The fourth night in Chentang Pass was quieter than those that came before. It was an unnatural silence.
Though the city was under heavy guard, the patrolling soldiers no longer shouted their commands; even their footsteps were intentionally softened. Gates were bolted shut, talismans were hidden in the shadows, and even the local fishermen—who had lived off the sea for generations—were forbidden from heading out at night. The entire city felt as though it were being pressed underwater by an invisible hand, making even the act of breathing feel like an exercise in restraint.
Red stood in the shadows of the city wall. He did not manifest the Star-Burning Tower, instead slowly spreading his divine sense outward. He quickly sensed the anomaly.
It wasn't demonic energy, nor was it dragonic pressure. It was cultivators. At least seven of them.
Their auras were scattered across different sectors of the city, disconnected from one another yet faintly echoing in unison. Their positioning was highly tactical, as if waiting for a signal—or perhaps, preventing a specific direction from spiraling out of control first.
"People from the Chan Sect," Snow whispered beside him. She hadn't opened her Spiritual Eyes, yet she could distinguish them by intuition alone. It was a familiar coldness—like jade submerged in water; it created no ripples, yet remained utterly aloof.
Red's heart sank. The Dragon King had yet to appear, but the Chan Sect had already placed its pieces. This meant the situation in Chentang Pass was no longer just about a flood or a child.
At that moment, a light flickered to life in the center of the city. It wasn't a palace lantern or a talismanic light, but the simple glow of a mortal's oil lamp. Faint yet steady, it sat in the darkness like a nail, temporarily pinning down the shifting undercurrents.
That was the Li Estate. The residence of Li Jing, the Garrison Commander of Chentang Pass.
"He hasn't left yet," Snow said softly. Rumor had it that the child who sparked this storm was Li Jing's son. Logically, by this stage, the safest course of action would have been to send the child away. Yet, he remained in the city.
This, in itself, was a statement.
Just as Red was about to investigate further, his chest tightened. It wasn't a sense of danger, but a summons. A faint yet undeniable pull drifted in from the sea outside the city. It was like the tide whispering a call, or an ancient will confirming a location.
The Dragon Race. They had arrived.
It wasn't the Dragon King himself. It was an envoy.
On the surface of the sea, the waterline rose silently. No waves crashed, but under the moonlight, a layer of eerie blue—not found in nature—shimmered. The blue seemed alive, swimming slowly through the water before converging into a straight wake that pointed directly at the gates of Chentang Pass.
Before the city gates, the air turned frigid. A man clad in water-patterned robes stepped out from the sea. His feet did not touch the ground, and his face was pale and composed. Patches of dragon scales had not yet fully receded near his temples, revealing that he had not entirely shed his true form.
He did not look at the walls, nor at the soldiers. His gaze fell directly toward the Li Estate.
"By order of the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea," his voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly through half the city in the dead of night. "To demand accountability."
No roars, no threats. Just those words.
The auras of the cultivators in the city instantly tensed, yet no one moved. The Chan Sect presences remained motionless, as if waiting for the perfect moment.
Inside the Li Estate, the lamplight flickered. A moment later, a small figure walked out of the gates. A child, barefoot, wearing a simple short robe. He carried no weapon, but a flash of light glinted momentarily at his wrist.
The reincarnation of the Spirit Pearl. Nezha.
He stood before the estate, looking at the Dragon envoy. There was no fear in his expression; instead, he looked somewhat annoyed.
"If you want to fight, then fight," he said. "Don't wake my mother."
The moment those words left his mouth, Red and Snow both felt a jolt in their hearts. It wasn't arrogance. It was a terrifyingly pure directness. It wasn't that he was ignorant of the consequences; it was that he refused to be shackled by them.
The Dragon envoy's expression remained unchanged. He simply raised his hand. The ripples on the sea suddenly tightened, as if the entire Eastern Sea were contracting.
"You killed the Third Prince," the envoy said. "That is a fact."
Nezha nodded. "He deserved to die."
No excuses. No regret.
The air froze for a heartbeat. In that split second, Red suddenly understood the Dragon King's true gambit. No matter what Nezha said, the result would be the same.
To admit fault would mean the Chan Sect lost influence, and the Spirit Pearl would be tarnished. To refuse would mean a human child defying divine order, giving the Dragon Race cause to strike.
And Chentang Pass was merely the collateral placed in the center of the board. The one truly being cornered was never the child. It was everyone watching this scene who was forced to choose a side.
Snow tightened her grip slightly. "We are only observing," she whispered to herself, or perhaps to Red.
Yet her eyes never strayed from the barefoot child.
That night, the water had not yet fallen. But the trap was already closing. And they could faintly feel that a choice they could not avoid would soon fall upon them as well.