Elder Lianhua's gaze lingered on the body for only a single breath. Then her eyes closed.
**Divine sense** unfurled.
It was subtle—not explosive, not pressing outward like most cultivators' perceptions—but absolute. It simply **existed**, spreading through the vault, the walls, the floor, the air itself—silent, inescapable, leaving no corner untouched.
Li Qiye didn't feel it. It passed over him like a tide, intangible yet profound.
Moments later, Elder Lianhua opened her eyes.
"There is almost nothing left," she said quietly. Her gaze swept over the open vault beyond the iron door. "No lingering qi. No residual fluctuations. Even spiritual traces have long since dissipated." She paused. "Whatever passed through here… was thorough."
She stepped closer to the body. Only now did the full horror reveal itself.
The clan head's body was **torn in half**.
The cut was impossibly clean. There were no signs of prolonged struggle. No shattered meridians from desperate techniques. No chaotic backlash of qi.
"He was killed in a single strike," Elder Lianhua said, her tone precise. "Instantaneous."
Li Qiye's fists trembled.
"He did not even realize he was dying," she continued. "No fear. No final surge of life force."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "This suggests misdirection."
She straightened, her voice calm but sharp.
"An illusion," Elder Lianhua explained. "It trapped his senses completely. Diverted his attention, dulled his instincts. While he was focused elsewhere…" Her voice dropped. "…the killing blow came instantly."
Li Qiye swallowed hard.
"The fox," he murmured hoarsely.
"Yes," she replied, eyes unreadable. She looked toward the vault interior. "The illusion occupied his perception. While he believed himself in control, he was already walking into death."
The silence in the vault thickened. Elder Lianhua's qi stirred—subtle, controlled, yet the air responded instantly.
Both halves of the clan head's body lifted from the stone floor, drawn upward by invisible force. They hovered, perfectly aligned, blood long dried, the silence around them heavy and final.
Li Qiye's chest tightened at the sight.
"He is already dead," Elder Lianhua said calmly. "There is nothing to be done."
Her words were not cruel—only absolute. She examined the remains once more, gaze sharp and distant.
"He never stood a chance," she continued. "Not from the moment he was chosen."
Li Qiye's breath caught. "Chosen…?"
Elder Lianhua inclined her head slightly. "His death was guaranteed from the very moment he encountered the demon fox. He was only at the **Qi Refining realm**."
The words struck harder than any blade.
"And the fox," she continued, "was at **Foundation Establishment**. The difference between them was no less than that between a human and an insect."
Li Qiye clenched his teeth, nails biting into his palms.
"The reason he was not killed immediately," Elder Lianhua said, tone unchanged, "is simple." She gestured faintly toward the open vault.
"He was **useful**."
The qi around the bodies tightened for a brief instant.
"He was kept alive to **lead the way**," she explained. "To open the treasury. To bypass what the fox could not—or chose not to—force open on its own."
Silence pressed down on the vault.
"When his purpose was fulfilled," she finished, "he was discarded."
The two halves of the clan head's body slowly lowered, guided gently despite the brutality of the truth.
Li Qiye stood frozen, the weight of her words sinking deep. His father had not lost because he was careless. He had lost because the enemy had never seen him as a threat at all. And that realization hurt far more than grief alone.
Elder Lianhua turned to him.
"Grief can wait," she said quietly. Her words were firm but not unkind. "The dead remain dead. No matter how deeply you mourn, no matter how loudly your heart screams, it will not bring him back."
Li Qiye's throat tightened, but he did not look away.
"What matters now," she continued, "is **putting him to rest**."
Her qi shifted. Carefully, she gathered the remains of the Li clan head, wrapping them in a gentle cocoon of spiritual force—clean, dignified, untouched by further harm.
"He deserves burial," Elder Lianhua said. "Not to be left in darkness."
Then her gaze sharpened.
"And as for those who did this—"
The air grew faintly cold.
"I promise you," she said, voice steady and absolute, "they will pay."
Li Qiye felt the weight of that promise settle deep in his bones.
Before he could respond, Elder Lianhua's qi surged.
The ground fell away beneath him.
In an instant, they **rose**, lifted as if by the wind itself, the shattered vault and fallen doors shrinking below them. Stone walls blurred past as they ascended, passing through the broken treasury entrance and into open air.
The night breeze struck Li Qiye's face. They emerged from the treasury, carrying with them the remains of the clan head—and the unspoken vow of retribution.
Below, the Li clan estate lay quiet.
Above, the sky stretched wide and indifferent.
But something had changed.
The Li clan's grief had been acknowledged. Judgment had begun to move.
As they emerged from the shattered treasury, the air shifted.
Below, in the courtyard, the **summoned elders and senior members** of the Li clan had already arrived. They stood in tense clusters, worry etched into their faces—until they looked up. And froze.
Two figures descended from the air, carried by the wind itself.
Elder Lianhua.
And beside her—Li Qiye.
The moment their feet touched the ground, a stunned silence swept the courtyard. Then every elder reacted at once.
They dropped to their knees, robes rustling as foreheads lowered in unison.
"These juniors pay their respects to the **Immortal Elder**!"
Their voices rang together—reverent, shaken, filled with awe.
Elder Lianhua said nothing. She gently released Li Qiye, allowing him to stand. With a controlled motion of qi, she lowered the **corpse of the Li clan head** before them.
The body settled on the stone tiles. Still. Broken. Final.
The courtyard went deathly silent. Gasps were swallowed. Some elders trembled. Others stared in disbelief, eyes reddening as the truth struck them all at once. The clan head was dead. Truly dead.
Li Qiye stood beside the body, back straight, expression carved from grief and resolve.
Elder Lianhua finally spoke.
"The Li clan head has fallen," she said calmly. "He died guarding the clan vault." Her words were measured, yet they cut deeper than any blade.
"The enemy was beyond his realm," she continued. "This was not his failure."
Several elders bowed lower, pressing their foreheads to the ground, shoulders shaking.
Elder Lianhua's gaze swept over them—slow, assessing.
"The Li clan has suffered a calamity," she said, "but it has not ended."
Her eyes paused on Li Qiye.
"As long as blood remains," she said, "the clan remains."
The elders listened, breath held. For the first time since White Hollow City fell into chaos, the Li clan was no longer alone.
Li Qiye straightened slightly, the weight of the clan head's remains pressing against his chest, but his composure held. His eyes swept the gathered elders before settling on **Elder Wu**, who had been standing silently among them.
"Elder Wu," Li Qiye said, voice calm but firm, authority cutting through the murmurs of the courtyard, "tell me—how is the current situation of the Li clan and the city after the attack? How are the survivors holding up? Have defenses and rebuilding efforts begun properly, or has chaos taken hold?"
Elder Wu stiffened, bowing slightly before responding.
"Young Master… the city, the clan… all is fragile. Many cultivators are trying their best to maintain order, but the loss of the elders has left a vacuum in both leadership and morale. The looting of the treasury and destruction of key formations have further weakened us."
He glanced toward the shattered courtyard beyond. "Rebuilding has begun in the sense that survivors repair the estate walls, tend to the wounded, and reorganize, but the work is slow. Fear lingers. Many hesitate to act decisively without guidance."
Li Qiye's gaze hardened.
"I came not to dwell in blame," he said slowly, "but to ensure the clan does not crumble entirely before help arrives. If rebuilding is slow, we cannot afford hesitation. Every hour wasted risks even more lives.