Di Jun, Tai Yi, Zhenyuanzi, and Hongyun had pushed themselves to arrive early, but the courtyard of the Purple Palace was already populated by the heavyweights of the Great Desolation.
As the two Golden Crows crossed the threshold, they felt a physical weight press down upon their very souls. The aura of Zixiao Palace was not merely power; it was the manifestation of the Dao itself—multifaceted, ever-shifting, and utterly absolute. It was a silent command to submit.
For the first time, Ling Xiao's warnings felt tangible. In the presence of a Saint, their titles as "Lords of the Sun" were as thin as mist. Only raw strength, the kind that could anchor one's existence against the tide of heaven, mattered.
As they took their places, they became the focal point of a dozen piercing gazes.
The Sanqing, the Western Duo, and the siblings from Mount Buzhou all looked upon them with varying degrees of suspicion. The question hung in the air: Where is the third?
"The one called Ling Xiao stayed behind," Yuanshi transmitted to his brothers, a thin, mocking smile touching his lips. "To ignore the invitation of the Dao Ancestor... is it arrogance, or simply the stupidity of a bird who thinks he can find the path in the dark?"
"The world is vast," Tongtian replied with a shrug. "Perhaps he has his own methods. It matters little to us."
Nearby, Jieyin and Zhunti shared a much darker look. Their fingers twitched with the urge to settle the debt of their missing teeth right then and there. But this was Hongjun's house. They would wait. The fact that Ling Xiao hadn't come only meant they would have to make an extra trip to the Sun Star later to extinguish his flame.
Nuwa and Fuxi were the only ones to offer a polite greeting.
"Fellow Daoists," Nuwa said softly. "Where is Ling Xiao? I had hoped to speak with him."
"Our brother is in deep seclusion," Di Jun replied with a practiced smile, recalling Ling Xiao's excuse. "He could not break his meditation."
Nuwa felt a pang of disappointment. She had wanted to press him on why he had sent Bai Ze to her. Is the Saint's word truly so unappealing to him? she wondered, before retreating to her seat.
Haotian and Yaochi, the boy and girl attendants of the Saint, eventually signaled the closing of the gates. The gathered powers filed into the hall, returning to the seats established during the first sermon. Di Jun and Tai Yi sat behind their new friends, Zhenyuanzi and Hongyun, feeling like outsiders in a well-rehearsed play.
"A pity for Ling Xiao," Zhenyuanzi whispered. "Missing the word of a Saint is a loss that cannot be measured."
"Don't worry," Hongyun chirped back. "We'll just tell him everything we hear when we get back. It's the same thing, right?"
The hall fell into a sudden, vacuum-like silence.
Hongjun appeared on the cloud bed. He didn't arrive so much as he simply manifested, becoming the center of the universe's gravity.
His gaze swept over the crowd. It lingered on Di Jun and Tai Yi. For a moment, his expression froze.
A variable?
Inside the Saint's mind, the Law of Heaven surged. He saw the threads of fate clearly: the Sun Star was supposed to have two Golden Crows to lead the Yao Race. Where had this third one come from?
He peered into the hidden mechanisms of the world. The Dao has fifty, and the Evolution is forty-nine... A variable was natural. He had been too focused on his own ascension to notice a minor deviation in the solar essence.
Perhaps it is for the best, Hongjun mused. Di Jun and Tai Yi are currently too weak to face the Witches. A third Crow might balance the scales of the coming war.
He didn't care that Ling Xiao hadn't come. As long as the "People of Destiny"—the two brothers sitting before him—were present to receive the "General Trend," the script would remain intact.
The silence in the palace stretched. The other immortals began to fidget. It felt as if the Dao Ancestor was staring a hole through the two newcomers.
Did they offend him? Zhunti wondered, his heart leaping with hope. If the Saint strikes them down now, it saves me the effort.
The tension was broken as Hongjun finally spoke, his voice echoing like the grinding of tectonic plates.
"This sermon on the path of the Quasi-Saint shall last for three thousand years. Clear your hearts. Listen."
Then, the Dao began.
"The Way of Heaven is the movement of the void... Heaven has five thieves; he who sees them shall prosper... Fire is born from wood; when disaster strikes, it must be overcome..."
As the Saint spoke, the very air of Zixiao Palace transformed. Golden lotuses erupted from the floorboards, and heavenly blossoms drifted from the ceiling. The immortals fell into various states: some wept with joy, some scratched at their skin in frustration, and others sat like weathered stone, their minds lost in the labyrinth of the Saint's words.
Time, which meant nothing in the Chaos, flowed on. For three thousand years, the sound of the Dao was the only thing that existed.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the voice stopped.