The transition through the spatial rift was not the graceful flight of an immortal; it was a violent, bone-grinding journey through a tunnel of crushing pressure. When the light of the teleportation talisman finally shattered, Long Xiaoyan was unceremoniously spat out into a world that felt like a furnace.
He hit the ground hard. His lungs, already scorched by the internal fires of his forced evolution, inhaled a mouthful of hot, gritty dust.
Xiaoyan lay there for a long time, his cheek pressed against the burning earth. His mind was a chaotic blur of images: the purple lightning of Long Haoran, the blood on his father's throne, and the final, desperate tear in Zhao Hanyue's eyes. Every muscle in his body felt as if it had been shredded and stitched back together with jagged wire.
He tried to push himself up, but his arms buckled.
"I'm alive," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. "I'm... alive."
A cold, mechanical resonance vibrated in the back of his skull, reminding him that his survival wasn't a miracle—it was a calculation.
[...Host Stability: 12%...]
[...Spiritual Codex Depleted. Body Tempering Required...]
[...Current Location: Nansha Empire, Beisha City Outskirts...]
Xiaoyan forced his eyes open. Above him was not the majestic, cloud-piercing architecture of Longwei City, but a vast, pitiless expanse of yellow sky. The air shimmered with heat haze. He was surrounded by rolling dunes of orange sand and jagged, wind-scoured rocks.
This was the Nansha Empire. The "Southern Sands."
To the rest of the Cangyuan Continent, this place was a graveyard—the weakest of the four empires, a land where the spiritual energy was thin and the people were desperate. To his enemies in the East, Xiaoyan was now a ghost. To the world, he was a fallen prince with a broken foundation.
But as he looked down at his hand, he saw the dull black Sovereign Ring. It no longer pulsed with gold; it looked like a piece of common charcoal. Yet, Xiaoyan could feel it. Inside his dantian, his Inner Root—once a withered, brown thing—was now glowing with a faint, translucent silver light.
It had evolved. He had felt it happen. The impossible had become his reality.
"If I can evolve once," Xiaoyan hissed, his fingers digging into the hot sand, "I can evolve a thousand times. Haoran... Uncle... wait for me."
With a roar of pure will, he forced himself to his feet. He staggered toward a distant line of low, mud-brick buildings shimmering on the horizon. That had to be Beisha City, the northernmost outpost of the Nansha Empire.
Walking through the desert was a test of his new Divine-grade Root. Even though his spiritual energy was depleted, his senses were sharper. He could feel the faint vibrations of the earth and the heat of the sun as a form of external pressure.
As he approached the outskirts of the city, he saw a group of men gathered around a small oasis. They were dressed in rough leathers, carrying rusted spears and heavy nets.
"Look at this one," a man with a jagged scar across his nose laughed, pointing a spear at Xiaoyan. "A city boy? Look at those robes. Silk, even if it is burnt to hell."
Xiaoyan stopped. He looked at his reflection in a small pool of water near the oasis. His face was covered in soot and dried blood, his imperial blue robes were tatters, and he looked like a beggar. But his eyes—they were cold and deep, like a dark well.
"Hey, I'm talking to you, brat!" the scarred man stepped forward. "This is the territory of the Ironleaf Clan's local branch. You want to pass? Give us that ring on your finger."
Xiaoyan looked down at the Sovereign Ring. His heart skipped a beat, but his face remained like stone. "This ring is worth more than your life. Step aside."
The men erupted in laughter. "A Mortal Realm trash talking about worth? Kill him and take it!"
The scarred man lunged, his spear whistling through the air. In the past, Xiaoyan would have been too slow to react. But as the spear approached, his mind felt strangely calm.
[...Sensing Hostile Intent...]
[...Activating Spirit Perception (Mortal Stage 1)...]
The world slowed down. Xiaoyan could see the flaws in the man's stance—the way his weight shifted too far forward, the lack of spiritual stability in his thrust.
Xiaoyan didn't draw a weapon. He didn't have one. Instead, he pivoted on his left foot, letting the spear point graze his ribs, and drove his palm into the man's chest.
THUD.
A small burst of golden energy—the last remnants of his evolution—flashed at the point of impact. The scarred man flew backward five meters, his chest caving in as he hit a rock with a sickening crunch. He didn't get up.
The other men froze. Their laughter died instantly.
"He... he's a cultivator!" one of them yelled, dropping his net. "Run! He's a hidden master!"
They scrambled away into the dunes, leaving their fallen leader behind. Xiaoyan didn't chase them. He didn't have the strength. He collapsed to one knee, his chest heaving. The small move had exhausted him completely.
"You shouldn't have done that," a soft, melodious voice said from behind a nearby rock.
Xiaoyan spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for a non-existent sword.
A young girl stepped out. She looked to be about sixteen, with sun-kissed skin and bright, intelligent eyes. She was dressed in the simple white and gold robes of a traveling merchant, but there was a grace to her movements that didn't match a commoner.
"The Ironleaf Clan is petty," she continued, tossing a small waterskin toward him. "They'll be back with an Elder. And you... you look like you're about to die."
Xiaoyan caught the waterskin and drank greedily. "Who are you?"
"My name is Mo Jinyao," she said, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "And I think you're a long way from home, 'Prince'."
Xiaoyan stiffened. "How did you—"
"I have a talent for spotting gold in the dirt," she interrupted, walking closer. She looked at his black ring, then back at his eyes. "You don't belong in the Nansha Empire. But if you want to stay alive, you're going to need a place to hide. My father is the City Lord of Shanan City. We're heading there now."
Xiaoyan hesitated. He knew nothing of this girl, but the Sovereign Ring gave a faint, warm pulse—a sign of resonance, not danger.
"Why help me?" Xiaoyan asked.
"Because the Cangyuan Continent is changing," Mo Jinyao replied, her gaze turning toward the East, where the purple lightning still flickered in the distant clouds. "The balance is breaking, and I have a feeling that you're the one holding the hammer."
Xiaoyan looked at her for a long moment, then slowly stood up. The pain was still there, but for the first time since the coup, he felt a spark of hope.
"Fine," Xiaoyan said. "Lead the way."
As they began to walk toward the gates of Beisha City, the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the sand. Long Xiaoyan, the fallen prince of the East, was gone.
The Balance Breaker had arrived in the South.