Ancient Sky City still smelled of smoke.
The Heavenly God Sect's heavenly grotto smoldered like a corpse-pit of a fallen god. Azure Mysterious's grotto burned with a more refined, humiliating flame—jade walls and royal carvings cracked and sagging, half-melted treasures cooling into ugly slag.
Ling Feng walked through it all like a man strolling down a half-burned supermarket aisle, hands in his pockets, expression lazy.
He didn't bother to look impressed.
"Take that," he said, jerking his chin toward a collapsed hall, tone casual. "And that cauldron in the corner. Don't forget the formation nodes on the floor. The materials aren't bad."
"Yes, Young Noble."
"Yes, Feng."
Sword light flashed.
Li Shuangyan moved first, Pure Jade Physique circulating like flawless water beneath ice. Her sword carved out entire sections of formation-engraved ground with surgical precision. Slabs of stone rose from the floor as if obeying a silent imperial decree, their inscribed Dao patterns still intact.
Not a single rune was scratched.
Beside her, Chen Baojiao had already rolled up her sleeves.
Immortal Spring aura surged around her, bright and lively, as she dug her hands into fallen beams and shattered pillars. To another noble princess, this would have been humiliating manual labor. To Chen Baojiao, it was play.
She laughed as she hauled a broken heavenly pillar up with one hand and tossed it into a growing pile like firewood.
"When they built all this," she said with a grin, eyes flashing, "they must've thought they'd sit on it for ten thousand years. Now their grotto is our warehouse. This princess is very satisfied."
Her every movement carried the Tyrannical Valley Immortal Spring Physique's strange elasticity—impacts sinking into her like stones dropping into deep springs, only to be reborn as surging counterforce waiting for an enemy to touch.
Xu Pei worked more quietly.
The dark-green cauldron hovered behind her shoulder, its surface dim but steady, Dao runes faintly pulsing like a heart at rest. She moved through surviving medicine pavilions and alchemy rooms with careful hands, sweeping aside ash and broken porcelain, checking every intact cabinet.
Every time she found a section of herb garden that had escaped the flames, her eyes lit up.
"Feng," she called softly, brushing ash away to reveal a stubborn, pale-gold root clinging to life deep in the soil. "This root is still alive. The fire didn't reach here."
Ling Feng's gaze swept over, sharp despite his relaxed posture.
"Dig it out with the soil," he said. "Don't shake its foundation. Plants that survive places like this don't just live off water and sunlight—they drink the sect's luck and heritage. Stuff like that is better than half the 'miracle' treasures in manuals. We'll transplant them back."
"…Mm." Xu Pei's cheeks flushed, partly from exertion, partly from the simple fact that he'd noticed what she'd found. "I'll be careful."
Bai Jianzhen was silent.
She moved through the ruin in a white dress and black scabbard, like a lonely sword shadow walking across a battlefield after the war ended. Her gaze swept every broken pavilion, every collapsed palace, judging, weighing, deciding.
When she sensed lingering killing intent, she did not warn anyone.
She simply drew.
A single clean arc of sword light pierced the ashen ground. Buried puppets, dormant killing formations, and hidden sword arrays were exposed for an instant, then shattered to dust.
The air shuddered from the backlash of collapsing Dao patterns.
"Careful," Ling Feng called lazily when one particularly deep royal-grade formation stirred, its Dao foundation trying to awaken and retaliate.
Bai Jianzhen's steps didn't pause.
She glanced back at him once.
Then, with the tiniest adjustment—half an inch, no more—her sword light shifted angle. The roaring formation that should have erupted into sky-tearing sword rain instead crumpled in on itself, snuffed out like a candle pinched between fingers. Not even a wisp of stray force leaked.
The Nine Saint elder following behind them almost dropped dead on the spot.
He trailed after the group like a soul being dragged along by a storm, face pale, eyes unfocused. Every time his gaze landed on a smashed ancestral hall or a dead Ancient Saint frozen mid-despair, his heart seized.
These were existences his sect had revered for generations.
Now, Ling Feng's group picked through their corpses and treasuries as if cleaning up after unruly neighbors who'd left a mess in the hallway.
The stench of burnt incense, ruined bloodlines, and shattered pride hung heavy in the air.
In the distance, remnants of Heavenly God Sect and Azure Mysterious disciples lay where they'd fallen during the earlier massacre—armor warped, Dao hearts broken, their "invincible" confidence burned away with their grottos.
A distant rumble rolled across Ancient Sky City, as if the city itself was trying to digest what had just happened.
By the time they were done stripping what was worth taking, both heavenly grottos were finally, truly "ruins"—not just spiritually, but materially. Formation cores pried out, veins of refined jade cut cleanly, ancestral treasure vaults swept.
Ling Feng clapped his hands together, dusting them off.
"Alright," he said, turning in a slow circle, taking in the broken glory without a shred of reverence. "That's enough. What's left is junk for our level."
For a man seemingly at the Named Hero realm, he spoke like a retired Immortal Emperor making a casual comment about a collapsed dynasty. But the Chaos Force coiled lazily around him, and the four condensed Chaos Emeralds in his Inner Void pulsed in quiet agreement.
He tilted his head back, eyes lifting to the sky.
"Next stop," he said, voice softening. "Keeping my promises."
The Nine Saint elder twitched.
Before he could react, Ling Feng reached over and grabbed him by the collar again.
"Y-Young Noble—!" the elder yelped as his feet left the ground.
"Relax, old man," Ling Feng chuckled. "I'm taking you home. Complaining now is just ungrateful."
He snapped his fingers.
Space folded.
The burning grottos, the ruined imperial pride, the charred smell of Ancient Sky City—all of it twisted and fell away like a page being turned.
...
Nine Saint Demon Gate.
Deep within their ancestral ground, black pavilions like crouching demons and tall, solemn peaks guarded an old emperor's foundation. In one secluded valley, Nine Saint Virtuous Paragon's lingering Dao patterns rose silently from the earth—subtle lines of force that had shielded his descendants for millions of years.
Ling Feng's group stepped out of folded space above the main gate.
The Nine Saint elder almost collapsed in midair.
He clutched his chest, sucking in deep breaths. His old eyes went wide as he looked down at the familiar mountain ridges, the swirling sect-protecting formation, the disciples moving in orderly streams along the paths.
Home.
For a moment, even his fear of Ling Feng drowned under the flood of emotion. His wrinkled hands trembled.
Li Shuangyan's aura wavered.
Her eyes, usually calm behind the thin veil, trembled slightly as she gazed at the sect where she'd grown up—the sect that had nearly been turned into a sacrificial offering in Ancient Sky City's heavenly grotto not long ago.
She whispered, almost to herself, "Young Noble…"
"I said I'd come," Ling Feng replied, his voice losing some of its teasing edge. "I don't like repeating myself."
He opened his hand.
Invisible force sank down into the mountains.
There were no grand visions—no dragon shadows crossing the sky, no giant hands descending from the heavens. The disciples on duty only felt a strange pressure brush past their skin, like a change in the wind.
But every formation flag planted in hidden corners shuddered.
Every ancient stone stele bearing Nine Saint Virtuous Paragon's Dao runes buzzed softly, as though an old master had just woken from a long sleep and found someone rearranging furniture in his home.
Emperor's Domination
The sect-protecting grand formation groaned.
To the elders maintaining it, the sensation was terrifying—its entire skeleton was being quietly taken apart and put back together. Old, clumsy pathways were straightened, leaking nodes sealed, the flow of power redirected.
It was like someone had reached into the sect's beating heart and calmly fixed every crooked artery, patched every hairline crack in bone, and then—just because he could—added another layer of armor beneath the flesh.
In the unseen depths of the grand formation, heavy chains of light that had once only been enough to suppress Ancient Saints began to thicken. Their links turned heavier, each one infused with a strange, alien order—Chaos energy not belonging to this world's Heaven, unbound by its karma, fate, or river of time.
If a Virtuous Paragon tried to step into Nine Saint's territory by tearing open the void now, that step would falter. Their intent would be muddied, their footing dragged down, their Dao suppressed.
They wouldn't be trapped forever.
But they would be forced to kneel.
High above the main peak, a hidden Dao altar flared suddenly, reacting to the intrusion. Old engravings of Nine Saint Virtuous Paragon's figure glowed faintly, as if ready to reject any violation of his legacy.
Ling Feng's eyes narrowed.
"Easy," he murmured, not to anyone else, but to the resisting will itself. "I'm not here to rob your descendants. I'm here to keep them from being robbed."
The Chaos within him surged. A vast, emerald pressure that did not belong to the Nine Worlds smoothed over the protesting formation, not crushing, but enveloping. The old Dao inscription shivers grew quiet, wariness giving way to reluctant acceptance.
Far below, in a meditation chamber, Demon King Lun Ri jolted awake.
His pupils shrank.
"What power is this…?"
He stepped out of the chamber in a single stride, moving toward the great hall. On the way, an elder stumbled in from outside, scarcely able to stand.
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty—!"
Lun Ri's gaze sharpened. His bearing, already majestic, grew heavier, his aura pressing down like a mountain.
"What happened?" he asked, voice calm but carrying unquestionable authority.
"T-The Cleansing Incense's Young Noble Ling…" The elder's lips trembled. "He appeared above our sect just now and then—and then the sect-protecting formation—"
He stopped, at a loss for words.
How was he supposed to describe a feeling like their entire ancestral foundation being picked up, examined, fixed, and strengthened by a stranger's hand?
Lun Ri frowned.
He did not fly straight to the sky. Instead, he stepped onto the main square and reached his hand out to the empty air, touching the invisible flow of the formation.
His expression changed instantly.
If the old formation had been a river—slow, deep, defensive—then now, that river's bed had been deepened; hidden vortices added where no one but the creator would think to place them; currents sharpened into unseen blades.
He could not fully understand the new paths.
Yet his instincts screamed that Nine Saint's defenses had leapt an entire realm.
"This is…" he whispered.
As he gathered his will to ascend and see for himself, a voice brushed against his ear.
"Demon King, it's Ling Feng."
The tone wasn't lofty, nor did it carry the detached arrogance of an Immortal Emperor. It was relaxed, almost like a neighbor greeting another across the street—but behind that ease was unshakable confidence.
"I cleaned up your heavenly grotto in Ancient Sky City," Ling Feng's voice continued, faint amusement lacing his words. "Consider this interest on the debt they owed you. I'll make sure no one bullies your gate again. We can talk properly another time. Right now, my own sect still needs its young master."
Before Lun Ri could reply, the sky twisted once and smoothed out.
Ling Feng's aura vanished.
Only the aftertaste of Chaos remained, woven into the bones of Nine Saint Demon Gate.
Lun Ri stood there for a long time.
Shoulders that had carried the sect's fate for generations loosened a fraction. The corners of his lips lifted.
"Min Ren," he murmured, gazing in the direction of the distant Cleansing Incense mountain. "The disciple your lineage produced this time is truly… lawless."
...
Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect.
Once, it had stood proudly as an Imperial Lineage at the beginning of the Emperors Era, founded by Immortal Emperor Min Ren when he climbed to the peak and carved out a foothold in the Mortal Emperor World. Now, after rise and decay, it had fallen to a mere shadow of its former glory, tucked beneath Heavenly Jewel Kingdom's rule and Heavenly God Sect's oppressive gaze.
But now, in thirty thousand years, its luck was turning in a way no one had predicted.
Ling Feng reinforced the sect's outer formations almost absentmindedly as he walked the paths—tightening a node here, rethreading a minor protective seal there—while the girls went about their own tasks. Inner disciples on duty felt the air grow thicker, more reassuring, but could not say why.
Then he stepped into a quiet, heavily warded chamber deep within the sect.
Inside, Su Yonghuang was already waiting.
She sat with the steady composure of the current pillar of Cleansing Incense, phoenix eyes clear and unreadable. Before her lay a mountain of treasures that would have driven any great sect's elders insane with greed—refined jades arranged in neat piles, ancient Dao bones humming faintly, Immortal Emperor-level materials, bizarre ores dug out of the Ancient Heavenly Corpse Burial Ground, and the fresh spoils stripped from Heavenly God Sect and Azure Mysterious's heavenly grottos.
The air in the chamber felt like the breath of an awakening dragon, dense with spiritual energy and quiet, lethal potential.
Around that treasure mountain, four familiar auras waited.
Li Shuangyan stood slightly to the side, veil lowered, her usual calm bearing softened by the faint tiredness in her eyes. When Ling Feng's footsteps approached, that tiredness melted; her gaze turned gentle beneath the veil.
Chen Baojiao lounged with her arms crossed, fox-like eyes blazing with satisfaction, the natural arrogance of a princess now fully justified by the day's harvest.
Xu Pei stood closest to the cauldron that had followed her through flame and ruin, fingers nervously tracing its rim, cheeks still faintly pink from the way he'd praised her earlier.
Bai Jianzhen remained near the wall like a solitary sword on a rack—silent, still, gaze level, but her aura held a barely noticeable ripple, as if the sword inside its scabbard had been subtly sharpened.
"Yo," Ling Feng said, pushing the door open with his shoulder because his hands were still shoved in his pockets. "Miss me?"
Chen Baojiao snorted, though the corners of her lips curled upward.
"You made half the Grand Middle Territory cough blood today," she said. "Who would dare say they don't?"
Xu Pei dipped her head. "…Welcome back, Feng."
Li Shuangyan bowed slightly. "Young Noble."
Only Su Yonghuang didn't speak right away.
She simply stared.
Even with her experience and her clear eyes, the sheer volume and quality of what lay before her was beyond reason. She knew the value of every refined jade, every bone, every ore. She knew the weight of Immortal Emperor legacies, the strength of Heavenly God Sect's foundation, the old depth of Azure Mysterious Ancient Kingdom with its two Immortal Emperors. Having all of this dumped in front of her in one day…
Even for her, this was absurd.
"This…" she finally said, voice low, "is all from Ancient Sky City?"
"Mostly," Ling Feng replied.
He sauntered forward with easy steps, humming under his breath. As he passed behind Yonghuang's chair, he let his fingers brush the back of her hand—lightly, deliberately, like a man greeting someone he'd been thinking about for a long time.
"Burial Ground haul, Heavenly God Sect's charity, Azure Mysterious' apology gift," he listed lazily. "Put together, I'd say we're doing alright."
Su Yonghuang's phoenix eyes narrowed. "You call destroying two heavenly grottos an 'apology gift'?"
"Well, they offended my women and my sect." Ling Feng shrugged. "If they didn't apologize with their foundations, what else were they going to use?"
He stopped in front of her, all casual posture fading for a moment.
"From today on," he said, tone turning serious and weighty in a way that filled the chamber, "Cleansing Incense's golden era starts. I'm done playing small."
Su Yonghuang's fingers curled into the armrest.
"Golden era," she repeated softly.
"Yeah." Ling Feng's hand swept loosely over the mountain of treasures. "With this, with Min Ren's legacy sleeping under our feet, and with my power helping on the side… give it a bit of time. Any random inner disciple from our sect will be able to slap an 'ancient kingdom genius' until he calls them grandfather."
Chen Baojiao grinned, baring a hint of teeth. "This princess likes the sound of that very much."
Xu Pei's eyes shone, emotions surging—gratitude, awe, love, all tangled together. "Feng…"
Li Shuangyan's usually steady aura rippled from beneath her veil, a rare, unhidden thread of emotion.
Of everyone present, only Su Yonghuang kept her mind clear enough to voice the unease that had been coiling under all the triumph.
"Heavenly God Sect and Azure Mysterious will not endure this quietly," she said. "You killed their prize disciples and elders, destroyed their heavenly grottos, erased important ancestors. Heavenly God Sect is already a great enemy of our Cleansing Incense. Azure Mysterious is an Imperial Lineage with two Immortal Emperor legacies. The hatred between you runs bone-deep now."
Ling Feng shrugged, unbothered.
"They can't touch us," he said flatly. "And even if they want to, they have to get through something first."
Su Yonghuang frowned. "The formations you laid?"
"Mm." He nodded. "Cleansing Incense's main gate is wrapped tight. If some overconfident relic tries to stroll in and throw his weight around, he'll find himself politely seated before he even finishes raising his hand."
Yonghuang exhaled slowly.
The danger wasn't gone. But the weight that had sat on her chest for so long—Heavenly God Sect, Azure Mysterious, all the enemies that had circled their declining sect like vultures—felt lighter.
"Yet hatred remains," she said. "They will work in the shadows, send lackeys, use juniors to probe our strength. The Grand Middle Territory may not remain quiet."
Ling Feng smiled, eyes half-lidded, lazy on the surface but hiding a killing intent cold enough to freeze rivers.
"That's their problem," he said. "If any rats sneak close, I'll step on them. If any big shots insist on coming personally, I'll send them off properly. Don't overthink it."
Before she could gather another argument, he stepped closer.
Close enough that his shadow fell over her chair. Close enough that she could smell the faint traces of blood and smoke clinging to him beneath the fresh scent of spirit herbs.
"Besides," he added, voice dipping softer, a warmth appearing that he only showed to a few, "I just got back. You're really going to talk politics at me the entire time?"
Su Yonghuang stiffened.
Up close like this, she could feel the steady heat of his body, the wild yet controlled strength humming under his skin.
"…What are you doing?" she asked, a heartbeat too late.
Ling Feng smiled.
"Catching up," he said.
He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her.
The motion was slow—deliberate enough that if she wanted to stand up and slap him, she easily could.
She didn't.
For a brief moment, Su Yonghuang's body tensed like a drawn bow. Years of self-restraint and sect-master dignity screamed at her to push him away.
Then the string loosened.
She allowed herself to lean into his chest. The scent of sun, steel, and something wilder—Chaos that did not belong to this world—wrapped around her. His hand slid up her back, firm but gentle, like he was reassuring himself she was really still here and not just a figure in memory.
"Yonghuang," he murmured near her ear, voice low and steady. "I missed you."
Her heartbeat skipped.
Behind them, the reactions came quickly.
Li Shuangyan's fingers tightened on her own sleeve.
Chen Baojiao's mouth fell open for a moment, then curved into a wicked grin not even trying to hide its glee.
Xu Pei covered her burning cheeks with both hands, eyes wide and shimmering.
Bai Jianzhen turned her head away, hugging her sword closer to her chest. The tips of her ears turned the faintest shade of pink.
"You…" Su Yonghuang forced her composure back, even as her face flushed. "…You dare…"
"I do," Ling Feng said simply. "And I'm not done yet."
Before she could reinstate the full, untouchable majesty of a sect master, he tilted her chin up with two fingers and brushed his lips against hers.
It wasn't a domineering conquest, nor a forceful, devouring kiss. It was steady, warm, and very present—like he was quietly planting a flag that said: you are mine, and I am staying.
Su Yonghuang's phoenix eyes widened.
For a heartbeat, the mind that had calculated sect politics and Imperial schemes went completely blank.
Her hands, which should have pushed him away, instead curled into his robes.
The kiss might have lasted much longer—far longer—if not for the very loud throat-clearing behind them.
"Ahem."
"Cough."
"…Young Noble is bold," Li Shuangyan observed, voice cool as always, but with a faint tremor.
"This princess feels enlightened," Chen Baojiao added brightly. "Sect Master-sister, this bearing is very admirable."
Xu Pei made a small strangled noise that sounded like her soul was leaving her body.
Bai Jianzhen muttered, "…Noisy."
Su Yonghuang's face turned completely red.
She pushed Ling Feng away—not harshly, but firmly enough to reassert something.
"You… in front of others…" she managed, tone wavering between anger and flustered embarrassment.
Ling Feng just grinned, absolutely unrepentant.
"What?" he said. "We're in a closed chamber. No elders, no random disciples. Just family."
"Who is family with you?" Su Yonghuang snapped automatically—but the usual biting chill in her voice was missing.
Ling Feng laughed.
"Anyway," he said, straightening, hands slipping back into his pockets. "We've all been running around the Burial Ground and Ancient Sky City. This is a good time to breathe. Let the world talk, plot, and panic while we get stronger."
His gaze drifted across the other women, warm and amused.
"And yes, I heard all of you reacting back there," he added. "We'll… discuss that part later."
Xu Pei made another soft sound and tried to shrink into her cauldron's shadow.
Chen Baojiao smirked openly. "Looking forward to it."
Li Shuangyan's veil hid her expression, but not the soft tremor of her aura.
Bai Jianzhen hugged her sword a fraction tighter, eyes sliding away, refusing to comment.