Meanwhile, within the austere halls of the Southern Sword Sect, a different kind of ceremony was underway.
Yan Xuan was on his knees, not in prayer, but in chains. He was the centerpiece of the grand interrogation hall, his body a canvas of fresh wounds and drying blood, his cultivator's robes shredded to rags. Two hulking Core Disciples flanked him, their hands like vices on his shoulders, ensuring he remained immobile on the cold stone floor.
Before him, on a raised dais, sat the Sect Leader of the Southern Sword Sect. The man's aura was a physical weight, a crushing pressure that sought to grind Yan Xuan's very consciousness into dust. From beneath heavy brows, his gaze was as sharp and cold as the swords his sect was named for.
"Ten inner disciples," the Sect Leader's voice was a low growl, each word dripping with venom. "And two of my own Core Disciples. You have been busy." His eyes narrowed, a murderous light glinting within them. Then, a sudden, predatory calm settled over his features. "The power you used... a devouring art. The Taboo Devouring Divine Demon Technique, is it not?"
The full name of the technique struck Yan Xuan like a physical blow. A cold sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his spine. In the Lower Realm, whispers of such a forbidden art existed—a nameless, shadowy myth. For this man to know its true name was impossible.
Qingying was certain, Yan Xuan's mind raced, a frantic edge of panic cutting through the pain. She said no one in this realm could possibly know the full designation. Especially not without witnessing it firsthand...
The Sect Leader leaned forward, a flicker of hungry interest in his eyes. "You have slaughtered members of my sect, a crime punishable by a thousand deaths. However, I am a magnanimous man. Cripple your own cultivation, tell me how a stray dog like you came upon such a divine art, and I will grant you a quick end."
The pressure in the room intensified. Yan Xuan could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, each beat a desperate drum threatening to burst. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
The Sect Leader's patience began to fray, the calm mask cracking. "Are you going to cooperate, or must we explore a more... persuasive path?"
Yan Xuan took a ragged breath, the air burning his lungs. He slowly, deliberately, raised a trembling, blood-caked hand.
Ah, submission, the Sect Leader thought, a smug smile touching his lips. It is the natural order. The weak always yield to the strong. In this world, what man does not value his own life above all else?
His smugness evaporated in a flash of pure, unadulterated rage.
Yan Xuan's hand was raised, his middle finger extended in a gesture of ultimate, suicidal defiance.
The two Core Disciples stared, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief. Is he insane? Does he no longer wish to live?
The Sect Leader's face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. "Take this devil to the Black Pit!" he roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Torture him until his throat is too raw to scream, but not so much that he can't speak. I want to know everything."
Back in the DarkYin Sect, the letter from Yan Xuan lay in pieces on the floor. An arctic cold radiated from Yan Qingying, a murderous intent so potent that the very air in her chambers seemed to crystallize. Outside, the junior disciple who had delivered the message froze, her hand still near the door. She felt a terror so profound it rooted her to the spot, as if a primordial demon had just awakened behind the wood.
Instead of fleeing, she watched, mesmerized by fear, as the door slid open with a silent, eerie grace. Yan Qingying emerged, her movements as elegant as ever, but her aura was a swirling vortex of demonic rage and killing intent.
"S-Senior Yan," the disciple stammered, "Where are you going?"
"To see the Empress."
The words were a cold whisper on the air, and in the next instant, Yan Qingying was gone, leaving only a faint shimmer where she had stood.
Inside the Empress's Palace, the discussion of the impending arrival of the "Young Master" was in full swing. Elders debated the proper etiquette, the finest delicacies, the most enchanting music to welcome their honored guest. The entire upper echelon of the sect was present.
The grand doors to the hall were thrown open with a blast of spiritual energy.
Yan Qingying strode inside, her eyes blazing. Before she could speak, her gaze swept across the room, locking onto the twelve elders, the Empress on her throne, and then… she saw her. Seated in a place of honor even above the Empress was the DarkYin Ancestor, a living legend whose statue stood as the centerpiece of their entire sect.
The rage in Yan Qingying's heart was instantly doused by a wave of cold pragmatism. She fell to her knees, her head bowed low. "This disciple greets the Ancestor."
The Ancestor's ancient eyes appraised her, a knowing smile on her lips. "Rise, child. You are even more beautiful than the rumors say. Yan Qingying, the inheritor of the Taboo Devouring Divine Demon Technique."
The casual mention of her secret sent a jolt through Yan Qingying, but she kept her composure, pushing thoughts of her brother to the back of her mind. This was not the time. One wrong move and she wouldn't just fail to save Yan Xuan, she would doom them both.
"The Ancestor is correct. This disciple is indeed the current inheritor."
"Excellent," the Ancestor declared, her smile widening. "You will be a fine offering. When the Young Master arrives, you shall be assigned as his personal handmaiden."
Yan Qingying's head snapped up, confusion warring with her disciplined expression. Young Master? Who could possibly command such reverence from the DarkYin Ancestor herself? The Ancestor was a supreme legend, her cultivation rumored to have long surpassed the limits of the Lower Realm. Many believed she was an ascendant being from the Upper Realms.
"Understand this, all of you," the Ancestor's voice cut through the hall, sharp and absolute. "Our DarkYin Sect, and I myself, are but slaves to the Primordial Monarch Luo Clan. I am a tool. This sect I built is merely one of their countless assets."
The revelation landed like a thunderclap. Even the Empress and the elders, who knew of their connection, were stunned into silence. They had always assumed the Ancestor was a figure of some note within the Luo Clan. To hear she was no more than a slave completely shattered their understanding of the cosmic power structure.
"The Young Master is gracing us with his presence," the Ancestor finished, her eyes sweeping over them all with a grave warning. "We will demonstrate our unwavering loyalty."
In that moment, any hope Yan Qingying had of petitioning the sect for help died. They would never risk offending their masters for the sake of her brother. Her only hope now lay with this mysterious figure from the Upper Realms. An order from him would be a divine decree that even the Southern Sword Sect would have to obey... lest they fancy being erased from existence.
In the deepest, foulest dungeon of the Southern Sword Sect, the air was thick with the stench of blood and despair. Yan Xuan was a broken thing, chained to a wall. His face was a ruin; his eyes had been forcibly torn from their sockets, leaving two gaping, bloody pits. The corners of his mouth had been sliced open to his ears, a permanent, grotesque grin carved into his flesh.
The instruments of his torture lay discarded on a nearby table, each one stained crimson. Yet, through it all, not a single word of information had passed his lips. Only screams and guttural sounds of agony.
The Sect Leader stood before him, his patience worn to a thread. "Have you had enough? Will you speak, or will you die?"
Through the haze of pain, Yan Xuan recognized the voice. A burning, all-consuming hatred gave him a final burst of strength. He would never betray his sister.
A weak, gurgling sound escaped his ruined mouth. "I'll... speak..." he rasped. "Come... closer..."
The Sect Leader stepped forward, leaning in with a triumphant sneer. With his last ounce of will, Yan Xuan gathered the blood and saliva in his mouth and spat.
The disgusting mixture hit the Sect Leader square in the face.
The silence that followed was terrifying.
WHAM!
A fist wreathed in violent Qi slammed into Yan Xuan's abdomen, rupturing what was left of his internal organs. He vomited a torrent of blood.
"I offered you mercy," the Sect Leader seethed, wiping the spittle from his cheek. "You chose this. Don't blame me for what comes next."
He placed a palm on Yan Xuan's forehead. A delicate but incomparably violent stream of Qi shot from his hand directly into Yan Xuan's brain.
"AHHHHHHH! AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!" A shriek louder and more primal than any before tore through the dungeon, the sound of a soul being ripped apart.
The Sect Leader smiled faintly. "This is a Soul-Searching Art. It will extract every memory you possess. I avoided it because the process is fatal. But since you refuse to be reasonable, this is the only path left."
Just as the technique began to tear through Yan Xuan's mind, a subtle shift occurred in the Empress's Palace miles away.
The air before the throne shimmered and tore open, revealing a perfect, swirling vortex of black energy. From it, Luo Fan stepped out, the portal sealing silently behind him.
In an instant, the DarkYin Ancestor, the Empress, the elders, and Yan Qingying all fell to their knees, their heads pressed to the floor.
Luo Fan smiled gently and lifted a hand. A soft, irresistible power washed over them, lifting them to their feet as if they were weightless dolls. He moved with an unhurried grace, settling onto the Empress's throne as if it were made for him alone. His crimson eyes swept over the awestruck assembly.
"My name is Luo Fan," he said, his voice smooth and captivating. "I believe some of you were expecting me."
As they looked upon him, their minds went blank. His appearance was not just handsome; it was an absolute, an irresistible force of perfection that shattered their perceptions of reality. How could such a flawless male being exist?
Even Yan Qingying, whose heart had been tempered to ice by her demonic technique, felt a blush creep up her neck, her pulse stuttering in her chest.
"I have come to this realm for both pleasure and business," Luo Fan continued, his gaze lingering on the room's decor. "And I must say, the DarkYin Sect is quite pleasing to the eye." His gaze then shifted, locking directly onto Yan Qingying. "You have even cultivated an inheritor of the Devouring Divine Demon Technique. Quite impressive."
Yan Qingying froze. It was impossible. Her inheritance was a secret locked within her very soul, undetectable unless someone forcibly scoured her spirit. Yet this man knew it with a single, casual glance. The sheer power and insight that implied was more terrifying than any display of brute force.
Luo Fan's perfect lips curved into a devastatingly beautiful smile as he looked directly at her. "Tell me your name."
"My... name is Yan Qingying... Young Master," she replied, her voice, usually so steady and confident, emerging as a soft, hesitant whisper.