The moment Ling Feng's group stepped onto the black stone quay, gazes turned as if pulled by a tide.
Snow-Shadow elites in white stood like silent specters, hair and shadows both pale, led by their Saintess whose presence chilled the air.
Thousand Carp River's fairy stood beside them, dao light restrained yet sharp, like a river blade hidden beneath ice.
And at the center, a human man walked as if strolling on some lazy lakeside path back in the mortal world—hands loose, shoulders relaxed—surrounded by women whose presence alone could topple regions and make Imperial lineages cautious.
"Ling Feng…"
"Snow-Shadow's guest…"
"The one who killed Mo Lidao…"
"…and snapped Ye Sha's neck like dried twigs."
Whispers rippled through the crowd like a low wind across gravestones.
The ghost boatmen lining Nightsea's edge—old sentiments who had ferried countless arrogant geniuses and ghost lords over the ages—instinctively ducked their heads when Ling Feng's gaze skimmed past. Those hollow, star-flecked eyes that had watched emperors rise and fall now flickered with something close to… unease.
Ling Feng didn't bother with the smaller ferries, or with haggling.
His steps carried him straight toward a broad ferry crafted from ancient black timber, its planks bound by ghostly chains, its sides inscribed with faint, flickering runes. A sentiment with starlight burning in his hollow eyes stood atop its deck, ancient coat fluttering in a wind that came from nowhere and everywhere.
This ferry could carry a small army. Its aura was deeper than the others, stained with the echoes of countless crossings across the lethal Nightsea. Even Virtuous Paragons would die if they fell into those waters; only such boats, blessed by Necropolis' strange laws, could safely traverse it.
The boatman stiffened as Ling Feng approached. The ghostly patterns on his coat flashed once, as if waking.
"Boatman," Ling Feng said casually, as though greeting a taxi driver at a city curb. "We're taking this one."
The sentiment's mouth opened, ready to quote an outrageous per-head fare in Yang Nightfish. That was how it always went—young geniuses came, acted grand, then paid obediently with their Longevity Blood and fish.
Before the first word could leave him, Ling Feng flicked his wrist.
A fist-sized, jagged chunk of black ore appeared in midair, dense enough that the very air seemed to ripple around it. Ghostly luminescence pulsed along the cracks like veins full of cold, necrotic light. The aura was thick with death, resentment, and some ancient, half-slumbering potential.
The ore dropped onto the planks between them with a heavy thunk that made the ferry shudder and the quay beneath them groan.
The sentiment's eyes flared, star-flames burning brighter. He sucked in an incorporeal breath, the way a starving man might suddenly smell meat.
"Th–this is…"
"Worth more than arguing over per-head fares," Ling Feng cut in, tone light. "Right?"
The boatman swallowed hard. That ore was no ordinary ghost stone dug from shallow tombs; it reeked of some deep burial ground. For an existence like him, pinned between life and death, such a treasure was irresistible.
He bowed deeply.
"This honored guest is generous," he rasped, voice reverberating with old power. "This ferry is at your disposal. This boatman will not accept any other passengers."
Ling Feng smiled, easy and warm.
"Good man."
He turned his head toward his people.
"Alright," he called, raising his voice just enough to carry. "Everyone aboard."
Snow-Shadow elites moved first, not in a crude rush but like drifting snow pulled by a silent wind, their white silhouettes flowing up the plank. In moments, they had taken the edges of the ferry, forming a loose yet undeniable defensive ring.
Thousand Carp elders hesitated only for a breath. The aura of Nightsea's clear waters rolled over them like a cold tide; the sight of that black ore still glimmered in their minds. They exchanged glances, then followed Lan Yunzhu up the plank with solemn faces.
Ling Feng's women boarded without fuss, each with a presence that warped the atmosphere around them.
Qiurong Wanxue stepped lightly, white shadow trailing behind her as if Nightsea itself were painting a banner for the Snow-Shadow Saintess. She moved to the bow, gaze forward, becoming a pale standard leading them into the unknown.
Lan Yunzhu chose the left side, long lashes lowering as she leaned slightly over the railing. Her eyes—used to the river currents of Thousand Carp River and the Yin Yang Pond under Immortal Emperor Qian Li's shadow—widened despite herself.
"So this is… Nightsea," she murmured.
The ocean beneath them was so clear that it felt unreal. Pillars of stone and drowned ruins lay far below, like a ghost city submerged at the bottom of the world. Here and there, pale schools of Yang Nightfish flickered in silver arcs, their movements etching flowing, illusory dao patterns in the water.
The sight was beautiful.
It was also terrifying.
Ling Feng stepped up beside her, folding his arms on the railing, posture relaxed enough to make other geniuses grind their teeth.
"Feels different up close, doesn't it?" he said, voice low and amused. "From the stories, you'd think it's just a big tub of death water. But look at it. It's alive as any world—just wearing a gloomy coat."
Lan Yunzhu shot him a sidelong glance.
"You're very relaxed," she said softly. "Most people about to set foot on Nightsea, when it has just revealed a new realm, would be tense. They would be chanting merit laws, calculating risks, praying to their sect's forefathers. You look like you're going on a pleasure outing."
"That's because I am," he replied without missing a beat. "If there's danger, we deal with it. If there's treasure, we steal it. If the sea misbehaves, I'll spank it. Why stress myself ahead of time?"
Lan Yunzhu's shoulders trembled once in spite of herself. A soft sound escaped her lips—half snort, half muffled laugh. The corners of her mouth curved.
"…Spank the sea," she repeated under her breath, eyes glimmering.
Behind them, Xu Pei and Chen Baojiao leaned against the railing, their gazes sharp as hunters eyeing prey.
Those two did not have Lan Yunzhu's hesitation; they came from places where storms of blood and steel were daily weather.
"Those silver lights—are those Yang Nightfish?" Xu Pei asked, pointing at a cluster of flickers deep below.
"Mm," Chen Baojiao replied, excitement sparking in her eyes. "So many. No wonder even old monsters are moving. One fish can buy a life, ten can buy a small sect. This place is practically printing wealth."
Su Yonghuang stood toward the center, hands folded within her sleeves. The solar brilliance of her merit laws quietly harmonized with Nightsea's eerie glow; under her skin, Chaos-enhanced Solar Immortal Physique pulsed like a caged sun.
Bing Yuxia's fan hid half her face, but the gleam in her peach blossom eyes betrayed her curiosity. Cold light from her Immortal Emperor mirror occasionally shimmered in her pupils.
Bai Jianzhen stood still and straight, as if she herself were a sword thrust into the world's scabbard. Even here, in Ghost Immortals' territory, she was calm, expression only softening when her gaze happened to rest on Ling Feng.
Chi Xiaodie crossed her arms, standing slightly apart. Her eyes swept the other ferries, platforms, and distant stone outcroppings, tracing lines of attack and retreat. Each time she sensed killing intent aimed at their group, her scowl deepened by a fraction.
Ling Feng felt those gazes too.
He yawned.
"Before we get there," he said suddenly, voice rolling easily over the creak of wood and the low, dreadful whisper of Nightsea's waters, "I've got something to say."
Everyone turned.
He propped his elbows on the railing, leaning back like a man giving lazy travel instructions before a picnic.
"When we hit the platforms," he said, "and you see something you want—fish, algae, shiny things under the waves—go ahead and take it. Net it, grab it, punch the water, whatever. Don't be polite just because someone got here a little earlier than you."
A few of the women blinked.
Qiurong Wanxue's brows rose slightly. "Young Noble…"
He lifted a hand, palm outward.
"I'm not telling you to steal from allies," he went on. "But strangers—especially the kind who stare at you like you're already meat on their plate? Don't swallow your temper for their sake."
His eyes sharpened, the lazy haze clearing for a heartbeat.
"If some idiot jumps in your way, slaps your hand, or starts barking about 'their' spot?" he said, tone dropping like a heavy rock into a still pool. "Don't bother arguing. Just slap them away."
Xu Pei's lips curved, her eyes glittering.
"You make it sound so simple," she said.
"It is," Ling Feng replied. "For people like us, strength is the most direct language. Nobody out here is allowed to push you back down just because they're bored."
Lan Yunzhu felt something hot flicker in her chest.
She was used to the shelter of Thousand Carp River, to the shadow of Immortal Emperor Qian Li, to the rules and courtesies of great powers. She had been praised, protected, obeyed… but also constrained. The thought of a man looking at her and simply saying, take what you want, I'll handle the rest, without demanding anything in return—
It was shameless.
It was reckless.
It was… comforting.
Qiurong Wanxue held his gaze for a long breath.
Her lashes lowered, concealing the faint warmth in her ghost-pale face.
"Very well," she said softly. "Since you have spoken… if someone dares to make things difficult, we will not endure."
Chi Xiaodie's lips tugged up into a rare, eager grin. "Finally, some words I like hearing."
The ferry rocked as ghost chains clanked and the boat slid away from the quay, out over Nightsea's clear abyss.
...
Nightsea was not crossed in one breath.
The ghost ferries weaved between scattered stone platforms and jagged islets jutting up from the dark waters like the teeth of a submerged beast. These platforms were remnants of a drowned landscape, now used by every power as staging grounds: places to cast nets for Yang Nightfish, to harvest eerie ghost algae trunks, to set up arrays for later dives into the deeper zones.
The first few platforms they passed were already stuffed full.
Geniuses in ornate robes stood shoulder to shoulder, disciples behind them casting nets of dao light into the depths. Each haul brought up flopping, silver Yang Nightfish the size of forearms, their scales shimmering with otherworldly luster. Sect elders hammered array stakes into the stone, seizing territory and erecting temporary domains to claim "their" area of sea.
The ghost ferry slid past, guided by the boatman's hoarse chants and the occasional twitch of his chain-bound hands.
Ling Feng stood quietly at the railing, eyes half-lidded, seeming to be merely enjoying the twisted scenery. But the Chaos Force inside him tasted every ripple of energy, every hidden current of malice, every ancestral gaze descending from distant shadows.
Half-hidden ferries carried strange beings—Ancestors from Nether Border's depths, old ghosts whose bodies were half mist and half bone, Supreme Elders from Imperial lineages cloaked in their Life Treasures' light. They did not move; they simply watched.
Good, Ling Feng thought lazily. The more eyes, the better. Saves me time spreading my reputation.
By the time they neared a particularly broad platform floating farther out, the crowd had thinned enough that the boatman could bring them alongside without ramming anyone.
"Honored guests," the sentiment rasped, anchoring the ferry with a chain woven from condensed ghost qi. "This platform is one of the prime spots above Nightsea's newly revealed depths. From here, you may test your fortune."
Ling Feng glanced over the edge.
The platform was ringed with other ferries, some modest, some grand enough to belong to Imperial lineages. Disciples from countless powers lined the perimeter, their auras overlapping in a chaotic rainbow of murderous dao.
Further away, strange banners rose—Titanic Crescent Sacred Ground's crescent moon, Divine Spark Country's burning sigil, banners from other emperor's lineages and great countries. The air itself buzzed with their arrogance.
And on the far side of the stone, one knot of power stood out like a nasty burn on fine silk.
One side blazed with divine fire, golden rings spinning faintly in the air like miniature suns.
Another side crawled with a strange, buzzing aura, like an insect nest stirred with a stick—ghostly chittering, threads of corrosive yin, the illusion of mandibles clicking right by one's ear.
Divine Spark Prince.
Ghost Insect Evil Child.
Ling Feng's lips quirked.
"Here they come," he murmured under his breath. "Good. Time to have a little fun before treasure hunting."
Xu Pei heard him and snorted softly. "You call provoking Imperial descendants 'a little fun'…"
She still stepped a half pace closer to him, eyes already bright.
The plank thudded against stone. Snow-Shadow elites moved first again, flowing down onto the platform like a curtain of white, their formation graceful yet unmistakably firm. They formed a loose ring as Ling Feng and his group stepped down.
Conversations dipped, then frayed into uneasy murmurs.
Many eyes flicked between the newly arrived group and the two famous geniuses already occupying the far side.
Divine Spark Prince turned sharply as if sensing the shift, divine rings trembling behind him. He wore blazing divine robes that seemed woven from pure flame; behind his back, circular halos formed from condensed divine fire spun slowly, as if he were being worshipped by invisible gods.
Beside him stood Ghost Insect Evil Child.
He was tall and lanky, skin almost translucent, faint green-black veins lurking beneath like hidden larvae. His pupils were vertical slits, cold and venomous. Around him, illusory insects crawled and buzzed through the air—iron-shelled beetles, ghostly centipedes, transparent larvae with too many teeth. A strange black bell hung at his waist, faint tendrils of dark mist coiling around it like nestling maggots.
Both turned fully as they recognized the man at the center of the new arrivals.
"Ling Feng," someone whispered.
The name spread through the crowd like a chill breeze.
Divine Spark Prince's face darkened, divine flames flaring higher—as though someone had tossed oil onto his pride. Ghost Insect Evil Child's lips stretched into a thin, unsettling smile.
They exchanged a glance.
Then, with all the swagger of young men who had always been treated as the center of the world, they strode across the stone toward Ling Feng's group. Disciples from Divine Spark Country and insect-like ghost retainers streamed behind them, forming a tide of fire and chittering.
Around the platform, tension spiked. Elders who had been pretending not to pay attention shifted subtly, ready to intervene or retreat.
Ling Feng didn't move.
He didn't straighten his back, didn't flare his aura. He just watched them come, eyes faintly amused, as if examining a pair of stray street dogs that had decided to bark at him.
The two stopped a short distance away, just out of arm's reach.
Ghost Insect Evil Child's gaze crawled up and down Ling Feng like a line of cold ants. His smile widened, revealing slightly pointed teeth tinged faintly green.
"Ling Feng," he said, voice soft but carrying, every word wrapped in malicious satisfaction. "You truly dare to come to Nightsea after so wantonly slaughtering Ghost Immortal geniuses? You stand on Necropolis soil, yet you still do not kneel? Your courage is… considerable."
His eyes slid past Ling Feng to Qiurong Wanxue and the Snow-Shadow elites. In that gaze there was no admiration—only a cruel hunger, as if he were already disassembling them in his mind, piece by piece.
"Do you think this world ruled by Ghost Immortals is some human backyard?" he continued coldly. "You insulted Ghost Immortals, trampled ghost talents, and yet you still dare to stand here breathing. Today, before Nightsea, you should prostrate, kowtow until your head bleeds, and beg forgiveness."
Divine Spark Prince stepped forward, flames surging, divine rings whirling faster.
"That's right!" he declared loudly, making sure everyone heard. "Ling Feng, this prince gave you face before, but you did not cherish it. You killed people from powers you have no right to touch, spat on Ghost Immortals, and ignored my sister's name."
His chin lifted arrogantly.
"Today, with Ghost Insect at my side, with my sister and brother-in-law behind us, do you still think you can act so unbridled?" he asked, voice dripping superiority. "Di Zuo will soon shoulder the Heaven's Will. My sister is Divine Spark Phoenix Maiden. With such backing, even Virtuous Paragons must bow when I speak. You, a mere—"
"You two…" Ling Feng suddenly spoke, his eyes full of open disdain. "Shut the fuck up."
Silence slammed down on the platform.
Even the distant churn of Nightsea seemed to dim for a heartbeat.
Divine Spark Prince's face flushed a furious red. "What did you say—"
"Do your ears not work?" Ling Feng asked, unbothered. "I said shut the fuck up. Or scram. Either works."
A few people choked, nearly swallowing their tongues. Several disciples hastily pretended they hadn't heard anything.
Ghost Insect Evil Child's expression twisted, a greenish shadow crawling across his thin face.
"You—"
"You really think I give a single damn about the two of you?" Ling Feng went on lazily. "Your sister this, Di Zuo that. They're both minor ants my wives can kill whenever they feel like it. And you two?"
He let out a derisive scoff.
"You two are dogshit on the road," he said calmly. "Now fuck off."
The phrase dogshit on the road hit harder than any dao technique.
A visible shudder went through the crowd. It wasn't just the foul language; this was Necropolis, under Ghost Immortals' shadow, with Nightsea's secrets yawning beneath them. Divine Spark Prince and Ghost Insect Evil Child were not random clowns—they were leaders of alliances, members of emperor's lineages, world-renowned geniuses.
And this human dared to spit on them like that in front of everyone.
Divine Spark Prince's divine flames exploded upward, forming a furious corona that lit half the platform gold.
"You dare—!"
Ghost Insect Evil Child's aura boiled over. The bell at his waist rang with a piercing, bone-scratching sound, like a thousand tiny feet scraping bone.
Black mist erupted from it, condensing in midair into a monstrous insect silhouette. Chitinous plates thicker than armor covered its body; every segment was branded with writhing runes, and its mandibles dripped corrosive yin that hissed where it fell, even on solid stone. This was the Nether Insect King—his trump card manifestation that had sent countless foes running.
At the same time, countless smaller insects swarmed out around him like a living storm. Beetles with iron shells, pale centipedes woven from ghost fire, translucent larvae with too many teeth—all surged forward, forming an ocean of chittering death rushing toward Ling Feng's group.
"He insulted the Ghost Immortal race!" Ghost Insect Evil Child's voice rang out, harsh and shrill. "Kill him! Offer his soul to the Evil Bell!"
Divine Spark Prince thrust his hand forward.
His divine rings spun as one, pulling down threads of heaven-blazing flame. A spear of pure divine light condensed in front of his palm, point sharp enough to tear the world's fabric. It shot toward Ling Feng's chest, burning the air as it crossed, leaving a trail of distorted heat and scorched dao.
The platform shook under the combined pressure.
Many cultivators flinched back, robes whipping in the sudden storm, weaker disciples feeling their knees buckle.
A dual assault.
Ghost Insect's nightmare swarm and Nether Insect King from one side.
Divine Spark Prince's blazing divine spear from the other.
Ling Feng did not move.
He didn't raise a hand, didn't summon Chaos Emeralds, didn't even bother to straighten his posture.
He just tilted his head slightly.
"Xiaodie," he said lazily. "Bug brat's yours."
His gaze drifted to the opposite side.
"Pei," he added. "Break every bone in the other dipshit's body."
"Yes," Chi Xiaodie replied, her voice low and steady.
She stepped forward.
Her Virtuous Paragon sword Life Treasure hummed faintly in sympathy at her back, but she didn't draw it. The dock's stone vibrated under her feet, not from weight, but from the sheer density of power compressed inside her.
The modified Heavenly Dao Academy merit law had honed her fate palaces into razor-sharp engines of combat. Chaos Force threaded through her blood, turning every strand of strength into something heavier than mountains.
Xu Pei moved at the same time, her steps gentler in appearance but no less fatal. Violent Cloud Chant simmered through her meridians—not spraying outward in a wild storm, but compressing into tight, rotating layers of force. Chaos energy intertwined with it, turning every controlled burst into a strike capable of shattering heavens.
In that instant, the atmosphere flipped.
A moment ago, Divine Spark Prince and Ghost Insect Evil Child had strode forward like kings descending to judge a criminal.
Xu Pei walked out, the center of gravity shifted. The platform's arrays flickered nervously. Nightsea's waters churned more violently beneath the platform, reacting to the concentrated force above.
The Nether Insect King roared, mandibles opening to reveal layered, spiraling maws of yin. Its body thundered forward, runes blazing, a coly to swallow the sky.
Countless insects swarmed around it, forming a rotating wall of chittering armor. Every beetle carried corrosive qi; every centipede's steps etched thin cracks into the air.
Divine Spark Prince's spear screamed through the sky, its divine radiance flaying away ghost mist and burning protective clouds into steam. The divine rings behind him grew brighter, each ring feeding the spear until it felt like a fragment of sun had been stabbed out of heaven and hurled across Nightsea.
To most onlookers, this was the kind of combined assault that could tear apart a small sect.
Chi Xiaodie did not draw her sword.
She simply raised her hand.
From the outside, it looked like a lazy slap—her palm cutting the air almost casually as she stepped into Ghost Insect Evil Child's path.
Inside her body, fate palaces roared.
The modified Heavenly Dao Academy law tightened them, layering their power into a single path. Chaos Force coiled through her blood, reinforcing bone and tendon to an unimaginable level. All that weight, all that sharpness, all that ferocity condensed into her palm.
Her hand met the onrushing Nether Insect King.
There was a sound like a continent cracking.
The massive insect construct—life treasure manifestation, dao incarnation, terror that had made emperors' descendants think twice—crumpled in on itself as if struck by a god's hammer.
Its chitin shattered into fine, grey dust. Its runes twisted, screamed, and then burst into useless sparks. The bell's sound warped mid-ring into a broken, off-key shriek that made nearby disciples cough blood.
Around it, the endless swarm froze mid-flight.
Then, as if an invisible palm slapped down across the entire cloud, they exploded into mist. Beetles, centipedes, larvae—everything became drifting grey ash, carried away by a wind that hadn't existed a heartbeat before.
The shockwave ripped straight through Ghost Insect Evil Child's defenses.
His triumphant expression froze, then broke apart, eyes going wide with disbelief.
Chi Xiaodie's palm did not stop.
Unimpeded now, it cut through the collapsing insect king and crashed into his chest.
SPAP.
It wasn't an elegant finger strike or some named immortal technique.
It was a straight, open-handed slap.
Bones shattered like cooked beans under an anvil. Ghost Insect Evil Child's ribs caved in with a sickening series of cracks; his spine bent at an angle no body should bear. His organs were compressed into mush for a moment, only kept from vaporizing by his ghostly heritage.
His body flew backward like a rag doll, trailing a gruesome arc of blood. He slammed into the platform, stone tiles breaking under the impact, then bounced, skidding across the ground until his limp form crashed into the waist-high barrier at the edge.
Only the barrier's ancient formations, reinforced specifically so fallen geniuses wouldn't tumble into Nightsea and die like bugs, kept him from plunging into the lethal sea.
He lay there, limbs bent the wrong way, Bell of Evil skewed on his hip, face twisted in pain and disbelief. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, a faint trickle of dark blood seeping from the corner of his lips.
Gasps tore from dozens of throats.
"That was… one slap…"
"Ghost Insect Evil Child—"
"The Nether Insect King shattered like rotten wood…"
On the other side, Divine Spark Prince's divine spear reached Xu Pei.
She smiled.
Violent Cloud Chant surged—not outward in a sloppy blaze, but inward, rotating faster, compressing harder, turning each thread of force into a gleaming, controlled bullet. Chaos energy laced through it, giving her strength the weight of a falling star.
She lifted her hand.
And slapped.
Her palm met the tip of the divine spear.
For a heartbeat, divine light and violent cloud qi struggled, forming a blazing, grinding point between them. Then Xu Pei's power rolled over it like a tidal wave.
The spear shattered.
Divine radiance exploded in all directions, but the shards carried no killing edge anymore. They fell like dying fireflies, burning out before they could touch anyone.
Behind the spear, the divine rings feeding it stuttered. The flow of dao was disrupted; Divine Spark Prince coughed blood as feedback slammed into his body. His stance faltered.
Before he could regain his footing, before his pride could fully register what had happened, Xu Pei was already in front of him.
To the onlookers, she seemed to blur, gentle figure becoming a streak of pressure and force.
SPAP.
Her palm slammed into his chest.
His chest didn't just cave—it folded around her hand, ribs cracking one after another. A wave of destructive force blasted through his organs, turning them into ruined paste. Divine flames scattered in a wild halo as his body launched backward like a broken shooting star.
He crashed into a chunk of stone embedded in the platform. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing out in every direction, glowing with activated formation lines as the platform desperately worked to remain whole.
Divine Spark Prince slid down limply, limbs twisted, divine rings dim and broken behind him. His mouth opened; blood and bits of charred flesh spilled out instead of words. His eyes rolled back.
Someone screamed his name in horror.
On both sides, elders and protectors who had stayed back to let their geniuses "temper themselves" could no longer keep their composure. They surged forward in a rush, only stopping themselves from attacking directly because of the many watching eyes—and because their instincts screamed at them.
The deed was already done.
Ghost Insect Evil Child lay groaning faintly, his body almost entirely fractured.
Divine Spark Prince slumped unconscious against the stone, his skeleton a ruined lattice.
The platform, which moments ago had been full of their swagger, now held only their broken breathing and the stunned silence of dozens of witnesses.
Chi Xiaodie shook out her fingers lightly, as if flicking away dust.
Xu Pei smoothed her sleeve, expression mild, as though she'd done nothing more than swat an annoying mosquito.
They walked back to Ling Feng's side, steps unhurried.
Ling Feng's gaze swept over the two crippled geniuses once, then lifted to the crowd.
His tone was light.
His eyes were not.
"If you want to be a bit more entertaining than clowns," he said, voice carrying clearly over Nightsea's soft murmur, "at least bring Virtuous Paragons."
He shrugged.
"These fragile little geniuses… you're embarrassing yourselves."
A chill swept across the platform.
It wasn't just the words.
It was the way he stood there, utterly unconcerned that he had just ordered two women under him to slap half of an emperor's lineage's face into the ground and beat a world-renowned Ghost Immortal prodigy to near-death on Nightsea's prime platform.
In another place, in another context, such an act would have sparked immediate bloodshed from their backers.
Here, at Necropolis… with Nightsea's revealed realm below, with its unfathomable dangers and treasures, with this man's prior feats whispering through the Sacred Nether World… even Ancestors watching from the shadows hesitated.
They remembered tales of Heavenly Sovereigns falling like chopped meat.
They weighed, silently:
Is a divine prince's life worth testing this human's bottom line? Is the Ghost Insect Evil Child worth pushing this monster into rampant slaughter… here, of all places?
Ghost Immortal elders lurked in the distant ghost mist, expressions dark. Insect King Imperial Lineage's Ancestors gripped their armrests until spectral wood cracked under their fingers. Divine Spark Country's protectors trembled, rage and dread tangled in their eyes.
They did not forget.
They could not forgive.
But they did not move.
Not yet.
Ling Feng didn't wait for their answer.
He turned his back on them as if they were already irrelevant.
"Alright," he said, tone drifting back into casual warmth, as if he'd just finished haggling over snacks on a city street. "Enough warm-up. Let's fish."
Xu Pei let out a quiet laugh she didn't bother hiding.
"You call that a warm-up?" she asked.
"Barely," Ling Feng replied. "I already forgot their names."
Bing Yuxia's fan paused halfway through a lazy wave. She looked from the two broken young masters being carefully retrieved by their horrified followers, back to Ling Feng, then back again.
"…You really are bad news," she murmured, cheeks faintly pink despite herself.
Su Yonghuang gazed at him, a mixture of exasperation and helpless fondness in her eyes.
"You've made enemies of two major backings at Nightsea's edge within the first incense stick of time," she said quietly.
Ling Feng stretched lazily, joints popping faintly.
"Like that matters," he answered. "At worst, they can line up properly next time. I'm creating more fun than enemies."
Lan Yunzhu stood very still, watching him.
She replayed the sequence in her mind: his offhand command, the way Chi Xiaodie and Xu Pei moved without hesitation, the single-slapped destruction of such terrifying techniques, the casual contempt in his voice when he dismissed renowned geniuses as road trash.
He had not lifted a finger.
Yet he had protected his people with overwhelming, almost insulting ease.
He treated "world-famous geniuses" like misbehaving juniors to be smacked around for disturbing the peace.
But when he turned back toward his group, the hard glint in his eyes faded. His smile reappeared, easy and softening the line of his jaw.
"You alright?" he asked Lan Yunzhu quietly, tilting his head toward her. "Too much noise for your taste?"
She met his gaze.
Her Dao Heart—tempered under Immortal Emperor Qian Li's shadow, tempered by Thousand Carp's expectations—did not waver. But the image of him standing there, ordering two slaps that overturned entire alliances, etched itself deeper along the river of her heart.
"…I am getting used to it," she answered honestly.
A trace of amusement touched her lips.
"Your way of doing things," she added, "is very… domineering."
"Mm. You like it?" he asked, tone half teasing, half serious curiosity.
She hesitated for only a fraction of a breath.
"…A little," she admitted.
His grin widened, eyes crinkling in genuine delight.
"Then watch closely," Ling Feng murmured, lowering his voice so only she and Qiurong Wanxue nearby could hear. "We're taking only the good stuff here."
Qiurong Wanxue's white shadow flared quietly behind her, reacting to his words as if stirred by a phantom wind.
She looked out over Nightsea's crystal depths, at the distant glimmer of the deeper realm waiting below, at the countless other geniuses still arriving, still posturing, still believing this place to be their grand stage.
Her hand brushed the hem of her robe, fingers curling briefly.
"Yes," she whispered under her breath, ghost eyes sharpening. "Let us."
Snow-Shadow elites tightened their formation around the group, the earlier tension washed away and replaced with a renewed, almost feverish confidence.
On the far side of the platform, Divine Spark Prince's protectors and Insect King elders clutched their shattered young masters, faces pale with layered emotions—rage, shame, fear, and something darker lurking beneath.
They swallowed their pride for now.
But inside, schemes began to take form.
Messages would be sent back to Divine Spark Country. Angry petitions would be carried to Divine Spark Phoenix Maiden, who would not tolerate such humiliation of her brother. Grievances would be whispered in the ears of Ghost Immortal powerhouses, urging them to cleanse this human scourge from their world.