The instant Li Ju's skull shattered, his skeletal mages dissolved into clattering retreat. Without their puppetmaster, the undead horde unraveled—wraiths wailing into mist, zombies collapsing mid-lumber. Within minutes, the battlefield lay silent but for wind whistling through ribcages.
Zhao Rui slumped against a broken pillar, every muscle trembling. Alive. Somehow.
Dun Che's thunderous laugh boomed. "Brother! You scared ten thousand corpses shitless with a bluff!" His mirth died as he noticed Zhao Rui's pallor. "…You alright?"
"Peak performance," Zhao Rui rasped, summoning a crooked grin. Truth was, his dantian felt scoured raw. Mei Tian's transferred qi had seared his meridians; even breathing kindled embers in his chest.
Three days passed in haze.
When his vision finally cleared, Zhao Rui found himself cross-legged atop the altar, fourth page of the God-Sealing Tome glowing cerulean in his grip. The scripture's cold radiance soothed his scorched channels—a balm against the lingering stench of necrotic qi.
"Leaving so soon?" Mei Tian's voice crackled like dry leaves. The ancient fox demon leaned heavily on his staff, amber eyes dimmed.
Dun Che bounced beside him, pack bulging with pilfered spirit stones. "Come with us, Master! The mortal world's got roasted ducks! And… uh… those spinny light-wheel things!"
"Child." Mei Tian's chuckle dissolved into wheezing. "My roots are here. But you…" He pressed a talisman into Zhao Rui's palm—a serpentine glyph swimming beneath lacquered paper. "…carry this. Should certain entities inquire about Shi Hu's demise."
The teleportation array ignited with sulfurous stink.
Shanghai's skyline stabbed the horizon—glass monoliths clawing at smog-choked heavens. Dun Che gaped at a billboard flashing neon lingerie models. "Are… are those human females molting?"
"Advertising." Zhao Rui herded him skyward before pedestrians noticed the hulking furred biped.
The Shi Compound sprawled ahead: vermilion gates guarded by youths in tailored suits, their concealed talismans humming with restrained power.
Alarm bells shrieked as they descended.
"Intruders!"
"Demonic qi detected!"
Zhao Rui raised empty hands. "We're here for Yun Fang."
Silence. Then—
"赵瑞?"
She emerged like winter plum blossom—emerald cheongsam outlining curves that still haunted his meditation. But shadows bruised Yun Fang's eyes; her smile wavered as attendants flanked her, hands hidden in sleeves clutching dagger-charms.
Elder Shi Shen stepped forward, jade pendant marking his rank. "Forgive the… enthusiasm. We've had… complications."
Over bitter Longjing tea (which Dun Che spat across priceless Ming carpets), the tale unfolded.
A jade mine in Yunnan's mist-shrouded valleys. Veins of sky-crystal jade—rare even in immortal realms—beckoning vultures. The Three Lives Temple's ultimatum: Relinquish the site or burn.
"Their abbot, Three Lives Daoist, reached the Divine Transformation Stage decades ago," Shi Shen said, knuckles whitening around his cup. "And his patron… the True Monarch Grotto…"
Dun Che snorted. "Let me crack some Taoist skulls! I'll—"
"The True Monarch Hua Yang," Zhao Rui interrupted quietly, "stands at the Threshold of Tribulation Transcendence. Correct?"
Shi Shen's cup clattered. "…You know of him?"
"By reputation." Zhao Rui's finger traced the God-Sealing Tome's edge. Cold fury coiled in his gut—not for the Shi Clan's plight, but for the audacity. Hua Yang. The same who ambushed Lian Yue's sect during the Kunlun Purge.
Yun Fang's hand found his wrist. "We don't seek war. Just… a show of strength. Make them reconsider."
Outside, thunder grumbled.
Zhao Rui met her gaze. "When do they arrive?"
Dawn painted the training grounds in bloodied hues.
Three Lives Temple's delegation marched through parted gates—nine gray-robed Daoists, their leader's beard snow-white despite thirty-something features.
"Abbot Three Lives," Shi Shen greeted, bowing precisely 15 degrees. "We've reconsidered your… proposal."
The Daoist's smirk died as Zhao Rui stepped from the shadows, Raksha's Bow slung casually. Dun Che loomed behind, cracking walnuts between clawed fingers.
"Ah." Three Lives' qi flared—crimson sigils swirling around his sleeves. "The mutt found a bigger dog."
Zhao Rui's arrow nocked itself.
The air crystallized.
"Choose your next words," he said softly, "as though they're your last."
For in the Abbot's widening pupils, Zhao Rui saw not fear, but… anticipation.