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Lian'er, Ling'er… the Fire Worship Demon Sect has risen once more, plunging the realm into chaos, and as your teacher, I cannot simply stand by and watch this world unravel.
"This time, I'll travel to the Yuhai Plain to suppress the Demon Sect. You two must remain in the sect and cultivate with diligence—no slacking."
Inside the Ninth Hall, Master Xuanming stood tall, his presence as steady and commanding as a mountain's peak. He placed his large, calloused hands on Zhao Linger and Shen Lian's heads with the warmth of a father and the quiet pride of a master, his smile gentle but firm.
"Ling'er, while I'm away, you must listen to Lian'er. No causing trouble."
"Father, I know!" Zhao Linger pouted in protest, puffing her cheeks slightly in mock indignation. "I'm not a child anymore. You don't have to keep worrying."
"You say that, but I still can't help it," Xuanming said with a chuckle as he tapped her forehead lightly and shook his head, his eyes filled with both amusement and concern.
"Fire Worship Demon Sect…" Shen Lian muttered, his brow furrowing in thought.
During his half-year of seclusion at the Tai Xuan Sword Sect, he had immersed himself wholly in cultivation, obsessively absorbing all knowledge available, and among the countless sects and forces within the Dayan Dynasty, the Fire Worship Demon Sect stood out in infamy—an ancient and malevolent organization known for their cruel methods, their blood sacrifices that annihilated entire cities, and the trail of terror they left behind. Over ten million innocents had perished at their hands before they were vanquished.
Ten years prior, a coalition formed by the Dayan Dynasty and its leading sects, including Tai Xuan, had crushed the Demon Sect; their leader, a formidable cultivator in the Profound Opening Realm, had fallen in battle, and since that day, the group had vanished without a trace.
But now, as if stirred by some unseen hand, they had emerged again from the shadows and began their slaughter anew, wiping out entire cities in mere days and leaving close to a million civilians dead in their wake.
Rumors abounded that the Fire Worship Demon Sect intended to launch a grand sacrificial ritual on the Yuhai Plain, a devastating ceremony that would see millions of souls perish in a single breath, fueling an unknown goal with unimaginable bloodshed.
"This feels like a trap," Shen Lian said, eyes narrowing with unease.
The sect had already been decimated once; for it to rise so suddenly and with such brutal force seemed too precise, too calculated, as if a hidden hand were deliberately baiting the world's strongest cultivators into an ambush they would not survive.
He glanced toward Master Xuanming, whose unwavering gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, and from that steely resolve, Shen Lian knew there was no room for persuasion. Still, he spoke with deliberate weight:
"Master, this revival isn't simple. Their purpose runs deeper than slaughter. Please, be vigilant. Don't take this lightly."
Xuanming paused, his expression unreadable as he gauged the depth of Shen Lian's concern.
"Hahaha. Lian'er, I appreciate your care," he said at last, laughter rumbling from his chest like a calm storm. "But I've seen too many schemes to fear shadows. Tricks collapse before absolute power, and those who hide in the dark cannot threaten one who walks in light."
With a smile that bore both confidence and finality, he turned and began walking away, his voice carrying as he left, "Ling'er, Lian'er, train well. I'll be back before the Lantern Festival."
Shen Lian nodded in silence, his heart heavy.
All Heavens and Myriad Realms Comment Area
"Damn, why do I feel like Xuanming's not coming back…"
"Exactly! Lian Di finally found someone genuine, and now something awful's bound to happen."
"This has bad omen written all over it."
"Classic death flag. Say 'I'll return soon' and you won't. Say 'It's no threat' and disaster hits."
"Xuanming's too cocky. Lian Di even warned him. It's obviously bait—just look at how fast they moved. The Demon Sect wants top cultivators dead."
"No, listen! He knows it's a trap. He's just the only one strong enough to spring it and survive. If he doesn't go, no one else can stop them."
"Sometimes, even if you know you'll die walking into the fire, you do it anyway—because that's what makes you human."
For a moment, even the chaotic All Heavens and Myriad Realms fell into stunned silence, bound by awe.
Time passed, and just as the commenters had predicted, the Lantern Festival came and went. Shen Lian and Zhao Linger waited quietly at the sect's gate, watching the distant horizon with growing dread—but Master Xuanming never returned.
Spring arrived.
And finally, Xuanming appeared—his robes shredded and soaked in blood, hair wild and tangled, eyes dull from exhaustion. Even the Divine Sword Blazing Flame, which had accompanied him through decades of battle, was broken in two. He stumbled forward, collapsed at the gate, and vomited a mouthful of blood.
Dayan Calendar, Year 798.
The Fire Worship Demon Sect initiated their grand sacrificial ritual at Yuhai Plain. Xuanming led the Golden Bridge realm cultivators in an assault to halt the ritual, and in the chaos that followed, the new sect leader—a monster cloaked in mystery—emerged and captured Xuanming. In a desperate bid to protect his comrades, Xuanming shielded their retreat and was grievously wounded.
His Divine Sea shattered, his Dao foundation ruptured—he was a broken cultivator. Death now circled him like a vulture.
"Sigh… the Dao wound is like a curse. Even gods can't repair it. He's only holding on by sheer force of will," whispered the elders, their voices tinged with sorrow.
Inside the Ninth Hall, Sect Leader Zhuang Changdao stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes dark with grief as he observed the frail man before him.
Master Xuanming, once a beacon of strength and indomitable will, now sat gaunt in a wheelchair, his once-vigorous frame reduced to skin and bone. His complexion had yellowed, his gaze dulled with fatigue, and his coughing fits had become constant, each one leaving a spray of blood in its wake.
"I see. Sect Leader, how long do I have?" he asked, his voice calm, as if the end were nothing more than an old friend long overdue.
Zhuang Changdao remained silent for a long while before sighing heavily. "A year. At most."
The words crashed through the Ninth Hall.
"Father!"
Zhao Linger collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she clung to the armrest of the wheelchair. A single journey to Yuhai Plain had stolen everything—it had left them with only a year, if that.
"Ling'er, don't cry," Xuanming said softly, his smile gentle. "Life and death are part of the cycle. I'm just arriving a little early, that's all."
"One more year… I should've died on the Yuhai Plain. Every breath I take now is a blessing."
He coughed again, the towel in his hand soaking with blood, and with a heavy glance at his gathered disciples, he forced his voice to steady.
"Disciples of the Ninth Hall, your teacher no longer has the strength to guide you. You may choose to transfer to other halls to continue your path. Do not let my end hinder your journey."
The Ninth Hall stirred uneasily, ripples of uncertainty spreading among the disciples. They all understood that Xuanming's time had passed. Staying now would only delay their growth.
Yet for a long moment, none dared move.
Xuanming read their hesitation, his smile faint but understanding. "Don't hesitate. Go if you must. I'll hold no resentment. This is the nature of cultivation—you must chase strength."
Even as he released them, his thoughts remained on their futures.
Then, a white-robed youth stepped forward, his aura bright and cultivated, his heart heavy with guilt. "Master… even if I leave, you will always be my teacher. I'm sorry."
He bowed deeply, then turned and walked away.
Xuanming stared in silence, the flicker of disappointment in his eyes barely visible, but unmistakably present.
The first to leave… was the chief disciple.
He had expected this outcome, but expectations did not soften the pain.
"It's fine," he said with a thin smile.
One after another, the disciples followed, each bowing respectfully before departing.
In the end, the lively Ninth Hall that once echoed with sword chants and laughter now sat in silence.
Only Shen Lian and Zhao Linger remained.
"Lian'er, your talent is unmatched," Xuanming said slowly. "Remain diligent and you may one day surpass even me. I've arranged for you to join the Third Hall. Its head will train you personally."
Outside, a voice rang out brightly. "Junior Brother Shen Lian! I'm heading to Third Peak too! Let's go together!"
It was Yu Zhongqing, the former chief disciple, his voice cheerful as if the Ninth Hall's fall meant nothing.
Shen Lian turned to him with cold, sharp eyes, then shifted his gaze back to Xuanming and offered a quiet smile.
"Master, I've grown used to the Ninth Hall. I don't intend to leave."
He turned toward the door, his tone firm and unwavering.
"Once I acknowledge a teacher, I do not change easily. I don't expect everyone to stay—but at least have the decency to wait until the master truly passes. Abandoning him the moment he falters… that's not even something a beast would do."
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