Chapter 46
Up to this moment, Huan Zheng's eyes remained alive—fixed straight upon the stranger standing not far before him.
That gaze did not waver, nor did it turn away—it stayed sharp, vigilant, measuring every motion, weighing how far patience and honor could be maintained before breaking.
The stranger, as if aware of the restrained power before him, moved with an unsettling calm. He stepped lightly, circling Huan Zheng's body slowly, exactly like an eagle revolving around its prey.
Not to strike, but to assess.
Each step released a faint echo, just enough to make the air around them tremble. His eyes no longer carried the frost of indifference, but rather a curiosity bordering on insolence—like a scholar inspecting an experiment still incomplete.
Huan Zheng did not move, did not offer bait, yet his eyes followed the man's every step—a blade's edge ready to pierce at any instant.
Within that silence raged a war without sound, a collision of two wills that clashed without touch—where pride and caution danced in a space as small as a single circle of steps.
It was no mystery why Huan Zheng's fury multiplied, burning like embers refusing to die.
Beneath the bleakest sky, as cold mist fell upon the borderlands of Xuelan, tension thickened among the bodies standing in a ring.
They were not mere witnesses, but shadows of silence poised to judge.
The murmurs swirling through the air pierced patience like needles—offending the ego of one who had once subdued the Gods themselves, now forced to bear the brand of humiliation from a noble's lips—a noble who showed not a trace of guilt.
Within Huan Zheng's chest, the ruins of destruction and rebirth collided, as though every cell of his being remembered the battlefields buried by time.
He trembled.
Not from fear, but from the ancient urge to destroy all that dared to demean him.
Ling Xu, meanwhile, stood in silence that appeared tranquil, though it masked an inner war no less bitter.
He knew how fragile the balance just forged was—knew that a single breath gone wrong from Huan Zheng could summon thunderous ruin beyond all restraint.
His gaze drifted toward the stranger, searching for a glimmer of reason behind those cold, unyielding eyes.
Between the three of them, the world ceased to turn—as if all motion waited for a decision yet to be made.
Each gust of wind grew heavy, carrying fragments of tension that clung to the skin and pierced the bone.
The stillness along the border was not peace, but a prison holding back a storm of wrath—and Ling Xu stood upon its threshold, the fragile wall between two opposing wills that refused coexistence.
There was something tragic in the way time moved.
Seconds stretched long, each heartbeat serving as a warning that Huan Zheng's rage was no longer mere emotion, but the remnants of Humanity itself—not yet fully extinguished.
He was no ordinary man, and behind the mortal shell he wore still resided the core of a power that once shook the Cardinal Realms.
But that power was now bound by oath, by an ancient vow that tethered his soul to Ling Xu.
Thus, his anger could only spiral inward—like a storm battering glass walls, unable to find escape.
The world around him seemed small, bowing beneath the gravity of wrath he fought to contain.
And amid it all, the stranger remained calm—stepping back with deliberate precision, measuring the patience of the beings before him, like an ancient judge weighing sin yet granting no absolution.
How audacious those words must have sounded to a being who once shook the foundations of creation.
To call a man such as Huan Zheng a servant was not mere insult—it was defiance of destiny itself.
He knew well, had the stranger understood who he was—who among the Three Wheels of Cultivation had once spun worlds within the Cardinal Structure—his tongue would falter, his body bow before his gaze could even lift.
Yet Huan Zheng was not without restraint.
He weighed every act within the limits of mortal reason, aware that recklessness would drag not only himself into ruin but also the woman he must protect—the Young Master who gave him reason to hold his fury within.
Within him stirred memories of the Mustraya toxin that had once chained him—a poison embedded within the forty-nine shards of the Celestial Star, a gift from Ling Xu, a binding that made him nothing more than the echo of another's will.
But time had changed, and fate no longer bent to one side.
Huan Zheng had neutralized that toxin, freeing himself from the yoke that once subdued him.
He was no longer one who could be enslaved by a single command.
Even so, two pacts he made with Ling Xu still held him fast—not by force, but by a strange loyalty, a vow built upon respect and an unbreakable promise.
He knew well the magnitude of his Young Master's sacrifice; knew that the shards of the Celestial Star planted within him were not mere tools, but fragments of Ling Xu's own cultivation core.
Thus, when the stranger so carelessly uttered words that tore at his dignity's roots, Huan Zheng merely clenched his jaw, swallowing the fire that rolled within his gut—letting it burn slowly, endlessly, with no release.
Behind the calm he forced upon himself, a faint tremor formed at the corner of his lips.
Not a smile—but a sign that his patience had reached its final edge, tested by a force the world around them could never comprehend.
Ling Xu, though silent, could feel the storm.
The spiritual bond between them made each pulse of Huan Zheng's fury echo in his own chest.
He knew what was being contained, knew that within that silence dwelled the drive to shatter and burn away every insult.
Yet he also knew that Huan Zheng's restraint was not weakness, but the highest form of strength.
Thus, he did not move—letting the world around them remain suspended at the brink of breath.
Above the border of Xuelan, the heavens themselves seemed to watch, silent in their anticipation—whether tragedy would once again unfold, or transform into a lesson future cultivators would never forget.
Amid the rolling fog and thickening air, heavy with auras ready to burst, the stranger stepped forward once more, reclaiming his original place—as though unaware of how narrowly he had crossed the threshold between life and annihilation.
To be continued…