The sky above Mount Qingshui changed slowly.
Not because of clouds, nor because of weather—
but because of presence.
The first to arrive was the Buddhist Sect.
The toll of an ancient bell echoed from the void; a single chime was enough to calm the world's qi.
Golden light descended like a fine rain.
Within that light, an old monk stepped forward slowly, his feet seeming to tread upon empty air.
He was Ghulai.
His face was filled with peace, yet beneath that tranquility lay a power capable of suppressing the laws of heaven.
His realm—half a step to godhood, mid-stage demigod—made the surrounding space submit without resistance.
Behind him, a monk in red-and-gold robes pressed his palms together.
Rulai.
His gaze was gentle, yet a single look was enough to shatter the soul of an ordinary cultivator.
He stood at the early demigod stage, his foundation pure and untainted.
"This mountain…" Ghulai said softly,
"harbors immense cause and effect."
Not long after—
the sky was split by the sound of a sword.
Not a slash, not an attack—
but pure sword intent descending like a natural law.
The clouds were cleanly torn apart, forming a straight path from the horizon to the peak of Qingshui.
Two figures stood within that path.
The first was a man with silver-blue hair, his gaze cold like eternal ice.
Luoshen, sect master of the Sword God Sect.
The sword at his waist made no sound, yet the world knew—if it were drawn, an entire region could vanish.
His realm stood at the peak of mid-stage demigod.
Beside him was a young man with sharp features, his sword aura wilder, more aggressive.
Lingfeng.
The sect's vice master, in the same realm—peak mid-stage demigod—yet walking a different path.
If Luoshen was the calm sword of heaven,
Lingfeng was the slaughtering blade, thirsting for battle.
"We're a little late," Lingfeng said.
"But the main character hasn't arrived yet."
Luoshen nodded faintly.
Finally—
the air suddenly began to rot.
Heavenly qi trembled, the colors of the world dimmed.
Not absolute darkness, but a demonic aura so pure it was untouched by corruption.
The sky split under a dark crimson shadow.
A long-haired man stepped out of a spatial rift, his eyes sharp like an ancient beast.
Loufeng.
Sect Master of the Sacred Demon Sect.
A thousand years without descending into the world—yet the moment he appeared, the laws of the world trembled in fear.
His realm—early late-stage demigod—made even other demigods wary.
Behind him, a woman in black-violet robes drifted down slowly.
Her face was beautiful, cold, and deadly.
Yafei, Holy Woman of the Sacred Demon Sect.
Her realm stood at the peak of early demigod.
"You're all far too calm," Loufeng said with a faint smile.
"Does this world still remember… what demons truly mean?"
No one answered.
Four ancient hidden sects.
Four forces capable of standing on equal footing with the Soul Refinement Sect.
Now, all of them stood upon Mount Qingshui.
Waiting.
Far below the mountain, footsteps echoed.
Yunxihua walked slowly up the stone path.
His robes were plain, his aura tightly sealed, as though he were nothing more than an ordinary cultivator.
That silver-white hair swayed gently in the mountain wind.
Yet in another dimension—
his ancient god body opened its eyes.
It sensed everything.
Buddha.
Sword.
Demon.
And behind it all… the traces of the Soul Refinement Sect, still not revealing themselves.
They had finally moved—
not through war…
but through a meeting.
Yunxihua stopped at the final step.
He lifted his head.
His gaze met the rulers of the ancient sects waiting at the summit.
No fear.
No excitement.
Only the calm of someone who knew—
the fate of this world was slowly beginning
to revolve around him.