Su Yonghuang fell silent.
Her dao heart weighed his words against everything she knew.
The Sacred Nether World was dangerous.
She had read the scattered records from the previous Eras: shattered realms drifting in the void, Ghost Immortal clans lurking in cities of bone, Ancestral City like a wound carved into the sky. It was an place equally as dangerous as the Mortal Emperor World.
But staying in place, forever guarding a mountain, while the man who had overturned the Mortal Emperor World strode into other worlds without her…
That thought tasted more bitter than any Ghost Immortal scheme.
"…If I go," she said slowly, every word pulled from the depths of her heart, "Cleansing Incense must not be left vulnerable. I will not abandon my juniors for my own selfish desire."
"Good," he replied immediately. "That's why I like you."
Her ears warmed. Even now, even with a dao heart that had been tempered on the edge of despair and duty for years, Ling Feng could make it flutter with one careless sentence.
He continued before she could react, his tone turning lazy again.
"Like I said," he drawled, "any Virtuous Paragon who dares to show off here will see the Yellow Springs—and there's no reason to mention anyone weaker."
His hand slid down to clasp hers, fingers warm and sure.
"On top of that," he added, "if, say, a sect like Soaring Immortal suddenly decides to be idiotic, I'll leave a few personal talismans with the Elders. If they crush one, I'll know immediately. Even if I'm in Sacred Nether, I can tear space and get back here."
"…You speak as if distance is meaningless," she whispered.
"For me," Ling Feng said, meeting her gaze without the slightest ripple of doubt, "it might as well be."
Silence. Wind. The scent of pine and ancient stone.
Her heart pounded a little too fast.
He didn't press. He just watched her in that infuriating, patient way of his—completely confident that the world would eventually match his pace.
Su Yonghuang closed her eyes.
The image of the Sacred Nether World rose in her mind—shattered worlds spinning like broken wheels, Ghost Immortal clans nesting in the cracks of reality, Ancestral City's shadow falling across entire heavens.
The image of Cleansing Incense followed—disciples training on refurbished peaks, Elders smiling more easily than they had in decades, the main hall overflowing with treasures, old enemies nursing wounds far away and not daring to breathe too loudly.
And then the image of him.
Ling Feng. Foreign monster. Uncrowned Emperor. True God–Slaying Demon.
Her… man.
He had erased enemies who threatened her sect as casually as other people brushed dust from their sleeves. He had dumped impossible mountains of resources at her feet and told her to "make something fun" with them. He had hugged her in front of everyone, kissed her without caring about gossip or reputation, and now spoke of crossing worlds as if inviting her on a leisurely walk.
"…You will truly miss me that much?" she asked suddenly, eyes opening, voice barely above the wind.
He blinked, then laughed softly.
"Yonghuang," he said, tone warming. "I miss you when I'm just walking between peaks. You think I won't miss you if I go to another world?"
Her cheeks reddened again.
"You…" she said helplessly. "You really say such things so casually."
"Not casually," he corrected. "Truthfully."
His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, calloused and warm.
"So," he asked again, quietly. "Come with me?"
The answer had already been born the moment he said "Sacred Nether World." Her dao heart had moved before her mind did; now the decision simply took shape.
"…Very well," Su Yonghuang said at last, voice soft but firm. "I will go."
Her phoenix eyes met his, clear and shining. The glow of the setting sun traced the line of her lashes, making her look for one brief moment less like a sect master, more like a woman trusting a man with the rest of her life.
"But," she added, recovering a shred of her usual majesty, "if you dare treat this 'vacation' as an excuse to recklessly provoke every old monster in that world… I will personally knock sense into you before the Ghost Immortals do."
Ling Feng's grin turned bright, a little wild.
"Deal," he said at once. "You can scold me all you want. Just stay by my side while you're doing it."
He didn't wait for another opening. He was not a man who left doors half-closed.
He pulled her into another kiss.
Longer. Deeper.
This time, there was no stiffness at the start, no instinctive distance. Her arms rose and looped around his neck of their own accord. The careful boundary she had kept even when he hugged her before—out of habit, out of responsibility—melted like frost under the first spring sun.
Outside, Cleansing Incense's peaks stood tall under the light, ancient stone blazing gold.
Inside that small pavilion, the sect master who had once carried everything alone allowed herself, just for a little while, to simply be a woman in her lover's lap—kissing, breathing, and silently trusting that the mountain would not collapse in her absence.
Because the man holding her…
Had already decided to underpin it with his own foreign, terrifying, maddening Dao.
...
The next few days at Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect passed in a way that made the entire Grand Middle Territory uneasy without knowing why.
Rumors traveled along trading routes and through ancestral halls: True Gods had fallen. Ancient Kingdoms had lost face. Lion's Roar and Cleansing Incense rose like twin suns from behind old, crumbling mountains. The proud names of Azure Mysterious and Brilliance were no longer spoken with unshakable certainty.
And on one quiet, ordinary-seeming day—
On the main peak, the ancestral bells rang three times.
The sound rolled through the ten thousand ridges like dragons coiling in the clouds. Dao sounds echoed between peaks; ancient runes carved into cliff faces lit up one after another, responding to the resonance.
Elders came flying from all directions, Life Treasures humming, robes fluttering in the mountain wind. Disciples paused in their cultivations and looked up, hearts pounding; the older generation recognized this bell pattern from the sect's deepest records.
It wasn't a summons for war.
It was a summons for fate.
The five remaining Elders of Cleansing Incense stood in a line beneath the main ancestral stele. Their faces were solemn, their backs straight. They had all watched the storm Ling Feng caused. They had watched an ancient sect that had once been mocked as "declining and decrepit" suddenly be listed alongside Heavenly Dao Academy and Lion's Roar in the whispers of the world.
Now they watched the man responsible standing lazily before the ancestral stele with his hands behind his back, looking more like a youth on a casual stroll than the True God–Slaying Demon who had crushed the Grand Middle Territory's arrogance beneath his heel.
"Relax," Ling Feng said, glancing over them. "I'm not here to scold anyone."
Even that casual tone made their hearts tighten.
The First Elder took a deep breath and stepped forward, bowing with both hands cupped. His aura surged for a brief moment—deep, steady, like an ancient mountain that had just shed its outer layer of stone. The light of Fate Palaces glimmered faintly behind him: six Fate Palaces, solid and magnificent, the mark of a Supreme Noble reaching toward an even higher threshold.
The other four Elders were no worse. Fate Palaces resonated one after another, their foundations stabilizing, Dao patterns engraving more clearly into their palaces. Some carried the heavy, unyielding might of mountains; others, the sharp light of blades; one bore the gentle, nourishing flow of a river. All of them had moved forward in ways they would never have dreamed of a few years ago.
Behind them, the seven peak disciples stood like silent blades.
Their spirit energy had grown deeper and steadier. The chill of the grave coiled around their bodies without leaking outward, like killing intent wrapped in linen. Each of those seven now stood at Supreme Royal Noble as well, with Fate Palaces that had been refined under battle, not shelter.
They bowed as one.
"Young Noble," the First Elder said, voice roughened by age yet clear, "we… have done our best to live up to the grace you bestowed."
Ling Feng only nodded once.
"Good," he said. "At least when I go play somewhere else, I won't need to worry about this mountain collapsing from a light breeze."
He flicked a sleeve.
Heaven and earth shook.
No treasure appeared. No grand formation diagram bloomed in the sky. Yet every cultivator in the sect—from the lowest outer disciple on herb-watering duty to the Elders standing beneath the ancestral stele—suddenly felt something settle over the entire mountain range.
It was not pressure.
It was certainty.
In the depths of the sect's foundation, in places no mortal eye could reach, something foreign descended. A will that didn't belong to this world, yet intertwined itself with it without causing conflict. Dao lines that slumbered beneath the peaks suddenly sharpened. Old formations, half-crippled by time, jolted awake and integrated into a larger, invisible pattern.
It was as if an invisible giant had crouched down and slipped his hands under the roots of the mountain range, then calmly lifted.
In that moment, every stone, every tree, every carved step of Cleansing Incense knew one thing:
As long as that will remained, no ordinary calamity could shake this land.
Ling Feng made this will a bit more special. If some arrogant existence on the level of Emperor Assailant or even an Emperor Contender dared to step onto this mountain with ill intent, that invisible will was enough to suppress him into dust before he could even finish circulating his energy.
"Remember this feeling," Ling Feng's voice echoed through the mountain.
The Elders shivered. They understood.
This was not some simple protective formation. This was a piece of Ling Feng's own Dao imprinted into their home—his Chaos-infused will anchoring itself to the bones of the land.
He spoke casually, as if talking about the weather.
"From today on," he said, "Cleansing Incense's name will be tied to Heavenly Dao Academy, Lion's Roar, Bao Yun, Divine Sword Sacred Ground, and Ice Feather Palace. Don't be surprised when their people show up at the mountain gate. Treat them as guests, not enemies, unless they're stupid enough to come provoke you while I'm away."
The Elders exchanged stunned glances.
Heavenly Dao Academy and Lion's Roar they could barely digest already.
But Divine Sword Sacred Ground?
Ice Feather Palace?
Ling Feng didn't bother explaining the details. A few simple words were enough.
"If someone asks what kind of relationship we have," he added lazily, "just say this: 'Our Young Noble is interested in their most talented disciples.'"
The Elders' expressions twisted in complicated ways.
Interested… in what sense?
They wisely chose not to ask.
"We… will remember," the First Elder said, bowing again. "We will not disgrace Young Noble's face."
"Do your jobs," Ling Feng finished. "Train the juniors. Stabilize your Daos. When I come back from the other side, if you're still stuck at the same level, I'll personally kick you down the mountain to train with the disciples."
His figure blurred and vanished like a shadow at noon.
Only after he left did the First Elder exhale slowly, wiping cold sweat from his back.
"That brat…" he muttered, but there was a sliver of unhidden relief in his aged eyes. "At least, this generation… our Cleansing Incense will not be buried again."
On distant mountains, some of the older disciples knelt quietly, touching their foreheads to the ground. They didn't know the full scope of what just happened. But they knew this:
From this day on, anyone daring to call their sect "declining" would be courting annihilation.
...
The Eastern Hundred Cities were still boiling with rumors. True Gods had fallen. Ancient Kingdoms had lost face. Lion's Roar and Cleansing Incense rose like suns from behind old mountains.
Even Soaring Immortal Sect, high above the clouds were having words of caution.
But in one quiet corner of Heavenly Dao Academy, under the shade of the Everlasting Tree's far-reaching branches, the storm outside felt very distant.
Here, there was only a courtyard.
Old tiles, moss between stones, a small spirit spring murmuring by the wall. Thin mist curled around the eaves, infused with the academy's ancient dao. A few spirit cranes dozed on the roof, occasionally flicking their feathers as if sensing something extraordinary brewing beneath their claws.
Ling Feng appeared there without any warning.
Chaos lines twisted once, then flattened. One heartbeat he was above the mountain ranges of the Eastern Hundred Cities; the next, he was stepping through the courtyard gate like a man returning home from a short walk.
He wasn't alone.
Su Yonghuang walked at his side.
The Sect Master of Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect had traded her usual formal robe for something slightly less austere. The patterns along her sleeves still carried the stern dignity of a sect master, but today her hair was tied up with a simpler jade pin, and the light around her felt… less distant. She still stood straight as a sword.
But that sword had been sheathed—for now.
In the pavilion at the courtyard's center, six familiar figures were already seated.
Xu Pei, slender and composed, hands wrapped around a teacup, eyes bright with that mixture of nervousness and determination that always surfaced when she faced something to do with him.
Li Shangyuan, Pure Jade beauty in pale garments, posture as calm as a jade lake, but with a faint gleam in her eyes that betrayed anticipation whenever she thought of cultivation—and of him.
Chen Baojiao, Tyrannical Valley's proud jewel, one leg casually hooked over the other, chin tilted, looking like she'd laugh at the entire world if it dared to bore her.
Bai Jianzhen, sword still within its sheath, resting against her shoulder. She sat straight, expression cold and tranquil, a living sword-pillar holding up her own sky.
Chi Xiaodie, Lion's Roar's princess, back held a fraction too stiff, fiery pride hidden beneath a restrained exterior, the roar of ancient battlefields faintly lingering around her aura.
Bing Yuxia, Ice Feather Palace's prime descendant, fan raised, aura cold as high snow peaks—yet the way her eyes kept flicking toward the courtyard gate betrayed a restlessness she would never admit aloud.
They all looked up at the same time.
The sight that greeted them—
Ling Feng strolling in like he owned the courtyard, hands in his sleeves, lazy grin already forming.
And beside him, Su Yonghuang.
The air tightened for a breath.
Then broke.
"Senior Sister!" Chen Baojiao was the first to react. The princess rose halfway to her feet, that usually domineering expression softening into something warmer and more respectful. "You finally came."
Su Yonghuang's phoenix eyes swept over them.
She had already shared tea and battle plans with Chen Baojiao, Li Shangyuan, and Xu Pei back in Cleansing Incense, during those days after Ling Feng returned from the evil-infested ridge and the four of them had quietly grown closer. They had discussed sect matters and cultivation, both testing and acknowledging each other's hearts.
Now, seeing those familiar faces in Heavenly Dao Academy's Everlasting Courtyard, her gaze eased a little.
"Baojiao, Shangyuan, Pei," she greeted with a nod. "You've all been well."
Xu Pei stood up so quickly her chair almost scraped the stone.
"Y-Yes," she said, then corrected herself, cheeks pink. "Yes, Sect Master-sister."
Her fingers tightened around her teacup; she still wasn't used to calling someone far more Senior "sister," but the bond they shared through Ling Feng made it feel natural, if shy.
Li Shangyuan's eyes curved into a gentle smile.
"Senior Sister," she said softly. "Welcome to the Eastern Hundred Cities as Young Noble's… side."
The brief pause there carried a lot of meaning. "Side" here was not just physical position—it was status, recognition.
Su Yonghuang's lips almost curved—but she suppressed it.
"Mn," she replied, keeping her tone steady. "This old mountain woman is only borrowing the academy's shade for a while. Please take care of me."
"Heh." Ling Feng clicked his tongue. "Old mountain woman, my ass. If the disciples outside hear those words, they're going to choke on their spirit rice."
He waved his hand lazily at the girls in the pavilion.
"Alright," he said, grin widening. "You've all met before—"
His gaze flicked over Li Shangyuan, Chen Baojiao, Xu Pei and Bai Jianzhen, then settled on Chi Xiaodie and Bing Yuxia.
"—but you two haven't, so…"
He hooked a thumb at Su Yonghuang.
"This is my Su Yonghuang," he said calmly. "Sect Master of Cleansing Incense. The woman who never once turned her back on a so-called declining sect."
The possessiveness in "my" was obvious. The women around him all heard it; none of them objected.
"And Yonghuang, this is Chi Xiaodie," he went on, finally looking at the Lion's Roar princess directly for the first time since stepping into the courtyard this time. "Lion's Roar's golden branch, currently pretending not to be nervous."
"I am not nervous," Chi Xiaodie immediately retorted. Her chin was tilted that fraction too high, a familiar habit. Her eyes, however, trembled ever so slightly when they met Su Yonghuang's.
The woman in front of her was not just a sect master; she was someone who had carried a dying heritage on her back and refused to bend.
Su Yonghuang assessed her for a breath—saw the Lion's Roar bloodline coiled under her skin, the stubbornness forged from carrying responsibilities she shouldn't have had to bear alone—and her gaze softened.
"Lion's Roar's princess," she said. "I have heard of your burden. It is not easy."
Chi Xiaodie's posture straightened more naturally at that.
"…It is duty," she answered quietly. "Not something to be praised."
"Duty is precisely what deserves respect," Su Yonghuang replied.
The last pair of eyes belonged to Bing Yuxia.
Prime descendant of Ice Feather Palace, the one whose fan had frozen countless arrogant fools mid-sentence. Right now, that fan had stopped halfway through a lazy wave. Her gaze met Su Yonghuang's head-on.
"Young Noble really has too much time," she said slowly. "Running around graveyards, killing True Gods, and picking up sect masters on the way back."
Ling Feng grinned.
"What can I say?" he replied. "For a genius like Yonghuang, it would be a crime not to bring her where the scenery is good."
Bing Yuxia snorted softly.
But when Su Yonghuang walked closer and bowed slightly in greeting, the ice didn't thicken. It lightened.
"Ice Feather Palace's prime descendant," Su Yonghuang said. "I've long wanted to meet you properly."
"Sect Master of Cleansing Incense," Bing Yuxia responded, folding her fan and returning the courtesy. "The honor is mutual."
Their tones were formal. But beneath that formality, a faint thread of understanding flickered.
Ling Feng smiled and nodded, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Everyone's here. That saves me the trouble of scheduling."
He threw himself onto a cushion at the head of the pavilion as if he'd just come back from a casual errand, not from imprinting his Dao across an entire sect and preparing to invade another world. He poured himself tea, took a slow sip, then let his gaze sweep over all of them.
"Until we leave," he declared, "this courtyard is our resting point."
Chen Baojiao raised a brow.
"Resting point?" she echoed, lips curving.
"Resting point," he repeated. "During the day, we talk dao, we cultivate, we bully academy prodigies who come looking for pointers. At night…"
He paused.
Six pairs of eyes sharpened instantly.
"At night," he continued, perfectly serious, "this Young Noble will be very busy."
Silence.
"Busy… with what?" Xu Pei asked despite herself, voice small.
Ling Feng tapped his own chest.
"Rotating schedule," he said shamelessly. "Yonghuang one night, Baojiao the next, Shangyuan the night after, Pei after that… Yuxia, Xiaodie, Jianzhen… well, your hearts aren't prepared yet."
The courtyard exploded.
"Shameless!" Chen Baojiao grabbed a cushion and hurled it at his head, face burning and eyes bright with laughter.
Li Shangyuan's hand froze halfway to her teacup and then withdrew, fingers trembling. "Feng…" she murmured, ears red.
Xu Pei's soul nearly escaped her body; she covered her face with both hands. "You can't just say that in front of everyone…"
Bing Yuxia's fan snapped shut with a crisp sound.
"You—!" she began, cheeks flushed a very un-Ice-Feather shade. "In broad daylight, you dare—"
Chi Xiaodie's eyes widened, then narrowed.
"You…" she managed, Lion's Roar blood roaring in embarrassed outrage. "How can you speak such things so casually—"
Bai Jianzhen said nothing.
But her sword shook once in its sheath—not with killing intent, but with the faint trembling of a swordswoman whose dao heart had been struck in a direction she wasn't prepared for.
Su Yonghuang, veteran sect master, Complete Yang emperor in the making…
Her ears turned red.
"You… in broad daylight…" she ground out, phoenix eyes full of complicated fire.
Ling Feng simply laughed.
"What?" he said lazily. "I'm just stating reality. We're all warriors here. You think the heavens don't know what we're doing at night?"
His gaze turned softer as it passed over them again.
"But seriously," he added, voice gentling, "I want you here. All of you. When I look out across the Eastern Hundred Cities, I want to see this courtyard and think: yeah, that's my little world."
The words landed differently than the shameless joke before. Gentler. Heavier.
Something warm curled in the chest of each woman present.
"Anyway," he said, tone snapping back to light, "days are for training. Nights are for… 'passion.' If anyone has objections, raise your hand now, and we can negotiate your schedule."
No one raised a hand.
They did throw him several looks that promised future revenge.
Ling Feng accepted all of it with a lazy grin and a quietly satisfied heart.