"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"
The roar tore through the quiet of the Kāng Family's inner hall.
The merchant power that dominated the routes of spiritual ores and Qi stones across the vast South of the continent was submerged in a suffocating tension. Patriarch Kāng had dismissed every guard from the outer corridor.
Seated on a throne carved from a massive block of Solar Vein Agate, the old man with weary features looked down, breathing lightly.
On the silk carpet in the center of the hall, his fourteenth son knelt. At one hundred and fifty years of age, Kāng Shēng still carried the reckless arrogance of a newborn.
"Twenty times in a single decade," the Patriarch continued, his voice now shifting from a shout into a cold blade. "Twenty cases of rape that I had to bury. Do you think I became a Councilor for nothing?"
The young man looked up, clenching his fists on his knees.
"Father, those families were nobodies. It was just a matter of paying and—"
"Be. Quiet." The Patriarch rubbed his temples, closing his eyes as a throbbing headache struck against his skull. "Our reputation is our armor. A few slips, and our rivals will devour us alive. With the mountain of mistakes I have to cover up for you and your reckless brothers, I feel the foundation of this clan could collapse at any moment under the weight of your incompetence…"
The heat of the agate throne suddenly failed.
The Patriarch frowned. The smoke rising from the bronze incense burners stopped in mid-air, condensed, and fell to the floor as a heavy white powder. The air in the hall plunged into a freezing temperature in the blink of an eye.
"Guards!" the Patriarch called, his spine stiffening.
Silence. Not a single footstep echoed in the corridor.
Kāng Shēng trembled on the carpet, his lips losing their pink color.
"Father…"
Crack. Kh-kh.
The dry snap was followed by a wet, tearing crunch.
The Patriarch's eyes widened. His son's mouth was stretched open at a grotesque angle. A massive ice spike tore through the boy's throat from the inside out, projecting into the air. The blood that sprayed from the wound froze into small red needles in mid-air before hitting the floor.
In a single second, frost swallowed Kāng Shēng body. The boy turned into an ice statue with eyes glazed in panic.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Kang Tuó tried to stand, but the shock locked his lungs. His labored breath released thick clouds of vapor. The old merchant's mind had barely processed his son's death when a lethal cold ran down the back of his neck.
A pale hand, shaped like an ice claw, rested on his nape. He could not move a single muscle.
"Where are you looking, Pioneer Kāng?"
The female voice whispered directly into his ear, melodious and empty of any emotion.
Before the Patriarch could circulate even a drop of his Qi, the ice invaded his veins. Xú Lán twisted her wrist. The merchant's neck broke with a hollow sound. The frozen head detached from the body, rolled down the steps, and shattered into a thousand pieces of red crystal on the floor, destroying the symbol of that family's wealth.
Xú Lán released a long sigh, cold mist leaving her perfect lips as she withdrew her pale hand. She looked at the mess of red ice dust on the floor and, suddenly, the posture of the relentless assassin collapsed.
The silver-haired woman stamped her bare foot hard on the limestone, pouting in sheer frustration.
"Damn it… I forgot the fire talismans from the Vault of Ashes!" she murmured, bringing her hands to her temples and pulling her own hair in anger. "Aahhhh… the Master is going to be so angry with me if the plan goes wrong because of this…"
She paced back and forth in front of the dais, her pale heels leaving small ephemeral frost marks on the carpet stained with blood shards. The panic of disappointing her Master surpassed even the fear of the punishment that would come.
"Although…"
She stopped in front of the frozen statue of young Kāng and struck her right fist against her left palm, her silver eyes gleaming as she found a way out.
"It's not as if those dogs from the Vault always use their own techniques in the executions," she said to herself, nodding to herself. "That's it! Leaving the ice is perfect. This way, when the Vault of Ashes tries to swear innocence to the other Hegemonies, the marks of these official techniques will be the exact proof that they failed to hide the trail. No one will believe them at all! Hahaha!"
Satisfied with her own twisted logic, Xú Lán smiled broadly.
Without looking at the remains of the Kāng Clan, the woman of ice gave a light leap and vanished into the void, leaving the hall submerged in a freezing and definitive silence.
------
In the seven days that followed, the entire continent held its breath.
The panic did not begin with a declaration of war, but with the funerary silence on the commercial routes. On the second day, the northern jade caravans disappeared. On the third, the largest pill guilds were found locked from the inside by morning. When the doors were broken down, the managers lay carbonized over the record books, reduced to fine, volatile ashes.
The intelligence networks of the orthodox sects collapsed. The High Council of the Conglomerate, which for centuries had dictated the price of every elixir in the world, failed even to reach quorum for an assembly. Half of the main seats remained empty. No one knew who had fled to private realms or who had simply ceased to exist.
The greatest shock came on the fifth day: the President of the Council vanished from his fortified floating island along with his hired guard of a dozen veterans at the Immortal Establishment Stage—a force equivalent to that of a great sect. The protective matrices recorded no invasion, yet his flying ship, capable of crossing the world in a few hours, was found downed in his own territory, the interior covered in black soot and reeking of sulfur.
While the continent plunged into chaos and wealthy families sealed their underground vaults, a single figure rose in the eye of the storm: Madame Feng.
With unshakable calm, Mèng Lián took over the paralyzed routes. She released emergency caravans, offered her own Nascent Soul subordinates as escorts, and opened the warehouses of the Firmament Auction. To the outside world she was the savior fairy—the only firm pillar amid the ruin.
In the shadows, however, the whispers pointed in a single direction.
Every death and every plunder carried the same marks of the Vault of Ashes' incendiary techniques. Suspicion turned into certainty when merchants noticed that the outposts linked to the hegemonic sect continued operating with insolent tranquility. To seal the conspiracy, the elder who coordinated the Vault's finances mysteriously disappeared on the third day.
For the Court of the Absolute Blade and the Sanctuary of the Prismatic Lotus, there were no longer any doubts: the Vault of Ashes was annihilating the competition in order to seize absolute monopoly over world trade and, in time, leverage a military advantage to destroy the other two hegemonies. The elder's disappearance was the final piece of the puzzle—the one responsible for guiding the assassins from the shadows.
While the cultivation world boiled on the verge of a brutal war, the atmosphere in the Autumn Wind Pavilion was one of calm.
Lín Jié kept her spine straight in the chair, the brush sliding with precision over the abaca paper. Her hands, recently purified by Zhì Yuǎn's Primordial Qi, moved swiftly to cross out the names of the last confirmed victims of the council.
Beside her, Mò Yán monitored the rifts of light that represented the worldwide-scale panic on the map infused with karmic marks, a lazy smile playing on her lips after spending the last few hours being devoured by her husband.
------
BAM.
The impact left a deep mark in the stone of the courtyard—meticulously reinforced by their husband to withstand their training.
Yù Méi shot forward in a blur of golden silk. The youngest sister did not invoke the Law of Rupture, for that would erase Huáng Bìyù from existence. Using only the absurd strength of her body, she delivered a direct and devastating punch toward her sister's face.
The jasper warrior did not retreat. Barefoot on the stone, the heavy cascade of scarlet hair on Bìyù did not even sway. She raised her left palm, casually placing it in front of her own face.
Thud.
The sound of the impact was dull and heavy. Yù Méi's fist sank into Huáng Bìyù's palm. The fair flesh yielded like hot wax—soft and incredibly fluid. Yet the punch did not advance a hair's breadth beyond the skin. At the bottom of that divine softness lay an impassable wall. The Law of the Aegis swallowed the brute force, dissipating the impact the way an ocean swallows a stone.
Yù Méi's almond eyes widened. Huáng Bìyù did not smile with arrogance; her amber irises gleamed with precision. Taking advantage of the force of the youngest's punch, the scarlet woman twisted her wrist and redirected the flow. With a fluid turn of her hips and a gentle pull on Yù Méi's arm, she swept the supporting leg of the warrior with the side of her bare foot.
Yù Méi lost her balance, spinning in the air before driving her heels into the stone and carving two furrows so she would not fall.
"You're a lead pudding!" Yù Méi laughed, canines showing, blood boiling with euphoria at her sister's bizarre resistance. She closed her fists. "Again!"
Yù Méi advanced, unleashing a storm of short punches, hooks, and kicks. Bìyù blocked every blow. The redhead's fluid flesh swayed, absorbing the assault with ease.
Moments later, Yù Méi halted the sequence. The golden-haired girl was panting, sweat sticking to her forehead. She lowered her fists and looked at Bìyù, who remained perfectly intact.
"How hateful," Yù Méi grumbled with a smile splitting her face. "In pure strength, hitting you is worse than punching the bottom of a river."
Bìyù lowered her hands, adjusting her posture and releasing a long, dramatic sigh.
"Phew… Good thing our husband lifted the First Sister's restriction so my Law could work," Bìyù commented, giving a relieved smile while massaging her own wrist. "That 'weak little punch' of yours would already have sent me to the other world."
Yù Méi huffed, crossing her arms, torn between pride and frustration.
"But let's go again," Bìyù continued, assuming a softer and more insightful tone. "You are incredibly strong, sister, but you still fall short in technique. Your approach is too crude. Your Law of Rupture is already capable of breaking any defense and shattering whoever is struck. You don't need to focus on the force of the impact."
Bìyù returned to her combat stance, raising her palms.
"You need agility and speed to manage to touch your opponent. Brute force is useless against high-level enemies, especially with the absurd long-range abilities that the clans and sects of this world possess. If you can't reach them, what good is the power to annihilate them?"
While the sound of the blows in the courtyard echoed muffled through the walls, in the main bedroom of the Autumn Wind Pavilion the atmosphere was one of deep calm.
On the vast bed, Zhì Yuǎn stared at the silk ceiling. The man's broad, sculpted chest rose and fell in a slow, heavy rhythm.
Bái Wǎn lay pressed against his left side. The woman's oceanic hair spilled across the sheet, covering her husband's flank like a beautiful blanket of water, while she rested with light, satisfied sighs. Lower down, nestled under the covers, Qīng Yǔ slept peacefully between Zhì Yuǎn's legs.
Yù Qíng, lying on her side to his right, slid her fingertips across her husband's chest. The First Wife noticed the contemplative gleam in his dark eyes.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
Zhì Yuǎn released a slow sigh.
"I'm surprised that none of our slaves have been killed or captured yet," he admitted. "This plane has old monsters hiding, Ancestors who have slept for decades or centuries. If we want to survive, we will have to establish ourselves here for a good while."
At the sound of his voice, Bái Wǎn and Qīng Yǔ woke, fixing their attention on their husband's words.
Yù Qíng raised an eyebrow.
"Have you hit a limit? Your cultivation has been the same for a long time."
"It's not a limit," Zhì Yuǎn answered. His voice gained a dense tone, drawing the wives' gazes. "I'm so far from a limit that I have no idea how to progress. My true cultivation realm doesn't even exist. I feel that even if I comprehend every Law of this plane to the maximum, it still would not be enough."
He touched his own forehead, massaging it lightly.
"The problem is not the quality of the energy. It is the density. The Primordial Qi I employ is barely reaching the strength of a Second Stage of Immortal Establishment. I have always solved problems by increasing the quantity I use each time… but now the bottleneck is exactly that. No matter how much I increase the quantity, it does not translate into quality, because the density of my Primordial Qi has remained constant since the beginning. Something is missing."
Zhì Yuǎn looked at the ceiling, the pragmatic coldness of a craftsman criticizing his own work.
"Without solving this, I cannot risk ascending to a higher plane. If we run into a true Immortal up there… we would be dead. Definitely dead."
Yù Qíng listened in silence, her hand stopping on his chest. She moved her body, lying on top of her husband and resting her chin on her crossed hands. Her dark gaze overflowed with unshakable devotion.
"We are in no hurry, my heaven," she whispered, her soft voice brushing against his skin. "All we desire is to stay by your side. Whether for eternity, or until our last breath."
She tilted her face, kissing the corner of Zhì Yuǎn's mouth.
"And if the 'problem' is having to wait a little longer… longevity is something we do not lack. We are still young, my love. We have all the time in the world."
Her words, faithful as always, dissipated the tension in the air. Zhì Yuǎn looked into Yù Qíng's dark eyes, then into Bái Wǎn's clear and attentive ones.
A faint smile broke the rigidity of his face as he shook his head.
His hand rose to Yù Qíng's nape. His fingers tangled in the First Wife's dark hair, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss.
The spark was enough to stoke the flames on the bed. Bái Wǎn slid her body, her warm and eager lips beginning to kiss the line of Zhì Yuǎn's jaw and neck with urgency.
Under the covers, Qīng Yǔ did not waste time. The fifth wife moved in the dark, her delicate hands finding her husband's half-hard shaft. A wet, muffled sound echoed beneath the sheets as she took it into her mouth, swallowing her husband's nectar with a voracious and dedicated hunger.