In the grand hall of Piaomiao Island, Chong Zhao stood draped in his disciple's blue robes, three flowing clouds adorning his waist—the unmistakable mark of the island's head disciple. Beside him, Er Yun cut a striking figure in white, her bearing proud and elegant, though she bore only two clouds at her waist.
Sect Leader Song Feng descended the steps with barely contained excitement, his white beard flowing over his Daoist robes, his weathered face alight with paternal warmth. Years of gentle leadership had softened his features, making him appear every bit the benevolent elder he was known to be.
"To think that in just half a year, Zhao'er has already ascended to the rank of Immortal Lord! Splendid!" Song Feng's voice trembled with emotion as he approached. "If your father knew how hard you've worked, his immortal soul would surely rest in peace."
The words pierced through Chong Zhao's composed exterior. Er Yun's eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"Chong Zhao owes all his achievements today to the unwavering support of my Master and Junior Martial Uncle, the Sect Leader." He dropped to his knees with solemn grace. "The kindness Piaomiao has shown me will forever be engraved in my heart!"
"Zhao'er! What are you doing? Rise quickly!" Song Feng pulled him up, pride and affection warring on his face. "Zhao'er, you are the first among Piaomiao's younger generation in a century to ascend to Immortal Lord. This year, our sect finally qualifies to participate in the 'Wutong Martial Banquet' held by the Phoenix and Demon Races on Wutong Phoenix Island." His excitement was palpable. "I will immediately report this to the Heavenly Palace and request our sect's eligibility to enter Phoenix Island."
"Uncle, what is the 'Wutong Martial Banquet'? I've never heard of it before," Er Yun asked, curiosity bright in her eyes.
Song Feng's expression grew distant, tinged with melancholy. "Our sect has declined, and we haven't had a disciple ascend to Immortal Lord in many years. It's no surprise you haven't heard of it. This matter traces back to the great battle between the Immortal and Demon Races two hundred years ago. Back then, Divine Lord Yuan Qi sacrificed himself to suppress the Demon Race, sealing them once more in the Nine Nether Purgatory. Since then, the Immortal and Demon Races have temporarily ceased their conflicts. Our Phoenix Queen Feng Ran ascended to the Divine Realm, leaving the Immortal Race under the governance of Immortal Lord Jin Yao. The Phoenix Emperor and the then-Demon Emperor Hong Yi were close friends since their humble beginnings. Fearing that the hard-won peace between the two races might not endure after their ascensions, they established the 'Wutong Martial Banquet,' held once every ten years."
He turned to Chong Zhao, his hand resting heavily on the young man's shoulder. "Every decade, the two races hold a spiritual power competition on Wutong Phoenix Island. All young members of both races who have attained the ranks of Immortal Lord or Demon Lord may participate. The victorious race gains control over the sacred lands at the border between the two races for the next ten years, preventing further conflicts and bloodshed. If the Immortal Race wins, the top disciple not only receives a Wutong Sword personally forged by the Phoenix Emperor but also gains the opportunity to study under one of the four High Lords in the Heavenly Palace, becoming a disciple of the Immortal Lords."
His grip tightened with fervent hope. "The 'Wutong Martial Banquet' is a grand event for both races... Our sect hasn't had the chance to participate for a hundred years. Zhao'er, if you can claim victory and bring glory to our race, Piaomiao will surely regain its place among the 'Three Mountains and Six Prefectures' of the Immortal Race!"
"Junior Martial Uncle, rest assured. Chong Zhao will train diligently and strive to bring honor to our sect at the 'Wutong Martial Banquet!'" The vow fell from his lips like an oath carved in stone.
"Excellent!" Song Feng's satisfaction radiated through the hall. With a dismissive wave, he added, "You've just returned from slaying the octopus demon and must be exhausted. Go and rest now."
"Yes."
Chong Zhao bowed once more, then turned on his heel. Er Yun hurried after him, but Song Feng's voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Er Yun, stay here."
She froze, watching helplessly as Chong Zhao's figure disappeared through the archway. Turning back with a pout, she protested, "Uncle, Junior Brother has just been promoted to Immortal Lord. I wanted to properly celebrate for him. What's so urgent that you had to call me away?"
Song Feng's expression hardened into something more paternal than authoritative. "Er Yun, Zhao'er is the hope of our Misty Isle. I promised your father I would nurture him well to bring glory to our sect. Don't let personal feelings interfere with his cultivation."
"Uncle, what nonsense are you saying!" Crimson flooded her cheeks. "What personal feelings could I possibly have with Junior Brother? He's only been in the Immortal Realm for a short time. I merely accompany him in everything out of camaraderie between fellow disciples."
"If there's nothing, then good." His features softened marginally. "That Outer Sect Disciple from the herb garden—she was Zhao'er's acquaintance from the mortal world. All these years she's been dutiful, tending the garden conscientiously without overstepping her bounds. For Zhao'er's sake, don't make things difficult for her anymore."
"I never—" Er Yun stiffened, but Song Feng waved her off before she could finish. "If not, then good. You may go now."
"Yes, Uncle." Still pouting, her thoughts already racing ahead to Chong Zhao, she rushed from the hall.
"Junior Brother! A-Zhao!"
She caught up to him at the entrance, only to find a cluster of female disciples already surrounding him, their faces bright with admiration and excitement.
"What are you all crowding around A-Zhao for?" Er Yun's frown was immediate.
The disciples—Er Li, Er Lan, and others—quickly parted at her approach. Er Li stepped forward eagerly. "Senior Sister, we heard that A-Zhao and you defeated that octopus demon, and now he's been promoted to Immortal Lord. We were thinking of holding a celebration banquet tonight for both of you, so we gathered here with the other disciples."
"That's right, Senior Sister! You and Senior Brother have worked hard, and now he's become an Immortal Lord—this is a joyous occasion! We must celebrate properly!" The chorus of voices rang out enthusiastically.
A pleased smile curved Er Yun's lips at how naturally they paired her with Chong Zhao. "You're all quite thoughtful. Very well, since that's the case, A-Zhao, how about tonight we—"
"Senior Sister." Chong Zhao's voice was gentle but firm, resignation flickering across his features. "Junior Martial Uncle the Sect Leader just instructed me to focus on cultivation and prepare for the 'Phoenix Martial Banquet.' Perhaps we should forgo the celebration feast."
"But all your fellow disciples..." Er Yun hesitated, glancing at the eager faces before catching sight of Chong Zhao's furrowed brow. She knew that look—his preference for solitude. Clearing her throat decisively, she announced, "The Sect Leader just gave orders—Junior Brother must enter seclusion for cultivation. No one is to disturb him. A-Zhao will soon depart for Phoenix Isle to attend the 'Phoenix Martial Banquet.' Once he wins first place, we'll celebrate properly then!"
Chong Zhao paused. Though he disliked ostentation, he merely thanked Er Yun before turning away.
The disciples took no offense at his aloofness—they'd long grown accustomed to it. Instead, they swarmed around Er Yun, eager questions bubbling forth. "What's the 'Phoenix Martial Banquet'?"
Trapped in their midst, Er Yun could only watch helplessly as Chong Zhao's solitary figure retreated into the distance.
Once beyond the hall, Chong Zhao transformed into a streak of azure light, cutting southward across the island. When he materialized outside the herb garden, he found Bai Shuo huffing with effort as she carried a wooden bucket, diligently watering the plants.
Her herbalist's robes were simple and worn, her small bun slightly askew, a light sheen of perspiration gleaming on her forehead. She brushed away stray wisps of hair with the back of her hand while watering the herbs, smiling with unguarded joy at the greenery before her.
"I take care of you diligently every day, so you must grow well for me. It'd be best if you could produce a few first-grade Immortal Plants, understand?"
She crouched among the medicinal herbs, the bamboo flute at her chest swaying with her movements as she poked one plant and tugged another, her muttered encouragements fond and earnest.
Chong Zhao's gaze caught on the bamboo flute, and a rare, genuine smile ghosted across his lips. He lifted his foot to step into the garden—then froze, remembering. The smile faded.
Not yet. He had waited this long—what difference would a little more time make? Once he completed what he must do tonight, there would be no more obstacles. He could openly remain by A-Shuo's side and never abandon her again.
"A-Shuo, wait for me to return."
The whispered promise hung in the air as he reluctantly tore his gaze away, transforming once more into light and departing from Misty Isle.
Inside the garden, Bai Shuo suddenly straightened, her head whipping around toward where he had stood. But there was nothing—only empty air and fading afternoon light.
Disappointment squeezed her heart. She stroked the herbs absently. "No rush, no rush. Once he finishes meeting with the Sect Leader, he'll come to see me, right?"
Her gaze drifted toward the main hall, fingers brushing the bamboo flute at her chest, her heart swelling with quiet anticipation.
The full moon hung like a jade disk in the midnight sky, its pale light casting silver over the mortal realm's imperial city, now hushed and sleeping.
Chong Zhao hovered outside the palace walls, his expression dark and heavy, fixed upon a brightly lit section within. His eyes burned with a hatred so cold and deep it seemed carved from winter itself.
Now that he had ascended to immortality, what did he have to fear from a mere mortal emperor?
After a long, tense moment, he moved. A celestial sword materialized in his palm as he shot straight toward the palace's heart. The instant he approached, blinding immortal light erupted above the entire complex, weaving itself into a massive coiling dragon formation that sealed the imperial grounds in impenetrable protection. The phantom dragon at its center unleashed a thunderous roar, warning him back.
Chong Zhao's expression shifted, but he did not retreat. Immortal power surged from his hands in relentless waves. Seeing his defiance, the coiled dragon could restrain itself no longer. Its massive form leaped from the formation with an earth-shaking roar, charging straight for him.
The dragon's tail lashed out with devastating force, shattering the celestial sword like glass before slamming into Chong Zhao's chest. Blood sprayed from his lips. The dragon's maw gaped wide to devour him—
A fiery arrow of demonic energy shot from the darkness, forcing the beast back. A figure flashed past, catching Chong Zhao's falling body before vanishing beneath the moonlight like smoke.
The dragon roared its fury at the heavens. From the celestial palace above, several beams of immortal light descended, streaking toward the mortal realm.
In Misty Isle's herb garden, Bai Shuo had been sitting by her doorway since evening, reading medicinal texts by lamplight while stealing glances toward the garden entrance, her vigil patient and hopeful.
Meanwhile, in a dilapidated temple outside the mortal imperial city, Chong Zhao lay pale and still as Fu Ling fed him a medicinal pill, channeling spiritual energy into his battered body. Moments later, color seeped back into his cheeks, and consciousness returned.
Demonic energy?!
The realization hit him like ice water. His eyes snapped open, darkness flooding his expression. A celestial sword materialized in his grip as he swung at the figure behind him—only for the strike to be effortlessly deflected. Cold, clear laughter rang through the temple.
"After all these years, is this how Young Master Chong treats his savior?"
Chong Zhao turned slowly, his gaze falling upon Fu Ling. A faint memory surfaced—a delicate, pitiful face from years past. He hesitated. "You're... Fu Ling?"
Then his expression hardened again, the sword reforming in his palm and pointing directly at her throat. "You're a demon?!"
Fu Ling remained unruffled. She gently pushed the blade aside with two fingers, dangling the delicate Cloud Fire Arrow in her other hand with a raised eyebrow. "So what if I'm a Yao? If not for me, you'd already be nothing but a wisp of ghost under the claws of the Imperial Guardian Dragon!"
Chong Zhao's jaw clenched, the veins on his sword hand bulging. Fu Ling's laughter was light and mocking. "Originally, I came to the mortal realm today for another matter. Who would've thought that passing by the imperial city, I'd run into an old friend. Young Master Chong, who would've imagined that in just three years, a mere mortal like you could cultivate into an Immortal Lord? Truly a rare fortune in the Immortal Realm for a millennium. But as an Immortal, surely you know that the mortal emperor is protected by a divine Dragon. Not to mention a lowly Immortal Lord like you—even an ordinary upper-rank Immortal wouldn't dare barge into the imperial palace."
She took a deliberate step closer, her enchanting eyes glinting with dangerous amusement as she whispered, "If I didn't missee earlier, you were trying to kill the mortal emperor, weren't you? You're an Immortal—if the Heavenly Court finds out, you'll face divine punishment!"
"Yao witch! Get away!" Chong Zhao's palm lashed out, his voice heavy with venom. "So what if he's the mortal emperor? He's a heartless monster who slaughtered my entire family! Why shouldn't I kill him? Don't threaten me—since I dared to storm the palace, I'll bear all consequences!"
Fu Ling studied him for a long moment, then suddenly smiled. "This is your Immortal clan's business. What does it have to do with us Yao?"
She turned to leave, but Chong Zhao's shout stopped her. "Wait! Yao witch! What really happened back then in Mu Xiao Mountain? Did you… deliberately lure me there?"
Both his and Bai Shuo's memories had been erased. His last clear recollection was rescuing Fu Ling in Mu Xiao Mountain, then leading the Chong family's private soldiers back to save Bai Shuo. The next thing he knew, he was waking in the Heavenly Prison.
"You don't remember?" Genuine surprise flickered across Fu Ling's face before her eyes darkened, a frown creasing her brow. "Back then, you begged me to tell you where that girl Bai Shuo was. I merely granted your request. No good deed goes unpunished."
Chong Zhao's frown deepened, uncertainty warring with suspicion. Fu Ling's expression shifted to genuine irritation. "Believe what you will. If I'd wanted to harm you back then, would you have survived? And why would I save you today?!"
"I…" The words died in his throat. She was right. If Fu Ling had truly intended harm back then, with her demonic powers, a mere mortal like him would have been nothing but dust.
"Why did you save me?" His tone softened fractionally, the question heavy with genuine confusion.
Fu Ling turned back, something unfamiliar warming her usually cold gaze. "Back in Mu Xiao Mountain, you saved me once. Today, I return the favor. I saw nothing of what happened here."
Surprise flickered across Chong Zhao's face before he gave a curt nod. "Very well. In that case, there's no debt between us. Immortals and Yao are different—next time we meet, you need not show me mercy!"
With that, he transformed into a streak of immortal light, shooting eastward into the night.
The moment he vanished, a masked figure in purple materialized behind Fu Ling, confusion threading through his voice. "Second Palace Master, that boy became an Immortal Lord in just three years—a once-in-a-millennium genius among the Immortals. By saving him today, you've surely planted a future calamity for our Yao Race!"
Fu Ling gazed into the darkness where Chong Zhao had disappeared, her lips curving into an enigmatic smile. "Why the hurry? The future is unpredictable."
"You mean…"
"His eyes are filled with hatred and resentment. Even as an Immortal, he's no different from how I was back then…" Her voice trailed into silence, that rare trace of warmth lingering in her icy smile as she stared into the distance.
Several streaks of immortal light descended outside the imperial city, led by none other than Qing Yi.
She stood atop the city walls, casually waving her hand as the Coiling Dragon Grand Formation flickered in and out of existence beneath her touch. A corner at the formation's center had been pierced through, and the coiled dragon lay weakened upon it, barely conscious.
Qing Yi channeled immortal energy into the formation with practiced ease. The dragon stirred, vitality flooding back into its ethereal form as it leaped back into position and settled into slumber once more.
"Your Majesty, who would dare intrude upon the Coiling Dragon Grand Formation and attempt to assassinate the mortal emperor?" an Immortal General asked, bewilderment clear in his tone.
Qing Yi's brow furrowed, but she offered no speculation. "Leave ten to guard the formation. The rest, follow me to the Celestial Palace."
"As you command."
The beams of immortal light rose once more, streaking toward the heavens.
In the Nine Heavens Palace, immortal clouds swirled in languid patterns, and a bright moon hung suspended level with the Milky Way itself, as if the mortal and divine realms had momentarily aligned.
Within the Nine Heavens Hall, Jin Yao stared at the broken Cloudfire Arrow in Qing Yi's palm, fury barely contained beneath his composed exterior.
"That rebellious daughter of mine—did she breach the Coiling Dragon Grand Formation to disrupt the mortal world's Luck?"
"Calm your anger, Immortal Lord."
Though few beyond a handful of high-ranking immortals knew that Fu Ling of the Cold Spring Palace was Jin Yao's daughter, the secret was no mystery in these halls. Qing Yi spoke with grave care, "This matter may not be so simple."
"What do you mean?"
"Your servant detected not only the aura of the Cloudfire Arrow on the Coiling Dragon Grand Formation but also a strand of Immortal Qi intertwined with it."
Jin Yao rose to his feet with startling abruptness. "Are you saying an Immortal has colluded with the Yao Race? To slay the Purple Star and shatter the mortal world's Luck?"
"We cannot yet draw conclusions, but an Immortal is indeed involved."
Jin Yao's expression darkened like storm clouds gathering. "Two hundred years ago, the rebellion of the Peacock Clan left our Immortal Clan severely weakened. We must not repeat such a mistake. Though peace has long reigned between Immortals and the Yao Race, the Cold Spring Palace acts with defiance and heresy. If Zhen Yu becomes the Yao Emperor, I fear the fragile peace between our races will shatter."
His voice dropped to a command that brooked no refusal. "Qing Yi, investigate this matter in secret. You must uncover whoever is conspiring with the Cold Spring Palace!"
"As you command, Immortal Lord!"
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