Seeing the Prohibition Guards emerge from the darkness, Yan Lan showed no sign of panic. The officials behind him remained calm as well.
An old minister stepped forward and said, "Your Majesty, though your Prohibition Guards are powerful, their numbers are limited. The palace is already under our control. You should abandon resistance. You can become the Supreme Emperor instead of the former emperor."
His long brows drooped low, hiding his eyes, yet his ambition was fully revealed in his words.
"You old fools…"
The Emperor's voice came from ahead, calm and lazy, as if he had just awakened. "You're already halfway into your graves, yet your greed only grows deeper."
Another elder spoke, his tone filled with anger. "If the realm were peaceful and the people content, do you think we would still wear these robes? Zhao Zhi, you stole the throne from your brother Zhao Yan. Had you ruled wisely, we might have endured it. But look at what you've done—the atrocities you've committed. When you descend to the Yellow Springs, how will you face the founding emperor?"
Hearing that, Yan Lan's eyes turned sharp and cold.
He knew what they meant.
His rebellion today would make him a sinner in the eyes of history, condemned by all future generations.
But for the people of the world, he was willing to bear that curse.
"Descend to the Yellow Springs? Hahaha—"
The Emperor suddenly burst into mad laughter. His laughter shook through the dark hall, his shoulders trembling violently. The shadowed figure standing before him—Xuan Gong, the Grand Director of the Bureau of Martial Prohibition—remained perfectly still, his eyes beneath the mask gleaming like a ghost's, staring down at Yan Lan and his followers.
"I," the Emperor said, his tone rising with manic delight, "am destined to be immortal! How could I descend to the underworld? I will be the eternal Son of Heaven of the Great Li Dynasty! Through endless years, I will lead our empire to its greatest glory. The chaos of these few years will mean nothing to future generations—they will only sing of my greatness! As for you… you will be remembered as ambitious traitors who tried to hinder the Eternal Emperor's path to immortality. Your names will be cursed for a thousand generations!"
His words were filled with madness and delusion. The ministers frowned in disbelief, realizing the Emperor had lost his mind completely.
"Xuan Gong!"
"Your servant is here!"
"Kill them all—everyone except the Crown Prince. Leave not a single complete corpse!"
"As you command!"
Xuan Gong raised his right hand.
Instantly, the Prohibition Guards drew their weapons and charged forward, slashing at the Heaven-Guardian Guards, officials, and their retainers.
Blood sprayed across the marble threshold of Qianwu Hall, running down the steps in scarlet streams.
Steel clashed violently.
The flickering lights of blades flashed from within the hall.
In less than ten breaths, someone burst out in terror.
It was Jia Yi.
His face was pale with horror. He fled down the white stone steps, using lightfoot skill to escape as fast as he could.
Other Heaven-Guardian Guards called out to him, but he ignored them all, his expression twisted in panic, as if he had witnessed the most terrifying sight in the world.
…
Clang!
A curved blade slid to a stop at Yan Lan's feet.
Behind him, one of the elderly officials clutched at his throat, blood gushing between his fingers. A Prohibition Guard chopped through his legs, and the man screamed as he collapsed into a pool of blood, unable to rise again.
Everywhere Yan Lan looked, corpses littered the floor. The Prohibition Guards surrounded him in a tightening circle.
Yan Lan clenched his fists inside his sleeves, taking a deep breath.
The fear in his eyes faded, replaced by calm determination.
He looked toward the shadowed throne and said quietly, "They all say I'm too soft-hearted—that I lack the courage to kill my father. The truth is, I was never certain before. But now, you've left me no choice. You've forced me to this point. There's no path of return."
The Emperor's mocking laugh echoed from the darkness. "Those fools think the empire is theirs for the taking. But you—at least you can see clearly. You truly are my son. Kneel now, and I'll grant you a cleaner death."
Yan Lan glared into the darkness and shouted, "Father Emperor, are you possessed by demons, or have you truly gone mad? Do you honestly believe in immortality? The Fourteen Regions of the Nine Provinces have stood for seven thousand years, yet never once has there been an immortal man!"
"Others cannot achieve it," the Emperor replied coldly, "but that does not mean I cannot. I once intended to make you the eternal Crown Prince, but your behavior has disappointed me. No matter. Sons are easy to make. I can have as many as I wish. Anyone who dares defy me—must die."
His tone turned chilling, murderous intent seeping into every word.
Yan Lan fell silent. He knew reasoning was useless now.
He drew the sword from his waist, raising it toward the Emperor. Even surrounded by dozens of Prohibition Guards, he refused to cower. If he must die here, he would die standing—with his sword pointed at his father.
"Xuan Gong," the Emperor ordered coldly, "break his knees. I want him to kneel before me!"
"Yes!"
Xuan Gong answered and waved his hand.
The Prohibition Guards stepped aside, clearing a path.
Staring at the monstrous figure of Xuan Gong, Yan Lan showed no fear. He only sighed inwardly, thinking, "Zhen'er, your father won't be able to watch you grow up."
Boom—
A terrifying gust of force erupted as Xuan Gong leapt forward, his foot crashing down toward Yan Lan. The sheer pressure forced Yan Lan's eyes wide open.
Clang—
A sharp sword cry pierced the air. Yan Lan's expression froze in shock, his lips parting slightly.
Two swords had crossed before him, blocking Xuan Gong's strike. The force was overwhelming, wind howling as Yan Lan's robes whipped violently. His hair was flung backward, and he saw a shimmering barrier of qi form before him.
Turning his head, he saw one black-clad figure on each side of him, both holding swords firmly, deflecting the attack.
Xuan Gong's pupils widened. He leapt backward instantly, landing at the foot of the steps.
His cold gaze fixed on the two mysterious intruders. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice like steel. "There are few in the entire martial world with strength like yours. You are no nameless wanderers!"
Jiang Zhaoxia raised one hand and grabbed Yan Lan's shoulder, leaping upward like an immortal soaring through the clouds, trying to carry the Crown Prince out of Qianwu Hall.
Xuan Gong's eyes narrowed sharply. With a wave of his hand, dozens of Prohibition Guards immediately surged forward to intercept them.
Xu Ning remained where she stood, her sword flicking out in rapid arcs. Waves of sword qi burst forth, sweeping across the hall in all directions, forcefully blocking the incoming guards.
Xuan Gong moved like a phantom, weaving through two of his own men and striking toward Xu Ning with a palm.
Xu Ning raised her sword to parry. Their forces clashed violently, both being knocked backward. Xu Ning twisted midair, using the impact to propel herself out of the hall. Under the moonlight, her figure traced a perfect arc before landing gracefully at the base of the white stone stairs.
Jiang Zhaoxia and Yan Lan landed just behind her.
But ahead, the palace gate was already sealed by the Prohibition Guards.
Looking around, the surrounding palace walls were packed with black-clad figures. Every one of them wore a demonic mask and wielded a gleaming weapon—blades, halberds, chains, and spears flashing coldly in the night.
Under the falling snow and moonlight, they looked like vengeful ghosts descending from the underworld.
Xuan Gong appeared atop the white stone steps in an instant. His cold gaze swept over the three of them as he said, "None of you will leave here alive tonight!"
With that, he leapt high into the air, raising his right palm. The accumulated power of hundreds of years of cultivation surged in his hand, forming waves of blazing energy that burned through the night, domineering and unstoppable.
…
The snow fell endlessly across heaven and earth. Yet under the midday sun, the frozen landscape glimmered warmly as light danced on the ice.
At that hour, Xue Jin returned with the Twelve Sword Fiends and came to see Li Qingqiu alone.
"It's the Pei Clan of Zhenyang sending assassins after our disciples," Xue Jin said quickly, his tone cold and forceful. "I don't know how much silver they've spent or how many killers they've hired, but there's only one way to settle this. We must exterminate the Pei Clan completely! Sect Master, give the order—the Thirteen Sword Fiends are ready to march on Zhenyang City and slaughter them all!"
Li Qingqiu rolled his eyes and said irritably, "Why is it that every time you run into trouble, your first thought is exterminating an entire clan? Do you take Qingxiao Sect for the Demonic Sect?"
Xue Jin fell silent, though inwardly he muttered that Qingxiao Sect had wiped out quite a few sects and families already.
"Zhenyang City isn't as simple as you think," Li Qingqiu said lazily. "You might stir up storms in the martial world, but within the imperial city, even a top expert could be ambushed and killed in an alleyway. Don't underestimate those who serve the court."
He spoke with a calm authority, yet his words carried clear warning. Xue Jin had become far too arrogant after reaching Nurturing Essence Realm, fourth layer—and that was something Li Qingqiu would not allow.
Xue Jin opened his mouth, but dared not refute him.
"Take some rest," Li Qingqiu continued. "Until you reach the fifth layer of the Nurturing Essence Realm, you're not leading any expeditions down the mountain."
Xue Jin looked gloomy. "Then what about the Pei Clan? They're still killing our disciples."
"Who said we won't handle it? I'll send someone else," Li Qingqiu replied lightly.
Hearing that, Xue Jin finally relaxed. He feared his Sect Master would hesitate—but Li Qingqiu was still the decisive man he admired, never soft when it came to retribution.
"Your master isn't here, so you don't need to visit him. Go and rest."
"Yes!"
Xue Jin bowed and left.
Li Qingqiu then headed toward the rear mountain. Reaching the cliff's edge, he leapt into the air. The Tianhong Sword shot out before him, its blade gleaming with multicolored light. He stepped upon it, flying between the mountain peaks through the drifting mists of snow.
This was a Sword Riding Technique originally created by Jiang Zhaoxia, later refined by Li Qingqiu himself.
Riding directly on the sword's edge looked flashy, but by letting sword qi carry him from the front, the method conserved vital energy and increased speed.
With his current cultivation, he no longer needed Xiao Ba as a mount—the sword flew even faster.
Soaring through the sky, he finally felt like a true cultivator of the immortal path.
'How long will it take,' he wondered, 'before all disciples in the sect can master sword riding?'
Just imagining it—a thousand disciples flying their swords in unison—filled his mind with awe.
Before long, he entered the thick miasma surrounding the Thousand Spirits Blessed Land, descending into the sacred valley. He landed on the snow before the Thousand Spirits Tree, the Tianhong Sword circling him twice before returning to its sheath.
The sight made Zhao Zhen's eyes light up. "Master, that move was amazing! Will you teach me how to do it?"
"You're not strong enough yet," Li Qingqiu said casually.
At that time, only Zhao Zhen, Yuan Li, and Ji Ya were present under the Thousand Spirits Tree, so Li Qingqiu had flown there directly.
If other disciples had been around, he would have landed early and walked the rest of the way—he had no need to show off.
Sitting down beneath the great tree, Li Qingqiu crossed his legs and began meditating. He was determined to push his cultivation to the eighth layer of the Nurturing Essence Realm as soon as possible.
As he closed his eyes, time passed swiftly.
At some point, Zhao Zhen and Ji Ya stood up and began sparring.
With no outsiders present, Ji Ya fought without holding back. He unleashed the Divine Curse of the Mountain Lord, summoning a towering mountain beast more than two zhang tall.
Zhao Zhen grinned and leapt up, using the Divine Dragon Transformation. Vital energy surged into the form of a dragon that coiled around him. With a roar, he dove straight toward Ji Ya.
Dragon and tiger clashed in midair, their strikes generating powerful gusts that rippled through the clearing.
Sitting beneath the tree, Yuan Li watched with admiration written across his face.
Li Qingqiu opened his eyes, noticing Yuan Li's expression, and began to ponder how to help him awaken his Indestructible Tyrant Body.
'Perhaps he needs a little… push,' Li Qingqiu thought, his lips curving faintly.
Lately, he had been studying soul-crafting methods, and he had already made progress. With the Soul-Binding Curse, he could draw Yuan Li's spirit into a dreamlike illusion—half real, half false.
That might just be the stimulus Yuan Li needed.