In the Central Plains, the former headquarters of the Anti-Sacred Alliance had been razed to the ground.
Night had fallen, but this vast expanse of land had not gone to sleep. Millions of laborers and low-ranking cultivators toiled ceaselessly under the crack of overseers' whips and the glow of formation lights, swarming like ants.
Massive foundation stones were guided into the earth by spiritual power, and towering frameworks had already taken initial shape. It was a complex of buildings on a scale far exceeding any previous dynasty's palace, its silhouette looming menacingly in the night like several dormant behemoths.
Ye Fan stood alone outside a hastily constructed temporary palace, the night wind tugging at his somewhat thin robes.
He watched the bustling construction site in silence, his gaze sweeping past those insignificant, insect-like figures laboring beneath the colossal project, finally settling on the palace framework that had already begun to exude a majestic presence.
His face betrayed no emotion, his eyes as unfathomable as the bottomless night sky, revealing not the slightest ripple.
After a long while, he drew a slight breath as if suppressing some complex emotion, carefully adjusted his unrumpled robes, and instantly switched his expression to one of perfectly measured reverence and filial devotion before striding toward the heavily guarded palace hall.
The hall was brightly lit, yet it didn't feel extravagant—instead, it exuded a cold, hard authority. Qin Ao was not seated atop the hastily crafted throne, but stood with hands behind his back before a massive map of the Spirit Realm's territories.
On the map, the black representing the Holy Dynasty had nearly covered the entire Central Plains and was spreading in all directions.
Hearing footsteps, Qin Ao turned around. Seeing that it was Ye Fan, the sinister and domineering expression that often occupied his face due to his demonic cultivation immediately gave way to an unguarded, even genuine smile.
"Fan'er, you're here. Come quickly."
Qin Ao was genuinely satisfied with Ye Fan from the bottom of his heart.
Setting aside the immense symbolic significance and political value that Ye Fan's defection had brought, the man himself was exactly to Qin Ao's liking.
This young man possessed exceptional talent, trained relentlessly, and had extraordinary comprehension. In just a few short months, his cultivation had already shown signs of breaking through its bottleneck, rivaling the Ten Holy Sons that Qin Ao relied upon as his right-hand men.
But what pleased Qin Ao the most was Ye Fan's attitude.
Unlike the Ten Holy Sons, who were arrogant and condescending—even when outwardly submissive, still harboring a sense of superiority from the Upper Realm—Qin Ao could clearly sense that Ye Fan's devotion was genuine, an almost pure worship and respect.
It was a complex interweaving of a weaker person's admiration for the strong, a junior's reverence for an elder, and a subject's loyalty to a sovereign—without the slightest trace of falsehood.
He had dispatched people to investigate Ye Fan's life story. One who hadn't lived through such experiences could never feign this kind of subject-to-sovereign devotion so convincingly.
This unconditional following deeply satisfied a certain unknown need within Qin Ao, who had slaughtered his way to the pinnacle of power atop a mountain of corpses.
In particular, the demonic art he cultivated was overwhelmingly domineering—while it granted him the power to look down upon the world, it had also severed any possibility of him fathering children.
This left him perpetually lacking a sense of security regarding bloodline continuation and the transmission of power.
He had once tried to place this sense of security in the Ten Holy Sons, as they were nominally his most capable lieutenants.
But he quickly discovered that this was pure fantasy.
The Ten Holy Sons' relationship with him was more one of cooperation and mutual exploitation, a temporary submission to overwhelming martial force. From their occasional glances, he could detect a deeply hidden alienation, even... contempt.
Until Ye Fan appeared.
A traitor, a "lone minister" who no longer had a place in his original camp.
Qin Ao could keenly sense the Ten Holy Sons' undisguised disgust and ostracism toward Ye Fan. This isolation paradoxically gave Qin Ao a strange sense of kinship and control.
The more the Ten Holy Sons ostracized Ye Fan, the more he could only cling tightly to Qin Ao.
This absolute dependence precisely filled the void of security regarding power continuity that Qin Ao suffered from due to his inability to father children.
Thus, in just a few short months, Ye Fan had rapidly become Qin Ao's true confidant through his identity as a "lone minister," his outstanding abilities, and most importantly—his "loyalty" that made Qin Ao feel secure and satisfied. This trust even subtly surpassed what he placed in the Ten Holy Sons, who had followed him far longer.
Ye Fan quickened his pace forward, stopping at a distance of five paces from Qin Ao. Without the slightest hesitation, he lifted the hem of his robes, dropped to both knees with the utmost respect, and bowed until his forehead touched the ground.
"This subject Ye Fan pays respects to His Imperial Majesty!"
This single utterance of "Imperial Father," this one full kowtow, pleased Qin Ao to his very core.
Those Ten Holy Sons, even now, did no more than bow slightly in his presence, and he could feel the reluctance in their gestures.
Qin Ao even had an intuitive sense that those haughty Upper Realm geniuses would eventually part ways with him.
But Ye Fan's deference made him feel that this "son" might be the one who would truly follow him to the end.
"Fan'er, rise."
Qin Ao stepped forward and personally helped Ye Fan to his feet, his tone carrying a rare warmth. "I've told you before—we are nominally sovereign and subject, but in truth, like father and son. There's no need for such formalities in private."
Ye Fan rose smoothly but maintained a slightly bowed posture, his demeanor humble and sincere: "Your Imperial Majesty is now the sovereign of an entire realm, commanding the eight directions, your might spanning the four seas."
"Propriety must not be neglected. This subject's reverence for Your Majesty cannot be expressed even ten-thousandth by mere ceremony."
These words were delivered flawlessly—upholding the propriety of a subject while fully expressing filial devotion, pleasing Qin Ao immensely and making his smile all the more genuine.
He patted Ye Fan's shoulder and pointed to the vast area marked as "Cloud Dream Great Marsh" on the southern portion of the map.
"Rise and speak."
"Fan'er, look at this southern land of pestilence... Xiao Chen and those other stray dogs are hiding there now."
"In your view, how should we deal with them?"
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