Force unfurled, forming a transparent field that wrapped around the basin, preventing the water's star essence from scattering when moved. He dipped jade bottles in, filling them one by one with practiced, meticulous care, like an apothecary measuring priceless medicine.
"Medicine for later. Breakthrough fuel for now," he said, glancing back at his group. "Don't be shy. This place isn't polite, but I am. I'll share."
"Who's ever heard of an Immortal Emperor-level opportunity being 'shared politely'?" Bing Yuxia muttered under her breath—but she watched his every motion closely, storing the image of his method in her memory.
Once he'd sealed the last bottle, he straightened and turned away from the basin.
"Okay," he said. "Work's done. Time to settle everyone."
...
He appeared in front of Li Shuangyan first.
She stood beneath a leaf that was almost transparent, its veins forming geometric patterns like perfectly cut jade. The leaf's aura was quiet, deep—it didn't roar or blaze, but its presence seeped into the bones like moonlight reflected off polished stone.
Her Pure Jade Physique resonated with it; light like carved ice flowed faintly beneath her skin. But she had not yet reached out. Her eyes were half-lidded as she simply stood there, letting the leaf's rhythm wash over her.
"I was waiting," she said quietly when he came into view.
Her gaze lifted to him. Within the ice, there was a softness only he saw.
"This fortune… it is too great. If we take too much, will the world not resent us?"
"The world resents anyone who does better than it," Ling Feng replied casually. "That's normal."
His tone was relaxed, but his eyes, when they met hers, were serious.
"But you're not stealing blindly," he continued. "You're trading. Your Dao will climb higher, and one day, you'll do things even this tree can't. Call it interest."
He uncorked a bottle of Worldly Prime Liquid, letting a single drop float into the air between them.
The droplet hovered, reflecting both her face and the jade leaf above in its tiny surface.
"Merge the two," he instructed. "Let your Pure Jade Physique drink this water while touching that leaf's law. Don't rush. Let it settle in your bones."
She nodded, eyelashes lowering.
Her hand rose with the elegant precision that had once made the Nine Saint Demon Gate proud. As her fingers brushed the leaf, a thin beam of light descended, connecting leaf, droplet, and her body.
The droplet elongated into a line, then spread through her meridians. Her Pure Jade Physique shone; flaws she had begun to notice under his relentless training now became deliberate "hinges"—places where the World Tree's life energy could latch on and rebuild.
Her Fate Palaces trembled.
Already near a qualitative shift from his previous teaching, they now stepped over. Dao foundations deepened, fate palaces turning ever more crystalline and profound. Her cultivation surged, climbing steadily to reach the Ancient Saint realm; her Eternal Prestige thickened, stabilizing like a mountain settling on a more solid base.
Ling Feng watched, then nodded in satisfaction.
He flicked her forehead lightly.
"Remember this feeling," he said softly. "We're not stopping here."
She smiled—small, but very real. "En."
Next, he appeared beside Chen Baojiao.
The leaf over her head looked like a spring flipped upside down—dense, water-shaped energy hung from it in thick droplets, each one heavy with impact force. Every drop seemed capable of crushing a mountain if allowed to fall.
"This one's perfect for you," he said.
"I already felt that," she grinned, fierce and bright. "But I was waiting for you to say it. Feels nicer."
"Greedy," he teased, eyes fond.
He tossed her a bottle of Worldly Prime Liquid.
"Drink half," he said. "Pour the other half into your Fate Palaces. Then let that leaf smash you."
"Smash me?" she repeated, eyes lighting up. "Now you're speaking my language."
She uncorked the bottle. As she drank, the Tyrannical Valley Immortal Spring Physique roared awake inside her—a universe of springs and rivers unfurling, each capable of swallowing and transforming force. The remaining liquid flowed into her Fate Palaces, coating them in a thin, resilient sheen of life energy.
When she extended her qi toward the leaf, it responded with brutal enthusiasm. Droplets of compressed force fell like meteorites, crashing into her meridians, her Fate Palaces, her bones.
Under normal conditions, she would have exploded—a bloody mist before the World Tree even noticed.
Under the dual buffering of World Tree life force and Chaos-refined springs, every "impact" sank into her depths, then rebounded, turning into stronger, heavier foundation. Her Fate Palaces grew sturdier, her Dao channels broadened. Her cultivation surged, pressing right up against the threshold of Ancient Saint, while her battle intent skyrocketed.
Ling Feng smiled. "Good. You and Shuangyan are only a hair's breadth away from Ancient Saint. And even before that, you can flatten Heavenly Sovereigns into paste with that hammer if you go all-out."
She laughed wildly, adrenaline and joy burning in her eyes. On impulse, she grabbed his collar and pulled him down, planting a quick, fierce kiss on his cheek.
"Love you," she said frankly.
He blinked, then chuckled, returning the favor with an unhurried kiss on her cheek. "Love you too. Now get used to the new force. Don't start a landslide just by walking."
He moved on.
Xu Pei stood under a leaf covered in lightning veins. Thunder crawled across its surface, silently forming intricate patterns—forked chains, swirling vortexes, thin lines of pale light that seemed almost shy.
She had her eyes narrowed, trying to memorize everything at once.
"You're trying to grab all of it," Ling Feng said, appearing at her side. "You'll just give yourself a headache."
She exhaled slowly. "There's too much… I don't know where to start."
He uncorked another bottle of Worldly Prime Liquid, but this time, he split it into three droplets, each hovering at a different height.
"Fast, heavy, silent," he reminded her. "You don't need the whole sky. Just three types of lightning you can call without thinking."
He guided her hand.
As her storm-qi touched the first droplet, it merged with the fastest, thinnest lightning on the leaf—the kind that moved too quickly to be seen, only felt after it struck. The second droplet sank into the deepest, heaviest bolt, the thunder that carried mountain-crushing weight. The third absorbed a barely visible thread of silent, pale lightning that slithered between all the others like a quiet assassin.
Inside Xu Pei's dantian, her inner storm reorganized. Three "pillars" of lightning formed at its core, with countless lesser bolts orbiting them in structured layers. Her Fate Palaces groaned once, then expanded to fit this new organization.
Her cultivation leaped forward, closing the gap toward Star Plucking. More importantly, her control doubled; what had once been a wild thunderstorm was now an army, every bolt knowing its place.
Lightning flickered in her eyes.
"…I see it," she whispered, awe and happiness mixing in her voice.
"Always my good girl," he said, ruffling her hair.
She tried to swat his hand away on reflex, failed, and blushed, but the corners of her lips curved upward.
He kept moving.
Bai Jianzhen had chosen a leaf that looked almost unremarkable—its surface dull, its veins faint. Compared to the dazzling leaves nearby, it was like a forgotten stone among jewels.
But when Ling Feng looked closer, he saw it.
Every "vein" was a cut.
The World Tree itself had once been slashed here.
"This is where an ancient sword once tried to leave its mark," he said quietly.
"I know," she replied, equally soft.
Her Sword Life Treasure buzzed at her waist, reacting to the ancient sword intent lingering in the leaf. Below, faint and nearly erased by time, a barely visible scar ran through the bark—the mark of a cut that had failed to sever the tree but had still carved deep enough to be remembered.
"Your sword can go further," Ling Feng said.
"…Not yet," she murmured. "But I will chase it."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he let a thin thread of Chaos wrap around the leaf, highlighting the faded sword mark. That mark brightened, like an old, nearly erased stroke of ink being traced over, and the resonance poured into her Sword Life Treasure, then into the sword dao in her Fate Palaces.
Her sword drank that ancient failure, not to imitate it, but to understand how far it had gone and where it had stopped.
In her inner world, Bai Jianzhen's Sword Dao extended—just a little, but beyond the point where the ancient sword had paused. The aura of "limit" around her sword softened; a new line appeared ahead of her—distant, thin, but real. The shadow of a sixth Fate Palace flickered faintly behind her, half-formed, as if contemplating whether to descend.
"If I fall one day," she said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper, "this sword will still chase your back."
Ling Feng's mouth quirked.
"Then I'll have to make sure my back is worth chasing," he replied.
He turned.
Bing Yuxia, meanwhile, had picked a leaf where countless dao writings crisscrossed like the architecture of heavens. Paths intersected and overlapped, forming structures that resembled celestial courts, rivers of destiny, and cycles of reincarnation—all written into the leaf's veins.
The Heaven Cutting Tablet at her side vibrated faintly; the Immortal Emperor mirror reflected the leaf's patterns, dissecting them into layers.
When Ling Feng appeared, she immediately scowled.
"If you're here to praise me for opening the path," she said, "save it. I already know I'm amazing."
He laughed.
"I was going to," he said easily. "But since you said it yourself, I'll skip to the next part."
He held up a bottle of Worldly Prime Liquid.
She eyed it suspiciously. "Are you trying to bribe me?"
"I'm making you even better than you are now," he corrected. "Drink. Then use your Nine Palaces to remodel how you see the sky. That tablet is overkill if you keep swinging it like a club."
Her cheeks colored. "You—"
"Relax," he said, his voice softening. "You did well. Now do better."
She clicked her tongue but snatched the bottle from his hand, drank, and shut her eyes.
Under the combined influence of the World Tree leaf, Worldly Prime Liquid, Heaven Cutting Tablet, and Immortal Emperor mirror, her Nine Palaces foundation began to rearrange itself. The "heaven" she perceived shifted—not as a fixed dome to rebel against, but as a system of rules to be inspected, edited, overwritten, cut and re-inscribed.
In her inner world, the sky above her palaces fractured into countless plates, each inscribed with laws. Her will, sharpened by the tablet, began to carve through them—erasing, rewriting, leaving her own marks.
Her cultivation didn't surge as explosively as Chen Baojiao's or Li Shuangyan's, but her edge did. The invisible "ceiling" she'd felt since touching the Heaven Cutting Tablet grew thinner, more fragile, a sheet of paper instead of reinforced steel.
When she opened her eyes again, the ball of light barrier they had passed through earlier would no longer be able to stop her—even without Ling Feng's help.
He, of course, took full credit in his heart anyway.
"Future husband's teaching," he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.
She nearly threw the tablet at his head.