At first, Li Qiye's blades were stiff and uneven.
Though the full rhythm of the Qimen Blades already flowed within him, his mortal body lagged behind; every cut trembled, every motion lacked form.
He did not waver.
He struck again.
And again.
Three hundred swings…
The moon rose and sank.
By dawn, his blade‑aura was steady—like a mountain's breath, unhurried, unfaltering.
For three days he left his courtyard only to draw air into his lungs.
The only sounds were the wind and the whispering of blades.
He knew what awaited him at the Nine Saint Demon Gate—danger beyond measure.
To one day flatten the Demon Immortal Cave, he would have to outmatch everyone.
No one on earth understood that abyss better than he did.
The Journey Begins
Three days passed swiftly.
On the morning of departure, a grey eagle circled in the high air above the sect.
Li Qiye looked up—and couldn't help a smile.
Only three figures stood beneath the departure platform:
himself, Nan Huairen, and an older protector named Mo Yuan.
"Only us three?" he asked lightly.
Mo Yuan's expression didn't shift. He gave him a cold glance and said nothing.
The man's aura was firm but muted—the weight of one used to obedience, not pride.
Huairen rubbed his hands awkwardly.
"The elders are all in secluded cultivation, Senior Brother. They're... not free to travel."
Li Qiye's smile deepened.
"'Secluded cultivation'? You mean they don't want to be seen with me.
If I fail the trial, they can call it fate; if they go and watch me fail—they lose face."
Huairen forced a dry chuckle, just as awkward as he felt.
Everyone knew this trip was a humiliation in the making.
Should Li Qiye be disgraced, the sect could simply blame a boy's weakness.
But if their elders stood beside him—the entire sect would share his shame.
"Please, Senior Brother, don't think so much," Huairen hurried to say. "The Nine Saint Demon Gate and our sect have been distant for ages. The elders avoid provocation—that's all."
Li Qiye's voice was soft, almost absentminded.
"The Nine Saint Demon Gate... and they dare make Cleansing Dust Sect yield?
When the Nine Saint Sage still lived, he bowed before this hall's steps every year."
The words were arrogant — and Mo Yuan's brow tightened.
He snorted once, then turned away without reply.
Huairen hurried to patch the moment.
"Senior Brother, this is Protector Mo Yuan—my master's direct protector."
Li Qiye pressed his palms together in salute. "This journey relies on your guidance, Protector Mo."
"Go," Mo Yuan said flatly, stepping onto the platform.
He was the oldest and least favored among the twelve protectors.
Had anyone else volunteered, he would not be here — part of a mission everyone expected to end in death.
Still, duty was duty.
He walked forward without looking back.
Across the Void
The platform rose before them, vast as a mountain, forged of divine stone and pillars etched with imperial script.
Each stroke of those runes radiated the faint pulse of extinguished worlds.
This was the Path Gate, forged by Emperor Mingren himself — the bridge once used to move armies between worlds.
"Hum—" Light gathered as disciples activated the array.
A hundred‑foot portal rose from the center, its surface rippling with metallic sheen, runes weaving in and out of the ether.
Rows of inlays lined its edges — but where once divine crystals had shone, only empty sockets remained.
Li Qiye's eyes dimmed.
The Path Gate had once glittered with imperial gems, a marvel of its age.
Now, it was a hollow shell.
"Enter," Mo Yuan commanded.
The portal flared, and the three of them stepped into light—and were gone.
The Demon Gate Domain
The Central Realms spanned kingdom after kingdom, their heavens folding into one another.
Only those of imperial heritage could cross it through such gates.
A breath later—brightness burst.
The air here was thick, alight with essence rich enough to choke mortal lungs.
Mountains rose into the clouds, beasts wandered through mist, palaces floated among lakes of light.
This was the Nine Saint Demon Gate.
Vapors glowed like pearls in the sky; ancient trees pierced the firmament; each stone seemed alive with a beating spirit.
Even the wind smelled of power.
Mo Yuan and Huairen both paused, breath caught in their throats.
They had visited before — yet each time, the contrast cut deeper.
There was a time when the Demon Gate had knelt before their sect.
Now the Cleansing Dust Sect was a guest — and a defeated one.
At the Gate
A welcoming party stood waiting at the platform.
At its head was a hard‑faced elder, eyes sharp as polished steel.
Every breath he took rippled with restrained force.
"Protector Mo," he said with a cold smile. "A rare honor."
"Protector Fu," Mo Yuan answered with a formal bow. "Your effort is appreciated."
Fu was one of the Demon Gate's senior hall masters, a man of immense power — strength equal to a great elder of their sect, yet merely a division lord here.
"This visit is to fulfill the trial pact," Mo Yuan continued carefully.
Fu's smile did not reach his eyes. "My superiors have been informed. And that one… is the Cleansing Dust Sect's new Chief Disciple?"
"Indeed."
Fu gave Li Qiye a glance — a single look of dismissal, as though seeing an idle pageboy.
His words fell cool and slow: "A friendly test of skill—nothing more. No need for your sect to take it so seriously."
The mockery was thinly veiled.
Li Qiye stood quiet, his tone mild.
"A test is still a test. If fear must be hidden behind manners — so be it."
Fu's brows arched slightly, but he did not bother to reply.
Turning aside, he said, "This way."
He stepped onto the bridge of light that led toward the inner sanctums.
Mo Yuan shot Li Qiye a sharp look. "Mind your tongue," he warned under his breath.
Li Qiye merely smiled.
There was no youth in that smile — only the calm of a man who had seen empires rise and wash away again into dust.