A terrifying spiritual pressure seemed to make the entire island tremble. Atop the lofty pavilion of Baiyu Capital, the Tyrant felt as if a mountain weighed upon him, his very bones groaning under the crushing force. Lu Fan's words left his mind adrift. As a cultivator, one's greatest advantage lies in strength. Before absolute power, all schemes and conspiracies are but fleeting illusions.
Realization began to dawn in the Tyrant's heart. Light flickered in his eyes.
Lu Fan, his white robe billowing and sideburns dancing in the wind, gazed calmly at Xiang Shaoyun. He released his fingers from the chess piece on the board—instantly, the dreadful pressure vanished, as if it had never existed.
"Old Lü, see the guest out," Lu Fan said lightly, sipping his plum wine as he reclined in his wheelchair, turning his head slightly.
The Tyrant stood, giving Lu Fan a deep glance before cupping his hands respectfully. "Thank you, Young Lord Lu, for clearing my doubts."
Lu Fan gave a slight nod.
To the side, Lü Dongxuan's forehead glistened with cold sweat. Too terrifying… was this the clash between the apex cultivators of this era? Be it the Tyrant or the young master, both exuded an overwhelming aura he could never hope to match.
The Tyrant stepped to the stairwell and turned to Lu Fan. "Young Lord Lu, in the next Immortal Secret Realm, will there be cultivation methods for the Body-Hiding Realm?"
Towering and imposing, the Tyrant posed his question.
Lu Fan raised his wine cup. "Most likely, yes."
The Tyrant's gaze grew sharp. He cupped his fists once more before descending the stairs. Lü Dongxuan cast a glance at Lu Fan and followed closely behind.
Ni Yu remained by the stove, tending the plum wine. The sour fragrance slowly filled the air.
Leaning on the railing, Lu Fan gazed at the mist-veiled lake, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He held great expectations for the Tyrant. If anyone in this world could shatter the shackles of low martial cultivation and step into the realm of the profound, the Tyrant might be the one.
Thus, Lu Fan did not wish for him to go astray.
What is there to fight for in this world of empires? Cultivation alone is the true path.
The Tyrant and Lü Dongxuan exited Baiyu Capital Pavilion.
With a grin that revealed a mouthful of yellowed teeth, Lü Dongxuan adjusted his heavy gold chain. "The Tianji Clan, one of the Hundred Schools—are you truly joining Baiyu Capital?"
Xiang Shaoyun looked to him and asked, "Is that true?"
"Of course it is! What better place to be than Baiyu Capital?" Lü Dongxuan chuckled. "A golden carp is never destined for a mere pond. When the storm comes, it becomes a dragon."
"Baiyu Capital is that golden carp. One day, it shall soar above all and look down upon the world."
Xiang Shaoyun's eyes narrowed. The scholars of the Tianji Clan, who claim to foresee all under heaven—if they say so, there must be weight behind their words.
"Why not join Baiyu Capital too, Tyrant? You won't lose anything," Lü Dongxuan said, his gold chain clinking with each word.
The two reached the lakeside. Gentle waves lapped against the shore, the breeze brushing past them.
Lü Dongxuan's words left Xiang Shaoyun momentarily stunned.
Then he laughed. "Baiyu Capital is splendid, but it is not my destination. I am the overlord of Western Liang, the Tyrant of Western Prefecture. A hundred thousand iron cavalry await me with hope in their hearts. How can I retreat to this Lake Heart Island and chill their fervor?"
"Moreover… I have yet to fulfill my promise to Mingsang."
With hands clasped behind his back, his wild hair dancing in the wind, Xiang Shaoyun turned to Lü Dongxuan.
"Old Lü, may I request a divination?"
Lü Dongxuan blinked in surprise. "A divination? Such insight could be worth a thousand gold."
Xiang Shaoyun smiled. "I am willing to pay any price."
Lü Dongxuan waved his hand, laughing. "No need, Tyrant. I never charge for divinations—though if you insist… I cannot refuse. For friendship's sake."
As his voice faded, Lü Dongxuan's entire demeanor shifted. The grin disappeared.
He extended his palms toward the golden chain on his neck, formed from hollowed, beaded gold spheres.
As his fingers brushed across them, the spheres spun rapidly, emitting a sharp, high-pitched hum.
After a long moment, the rotation ceased, revealing the carved divinatory characters on their surfaces.
Lü Dongxuan traced each inscription with his finger, calculating in silence. He glanced at the Tyrant—his brow furrowed.
…
The Tyrant departed.
Hands behind his back, he stepped onto a lone skiff and sailed away—not as when he had arrived, walking upon the waves.
Bathed in the golden afterglow of dusk, the little boat cut through the sparkling lake. Xiang Shaoyun's silhouette was etched with a trace of solitude.
Back on the island, Lü Dongxuan stood with his hands clasped. Lü Mu approached, leaning on a bamboo staff, with Mingyue following close, carrying a pipa.
Mingyue gazed toward the solitary skiff disappearing into the dense mist, her eyes shimmering like rippling water.
…
Imperial City – Zijing Palace.
The setting sun cast a golden hue upon the palace's glazed tiles, while the crimson walls gleamed like blood.
Chaos reigned within the capital. The Chancellor's elite troops, largely composed of bribed palace guards and recruited private soldiers, began their onslaught.
As the five hundred cavalrymen of Northern Luo were ambushed, chaos erupted among the palace defenders. Loyalists to the Chancellor clashed with those who remained steadfast to the Emperor. Blades gleamed and blood flowed, staining Zijing Palace in a crimson tide.
This was no accident. It was a coup, long in the making.
Zhao Kuo walked calmly, his shadow drawn long by the setting sun. Grandmaster warriors flanked him, guarding his every step.
In the gardens, by winding bridges and emerald ponds…
On a stone bridge of nine turns, stood Yuwen Xiu in imperial robes, his back to all. In his hands was a wooden bucket filled with chunks of raw, bloody meat.
Rolling up his sleeves, he grasped a piece with his bare hands and flung it into the pond.
"Your Majesty," came Zhao Kuo's voice after the clamor.
The elderly eunuch, grief-stricken and trembling, pointed at Zhao Kuo. "Zhao Kuo! Treason warrants the extermination of nine generations!"
Zhao Kuo merely smiled and took slow steps forward.
"Your Majesty was misled by the traitor Kong Xiu. Kong Xiu murdered the late emperor—how could Your Majesty elevate your father's killer to Grandmaster of the Realm?"
"Alas, Your Majesty is too young to wield true power. Thus, this old servant must assist in guiding Great Zhou through these troubled times."
His words echoed through the garden, drowning the sound of flowing waters.
He intended to make Yuwen Xiu his puppet.
The garden fell silent.
Yuwen Xiu, back still turned, said nothing.
Zhao Kuo laughed softly. "At this point, what hope do you cling to, Your Majesty?"
"Only by trusting in this old minister can Great Zhou grasp at a sliver of hope amidst despair!"
Yuwen Xiu chuckled, then flung another bloody chunk into the pond—vanishing instantly upon contact.
The old eunuch stood defiant, clutching his horsetail whisk. "To harm His Majesty, you must first cross over my corpse!"
Zhao Kuo glanced at him coldly before signaling. Two martial grandmasters stepped forth, their energy surging, causing the air to tremble.
"Let Chancellor Zhao approach," a sudden voice rang out.
Yuwen Xiu had spoken.
The eunuch froze in disbelief. "Your Majesty…"
But Yuwen Xiu paid him no heed, tossing another piece of meat into the water.
The eunuch's face flushed, but in the end, he stepped aside.
Zhao Kuo narrowed his eyes and approached, stopping five steps from the pond, standing behind the Emperor.
"Your Majesty consents to this humble servant's proposal?" he asked.
Yuwen Xiu smiled, set down the wooden bucket, and flicked the blood from his fingers.
Turning to face Zhao Kuo, his face was filled with mockery.
"What gives you such confidence, Chancellor Zhao? What makes you think you alone can deliver Great Zhou from ruin?"
"You are no match for Mo Beike."
"You are no match for Grandmaster Kong Xiu."
"You are even less than Lu Ping'an of Northern Luo."
"So tell me… where does your delusional confidence come from?"
His voice rang through the garden like a blade, cutting through the air—cold and sharp.