The leader of the Bright Moon Sects gazed at the darkened sky with eyes that were almost empty.
Beside her lay a corpse—her blood sister—resting upon a slab of lunar stone, covered with a veil of pure white.
She took the sword at her side and walked out of the funerary chamber, cold air exuding from her entire body.
Upon entering, she looked at a small sphere that displayed a map of the western borderlands at the edge of the world. To soothe her soul, the hunters she had dispatched were already tracking every movement of that prince.
The plaque beside it, delivered by the Mist Hunters, lay next to the map. The name Hui Cao was inscribed upon it, accompanied by a confused, flickering flame.
Looking toward the western frontier, she let out a sigh as her mind tried to reconstruct the image of her niece as clearly as it could.
The door before her opened, and a disciple dressed in white robes, with a blue ribbon holding her hair, spoke.
—This disciple greets the Elder—she said as respectfully as possible.
—State your reason for interrupting the hunt of the sect's sinner.
Her eyes filled with rage as she looked at the disciple, who immediately knelt and spoke in haste.
—Sect Elder, the… the Emperor of the Gu Yan Empire is here. He says he has come to offer his help in the search for the princess.
Yao Ming Bing looked at the disciple with her coldest eyes, and a thin layer of ice began to creep over her sword.
—Is the Tomb of Ying Ice Confinement ready?—her question made the disciple tremble slightly before answering.
The question, laden with such a terrible and final meaning, made the disciple visibly shake, like a reed beneath a sudden blizzard. The "Ying" in its name was no coincidence. It was the dark, devouring counterpart to ice. It was not a prison; it was a sarcophagus of eternal negation, designed not to contain, but to slowly extinguish all warmth, all breath, all sparks of life and power. It was the final resort—a geological trap that turned the heart of the mountain into a chamber of glacial annihilation.
—We… we expected the imperial forces' assault in three days—the disciple managed to stammer, her voice breaking with fear. —It is still in the preliminary activation stage. If… if it is activated now, without the full containment runes… it could kill him, Sect Elder.
The warning hung in the air like a crystal of pure terror. Activating the Ying Tomb prematurely would not only be an act of desperation; it would be tactical suicide. It might trap or harm the Emperor, yes—but it would also shatter the temple's foundations and bury Yao Ming Bing beneath thousands of tons of corrupted, chaotic ice.
Yao Ming Bing's eyes—those winter abysses—showed no fear. They showed calculation. Cold, swift, merciless calculation. She weighed the threat of the Golden Dragon within her sanctuary against the risk of self-immolation that would leave the Sects leaderless and Hui Cao at everyone's mercy.
The ice on her sword stopped spreading. It remained there—a silent warning.
—Then it will not be activated—she declared, her voice regaining absolute control, now edged like a razor. —Not yet. Guide him to the Hall of the Frozen Mirror. Let him contemplate his own reflection distorted by the ice of a thousand winters. Let him feel his fire weaken. —She paused, and her next order was a venom-laced whisper. —And light the Candles of Glacial Confession. Let the air he breathes remind him of the weight of every false word. If his "help" is a trap, let the cold tear it apart before he can lift a finger.
The disciple nodded, too terrified to speak, and fled.
Yao Ming Bing remained motionless. The Ying Tomb was not an option… for now. But the mere mention of its existence had shifted the board. The Emperor had not come with a visible army, but he had come knowing the Sects possessed an ultimate defense of such magnitude.
Time passed as she walked through the ice corridors illuminated by moonlight. She had not rested a single moment since she looked upon her sister's tablet with its extinguished flame.
In the courtyard ahead of her, several younger disciples were still training. Even with her heart frozen, she gave them a look of sorrow. If battle came, she would not be able to protect them.
At last, reaching the Hall of the Frozen Mirror, she took a step inside and saw the man with golden eyes and a pronounced beard, seated and enjoying wine brought by one of the disciples.
—Ah, sister-in-law. It has been an eternity since we last met. How are you today?—his golden eyes glimmered faintly as he took a sip.
Yao Ming Bing clenched her teeth and took a seat at the table as the Emperor continued with his tranquil calm.
—The Bright Moon Sects truly have excellent wine, though mixing it with Yang Explosion Poison is a habit I find rather charming—his calm voice echoed, causing the disciple to collapse to the ground under the pressure.
A wave of dry, dense, overwhelming heat— invisible yet as tangible as an anvil—emanated from the Emperor. It was not an attack. It was merely an exhalation, the simple act of a being of his power breathing and relaxing in a space so saturated with its opposing element.
The disciple who had served the wine and still lingered nearby slammed into the ice with a dull thud; she was crushed against the floor, gasping, unable to move, her lungs struggling to draw breath in a space that had suddenly become as heavy as molten lead.
The Emperor did not even look at her. His golden eyes were fixed on Yao Ming Bing, silently challenging her.
—We both know an old dragon wouldn't fall for such a simple trick. In truth, it's another poison—more specific. As long as you speak the truth of your intentions here, it will not activate—he said calmly, raising his pressure to its peak, allowing the disciple to barely stand again.
—Leave at once. If anything happens, activate the signal to all sects of the continent—she said calmly, her gray-pupiled eyes locked onto Gu Yan Wu.
—Oh, the Eternal Primordial Brilliance signal of the sect alliances. I still remember how my father recounted his grandfather's death at your council's hands. In truth, I believe I might have a chance against all of you—but that is not the most important matter right now—he continued, drinking his wine calmly.
—You say you are offering help to find Hui Cao, correct? For what purpose? Can you not find one of your many children and raise them as your puppet instead?—she said as a plaque emerged from the Emperor's sleeve.
—This is the Golden Dragon Plaque of my ancestor. Even with our blood diluted by the years, it still reacts to draconic energy and inscribes the name of the one who encounters it. I want you to look closely—his finger pointed to the golden glow within the plaque.
Yao Ming Bing followed his gaze. At the plaque's center, where only static ancestral gold should have shone, something moved. It was not writing. It was as if the gold itself were rearranging, forming fluid, complex patterns. And within that golden flow, a name materialized and faded, flickering with unsettling persistence.
It was a name she knew.
HUI CAO.
But it was not only the name. Around it, like a halo—or a contamination—the gold showed other patterns: ice fractals not of her lunar blood, angular geometric symbols belonging to no cultivation language, and a faint, almost imperceptible gray, earthen glow that seemed to dull the ancestral gold.
—It seems—said the Emperor, his voice now a blend of academic fascination and cold strategy—that my daughter and your niece have encountered a possibility. A very great one. —His golden eyes studied the shifting patterns. —This… feels like the echo of a dragon. But not one of ours. Not of the ordered celestial lineage. This is… older. Wilder. A dragon of the inmemorial era, from the days when the world was mud and primordial fire. The kind of being that hid when the heavens stabilized and lineages were defined.
He let the monstrous idea settle in the frozen air.
—I do not know why it keeps Hui Cao alive. Perhaps out of curiosity. Perhaps as an incubator. Perhaps as a… host. But if she lives, and the plaque shows that her draconic essence is not being consumed but… stimulated… —He paused, choosing his words as one would handle nitroglycerin. —Then perhaps this ancient being is inclined to help her. Or to use her. In either case, she stands at the eye of a storm of power that neither you nor I fully understand.
He rose in one fluid motion, ignoring the tension filling the hall like poison gas. He walked to where the young disciple had dropped the wine bottle, picked it up, examined the fine glass, and poured another cup—this time directly from the bottle. The act was casual, almost insultingly domestic amid the cosmic revelation.
—One of our finest diviners—he continued, taking a sip—made this conjecture. He practically burned twenty immortal years of vitality for a glimpse of this. Twenty centuries of wisdom and power reduced to ashes for a few seconds of clarity about what is happening to my daughter in that wasteland. —He looked at Yao Ming Bing over the rim of his cup. —Do you know what that means, Glacial Sister-in-law? It means that whatever is happening there is important enough, anomalous enough, to be worth more than the prolonged life of a sage who has seen dynasties rise and fall. We are dealing with a variable of cosmic grade. And your niece is at its center.
Now it was clear. The Emperor had not come for a mere princess, nor even for a "lineage treasure." He had come because the event surrounding Hui Cao transcended politics, vengeance, and even traditional cultivation. It was something that threatened—or promised—to rewrite the rules on a scale that endangered the celestial order itself.
Yao Ming Bing understood. Her glacial fury cooled even further, crystallizing into absolute, diamond-clear resolve.
It was about ensuring that whatever power was changing Hui Cao did not fall into the hands of the Golden Dragon. For if Gu Yan Wu gained control over what Hui Cao was becoming, there would be no sect, no mountain, no eternal winter capable of stopping him.
The cold in the hall was no longer merely physical. It was the chill of a cosmic, terrifying realization.
—With that said—the Emperor set his cup down with a soft click—I have a proposal. Let my idiot son live for a few more days. Long enough to lead us closer to where Hui Cao is.
—What?!—Pure, cutting, un-frozen fury burst from Yao Ming Bing's lips for the first time, shattering her glacial composure like lightning splitting an iceberg. —Are you trying to save your son and disguising it as interest? The murderer of my sister deserves to be torn apart by the Mist Hunters this instant! Every second he breathes is an insult to her memory!
—Hahaha—the Emperor's laughter was brief, dry, and utterly devoid of humor, like the grinding of ancient bones. —It seems rage has blinded your senses, Sister-in-law. There is no need to explode. Let us calm down. —His tone became hypnotically reasonable, that of a strategist explaining the obvious move. —Look. The idiot Gu Yan Long will not live long in his current state. The Mist Hunters have him cornered, his soul is marked on your Scroll, and he has lost all support. He is a dead man walking. The question is not if he will die, but when and how. Why not extract value from what little life he has left?
The logic was so cold, so utilitarian, so monstrous that Yao Ming Bing's heart stumbled—not with compassion, but with sheer astonishment at the man's ruthless efficiency.
The silence that followed was even deeper. Yao Ming Bing breathed in, and the air entering her lungs seemed to absorb the residual heat of her outburst, turning her once more into solid, calculating ice. But it was a different ice now, seeded with the Emperor's poisonous proposal.
—You once cared for Hui Cao?—she said, her voice regaining its glacial composure, now sharpened into surgical interrogation. —Why, You requested my sister on the day you chose your concubine?. I was at the table as well. —Her gray gaze remained unmoving. —With me, you would have had influence—perhaps even subtle control—over all the Bright Moon Sects. A perfect political bridge. And yet… you chose her. Not merely as a concubine. You gave her a daughter. You allowed her a certain… autonomy.
—It was nothing personal, truly. As someone with dragon lineage, I simply chose the one with the best compatibility with me. It is a pity Huan Ming Zhi did not give me any children beyond Hui Cao's level. From the moment I saw her control, the throne was hers. And besides, having the orthodox sects breathing down my neck at every move would have been troublesome—he shrugged, unconcerned.
Yao Ming Bing's lips cracked in horror as she saw her sister reduced to breeding stock.
—Whenever this is mentioned, you all look the same. There is one thing we possess, those with dragon blood in our veins: the higher the percentage, the slower we grow. I looked like a child for a millennium before reaching youth. Do you think your sects know even half of this? My father was a fool who underestimated every being in the world—and still died like a dog. I stopped underestimating short lives long ago. When Hui Cao reaches the Qi Control stage, this slowed aging will begin. Do you think you can protect her for a millennium? Do you think they will grant you that many methods to extend your lifespan?—his eyes blazed with solid gold.
Yao Ming Bing's teeth clenched in fury, her eyes glaring death at Gu Yan Wu.
Yet in her heart, she understood why he was this way. He had lived barely three centuries by mortal reckoning, but judging by his middle-aged appearance, she was certain he had already lived three or four thousand years.
She cast the thought aside as her icy aura surged.
—It is true that I cannot protect my niece forever. But do not believe I will not tear your head off with my own hands before I die—the freezing aura forced the Emperor to take a step back before he spoke.
—Let Hui Cao decide when the time comes. You will see—I am certain Gu Yan Long will reach her—he said calmly, taking another sip of wine.
—What gives you such confidence?—her icy aura held steady.
—He believes he stole a dynastic artifact during his escape from the imperial palace. What he took was the Golden Dragon Compass. It allows one to follow the trail of the closest kin. When supplied with True dragon blood, it can teleport someone to the target's location in a single breath—he said calmly.
Yao Ming Bing finally closed her eyes.
—You used your son as a guide to the treasures that matter. If he offends someone of higher standing, so be it—he has already been expelled from your lineage, and his actions are his own. Is that it?—she said coldly.
Gu Yan Wu let the silence weigh heavily after her last threat. But his expression was not anger—it was something rarer: ancient fatigue.
—Tear off my head…—he repeated, his laughter this time bitter, tinged with envy. —You could try. You might even succeed, in a few centuries, when Decay gnaws a little more at my longevity. But Glacial Sister-in-law, what would it accomplish?
He approached the ice wall, not to see his reflection, but to look beyond it—as if gazing at the world itself.
—You see this conflict as a struggle for power, lineage, affection. And it is. But that is the crust. The core…—He tapped the ice lightly, and fine cracks spread from the impact, failing to heal as they should, leaving a small scar in the glacial perfection—. The core is hunger.
He turned back to her, his golden eyes dimmer now, no longer imperial but desperate—the gaze of an old predator in a land where prey has vanished.
—The gate to True Immortality has closed. The Heavenly fruits that extended life for millennia have withered. The veins of Primordial Spirit Stones are dust. This era… is one of scarcity. And Decay does not forgive. It eats at the foundations, thins the Heavenly Qi, shortens lifecycles even of the long-lived. I… —He paused, and for the first time, Yao Ming Bing heard a genuine tremor in his voice. —I should have tens of millennia ahead of me. Instead, I feel the weight of years in my draconic bones. Each passing century weakens my inner fire by a degree. Do you know what that means for a being whose consciousness has witnessed empires rise and fall? It means I am dying of thirst in a desert that was once an ocean.
He advanced, his presence now not just powerful, but ravenously needy.
—Hui Cao… that anomaly surrounding Hui Cao… —his words became a whisper heavy with cosmic greed—. It is not merely a new power. It is a spring in the desert. An energy pattern the Heavens do not recognize, untouched by Decay. Those gray symbols, that primordial dragon… they are not bound by our dying rules. They could be a new rule. Or the key to reopening a closed gate.
His gaze locked onto hers—not emperor to subordinate, but castaway to castaway, pointing toward the same faint strip of land on the horizon.
—That is why your vengeance is a luxury neither of us can afford. That is why my son is an expendable pawn. That is why I offer you this… pragmatic association. Not because I fear your ice, but because at the edge of extinction, even the most ancient predators must learn to cooperate if they wish to drink from the same pool.