Central Province border, deep within the Blackstone Mountain Range—the Holy Dynasty's temporary imperial palace.
Rather than a palace, it was more accurately a mountain fortress forcibly transformed by demonic arts.
Massive caverns had been carved open by demonic power. The vaulted ceiling was embedded with ghostly blue magic crystals, casting a cold light that made the entire space resemble the underworld's ghostly domain.
Jagged demonic patterns were carved into the rough stone walls, and the floor was paved with locally sourced blackstone, gleaming with a metallic cold luster. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and blood, a testament to the bloody conquest that had recently taken place here.
Qin Ao sat high upon a temporarily carved obsidian demonic throne, draped in an imperial robe with flowing dark gold patterns. His face was hidden in shadow, with only a pair of eyes—deep as an abyss—flickering in the dim light like a dormant beast.
His fingertips drummed rhythmically against the armrest, the measured tapping echoing through the solemn hall.
"Bring him in."
The cold voice wasn't loud, but it pierced everyone's eardrums as clearly as cold iron striking, sending a shiver down their spines.
The heavy sound of iron chains dragging across the ground approached from the distance. Two heavily armored, fierce-looking demonic cultivators escorted a figure into the hall.
It was a youth who appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen years old, his clothes in tatters, his body covered in blood and dust. Exposed skin bore wounds both old and new, and his steps faltered under the restraint of the iron chains.
Yet beneath that bowed head, his spine remained exceptionally straight.
The youth was forcefully pressed down onto the cold blackstone floor, the iron chains clashing with a piercing din.
"You are Ye Fan." Qin Ao's voice betrayed neither joy nor anger, but his gaze fell upon the youth's lowered eyelids like a physical weight.
He noticed that even in such dire straits, this youth's breathing maintained a strange rhythm. As if silently circulating some kind of cultivation technique.
Those occasionally lifted eyes harbored unyielding defiance and fierce resolve—much like a lone wolf struggling to survive in a desperate situation.
That look reminded him of some rather unpleasant memories.
Ye Fan raised his head with difficulty, his cheek scraping against the rough floor and leaving a trail of blood. He met that gaze—enough to shatter an ordinary cultivator's spirit.
His voice was hoarse from thirst, yet exceptionally clear.
"Holy Emperor... ten thousand generations of eternal reign, unifying... the world."
Qin Ao fell silent for a moment, the corners of his mouth in the shadows seemingly curling into an almost imperceptible smile.
Interesting.
"I heard..." he began slowly, the pressure in his voice suddenly increasing, pressing down like a mountain.
"You brought someone else with you."
Ye Fan's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He lowered his head and replied, "Answering the Holy Emperor... yes."
"My senior sister, Ji Lingxiu."
He paused, his speech quickening as if eager to claim credit. "As long as the Holy Emperor accepts me, she... is entirely at the Holy Emperor's disposal."
"Heh. A person who can so easily betray even their own senior sister," Qin Ao interrupted, his voice turning suddenly cold, carrying a bone-chilling frost.
"How should I trust that you won't betray the Holy Dynasty for something else the next moment?"
Ye Fan jerked his head up, a perfectly measured flash of panic crossing his eyes.
"Holy Emperor, see the truth! My senior sister... is obstinate and foolish!"
"I earnestly tried to persuade her to abandon the darkness and embrace the light, but not only did she refuse to listen, she rebuked me..."
"This is righteousness above familial loyalty! I only wish to demonstrate my loyalty to the Holy Emperor!"
"The Holy Dynasty's victory is the will of heaven—I only beg to serve the Holy Emperor with utmost devotion. I beseech the Holy Emperor to grant me a chance!"
His tone was impassioned. He even struggled to crawl forward on his knees, but was held firmly in place by the demonic cultivators behind him.
Qin Ao watched his performance, his finger-drumming coming to a halt.
The entire makeshift hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Only the crackling of demonic flames and Ye Fan's heavy breathing broke the silence.
The demonic generals on both sides had varying expressions—some showed contempt, some indifference, and others appeared deep in thought.
After a long while, Qin Ao finally spoke in a faint voice, his tone utterly devoid of emotion.
"Take him away."
Ye Fan's face instantly drained of color.
"Holy Emperor! I..."
The two demonic cultivators roughly hauled him up without ceremony. Iron chains clattered as they dragged him toward the hall's exit.
Ye Fan's cries echoed off the coarse stone walls, filled with despair and unwillingness.
"Holy Emperor! My loyalty is witnessed by heaven and earth! Holy Emperor—!"
The heavy stone doors slammed shut, cutting off the sounds from outside.
Qin Ao sat on the demonic throne, his gaze profound as he stared in the direction of the stone doors. His fingers began their unconscious drumming once more.
A damp and gloomy makeshift prison cell, converted from a natural cavern. Scattered bones were piled in the corners, and the air reeked of stale blood.
Ye Fan was thrown heavily onto the icy stone floor. The iron door clanged shut and locked.
He curled up in the corner, motionless, as if he had completely given up hope.
After an unknown period of time, steady footsteps approached from outside the cell. A figure draped in a crimson cape stopped before the bars, almost blocking out all the light from outside.
Zhan Wuji stood with his hands behind his back, looking down at the youth cowering in the corner like a defeated dog. His handsome face bore an unmasked expression of contempt and mockery.
"Hehe..." His low laughter echoed through the cell, carrying a bone-chilling cold.
"Trash from the lower realm—as expected, only capable of begging on your knees. To stay alive, you'd hand over your fellow lower-realm companions without a second thought."
Ye Fan slowly raised his head, his face covered in filth. But those eyes were startlingly bright in the darkness.
He calmly met Zhan Wuji's gaze. His voice was hoarse from weakness yet remarkably composed.
"Those who recognize the times... are the wise. What Chen Chang'an is doing is nothing more than a dying struggle."
"Only the Holy Dynasty... is the mandate of heaven. What fault is there in submitting to the strong?"
Zhan Wuji's eyes flickered with a glimmer of surprise, which quickly transformed into deeper mockery.
"What a fine mandate of heaven. Are you so certain we'll take you in? You should know—at this point in the situation, we already hold overwhelming superiority."
Ye Fan fell silent for a moment, then spoke in a low voice.
"Even that one... wouldn't dare underestimate the ancestor of the Immortal Spirit Holy Land. He's painstakingly built up the Spirit Realm for years, with countless contingency plans."
"And I... can make your victory even easier."
"I only ask... for a chance."
Zhan Wuji regarded him haughtily, as if assessing the value of a tool.
After a long while, he finally spoke, his tone unfathomable.
"A chance... I will give you one."
"Whether you can... seize it... remains to be seen."
With that, he turned and departed. His crimson cape cut a sinister arc through the darkness as his footsteps gradually faded away.
The cell fell into dead silence once more.
...