Inside the Purple Palace, the air was thick with the scent of hunger. The Sanqing, the Western Duo, Kunpeng, and Styx—every major power in the Great Desolation—stared at the empty space beside the Queen Mother of the West. The dual temptation of absolute status and a Supreme-Grade Innate Spirit Treasure was a siren song that few could resist.
East King Duke was nearly vibrating. He was the manifestation of the First Yang Qi, just as the Queen Mother was the First Yin. To him, the title was not just an opportunity; it was a birthright. He began to adjust his robes, preparing his "humbled" speech for the moment his name was called.
Hongjun's gaze swept the room. It did not land on the Three Pure Ones. It did not land on the ambitious East King Duke. Instead, it returned, like a homing pigeon, to Di Jun and Tai Yi.
The experts groaned inwardly. Again? Is the Saint obsessed with those birds?
But Hongjun saw the look in the Golden Crows' eyes—a flat, stubborn refusal that mirrored their earlier rejection of the Heavenly Court. He knew if he asked them directly, they would only humiliate him again. He pivoted, shifting his gaze to the man sitting right next to them: Hongyun.
Hongjun's logic was cold. Hongyun was friends with the Crows. If he gave Hongyun the title, the Crows would be forced to protect him. They would be dragged into the "General Trend" of world governance whether they liked it or not.
"Hongyun," the Saint spoke, his voice echoing with divine authority. "You were formed from the first red cloud of creation. You possess great Luck. You shall be the Head of the Male Immortals."
The room exploded in hushed, indignant whispers. Hongyun? He was a "good man," a wanderer—not a leader. Any of the experts in the front row could crush him in a heartbeat.
Hongyun sat frozen. For a moment, his heart leapt with the thrill of being chosen. He reached out his hands to accept the grace, but then he felt it—the stinging, murderous glares of three thousand peers. He remembered Di Jun's refusal. He remembered Ling Xiao's warnings about "Benefits."
Hongyun scratched his head, offering a sheepish, awkward grin. "Reporting to the Saint... this disciple is dull. My strength is meager. I fear I would lead the immortals into a ditch. I humbly ask the Saint... to find someone else."
The silence that followed was even more profound than before. Hongjun's expression stiffened. Even the Red Cloud has learned to say no?
"Hongyun," the Saint's voice dropped an octave, dripping with cold displeasure. "Are you truly unwilling?"
"Unworthy, Saint! Truly unworthy!" Hongyun insisted, his resolve hardening as he felt the murderous gazes around him suddenly soften. He realized then that "No" was the word that would keep him alive.
Hongjun waved his sleeve, signaling Hongyun to sit. He didn't want to hear another word. His gaze shifted to Zhenyuanzi. If the friend won't do it, perhaps the brother will.
But Zhenyuanzi was already looking at the ceiling, then at the floor, then at a pillar—anywhere but at the cloud bed. He was practically radiating a field of "Do Not Pick Me."
"This..." Hongjun's patience was at its absolute limit. He was the Saint, the spokesperson for the Dao, yet he was being treated like a debt collector.
Suddenly, a voice broke the tension.
"This disciple is willing!" East King Duke stood up, his face flushed with a mix of righteous fervor and desperate greed. "I will share the Teacher's burdens! I will accept the responsibility!"
The other powers sneered. He's courting death, they thought. To interrupt the Saint's brooding was a gamble. But to their shock, Hongjun merely nodded. He was tired of the rejections. He needed a puppet, even if it was a clumsy one.
"Very well. East King Duke, the position is yours."
With a wave of his sleeve, a golden, shimmering artifact flew out: the Dragon Head Crutch.
"This is a Supreme-Grade Innate Spirit Treasure. Use it to govern the male immortals. Do not disappoint me."
"I will not fail you!" East King Duke cried out, falling to his knees and clutching the crutch as if it were his own soul.
The room turned green with envy. Some experts felt their hearts ache with regret. If I had just spoken up, that treasure would be mine! The only ones who felt a sense of profound relief were the four friends from the Sun Star.
"The sermon is concluded," Hongjun announced, his figure beginning to fade into the purple mist.
"In ten thousand years, the final sermon will begin. I will impart the complete path to Saintship. Furthermore... I will select a group of fated individuals to take as my official Disciples."
The palace erupted in a frenzy. Discipleship! It was the ultimate protection, the ultimate status. The suspense was a masterstroke; every expert left the palace with a fire in their heart, counting every second of the next ten thousand years.
Hongjun had left them with a hook they couldn't ignore, ensuring that no matter how much they feared the Witches or doubted the paths, they would return to his door.