The two powerhouses from Jingyou Mountain and Cold Spring Palace waited outside Purple Moon Mountain for a full day and night without seeing Tian Qi. The hours stretched endlessly, marked only by the shifting of shadows and the growing weight of anticipation.
Instead of an audience with the True God himself, all the precious treasures they had brought—rare herbs aged millennia, celestial metals, spirit stones that pulsed with concentrated power—were collected one by one by Divine Lord Zi Han of Purple Moon Mountain.
The little dragon accepted each offering with barely concealed glee, his eyes glinting as bright as the treasures themselves.
Zi Han relayed Tian Qi's imperial decree with the solemnity of someone delivering scripture: "The True God is in seclusion for cultivation. Do not disturb Purple Moon Mountain without reason. For important matters in the Yao Realm, follow the previous orders of Yao Emperor Hong Yi."
This meant the position of Yao Emperor would still be decided through martial competition at Chongzi Palace ten years later. No divine intervention. No shortcuts to power.
Though Chang Mei and Zhen Yu privately wondered what a True God of Tian Qi's incomprehensible status could possibly gain from seclusion—what heights remained for one who'd already transcended everything—they both sighed in profound relief upon learning he wouldn't interfere with the Yao Emperor selection.
Politics they understood. Divine whims were another matter entirely.
Satisfied with this non-interference, they comfortably withdrew from Purple Moon Mountain, already calculating their next moves in the game for the throne.
In the main hall of Purple Moon Mountain stood a Soul Suppression Tower half a zhang tall, emerald flames blazing inside with hypnotic intensity. The fire cast dancing shadows across ancient stone, creating patterns that seemed almost alive.
Tian Qi stood beneath it, his violet robes catching the green light, cradling a tiny soul fragment in his palm. The wisp of Divine Sense pulsed faintly, barely visible, holding all that remained of someone he'd lost.
Zi Han, still in his young dragon form and clearly milking the sympathy, struggled into the hall carrying a massive log taller than himself. He panted heavily with the exaggerated diligence of a model worker seeking recognition, each step deliberate and loud.
Tian Qi glanced at him with those all-seeing violet eyes and snorted lightly.
The sound carried amused exasperation in equal measure.
Immediately, Zi Han's steps became lighter, the burden seemingly half its previous weight. Carrying the ten-thousand-year divine wood obtained from Shang Gu in the Divine Realm—wood so ancient it remembered the birth of mountains—he scurried over to Tian Qi on exaggerated tiptoe, presenting it high above his head with fawning enthusiasm.
"Divine Lord! I've brought the ten-thousand-year divine wood you requested!"
Without a word of praise, without even acknowledgment, Tian Qi casually accepted it with one hand.
The chubby little dragon's face fell, pouting dramatically. Then he sidled up to Tian Qi with ingratiating curiosity, unable to contain his questions.
"Divine Lord, are you planning to use this divine wood to forge a body for Divine Lord Yue Mi?"
Tian Qi gave him a sidelong glance, the look one gives someone who's missed the point entirely. "Her divine form deserves far more than mere divine wood."
Zi Han's large eyes widened in genuine shock, pupils dilating. Judging by the Divine Lord's words, did he intend to use his own divine power to forge Yue Mi's body? Creating another deity's form through personal divine power would likely consume half of even a True God's strength—a sacrifice almost incomprehensible in its magnitude.
Zi Han cautiously observed Tian Qi, reading the set of his jaw and the distant focus in his eyes, not daring to speak further.
"Then what is this divine wood for...?" The question emerged small, hesitant.
"When I forge Yue Mi's body, my divine essence will be completely sealed." Tian Qi's voice carried the matter-of-fact tone of someone discussing weather rather than cosmic sacrifice. "Until her form is complete, the soul flames in the Soul Suppression Tower must not extinguish. This divine wood will bear half of my divine power to protect Purple Moon Hall."
Hearing this—truly understanding the implications—Zi Han immediately looked aggrieved. His expression shifted through hurt, indignation, and wounded pride. He protested loudly, "With me guarding Purple Moon Hall, who would dare intrude and disrupt your forging of Divine Lord Yue Mi's body?"
Tian Qi glanced at him with calculated indifference. "As I recall, you make regular excursions through the Three Realms on the first and fifteenth of each month to gather... donations?"
The word "donations" carried unmistakable irony.
Dragons love gold and silver with an instinct deeper than hunger. As an ancient dragon, Zi Han grew physically restless if his hoard didn't increase every ten days or half-month. The need was almost biological.
Zi Han choked on his words, caught absolutely red-handed. He blinked with visible guilt and embarrassment, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
Then it occurred to him that having this divine wood infused with the Divine Lord's power might actually be useful—it could safeguard Purple Moon Mountain during his occasional... necessary... completely justified outings.
"Divine Lord, once you seal your divine sense, it will likely take several thousand years, won't it?" The question carried hope that this sacrifice might at least span reasonable time.
"Three years will suffice," Tian Qi said with devastating calm.
With a casual wave of his hand, the divine wood split into eight perfectly measured pieces, arranging themselves around the tower in a protective formation that hummed with geometric precision.
Three years!
Zi Han gasped audibly, the sound echoing through the hall. The little dragon dropped his obsequious act entirely, transforming in a flash into a young man who stepped between Tian Qi and the tower with alarm written across every feature.
"Divine Lord! You mustn't!"
Tian Qi's violet eyes flashed a warning that could have frozen fire.
The words died in Zi Han's throat under that gaze, shriveling before they could fully form. He shuffled aside with visible reluctance, shoulders slumping as he retreated behind Tian Qi, defeated but not silent in his disapproval.
Refining the body of a High God typically takes a thousand years of patient, careful work. But to accomplish it within three years—to compress millennia into mortal time—the one performing the refinement must personally enter the Soul Suppression Tower and sacrifice half of their Divine Power Origin within the Soul Suppression Flames.
This meant that the Divine Lord would not only have to offer half of his demonic divine power and Divine Power Origin for High God Yue Mi, but he would also have to remain inside the tower until Yue Mi emerged. Should the refinement fail—should something go wrong in that delicate process—the Divine Lord's Divine Sense would be trapped within the Soul Suppression Tower, enduring the torment of scorching flames for a thousand years.
A thousand years of conscious burning. A thousand years of agony with no escape.
Tian Qi raised his hand and sent a surge of Divine Power into the tower. The previously calm Soul Suppression Flames within the structure suddenly surged several meters high, roaring like a living thing, radiating thick Soul Power that pressed against the walls.
A violet demonic divine power emanated from his forehead, brilliant and terrible, flying toward the eight divine trees guarding the Soul Suppression Tower. Light wrapped around ancient wood, sealing protection into grain and knot.
Once everything was prepared—once the stage was set for this impossible gamble—he cradled Yue Mi's tranquil Divine Sense in his palm one final time and stepped toward the tower.
"Divine Lord!"
Just as Tian Qi was about to cross the threshold of the Soul Suppression Tower, just as his foot touched the edge between worlds, Zi Han couldn't hold back. The words burst from him like a dam breaking.
"Even if we wait another thousand years, High God Yue Mi will still be reborn. Why must you go this far?" Zi Han's voice was hoarse as he stared at Tian Qi's retreating figure, trying to understand the incomprehensible.
Having stood by Tian Qi's side for a hundred thousand years, weathering every storm and calamity together, witnessing the rise and fall of civilizations, he couldn't bear to see Tian Qi sacrifice half of his Divine Power and Origin for the sake of a mere thousand years.
True Gods had boundless lifespans, yes—but losing half of one's Divine Power Origin meant that if one couldn't restore their cultivation to its current Realm in the future, they would forfeit the privilege of living as long as the heavens themselves. Immortality became conditional. Eternal became finite.
Tian Qi paused in his steps, his silhouette outlined by green fire.
After a long moment—after weighing words he'd never speak again—he lowered his gaze to Yue Mi's Divine Sense resting in his palm. The fragment pulsed against his skin, warm despite its incorporeal nature.
"Ah Han, even that fool Yuan Qi knows that a thousand years is too long."
In a place where Zi Han couldn't see, where shadows hid his expression, Tian Qi's lips curled into a faint smile. It carried more sorrow than joy, more resignation than hope.
"Besides, those three carts of wine in my temple have been waiting to be opened for far too long."
With that final, quietly devastating statement, Tian Qi stepped into the Soul Suppression Tower. Green flames swallowed him whole, leaving behind only a solitary azure silhouette that faded like morning mist.
The doors sealed. The hall fell silent except for the roar of flames.
From that day onward, the Violet Moon Mountain returned to its usual tranquility, with only a little (old) fat (mouth) Dragon guarding the mountain gate, waiting for the three-year mark when the Soul Suppression Tower would open.
Waiting. Always waiting. Time stretched differently for immortals.
Three mortal years passed in what felt like a blink of an eye to those counting decades and centuries, yet stretched eternally for those counting days.
During this time, Bai Shuo had snuck out of the Grand General's mansion countless times, each escape more elaborate than the last. And countless times, she'd been dragged back by her Marshal father from some remote mountain corner where she'd been seeking immortal masters who didn't exist.
If not for the young master of the Left Minister's household accompanying her every time—if not for Chong Zhao's presence lending his family's reputation as shield—Bai Shuo's backside would have long been bruised beyond sitting.
The two elder Masters were endlessly frustrated by Bai Shuo and Chong Zhao's stubborn obsession with seeking immortality and cultivation. However, as both were the youngest in their families and still young themselves, their antics were dismissed as mere childish mischief, the fantasies of children who'd read too many stories. They earned only reprimands, not true punishment.
Only Bai Xi watched her younger sister with deep, unspoken worry darkening her eyes. She saw something the elders missed—not fantasy, but conviction. Not play, but purpose.
Days passed in this cycle of mischief and reprimands, escape and return, like waves against shore.
In two more days, it would mark the three-year anniversary of Tian Qi's entry into the Soul Suppression Tower.
Zi Han carefully inspected the eight divine trees with methodical attention, running his claws over bark and checking the flow of power. He confirmed that their demonic divine power was abundant and fully capable of protecting the tower in his absence.
Satisfied with his inspection, he descended the mountain to "borrow" supplies—this time from the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea in the Immortal Realm. Being of the same clan and a distant junior, the Dragon King's legendary hoard of treasures ensured Zi Han wouldn't return empty-handed.
The journey from Violet Moon Mountain to the Eastern Sea took no more than a day and a half, so he would return just in time for Tian Qi's emergence from the tower.
Perfect timing. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
With Zi Han gone, the divine trees stood silently guarding the Soul Suppression Tower, maintaining peace through ambient power and ancient protection.
Yet, outside the tranquil Violet Moon Mountain—outside the carefully maintained bubble of peace—chaos erupted.
A white figure streaked across the sky atop a celestial Sword, moving with desperate speed. The figure wove between clouds, trying to lose pursuit.
Followed closely by a massive serrated Sword that suddenly transformed mid-flight into a net, aiming to ensnare the white figure as it neared the mountain's barrier. The net expanded like a living thing, threads of power weaving tighter.
At the very moment the immortal net enveloped the white figure—at the instant before capture—a surge of red demonic Qi descended from the sky like divine retribution and struck the net with explosive force.
The net, heavily impacted and trembling from the blow, transformed back into an immortal Sword and plummeted downward, spinning end over end.
A golden figure appeared mid-air with dramatic timing, catching the falling giant-toothed immortal Sword with practiced ease. This Immortal Lord wore a crown of purple myrtle and stood upon seven-colored auspicious clouds that swirled beneath his feet—none other than Immortal Lord Jin Yao.
Now, he should be addressed as Divine Lord Jin Yao. Titles mattered. Power shifted.
Jin Yao had once been the foremost among the upper immortals of the Immortal Realm during the era of Mu Guang, his name spoken with reverence. After Feng Ran ascended to the throne as the Heavenly Emperor, Jin Yao secluded himself in the Immortal Realm to focus entirely on cultivation, disappearing from politics.
Centuries ago, when Feng Ran achieved Ascension and transcended even godhood, Jin Yao coincidentally succeeded in his Tribulation Transcendence, transforming into a demigod through his own merit. Feng Ran specially summoned him to govern the Immortal Realm in her stead, trusting few others with such responsibility.
Under his rule over the past century, the Immortal Realm had flourished—stable, prosperous, carefully managed.
Now, his usually gentle eyes burned with fury that transformed his features. He glared at the red and white figures not far away, his brows knitted with parental authority and divine wrath combined.
"Fu Ling, come here! Return with me to the Immortal Realm!" Divine Lord Jin Yao's voice boomed across the sky.
His gaze swept coldly over the red-clad figure—dismissive, threatening—before softening slightly as it settled on the white-robed lady. Father looking at daughter. God looking at mortal concern.
The white-robed lady shook her head with quiet finality. A quiver of demonic Qi-laden spirit arrows was strapped to her back, and her delicate face showed no hesitation, no wavering. "Father, my mind is made up. I will follow Divine Lord Zhen Yu to the Cold Spring Palace."
Beside her, the red-clad figure cut an impressive silhouette—sharp brows and cold demeanor, yet his youthful appearance belied his age and power. He shrugged with infuriating casualness, raising an eyebrow at Divine Lord Jin Yao with a smug expression that radiated satisfaction.
Who would have thought the mysterious and formidable master of the Cold Spring Palace in the Yao Realm would turn out to be this carefree red-clad youth? Appearances deceived. Power wore many masks.
"Outrageous!" Divine Lord Jin Yao roared, the sound shaking clouds. "You are of the immortal race, my daughter! What business do you have in the Yao Realm?"
"The immortal race?"
Fu Ling's lips curled into a self-deprecating smile that held decades of accumulated bitterness. "The daughter of a mighty demigod, yet after five thousand years of cultivation, I remain nothing but a lower immortal."
She paused, letting that sink in—the impossibility of it, the humiliation. "Father, apart from you, who doesn't mock me behind my back as a half-immortal, half-demon freak?"
Divine Lord Jin Yao stiffened as if struck. His grip on the giant Sword trembled, knuckles whitening.
The red-clad youth remained amused throughout this family drama, arms crossed with casual arrogance, clicking his tongue in appreciation of the spectacle.
He had long heard that the ruler of the Heavenly Palace, Divine Lord Jin Yao, had a daughter—one not born to his deceased immortal consort, but rumored to be the child of a Yao Race woman. Scandalous. Impossible. True.
Recently, this daughter had come to him alone, appearing at Cold Spring Palace with nothing but determination and a bag of belongings. Zhen Yu discovered that the girl possessed immense demonic Qi, forcibly suppressed by a layer of immortal power like chains wrapped around her true nature. This explained why she remained a lower immortal after five millennia when she should have transcended ages ago.
The Cold Spring Palace welcomed all Yao Lords of strength regardless of origin, and Fu Ling, despite her unusual heritage, held boundless potential waiting to be unleashed. Moreover, taking her in would be a blatant slap to the face of the immortal race and Jin Yao himself—an opportunity Zhen Yu would never pass up.
Politics and power. Always politics and power.
After a long silence—after watching his daughter's defiant stance and reading the finality in her eyes—Divine Lord Jin Yao looked at Fu Ling with something approaching desperation.
"Fu Ling, stay with me in the Heavenly Palace. From now on, I will personally guide your cultivation every day—"
"No need!"
Fu Ling's voice cracked like a whip, cutting him off mid-promise. "What would I do in the Heavenly Palace? Spend my days addressing my mother's murderer as uncle?"
Her eyes blazed with hatred so pure it seemed to burn the air.
Fu Ling's mother was the Blood Mist Demonic Flower, also known as Lady Zhao Hui. A legend in her own right among the Yao clans.
Millennia ago, Divine Lord Jin Yao descended to the mortal world to undergo tribulation—a necessary trial for ascending immortals. He was instantly smitten by Lady Zhao Hui upon their first meeting, struck by beauty and spirit in equal measure.
Unaware of Jin Yao's true identity due to her weak demonic Qi—unable to sense the divine power he'd carefully suppressed—she fell in love with him as simply a man. She bore Fu Ling during their years together, a child of two worlds.
Only after Jin Yao returned to the Heavenly Palace upon completing his tribulation did he recall the mortal affair with the clarity of restored memory. He realized with dawning horror that he had not only loved a Yao Race woman but also fathered a child—complications that threatened everything.
At that time, Divine Lord Jin Yao's immortal consort had already passed away, so there were no moral constraints of infidelity. However, the Immortal and Yao Races had long been hostile toward each other, their enmity written in blood across centuries. Entire wars had been fought. Entire clans destroyed.
Despite immense pressure from the celestial court—despite threats and ultimatums—Divine Lord Jin Yao reported the mortal affairs to Heavenly Emperor Mu Guang with rare honesty. He was willing to relinquish his high position in the celestial court, sacrifice status and power, just to bring back Zhao Hui and their daughter.
But Lady Zhao Hui was a proud and fierce member of the Yao Race, her spine made of steel. With her entire clan slaughtered by Immortals in past conflicts, she adamantly refused to return to the Immortal Realm with Jin Yao. She even barred him from seeing their daughter again, wanting no connection to the realm that had destroyed her people.
Left with no choice—torn between duty and love—Divine Lord Jin Yao returned to the celestial court in despair.
Over a decade later, the Immortal and Yao Races clashed at their border in a conflict that had been brewing for years. The battle resulted in countless casualties on both sides, blood soaking the boundary lands.
And Lady Zhao Hui perished in the chaos, slain by the Immortals of the celestial court.
After her death—after receiving news that shattered something fundamental in him—Jin Yao ventured into the Yao Realm, seeking their youngest daughter among the Blood Mist Blossom clan. By then, Fu Ling was old enough to remember, old enough to understand loss.
Upon hearing of her mother's death from the clan members, hearing the details of how she'd died and who had killed her, Fu Ling fainted from the shock and grief.
Only to be found by Jin Yao, who took her back to the Immortal Realm despite her clan's protests.
From that moment, Fu Ling became the daughter of Immortal Lord Jin Yao. A title. A cage. A compromise.
Many Immortals were aware of this history, though it was rarely spoken of openly. But given Jin Yao's revered status and immense authority—and Fu Ling's weak spiritual power and young age—they turned a blind eye, allowing her to live in the celestial court as a curiosity, a scandal contained.
Years ago, Fu Ling followed Jin Yao into seclusion when he'd retreated to cultivate. It wasn't until eight hundred years later, when Jin Yao returned to the celestial court with new power and status, that she reappeared before the Immortals.
The battle back then had been fought by Divine Lords Yu Feng, Yan Huo, and others against Lady Zhao Hui. These high-ranking lords, learning later that they'd killed Jin Yao's lover and Fu Ling's mother, felt deeply remorseful. As a result, they treated Fu Ling with exceptional kindness, overcompensating for past violence.
Which only fueled the envy and resentment of the younger generation of Immortals who saw preferential treatment without understanding context.
With her feeble spiritual power by immortal standards and her half-Yao heritage that marked her as different, Fu Ling endured countless hidden humiliations over the years. Whispers in hallways. Laughter behind hands. The casual cruelty of those who considered themselves superior.
Divine Lord Jin Yao, preoccupied with governing his vast realm and maintaining political balance, neglected his youngest daughter. By the time he noticed—by the time he truly looked at her—Fu Ling had grown up bitter and alone.
She could bear it no longer. She left the celestial court and defected to the Cold Spring Palace in the Yao Realm, choosing her mother's people over her father's.
"Do you even know why I left the celestial court?"
Fu Ling's voice was icy as Jin Yao remained silent, unable to answer. "I've always been a half-Immortal, half-Yao freak. Their mockery and insults mean nothing to me. You know exactly what I care about!"
She stepped forward, closing distance, her voice rising with each word. "You want me to return? Fine—I'll agree, but only if you execute Divine Lords Yu Feng, Yan Huo, and the other two to avenge my mother!"
Jin Yao's voice was heavy with sorrow that aged him centuries. "Fu Ling, the conflict between the Immortal and Yao Races thousands of years ago was inevitable. Many lives were lost on both sides. I cannot hold Lords Yu Feng and the others accountable for the consequences of a war between two races."
"Hypocrite! Coward!"
She spat the words like poison. "Back then, you were just a high lord—powerless to avenge Mother. I endured humiliation all these years in the Immortal Realm for one reason: to seek justice for her!"
Her hands clenched into fists, demonic Qi beginning to leak through her control. "Now you're a demigod, wielding life-and-death authority over the celestial court, yet you let her killers roam free, honored and respected. I refuse to acknowledge you as my father!"
She drew herself up to full height, voice dropping to something deadly quiet. "If you won't kill them, I'll rip out my immortal bones, shatter my core, and become nothing but a pure-blooded Blossom Yao!"
The threat hung in the air between them—daughter and father, immortal and demigod, love and hatred intertwined beyond separation.
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