Zheng Xie immediately stepped forward, shielding Ling Xue with his body without hesitation. The blazing arc of sword energy carved through the air, searing toward them like a vengeful comet. Though his movement dulled its impact, the attack still struck hard—catching the edge of Ling Xue's shoulder and burning into Zheng Xie's back with brutal force.
A brief silence fell.
A heavy, unnatural silence. All eyes fell on Zheng Xie.
Half of his robe had been reduced to ash. The flesh on his back was charred black, strips of it dangling loosely, revealing a lattice of bone beneath. Smoke curled from his wounds. One of his arms hung limp, burned down to the muscle, twitching faintly. His fingers, however, still moved—trembling, shaking—as he reached toward Ling Xue.
His lips parted. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
"Aa… a-a… are… y-you…"
He couldn't finish. His words broke apart mid-breath. Then his eyes lost their light.
His body swayed forward.
And like a puppet with its strings cut, Zheng Xie collapsed, hitting the ground with a lifeless thud.
The air grew colder. Everything was still.
Ling Xue couldn't move. Her hands trembled, eyes wide and unblinking as she stared at the blood pooling beneath Zheng Xie's broken form. Her mind reeled—trying to deny it, trying to scream, but no sound came.
Li Hao stood there, unmoving.
He hadn't meant to do this. That wasn't even his strongest strike. Someone controlled his body somehow and attacked them. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as sand. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears.
Li Hao wasn't stupid. He understood.
'Damn it… was this some trap laid for me? Or is someone using this to target our Sect?' The thought spiraled in his mind.
Whoever did this—whether planned or not—had committed a sin that couldn't be brushed aside. Even if the Profound Sword Sect wasn't behind it, even if this wasn't a scheme, it would look like one.
He clenched his fists. 'No good answer. And I can't fight my way out either. Each of them here… I could face alone, but not all at once.'
There was only one way out—an ugly one.
But it was the best of all bad options.
Before anyone could step forward or ask for an explanation, Li Hao dropped to his knees. His legs struck the stone floor with a clack, and he bowed low, burying his face in his hands. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes.
"What have I done…?" he whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. "No… no, no, what have I done…"
He clutched at his hair, tugging at it as if he could rip the guilt out with each strand. His face contorted with anguish—confusion, pain, and something else. A shame that twisted deep into his bones.
Then came the laughter.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
"Ahahahaha…" A bitter, sour laugh. "I'm blind… I've been so blind in my own world… chasing pride, chasing titles… and I—I did this."
He laughed again, this time louder. Unhinged. Broken.
No one laughed with him.
From among the gathered crowd, one man stepped forward.
Tianren.
His expression calm—too calm. But the air around him rippled with fury. His presence alone was suffocating, like the looming shadow of a mountain before it crumbles. His every step was soundless, yet it felt like the ground quaked beneath him.
Li Hao looked up. His eyes met Tianren's, full of guilt and fear… and maybe, somewhere deep, hope.
Then Tianren smiled.
A slow, pitying smile.
Li Hao's heart lifted faintly. 'I might… be spared?'
But the next moment—
SPLURCH.
A clean sound. Wet and sharp.
Blood erupted from his right arm, spraying across the stone tiles.
Where his hand once was, now only a severed stump remained—torn apart by Tianren's bare grip. The pain struck a moment later, crashing through Li Hao like a tsunami. His vision blurred, stars danced in his eyes. He bit his lower lip so hard he nearly tore it open, clenching his teeth to stop the scream clawing up his throat.
He didn't cry out. He didn't beg.
Instead… he laughed again.
"Ahaha… ahaha… This is fair," he rasped. "This is fair, Elder Tianren. I don't deserve pity. I committed a demonic act. Shameful. Vile. I stained the name of my Sect… I deserve worse."
Tianren turned his gaze to the rest of the crowd, then back to Li Hao.
"Li Hao," he said, his voice calm like a still pond before a storm. "If your remorse is sincere, then I will spare your life. Treat this as a child's mistake. But make no mistake—the Profound Sword Sect will not be spared my contempt."
He stepped closer, his next words cutting deeper than any sword:
"Think of this as a pity from my Zheng Family. You will forever be in our debt, ready to lend a hand whenever it is required. If not, your sect would be erased from the face of the Central Continent. Think of this as a warning."
Then, Tianren swept his gaze across the hall. His voice cut through the silence like a honed blade. "You don't have a problem with it now, do you?"
No one answered. Silence lingered like a haze of unshed rain, until a soft, melodic chuckle broke through. The source—none other than the Fox Empress, Qingqing.
Her pinkish robe shimmered as she stepped forward, fan raised coyly to her lips. Fox-like eyes glinted with playful menace.
"If I may speak, Tianren…" She let the words hang, delicate yet barbed. "Aren't you letting this matter go a bit too easily? Lending your favor so lightly. Do you have something planned? What need do you have for the Profound Sword Sect's involvement?"
Tianren's expression didn't waver. Calm, unreadable. He met her gaze, firm yet courteous.
"There is no scheme, no hidden motive. I did not spare him. I took his arm. And my son still breathes. He was hurt, yes—but I returned the blow in kind. Now the matter is settled. There is no need to poison a banquet over the scraps of children's squabbles."
Qingqing's eyes narrowed as she snapped her fan shut. The flick of her wrist was elegant—deadly, even. But she masked the sharpness behind her smile, retreating once more behind the silk veil of her fan. "Mm. If you say so, then I suppose it ends there."
But her gaze—sharp as a drawn blade—remained fixed on him. She didn't believe him. And she didn't bother pretending otherwise.
With a graceful sigh, she shook her head. "Still, this entire incident… doesn't it cast shadows on the teachings of the Profound Sword Sect? What kind of doctrine do they follow, for their disciples to attack without cause? In front of the entire Central Continent, no less. Surely you wouldn't defend that?"
Tianren gave a short nod. "I will not. That disciple of Profound Sword Sect has clearly erred. But he is one among many. A prodigy, perhaps. Recognized as a Sword Immortal, yes. But still just a child. Fame has a way of dulling clarity."
She laughed, but it held no warmth. "You care for many, Tianren… all but your own blood. Such a shame. Poor Xie… now."
Then, with an exaggerated glance toward the newly engaged couple, she added, "And this engagement—don't you think it's gone on long enough? We've offered our congratulations. But judging by the groom's expression, I don't think he'd enjoy any more attention tonight."
Tianren raised his hand, signaling the servants. "Very well. I, Tianren, thank you all—truly. For attending this banquet and bearing witness to my son's greatest moment. May you drink your fill, eat to your heart's content… and leave when you wish. For now, the formalities are concluded."
As he lowered his arm, the air shifted. People slowly began to murmur, drink, and pretend the awkward tension hadn't just carved itself into the walls of the hall.
In a darker corner, where the glow of lanterns didn't reach, Casanova leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. Next to him stood Mystic, arms at her side and posture unusually stiff.
Casanova glanced at her, amused. "You're awfully quiet. Normally, you'd have three sarcastic comments by now."
Mystic didn't reply. Instead, she spat on the ground with a sharp, angry flick.
He flinched. "Hey—Mystic? What the hell was that for?"
Her jaw was tight. Her voice, low and bitter. "Nothing. I'm just… irritated."
She spat again. This time harder. "That Masked bastard… he played it too well. He threw Li Hao right into the spotlight. And now the entire Central Continent will keep tabs on him like vultures on fresh meat. Even worse, the Profound Sword Sect will lock him down out of paranoia—somewhere we'll never reach. Somewhere we can't touch him. Damn it. Why protect him now?"
Casanova chuckled at her frustration, though his eyes held a colder glint. "You're missing the bigger picture."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Mystic, Mask… he didn't do this for Li Hao. He didn't protect him because he cared. In fact, I'm almost sure—seventy percent, let's say—that he wanted the Zheng family to capture Li Hao alive."
"But… if that was the case," Mystic said, frowning, "then why not just go with the plan? If he let Li Hao die in his own domain, his soul would've been destroyed. He would have become a husk and Leader would have gotten him. What was the need of wasting so much time?"
Casanova nodded slowly. "He wanted him taken. Not for justice, not for mercy—but for his own benefit. His plan wasn't about following Leader's orders."
Mystic blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Casanova grinned, but this time it wasn't playful. It was sharp. Cruel.
"Because that's not what he wanted. Not really."
Mystic's eyes slowly widened. "You're saying…"
"He wanted the soul, Mystic. For himself. Li Hao, the prodigy of the Lower Realm—someone at the peak of his tier. His soul would've been a perfect feast for someone trying to push through a bottleneck in soul cultivation."
Mystic's voice trembled. "So all this…"
"All of it," Casanova confirmed, "was him playing both sides. If Li Hao died per Leader's plan, the soul would've scattered. But if he lived—captured, isolated—the Mask could harvest it at his own pace."
Mystic looked down, lips pressed tight. "Then his plan failed…"
Casanova gave a dry laugh. "Yeah. It did. He gambled. He lost. He's human after all. Even he makes mistakes."
The laughter faded from his face. Only silence remained. 'Seventy percent… only seventy percent sure… there is a lot going on in his brain. What does he exactly want?'
…
A week later, the aftermath of the ceremony had spread like wildfire.
It was supposed to be a grand event, a moment of glory, a ceremonial proclamation for the new heir of the Zheng Family. But none of that mattered now. The name that dominated every tavern conversation, every whispered corner of the market, and every tea hall storytelling session was Li Hao.
Not a single cultivator remained ignorant of the incident.
And in that chaos, the actual purpose of the ceremony, the announcement of Zheng Shuheng as the heir, had been utterly overshadowed.
Even the Profound Sword Sect wasn't spared. Criticism rained from all sides. Whispers questioned their methods, their teachings, even their allegiance. Some dared to mutter the unthinkable—that they might be a sect secretly walking the demonic path.
Of course, no official accusations had been made, but in a world where image was power, even rumors could cripple reputations.
Stories spread like wildfire—exaggerated, romanticized, twisted.
They called it The Demon's Betrayal or The Scarlet Wedding of the Zheng Heir. Storytellers across cities made bank selling poems, scripts, and retellings of the drama. In those tales, Zheng Xie became the tragic hero who protected his beloved from a vile demon who once called himself Li Hao.
Yet amid all that noise, Li Hao's whereabouts remained unknown.
Some claimed he had gone into seclusion, cultivating in the shadows for some grand breakthrough. Others believed he was hunted and had been banished by his own sect. But the truth? No one really knew.
Meanwhile, Zheng Xie had spent the week bedridden.
The wounds weren't ordinary. In fact, if it were just physical injuries, the Zheng Family's resources could've healed even half a torn body without issue. But this time… it wasn't that simple.
Because even though Li Hao's attack hadn't been his full strength—it had carried dao marks.
The path of the sword was etched into his sword attack. It was like branding the very rules of the world into Zheng Xie's flesh. Healing wasn't just about mending muscles anymore. His body had been in constant rebellion, forced to wage war against foreign Dao imprints.
Even the family's head physician took days to carefully extricate the marks. And the difficulty they posed only showcased just how potent and refined Li Hao's sword dao was.
Now, a full week had passed.
Zheng Xie was finally dismissed from the infirmary. His body was functional. He could walk, fight, eat, and train again—but the aches remained. Phantom pain that lingered in the muscle and bone like a quiet reminder.
There was no time to rest further. He had already missed last year's examination and he wasn't going to let it happen again.
In his room, he quietly sorted the contents of his spatial ring. He didn't know what kind of exam awaited him. So, he packed for everything.
Preserved food that wouldn't rot over decades, extra robes, water gourds infused, numerous mid- and high-grade weapons, healing pills spanning three grades, and a dozen soul-soothing flowers harvested from the peak of Serene Flora Mountain.
Once satisfied, Zheng Xie stepped out of his room and made his way to the dinner hall. He had been summoned by his father, Zheng Tianren.
The moment he entered, he noticed the atmosphere was suffocatingly silent.
Everyone was already seated. The sound of utensils lightly scraping porcelain plates was the only thing audible.
Zheng Xie raised an eyebrow and coughed. "Hello? What's with the gloomy mood? Did someone die while I was sleeping?"
The tension cracked. A few shoulders twitched. Tianren looked up with a tired, almost pitiful smile.
"Ah… Xie. You're here," he said, voice worn. "How's your injury?"
As he spoke, Zheng Xie noticed a subtle shift in the others. His mother, espet, couldn't completely hide the flicker of disdain that crossed her eyes when Tianren spoke. Shuheng, Yanyue, and Boatong kept their eyes on their plates, not looking up.
Zheng Xie rolled his shoulders, rotating both arms with a small grin. "See? I'm fine. Strong enough to kill a bear. It still stings, though."
Tianren gulped, nodding slowly. "That's… good. Will you be heading straight to your sect? Or will you join us to have a meal?"
"I am," Zheng Xie replied, grabbing a piece of steamed bun. "Got no time to waste."
There was a pause. A heartbeat of hesitation before he spoke again, more gently this time.
"Oh, and Father," Zheng Xie said, voice lowered, but firm. "I don't hold any ill thoughts toward you. Whatever your reasons were for sparing Li Hao… it doesn't matter. I don't blame you."
Tianren's expression flickered—something like shame, or guilt, or maybe just relief. He didn't speak. He only nodded with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
But Zheng Xie's thoughts were cold.
'You were never in the calculations,' he mused. 'It was Casanova.'
He clenched his fists.
'That bastard stayed silent. Didn't he always dream of fighting Li Hao? Then why did he back off? Why abandon me at that moment?'
Yes, Zheng Xie had used that moment to score a few affection points from Ling Xue but the pain he felt wasn't worth the effort.
'It was a great choice to use a weaker attack otherwise… I would've been dead. This is why one can't rely on others. You never know who'll betray you until the blade is already in your back.'
Next time… he wouldn't make that mistake again.