The Primordial Violet Qi drifted through the air like a lethal snowflake, spiraling toward Hong Yun.
For a heartbeat, the "Good Man" of the Great Desolation stood paralyzed. The Foundation of Sainthood was inches from his grasp. But as the purple light drew near, the words of Ling Xiao rang in his mind like a strike from a temple bell.
Success is not stumbling.
He felt the atmosphere in Zixiao Palace thicken until it was like breathing lead. Thousands of gazes, sharp with murderous intent, were locked onto his spine. If he absorbed this Qi, he would not be a Saint; he would be a carcass.
"No..."
With a surge of clarity, Hong Yun acted. He didn't reach out to embrace the light. Instead, he channeled a burst of Pure Qi into his palm and swatted the violet strand away with a sharp, calculated motion.
The Qi tumbled through the air and slammed into the chest of Kunpeng.
Hong Yun exhaled, a wave of profound relief washing over him. He looked at the bird-master with a smile that was almost merchant-like in its satisfaction. Consider this payment for the seat I cost you, Fellow Daoist, he thought.
The hall froze. The killing intent that had been focused on Hong Yun pivoted instantly, centering on Kunpeng. But the Master of the North Sea didn't care. He was vibrating, his very soul singing as the Qi merged with his essence. To him, this wasn't a burden; it was his destiny reclaimed.
"I am ascending!" he whispered, his eyes glazed with a manic pleasure. He looked at Hong Yun, his past hatred momentarily forgotten. "You have sense, kid. I'll remember this. We're even!"
The East King Duke looked as if he were having a stroke. He had convinced himself the Qi was his; now, he watched it settle into the heart of a "mixed-feather bird." His gaze turned murderous, a sentiment shared by Ming He and dozens of others.
Di Jun and Tai Yi shared a dry, silent laugh. He actually did it. The fool Hong Yun chose life.
Above them on the high platform, Hongjun's eyes narrowed until they were mere slits of silver. This was not the path. The Qi belonged to Hong Yun, to fuel the tragedy that was supposed to follow.
Evil creature... you do not know the script, Hongjun thought, his gaze lingering on Kunpeng with a coldness that would freeze a star. The variables were multiplying. He needed to merge with the Dao immediately to regain control over the loosening threads of Fate.
"Since you are my Disciples," Hongjun announced, his voice regaining its flat, cosmic authority, "I shall bestow treasures to guard your paths."
The air shimmered as he produced a scroll of infinite complexity.
"Tai Qing, my first Disciple. I give you the Taiji Diagram. Formed from the face of Pangu's Axe, it is an Innate Supreme Treasure. It stabilizes the elements and anchors the Luck of your lineage."
Laozi took the scroll, his usually impassive face breaking into a look of genuine delight. Even for a man of his standing, an Innate Supreme Treasure was a miracle.
Next, a banner appeared, its surface rippling with the power to tear the sky. "Yuan Shi. This is the Pangu Banner. It was the blade of the Axe. It is the premier offensive weapon of the world. Take it."
The envy in the room was now a physical pressure. The immortals watched as the Sanqing were armed with the shards of the Creator's own weapon. The East King Duke felt a hollow ache in his chest—he was the Head of Immortals, yet he stood empty-handed.
Then, Hongjun turned to Tong Tian. A pile of artifacts appeared, but it was the four long-swords, wreathed in a terrifying, blood-red aura, that stole everyone's breath.
"The Four Swords of Slaughtering Immortals. Formed from the Axe's indestructible light. In a formation, it requires four of your peers to break it. It cannot suppress Luck, for its only purpose is death."
Tong Tian stroked the cold steel of the blades, his eyes reflecting their crimson glow. He didn't care about "Luck." He cared about the fact that he was now, effectively, the most dangerous man below the Saint.
Nuwa received the Mountains and Rivers State Map, and the Western Sages were handed the Twelve-Petaled Golden Lotus. While these were not the "Axe-Shards" the Sanqing received, they were still top-tier Spirit Treasures that multiplied their power.
"Finally," Hongjun said, looking at the rest of the room, "there are leftovers on the Treasure Distribution Rock behind the Palace. Seek what is yours."
The rush was a stampede. The immortals fled the hall, desperate to grab whatever scraps the Saint had left behind.
The Treasure Distribution Rock hung in the Chaos, glowing with hundreds of individual lights. Each was a treasure, a lifeline in the coming wars.
Di Jun and Tai Yi followed the crowd but did not join the scramble. They looked at the glowing stones with curled lips. To them, these were "leftovers"—charity from a Saint they didn't trust. Taking them meant owing a debt to the Dao Ancestor, a price they weren't willing to pay.
But they weren't there to watch.
They saw the Western Sages—Jieyin and Zhunti—lunging for a particularly bright Spirit Treasure.
"We don't need the trash," Tai Yi whispered, a golden flame flickering in his palm. "But we can damn well make sure they don't get it either."
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