They had intended to intervene—Zhenyuanzi and Hongyun were men of peace, after all—but the sheer, primal ferocity of Di Jun and Tai Yi had left them frozen in the void. The "Two Sages of the West," who had once looked down upon the world with such lofty arrogance, were being systematically thrashed like common thieves.
"Fellow Daoists Di Jun and Tai Yi... they are monsters," Hongyun murmured, his voice a mix of awe and a strange, prickling envy. "With such talent, I suspect the Saint will have no choice but to seat them at his right hand."
"Keep up," Zhenyuanzi said shortly. He didn't have the breath for praise. He turned into a streak of divine rainbow light, plunging into the roiling Chaos to follow the trail of golden fire.
Time in the void was a blurred concept, but nearly a thousand years of pursuit had passed in a heartbeat.
Before the vast, ancient gates of Zixiao Palace, the elite of the Honghuang world had already assembled. They stood in clusters, some meditating atop clouds of auspicious mist, others trading hushed rumors. The peace was shattered by a tectonic roar.
Boom!
The distant Chaos buckled and tore. A terrifying aura surged forward, dragging a localized storm of lightning, fire, and astral winds in its wake.
Jieyin and Zhunti burst from the mists in a state of absolute panic. Their robes were shredded and stained with gore, their golden halos—once symbols of Western purity—now flickered like dying candles.
"What is this?"
The gathered immortals bolted upright. They stared at the two "Sages" as if they were apparitions. Even for latecomers, the sight was pathetic. Had they stumbled into a nest of Chaos Fiendgods?
Then, two pillars of golden light pierced the mists. Di Jun and Tai Yi emerged, their auras burning with a cold, predatory heat.
"You old rats run well," Tai Yi sneered, his voice echoing off the Palace walls. "Where is that Western 'Prestige' now? Come back here and finish this!"
"Die in a final showdown!" Di Jun roared. His golden armor was splattered with blood—none of it his own.
The Western Sages scrambled toward the closed gates, looking as if they intended to claw their way through the wood. "Insolence!" Jieyin wheezed, trying to straighten his tattered collar. "This is a Holy Land! How dare you bring your filth and violence to the Saint's doorstep?"
He spoke of holiness, but every eye could see the truth: they weren't protecting the Sanctum; they were using it as a shield. The realization rippled through the crowd. In the last sermon, the Crows were prey. Now, the roles had not just shifted—they had been incinerated. The "Fathers" of the West were now the children of the Sun.
Nuwa, Fuxi, and Kunpeng watched with hungry eyes. If they could pull these two into the Yao Race, the Witches would find the sky falling upon their heads.
Yuanshi glanced at the Westerners, a curl of absolute contempt on his lip. He had once considered them worthy rivals, but to be beaten so thoroughly by "monsters" proved they were regressing.
"You think we won't touch you here?" Di Jun stepped forward, his killing intent flaring, but Tai Yi caught his arm.
The gates groaned open. Two young attendants, Haotian and Yaochi, stepped out into the light. "Exalted Immortals, the sermon begins. Please, enter."
Zhunti and Jieyin lunged for the door, desperate to be first, but a shoulder of cold, unyielding power shoved them aside.
"The likes of you deserve the lead?" Yuanshi said, his eyes narrowing with disdain. To let these two walk ahead of him would be a stain on the Orthodox Lineage of Pangu. He swaggered past them, followed by his brothers.
Zhunti's face turned a violent shade of green. He opened his mouth to bark a curse, but the shadow of the Sanqing was too long. He stayed silent, his heart a boiling cauldron of humiliation.
"Fellow Daoists," a kind, plump voice called out. Hongyun had arrived, wearing a smile that looked far too sincere to be accidental. "Why play at being doormen? Enter, enter! There is no need for you to stand guard for the children."
"I..."
The blood surged into Zhunti's face, turning the green to a bruised, pulsing red. He looked ready to detonate on the spot. Hongyun didn't wait for a response; he grabbed them by their tattered sleeves and hauled them inside, offering a polite, apologetic nod to the attendants as he passed.
Tai Yi and Di Jun shared a glance, nearly numb from the dark hilarity of it all. They followed the crowd into the hall and took their places, the silence of the Palace returning like a heavy shroud.
The air in Zixiao Palace was thick with expectation. Houtu was absent—the Witches had finally abandoned the Saint's path—but the rest were there, dreaming of the Complete Path to Sainthood.
East King Duke sat with a smile he couldn't quite suppress. He had brought a temporary peace to the world; surely, his "report card" was perfect. He saw the seat of a disciple as his birthright.
The Western Sages meditated frantically, trying to heal their broken Dharma bodies to show a "proud" face to the Saint, while the Sanqing simply closed their eyes, indifferent to the titles, hungry only for the Dao.
Then, a pressure that felt like the gravity of a thousand suns descended.
Hongjun appeared on his platform.
"Greetings, Saint..." the crowd whispered, some more enthusiastically than others.
Hongjun nodded, his gaze sweeping the room with the practiced ease of a master. He looked at the Golden Crows, prepared to see two more puppets in his grand theater.
But his gaze snagged. His pupils contracted, and for the first time in an aeon, his stoic mask cracked.
"Hun Yuan Golden Immortal?"