"There's nothing much to explain. The four Celestial Sect leaders joined forces to kill a young man with shattered spiritual veins. I couldn’t stand by and watch."
“You! Chong Zhao is a criminal of our Celestial Clan. How we deal with him is none of your business!”
“A criminal? What crime has he committed? Attempting to assassinate the Ziwei Star? Song Feng has already paid for that in his stead. Falling to demonic ways? He is hardly the only one who has fallen from the celestial path. Must he die simply because he turned demon?”
Zhen Yu looked at them coldly. While Fan Yue’s earlier presence was imposing with the authority of a demigod, Zhen Yu's palpable divine power now pressed down on the gathered immortals. Several disciples with lower celestial power immediately coughed up blood, and the faces of the sect leaders turned pale.
Jin Yao stepped forward, unleashing his divine power to block Zhen Yu’s demonic aura.
“Lord Zhen Yu! The Celestial and Demon clans have been at peace for a thousand years. What are you planning to do today?”
“Nothing much. I simply wish for you all to bear witness.”
Witness? Bear witness to what? The immortals were baffled.
Zhen Yu looked down at the barely breathing Chong Zhao and suddenly asked, “Chong Zhao, I ask you—would you like to join my Cold Spring Palace?”
Silence fell over the hall, and everyone turned their eyes to Chong Zhao.
The young man, broken and bloodied, looked up with his last bit of strength. His blurred gaze swept across the assembled celestials, landing finally on Zhen Yu. Without a moment’s hesitation, he answered.
“Chong Zhao is no longer celestial; I wish to join Cold Spring Palace.”
“Good!” Zhen Yu laughed, raised a hand, and swept Chong Zhao into Fu Ling’s arms.
“Jin Yao, Chong Zhao’s life is now protected by me. From this day forth, he is a member of Cold Spring Palace! If the Celestial Clan wants to kill him, they can come to Cold Spring Palace. I’ll be waiting in the Demon Realm!”
As Zhen Yu’s words settled, he unleashed a wave of divine power. Jin Yao’s expression changed as he raised his hand to deflect it. But when the clashing powers dissipated, the demons had vanished from the Phoenix Hall.
The hall was left in silence, Jin Yao’s expression dark, and none of the immortals dared to speak.
No one had expected the grand Phoenix Island tournament, an event eagerly anticipated across the three realms for a century, to end like this.
Far to the north, in the extreme reaches of the Demon Realm, the Hao Yue Hall was bathed in the eternal light of a thousand crystal lamps amidst the icy expanse.
In the snow-covered rear hall, one room was as warm as spring.
On a bed, Bai Shuo lay pale, her blood-soaked clothes replaced.
Divine energy continuously flowed from Fan Yue’s palm into Bai Shuo’s spiritual veins. After half an hour, her spiritual aura stabilized, and a hint of color returned to her cheeks.
“No… don’t leave…”
In her sleep, Bai Shuo murmured, her brows furrowing as if in distress.
Fan Yue gazed at the sleeping Bai Shuo, recalling the scene in Phoenix Hall when she shielded Chong Zhao. He turned to leave.
“Mumu…”
His steps halted abruptly, and he turned in surprise.
“Don’t go, Mumu.”
From her lips came a soft, mumbled name.
With a sigh, the Lord of Hao Yue Hall resigned himself, sat back down, and took Bai Shuo’s hand in his.
Outside, Hua Hong leaned against the veranda, drinking wine. Long Yi Zhu, a playful dragon in pig form, followed the scent and flew over.
“Hey, Xiao Hua, you’re drinking here on this stone-cold floor? What for?”
“It’s warm here,” Hua Hong stretched, speaking lazily.
“Warm? It’s freezing in this icy land.” Long Yi Zhu looked puzzled.
“The warmth is in one’s heart.” Hua Hong glanced toward the hall, smiled, and took a hearty swig from his wine gourd.
Long Yi Zhu looked through the window, where one figure lay asleep and another sat beside her. Something stirred in his large eyes, a trace of nostalgia.
“Yeah, ever since she left, Taichu Hall has never felt warm again.”
“Who left? What cold?” Hua Hong asked groggily.
“Just drink your wine.”
Long Yi Zhu flew over to the blacksmith, grabbed a gourd, and downed it in one gulp. Beside him, Hua Hong’s steady snores filled the air.
In the moonlight, Long Yi Zhu’s shadow stretched, revealing the faint shape of a dragon with five claws soaring.
A thousand miles away, in Cold Spring Palace.
In a chilling stone cavern, a pool of blood churned, identical to the one beneath the stone palace of the Unusual City.
Chong Zhao lay unconscious, floating atop the pool.
Around the pool were demons of high rank, their faces frozen in terror. Almost all were supreme beings of their kind.
Expressionless, Zhen Yu stood at the edge of the pool, his hand raised. With a wave, demonic energy flowed from the demon lords, rushing into Chong Zhao’s body.
One by one, screams filled the air as the demon lords, stripped of their demonic powers, disintegrated into ashes.
Fu Ling’s face showed reluctance, but as she looked at Chong Zhao, whose shattered spiritual veins lay lifeless in the blood pool, her hesitation faded.
At length, the blood pool grew still. Though Chong Zhao remained motionless, in the depths of his spiritual altar, a weak black flame began to flicker to life.
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