The solemnity of Yuqing Palace had been utterly destroyed by the twin horrors of treason and pestilence. Yet, the most immediate crisis was not the seven-tailed horror now scuttling back towards the floor, nor the accusations hanging in the air, but the hysterical panic of the self-proclaimed celestial being.
"Lord Pig, tell us! How grievous is the poison?" Daoxuan's face was the color of old parchment. He, along with Shuiyue and the other panicked Peak Masters, swarmed the golden animal, frantically shoving every known antidote and potent healing elixir they possessed into his dramatically agape mouth.
Energy +100!Spiritual Vitality +200!Immunity Restoration Elixir +500!
Lord Pig swallowed the handfuls of priceless elixirs with an air of theatrical suffering.
"The great Lord Pig is perishing! My spiritual essence is fading! I am dying! Slowly! Painfully! It is the most horrific death a divine swine has ever experienced! Come, you stingy mortals, feed me more! My death must be well-fortified!" he squealed, his tongue lolling out weakly in a perfect impression of a collapsing deity.
Daoxuan, believing the spiritual fate of Qingyun Sect hinged on this fragile, poisoned creature, grabbed another massive bottle of Pill of Pure Harmony and forced the contents down Lord Pig's throat.
It was in this moment of collective, desperate distraction that the true blow fell.
"AH!"
Daoxuan let out a sharp cry of pain. Before anyone could process the sound, his left arm, still extended from feeding the pig, slashed out reflexively in a blinding, defensive arc toward the figure standing closest to him: Cangsong!
The Longshou Peak Master met the frantic counter-attack with an armored forearm, the force of the collision causing his body to shudder violently. He was sent flying backward across the great hall, skidding to a halt just shy of the massive front doors of Yuqing Palace. He recovered instantly, though a thin, dark line of blood trailed slowly from the corner of his mouth.
But his expression was not one of defeat; it was one of chilling, triumphant malice.
Clutched tightly in his right hand was a short sword—a blade as clear and cold as water, clearly a relic of immense spiritual power. Now, that exquisite surface was marred by a shocking streak of bright red blood, which dripped rhythmically onto the smooth blue bricks of the sacred hall.
The silence that descended upon the chamber was absolute, a spiritual vacuum.
"You… what have you done?" Daoxuan's voice was hoarse, thick with disbelief and the sudden, crushing realization of betrayal. He was still standing, but his breath caught in his throat, and his right hand was instinctively clamped over the dark, soaking patch on his side.
The disciples of Longshou Peak, including Qi Hao and Lin Jingyu, gaped, their faces twisted with confusion and horror. They stared at the figure of their master, a pillar of the righteous path for over a century, now poised like an assassin at the entrance.
"Me? What have I done?" Cangsong threw back his head and laughed, a wild, manic sound that scraped across the terrified silence. "I am betraying you, you blind hypocrites! Can your spiritual senses not even detect that?"
With a flick of his wrist, the seven-tailed centipede, which had been hovering near the ground, zipped through the air and vanished instantly into the sleeve of Cangsong's robe.
The realization that this entire sequence—the centipede, the panic, the poisoned distraction—had been a perfectly executed maneuver left the remaining masters frozen in cold horror.
Qi Hao, his voice raw with a desperate, filial confusion, cried out, "Shifu! Are you insane? What madness possesses you?"
"Hahaha, mad? Yes, I am utterly mad!" Cangsong's eyes glittered with a dark, consuming fire. "I have been mad for a century! A century since I witnessed the fate of Senior Brother Wan Jianyi in this very hall! You all let it happen!"
Wan Jianyi.
The name was a whisper of tragedy, a dark, heavy shadow that settled over the entire Qingyun Sect. It was the unspeakable nightmare that underpinned the sect's quiet, collective guilt. As Cangsong spoke that name, the complexions of Tian Buyi, Shuiyue, and the other senior elders turned a sickly grey, and they stood motionless, paralyzed by memory and shame.
Cangsong swept his gaze over the assembled masters, pointing first at the statue of the Three Pure Ones in the shadow of the hall, then at the man slumped on the main throne.
"Tell me, you Peak Masters! You guardians of the so-called righteous path!" Cangsong's voice rose to a scream.
"Who among us deserved the Seat of the Leader? Was it Wan Jianyi, the greatest genius of our generation, who was willing to lay down his life for you all? Or was it him?" He jabbed his bloodied short sword toward Daoxuan.
Silence. The young disciples were lost, bewildered by the weight of ancient history. Tian Buyi and the few others who remembered the truth could only stare at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.
"Ah! Silence now, are we? Guilt is a heavy burden, isn't it?" Cangsong sneered. "For a hundred years, I have festered, watching this travesty! Daoxuan has basked in the glory of the Head Master's position, yet who was it who saved your worthless lives? Who generously taught us, shared his profound cultivation secrets, and enabled our advancement?"
He focused his venom specifically on Tian Buyi, his eyes narrowed to slits of pure malice.
"And you, Tian Buyi! You, the dullest, most mediocre disciple of Dazhu Peak! Your own Master treated you with contempt! But Wan Jianyi saw promise in you! He personally guided you, shared his most intimate cultivation experiences, and relentlessly recommended you to join the Savage Five, enabling you to rise to the prominence you enjoy today!"
Cangsong spat on the floor. "And what was your repayment? You knew Senior Brother Wan loved Su Ru, yet you shamelessly stole her affection, marrying the woman he adored! You are a monster of ingratitude! You are worse than the pigs and dogs you despise!"
The torrent of abuse, fueled by a century of suppressed rage, was maniacal. The hall was a scene of shattered dignity and long-buried accusations.
"Oi! Xiao Songzi!"
The manic drama was suddenly punctured by a petulant, high-pitched voice. Lord Pig had ceased his death throes and was now sitting up in Dabai's embrace, looking deeply annoyed.
"Lord Pig was merely trying to stage a dramatic death scene, and you had to go and ruin it with your tedious family drama! You let that tiny little leg-biter touch Lord Pig's paw! Where is Lord Pig's massive, heavy sword? I shall make you eat that disgusting insect!"
Cangsong, momentarily stunned by the pig's complete lack of concern for the sect's fate, actually offered a twisted, apologetic nod.
"Lord Pig, I offer you my most sincere regrets for the inconvenience of the venom. But you are too powerful. You and Daoxuan are too close. Had I merely struck him, you would have intervened, and I would have failed. I had no choice but to ensure you were… indisposed."
Daoxuan pushed himself upright, his face grim, his spiritual energy surging despite the wound. "Cangsong, you miserable fool. Do you truly believe that by wounding me and distracting Lord Pig, you can achieve your objective? Your skills alone are insufficient to defeat me, even injured. You are utterly naïve!"
Cangsong's hysterical laughter returned, laced with chilling confidence. "Yes, you are indeed powerful. Senior Brother Wan and you were always the two greatest masters. I know I cannot defeat you alone. But I am not alone! I have help."
Daoxuan's face turned pale. "Who is it?" he demanded, the word a rasping whisper.
The entire hall, from the shaken Qingyun disciples to the grim-faced Tianyin monks, held its breath.
Then, a voice, deep and resonant like rolling thunder across the vast mountain range, boomed from the skies far outside Yuqing Palace.
"Old friend Daoxuan! A century has passed since our last meeting, and yet, I see you are still as robust and charming as ever! We extend our warmest congratulations!"
The rumbling voice was followed instantly by a terrifying, chaotic noise: the screams of fighting, the clanging of steel, and the desperate cries of alarm ringing out from Tongtian Peak.
"The Demon Cult! The demon fiends are ascending the mountain to attack!" someone shrieked hysterically in the distance.
"What?" The Peak Masters of Qingyun were horrified. Daoxuan gasped, pointing a trembling, blood-stained finger at Cangsong.
"You… you have truly committed the unforgivable! You have betrayed the sect and colluded with the Demon Cult!"
Cangsong was now laughing uncontrollably, his expression pure, unfettered madness. "Collude? Yes! And so what! In my eyes, Qingyun Sect is a hypocritical den of vipers, far worse than any Demon Cult! I would ally with the lowest depths of hell to avenge Brother Wan!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The doors of Yuqing Palace exploded inward. Several severely wounded Qingyun disciples stumbled into the hall, vomiting great gouts of blood before collapsing.
In their wake, four imposing figures emerged, framed dramatically by the smoke and chaos of the battle outside. They were all fundamentally different in aura and appearance, but all shared an overwhelming, tyrannical power that crushed the air in the hall. These were the paramount leaders of the four most formidable Demon Cult sects:
Wanrenwang (Ghost King Sect Leader): A figure of immense spiritual gravity and chilling composure, familiar to Lord Pig.
Fairy Sanmiao (Hehuan Sect Leader): A stunningly mature woman whose grace and sweet smile concealed an infinite, seductive cruelty.
Yu Yangzi (Changshengtang Leader): A man radiating raw, unbridled power, whose expression was one of proud, conceited disdain for everyone present.
The Poison God (Ten Thousand Poison Sect Leader): Deceptively gentle in appearance, but known throughout the world as a man of unsurpassed ruthlessness, cunning, and lethal toxins.
Behind them surged the elite of the Demon Cult: You Ji (Ghost King Sect), Qin Wuyan (Poison God's ultimate disciple), Zhou Yin (Hall of Eternal Life), and the ancient, terrifying Old Blood-Sucking Demon Bai Duzi.
"Amitabha," Master Puhong intoned, his hands clasped, his face a picture of serene resolve. "Since the dawn of time, evil has not triumphed over good. Tianyin Temple shall stand with Qingyun Sect!"
"Silence your prayers, bald monk!" Yu Yangzi roared, his voice thick with disdain. He didn't waste a second on preamble. "No more pointless debate! Attack! Leave no one alive!"
"KILL!"
The command was echoed by the other Demon Cult masters. The air instantly filled with the blinding flash of spiritual artifacts and the raw, terrifying power of demonic and dark Taoist arts.
Yuqing Palace, the spiritual heart of the righteous path, was instantly transformed into a maelstrom of destruction. Daoxuan, severely wounded but fueled by righteous rage, clashed with the combined assault of Yu Yangzi and the traitor Cangsong. The other Peak Masters and the formidable monks of Tianyin Temple were immediately overwhelmed by the sheer, vicious power of the remaining Demon Cult leaders. Outside, the sounds of slaughter intensified, the entire mountain engulfed in a bloody, fratricidal war.
Amidst the screaming chaos, Lord Pig remained serenely seated, cradled in Dabai's arms.
"Lord Pig," Dabai murmured, her flawless face utterly calm, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her fair hands continued their slow, rhythmic stroking of his golden fur. "Why do you not join the festivities?"
"The pig's feet always make the final, most spectacular entrance, Dabai," Lord Pig replied, his eyes—no longer weak or sleepy—glittering with sharp, intelligent amusement.
The charade of the seven-tailed centipede's poison was over. The magical power of Lord Pig rendered all toxins utterly moot, a defense impenetrable even by the most esoteric venom. He had merely been bored, and a little theatrics was required to set the stage for the true drama.
He surveyed the scene: Daoxuan was struggling, bleeding profusely; the Tianyin Monks were holding their own but clearly outnumbered; and the palace itself was crumbling.
"That's quite enough of this dull squabbling," Lord Pig declared with an authoritative sigh. He reached behind his head—a gesture that, given his size, looked remarkably impressive—and drew out his own artifact.
It was a sword, but not just any sword: massive, ancient, and emanating a horrifying, cold spiritual power that dwarfed every other artifact in the room.
The Zhuxian Sword.
Lord Pig's face was no longer that of a petulant child or a suffering invalid; it was the face of an entity about to remind all present—righteous, treacherous, and demonic alike—of the terrifying power that resides at the very top of the spiritual food chain.
"It is time for Lord Pig's performance to begin," he stated, his voice now a cold, deep command that barely required volume to pierce the din of battle. "Lord Pig is going to show off, and no one is leaving this mountain."