Three days had passed since the upheaval. In the heart of the Daye Dynasty's Imperial Capital, the air inside the Golden Throne Hall was thick enough to choke on.
A colossal figure occupied the Dragon Throne. He did not sit so much as loom, his broad frame dwarfing the gilded seat of power. His hands, large and calloused, idly flipped through a stack of bound manuscripts presented by trembling eunuchs. A few paces away stood the Emperor, Zhao Binglong. The ruler of the nation was reduced to a pale, shivering mess, his face drained of blood, his eyes darting nervously.
The hall, usually a place of cold bureaucracy, was currently a furnace. A terrifying domain of "fire poison" radiated from the man on the throne, burning like a ring of solar flares. It blanketed the entire chamber, pressing down with such physical weight that the gathered civil and military officials were frozen in place. They couldn't move. They couldn't speak. They could barely draw breath against the crushing pressure. It felt as though the titan on the throne needed only to twitch a finger to reduce the dynasty's elite to ash.
"Is this it?" Jiang Dao asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the chests of everyone present. "Is this the sum of the secret manuals within your imperial city?"
"Yes, yes, they are all here," Emperor Zhao Binglong nodded rapidly, his voice cracking with terror.
Jiang Dao frowned as he tossed a book aside. "Why is there only one internal cultivation manual with a Yin attribute? Do your imperial guards not practice martial arts?"
"They do!" Zhao stammered. "But Yin attributes... they are extremely rare."
Jiang Dao grunted, unimpressed. He sifted through the pile, his critical gaze dismissing tome after tome. Finally, he plucked two books from the heap.
The first was Yin Gang Mystic Baleful Qi. It was a standard, functional Yin-attribute manual—exactly what he needed to harmonize the overflowing Yang energy currently raging within his body.
The second was Eight Dragons True Gang. It was a domineering technique, aggressive and violent. It promised to shape one's internal energy—Gang Qi—into the form of dragons, maximizing the efficiency of every ounce of power. It claimed to allow a warrior to utilize their internal force without a single wasted drop.
As for the rest? Trash. Jiang Dao swept them away with a glance. Ordinary external conditioning techniques—the "hard body" styles—were useless to him now. His flesh had already transcended the limits of mortal durability. No amount of mundane physical trauma could stimulate growth in his muscles anymore; he had reached a plateau where only Divine Artifacts or Sacred Weapons could temper him further.
He tucked the two chosen manuals into his robe and turned his gaze back to the Emperor. The weight of his attention made Zhao Binglong flinch.
"You understood what I told you earlier?" Jiang Dao asked, his voice heavy and raspy.
"Understood. Fully understood," the Emperor hastened to assure him. "From this day forth, Zhen will never contact any Spirit Remover factions. I will not inquire into the affairs of the Southern Prefecture. And should the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountains attempt to contact me, I will inform Your Excellency immediately."
"See that you do. The poison palm print I left on your body is not a bluff; betray me, and you will die a death too gruesome to describe." Jiang Dao leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Also, I hear your sons—the princes—are feeling restless. Do you need me to discipline them for you?"
The threat hung in the air, sharp and bloody.
"No! No, Zhen will handle it personally," Zhao Binglong cried out. "Rest assured, Your Excellency, you will never see a trace of them again."
"Good. If I hear that a prince is colluding with Spirit Removers to move against my Flame Gang, do not blame me for swapping out the Emperor of Daye. I'm sure there is no shortage of ambitious men who would kill to sit where you stand."
Jiang Dao stood up. He reached out and patted the Emperor on the shoulder—a gesture that looked friendly but felt like being tapped by a sledgehammer.
BOOM!
Without warning, a surge of Gang Qi erupted from Jiang Dao's body. It shot upward like a meteor, smashing through the ornate roof of the Golden Throne Hall. Debris rained down as a massive hole was torn open to the sky, the thunderous roar shaking the foundations of the palace.
The officials, eunuchs, and maids screamed in silence, their eyes rolling back in terror.
Jiang Dao didn't bother with the doors. He leaped, his body a blur as he shot through the hole he had just created, vanishing into the clouds.
The moment he left, the crushing pressure evaporated. The relief was so sudden that it was physically debilitating. Ministers collapsed. Servants fainted. Emperor Zhao Binglong's knees gave out, and he slumped to the cold floor, gasping for air.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, are you alright?" a brave attendant whispered, crawling forward.
"Quick..." Zhao wheezed, clutching his chest. "Help Zhen up. Summon... summon the imperial physician."
Jiang Dao did not look back. He had accomplished his goals in the capital: securing a Yin cultivation method and terrifying the ruling class into submission. The princes and generals of Daye had been acting like jumping fleas lately, particularly in their flirtations with the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountains. They were insignificant insects in the grand scheme, but even insects need to be squashed occasionally to prevent an infestation.
He moved with supernatural speed, tearing across the landscape toward Qianyuan City.
As he ran, his mind turned inward. He was unsatisfied with the status quo of martial arts. A human's meridians were finite; eventually, even the best techniques hit a ceiling. He worried that his new acquisitions would suffer the same fate as his Health Preservation Technique—maxed out with nowhere to go.
I need to innovate, he thought. I possess a thousand years of cumulative cultivation experience. My understanding of martial theory exceeds any master in history. If they could invent these techniques, why can't I invent something better? Something that doesn't rely on the limits of internal qi.
He was determined to carve a path no one else had ever walked.
In a secluded room within the bustling expanse of Qianyuan City, the atmosphere was grim.
An Old Taoist paced the floor, his face a mask of anxiety. His head was still visibly misshapen from past trauma, and every surge of anger sent a spike of pain through his skull. He held a secret letter in his trembling hand, the paper crinkling under his grip.
"Master, please, stop pacing," his disciple, Zhao Ziling, said with a sigh. "You're making us nervous. What is happening?"
"Yes, Master, what does the letter say?" Xu Zifeng added.
The Old Taoist stopped abruptly. He looked at his students, his eyes haunted. "Trouble. Real trouble. In the Dayu Heavenly Dynasty, a sealed 'Evil God' site is awakening."
The disciples froze.
"Awakening?"
"The seal is breaking," the Old Taoist confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Four or five villages have already been corrupted. The influence is spreading."
"Is it true what the legends say?" Zhao Ziling asked, her voice trembling. "That Evil Gods are the filthiest, darkest entities in existence? That they turn the living into walking corpses?"
"It is true," the Old Taoist said gravely. "The secret texts of Tianshi Mountain are clear. But my worry isn't just for Dayu. There is another Evil God site near our own Tianshi Mountain. If the one in Dayu is waking up... ours might be next."
"But why now?" Xu Zifeng asked. "Why suddenly?"
"Who can say?" The Old Taoist laughed bitterly. "Evil Gods never truly die. In the ancient era, the Night Watchmen suppressed them. But the Night Watchmen are extinct. Without them, who can stop a resurgence?"
"We have to leave," Zhao Ziling insisted. "We have to go back to the mountain."
"We can't," the Old Taoist said, sinking into a chair. "Not until the Flame Gang Leader releases us. We are hostages in all but name."
"He's been gone a long time," Xu Zifeng muttered, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Maybe he died in Dayu. Maybe we should just leave tonight. Even if he returns, would he dare march on Tianshi Mountain to drag us back?"
The Old Taoist paled. "Fool! Have you forgotten the Blood Poison Curse? If he lives, he needs only a single thought to liquidate our insides. We wait."
The room fell into a heavy silence. They waited for two more agonizing days, their hope dwindling with the setting sun.
Then, he returned.
Jiang Dao appeared in the Flame Gang's compound like a storm front.
"Gang Leader! You've returned!"
"All hail the Gang Leader!"
The courtyard erupted into cheers. The Right Guardian Xiang An, Left Guardian Yan Wushuang, and the new hall masters rushed forward, prostrating themselves in relief and reverence.
"Get up," Jiang Dao commanded with a wave of his hand.
"Was the trip successful?" Xiang An asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
"It was adequate," Jiang Dao replied. "Is the South stable?"
"Stable as a rock, sir. The Old Taoist has been... helpful. He solved several supernatural troubles in your absence."
"And the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountains?"
"Silent. No trace."
Jiang Dao nodded. "Good. Take me to the Taoist."
The reunion was tense, veiled in forced pleasantries.
"Gang Leader Jiang," the Old Taoist greeted, squeezing out a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I trust your journey was fruitful?"
Jiang Dao stared at the Taoist's deformed head. It still hadn't healed. "Smooth enough. Let's talk inside."
Once they were seated in a private chamber, tea steaming between them, Jiang Dao dropped the pleasantries. He swirled the liquid in his cup, watching the leaves dance.
"I heard things in Dayu, Priest. I heard of 'Evil Gods.' I saw the 'Dead Domain' spreading like a cancer. I saw shadows in the mist that defied logic. And I learned that this world once had City Gods and an Underworld. Tell me... what is your perspective on this?"
The Old Taoist stiffened. He set his cup down slowly. "You saw the Dead Domain spreading?"
"I did. They say the Dead Domain is filled with gods abandoned by humanity. True or false?"
The Old Taoist sighed, a sound that carried the weight of centuries. "True or false... who can verify it now? It is as if a guillotine severed history, cutting us off from the truth. But the ancient texts of Tianshi Mountain contain fragments."
He leaned in, his voice dropping. "Legend says the last epoch was ruled by gods. But a war—a cataclysm—destroyed them. Yet, their resentment was so potent that it refused to disperse. It coagulated into the Dead Domain. These dead entities hate the heavens, the earth, and all living things. They exist only to destroy."
"Dead gods... pure resentment," Jiang Dao mused. It aligned with what he had felt. "And the Evil Gods?"
"Those," the Old Taoist said, shivering, "are the ones that didn't die. They are living gods. Rejected by the laws of nature, they are confined to specific zones. They project their will to corrupt the living, turning humans into fanatical husks—walking corpses. They are immortal. You can kill the body, but they will always return."
Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed. "Living gods."
"Yes. They are older than history."
Jiang Dao fell silent. The world was far more broken than he had realized. It wasn't just warlords and spirits; it was a graveyard of divinities and a prison for immortal monsters.
He reached into his robe and placed four withered, purple flowers on the table. "The Purple God Flowers. As promised. Now, teach me how to remove the Spirit Corpse Mark."
The Old Taoist's eyes lit up. "You found them. Good. I have prepared everything else." He paused, looking nervous. "Gang Leader... once I do this, I ask that you honor our agreement. Let us go. The Evil God near Tianshi Mountain is stirring. I need to be there."
"Remove the mark," Jiang Dao said calmly. "And I will give you your answer."
The ritual took place deep underground, in a chamber the Taoist had constructed specifically for this purpose. It was a bunker of copper and iron, sealed tight against the world.
In the center of the room sat a massive cauldron-like pool. The Old Taoist dumped armfuls of strange, pungent herbs into the water, his hands moving in a blur of complex mudras. The water began to boil, though there was no fire beneath it. Huge bubbles rose to the surface, popping with the scent of ozone and old earth.
Finally, he took the Purple God Flowers. He pricked his finger, dropping essence blood onto the petals, and flicked them into the roiling water.
WHOOSH.
The water turned a violent crimson. A strange, aromatic mist filled the room.
"Soak for three days," the Old Taoist instructed. "The mark will be purged."
"Will I be vulnerable to infection again?" Jiang Dao asked, stripping off his outer layers.
"No. The flower's essence provides permanent immunity."
"Excellent."
Jiang Dao vaulted into the pool. The red liquid hissed as it touched his skin. He closed his eyes, sinking into the heat. He wasn't just washing away a curse; he was preparing for war. He would not hide from the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountains. He would hunt them.
Far away, deep in the frozen wastes where the wind cut like a knife.
A ruined village lay buried under snow. The houses were shattered skeletons of wood, and the silence was absolute—until night fell.
In the only structure with a roof, a fire crackled. Two women sat before it. They were ethereal, beautiful beyond measure, their white dresses pristine despite the filth of the ruins. They looked like immortals who had lost their way.
Outside, the wind changed. The cold bite of winter was replaced by the cloying, sweet stench of rotting meat.
The women frowned in unison.
"Show yourselves," one of them called out, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "You're not subtle."
The darkness beyond the doorway seemed to thicken. From the shadows, figures emerged. They were nightmares made flesh—three meters tall, their skin black and necrotic, crawling with white maggots.
Corpse Demons.
"Wenxian Dao," a voice rasped from the dark, sounding like dry bones grinding together. "You killed one of our Spirit Corpses. You stole our Mandate Divine Artifact. And yet you dare sit here, bold as brass? You really don't respect us, do you?"
One of the fairies stood up, her expression icy. "You stupid, rotting piles of meat. Is your brain rotting along with your body? Can you not see a frame-up when it's staring you in the face?"
The heavy breathing of the monsters filled the silence.
"A frame-up?" the raspy voice mocked.
"Hu Xiaoshan is dead. Her soul lamp extinguished days ago," the fairy snapped. "Someone killed her, stole the artifact, and pinned the blame on our sect to start a war. We are here to find the truth, not fight your mindless grunts."
The darkness paused. "We don't trust you."
"Trust is irrelevant. We will investigate. The rumors came from the Nanling King and Tianshi Mountain. That is where the rot lies. That is where we start."
"Fine," the Corpse Demon hissed. "We will watch. But if you are lying... we will add your beautiful corpses to our collection."