Fucang dreamed he was walking across a desolate plain overgrown with wild smoke and weeds. He didn’t know how long he had walked, yet he could never reach the edge of this wasteland.

In the distance stood a tall imperial mulberry tree, standing alone between heaven and earth. As the wind brushed through its leaves, the rustling sound was like fine rain.

He couldn’t help but turn and walk toward it. From somewhere, a voice seemed to warn him: Don’t go, don’t get close.

He couldn’t distinguish whose voice it was—it seemed like his father’s, yet also like his mother’s voice, which he hadn’t heard for many years. His footsteps did not stop. He stubbornly advanced toward that imperial mulberry tree.

Beneath the tree stood a slender, graceful figure. Wide snow-colored robes danced in the wind, and a golden ring glinted brilliantly in her hair. She suddenly turned around—her face was incomparably beautiful and pure, her lonely eyes gazed at him, and she reached out her hand to him.

Come here, stay with her.

Fucang slowly grasped this ice-cold hand. The Chun Jun at his waist suddenly let out a violent humming sound. The azure sword body flew from its sheath beyond his control and pierced through her slender body with one thrust. Fresh blood slowly flowed from her mouth as she called to him: Senior Brother Fucang.

Fucang jerked awake with a start, his eyes flying open. What met his gaze was the familiar canopy above—he was back in Qing Di Palace?

Cold sweat ran from his forehead down his neck. He turned over and sat up from the bed. His indigo-colored robe hung loose at his waist. His palm pressed against a patch of mud and sand. He looked down in surprise and saw quite a bit of mud and sand scattered on his bed—who had stepped on his bed with shoes on?

In a flash, memories of capturing the Third Prince and colliding with Suihu Dajun returned to his mind. The dragon princess…

Fucang got off the bed, pulled his robe together properly, and strode quickly toward the outer room. When he reached the outer chamber, he suddenly felt something was amiss. He turned his head to look—white papers on the desk were being blown about everywhere by the wind, the pearl strings and waist pendants piled in the small pear wood case also seemed to have been rummaged through carelessly, and those snow-white trinkets on the bookshelf that had been handled until worn now looked lifelike and vivid, as if newly made.

She had been here?

He strode quickly into the courtyard. Daylight was just breaking, and outside was completely empty—no one was there.

Fucang couldn’t help but take a breath. How long had he slept?

He slowly walked back inside. Suddenly he noticed another sheet of white paper on the desk held down by a bronze paperweight, with ink marks dripping across several lines of text. He moved the paperweight—it was indeed the dragon princess’s convulsive handwriting: “You slept like a pig for several days. Qing Yan urged me to return to the lower realm. I’m leaving.”

For a moment Fucang found it amusing, then felt guilty, then somewhat alarmed—just from exhausting his divine power, he had actually slept this long.

After hurriedly bathing and changing clothes, he returned to his room to retrieve Chun Jun. Just as he grasped the sword hilt, he suddenly felt an epiphany in his heart—so this was sword energy transforming into divine essence… No wonder he had slept so long; his sword path had broken through again. But he couldn’t spare another half year to comprehend this fully—he had to set this enlightenment aside for now.

Breaking through the cloud boundary and leaving the courtyard, the divine officials who saw him all paid their respects, telling him about the dragon princess’s visit—he had actually slept for over ten days this time. Declining the divine officials’ requests to stay for a meal, Fucang didn’t even drink a cup of tea before rushing back to the lower realm like the wind.

That dream he’d had gave him a very bad feeling.

Divine beings were born of pure energy and did not dream. Once dreams descended upon them, it was an omen of some kind—either great fortune or great calamity. Only Baize Dijun likely understood the art of dream interpretation. He didn’t have time to seek him out for answers—he had to see the dragon princess immediately.

But Fucang hadn’t expected such enormous changes to have occurred in the lower realm. During the ten-plus days he’d slumbered in the upper realm, three dajuns had wreaked havoc—two had been killed, one severely injured. And the divine realm’s most capable war god, the Zhuyin Clan—from the dijun to Xiaolong Jun—had all suddenly disappeared. Even Baize Dijun couldn’t find their whereabouts, so it was preliminarily determined they had perished in the campaign to exterminate the demon clan, leaving all the gods with mixed feelings of doubt and melancholy.

The dragon princess was also gone.

Crown Prince Chang Qin complained to him the moment he saw him: “That Zhuyin Clan princess is really far too arrogant. Even when talking to me, she acts so high and mighty. She never does any proper work, just runs around everywhere—what’s so good about her anyway? What kind of taste is that?”

Fucang didn’t hear clearly what he was saying. He stood before the Dingmao Division war generals’ palace, feeling only a buzzing chaos in his ears. The disappearance of Zhongshan Dijun and Xiaolong Jun must have dealt an enormous blow to the dragon princess. Where was she hiding? Why hadn’t she come to Qing Di Palace to find him?

He suddenly recalled that night when Xiaolong Jun had finished sparring with him and mentioned the dragon princess’s heart injury. His words had been vague, and he hadn’t explained how it had been cured. In the end, he had even shown a trace of sorrowful expression, only saying: “The Huaxu Clan’s sword path is supreme above the thirty-three heavens. Shenjun Fucang has exceptional talent—I’m very reassured. In the future, I must trouble you to look after my younger sister more.”

Thinking back on it now, those words carried the tragic weight of entrusting an orphan to someone’s care. Had Xiaolong Jun known long ago that something would happen to him?

Fucang had always been perceptive. In a moment’s thought, he felt he suddenly understood something. He turned his head to Crown Prince Chang Qin, who was chattering on and on, and asked: “Which war division is Shao Yi of the Qingyang Clan currently assigned to?”

The Yibingyin Division—the most ordinary and inconspicuous division among the one hundred and twenty war divisions, just like Shao Yi’s usual style. He never let himself display a dazzling side in public. Years ago, when his sword path had broken through and his vision had become vastly different, he had already been able to see that Shao Yi was by no means simple. He had assumed Shao Yi just liked playing mysterious—it turned out he had been wrong.

The nine-headed azure lion raced through the sea of clouds. As Fucang recalled these past events, the more he thought, the more alarmed he became.

Rounding a cliff face, he suddenly saw in the distance what looked like a massive dark cloud gathering over a solitary peak—it was the Zhuyin’s Darkness. Was the dragon princess in battle?

Fucang immediately transformed into a violent gust of wind and shot forward. Suddenly that massive ball of Zhuyin’s Darkness vanished in an instant. A black-robed war general on the solitary peak was holding her—it was indeed Shao Yi.

Chun Jun left its sheath. He attacked with a trace of probing caution, only severing the jewel on his forehead.

The wind sound suddenly ceased. Shao Yi raised his head to look at him, then lowered his head to look at the fiery red jewel that had fallen onto his clothes. He slowly picked it up with his fingers, seemingly contemplative: “Your sword is so fast—why didn’t you directly wound my vital points?”

The golden dragon shot back, landing in Fucang’s palm and transforming into the azure Chun Jun sword. He looked at him coldly, his gaze also falling on the dragon princess in his embrace. Her complexion was countless times paler than usual. Though her clothing was neat and tidy, faint traces of dried blood were visible on her neck—it must be the Qingyang Clan’s blood again.

Fucang said slowly: “Why didn’t you sever the binding connection of the phoenix heart feathers?”

Shao Yi seemed somewhat surprised, his eyes widening: “Did you guess this? Or did they tell you?”

They hadn’t told him. The Zhuyin Clan would never speak of their weaknesses and difficulties. He had merely deduced from various fragmentary clues that this matter might be related to phoenix heart feathers.

He had only learned of the phoenix heart feathers’ effects after becoming a war general. This peerless treasure could only be produced by the Qingyang Clan and could even heal the Zhuyin Clan, whom all methods were useless against. That was why, when the dragon princess’s right leg had been injured years ago, Shao Yi had suddenly appeared in the lower realm and temporarily healed her wound. That was why Xiaolong Jun’s eyes had shown tragic sorrow when he mentioned the dragon princess’s heart injury. That was why last time, though the dragon princess hadn’t been injured, she had kept clutching her chest. That was why Shao Yi had said “take care of her for him” and mentioned her heart injury relapsing would bring him trouble.

Fucang said coolly: “Let her go.”

Shao Yi smiled: “Since you know about the heart feathers, do you still think I’ll let her go? Last time I gave her to you, and you threw her away. This time I really can’t give her to you anymore.”

Chun Jun suddenly transformed into a massive golden dragon, coiling with glaring eyes, ready to strike.

Shao Yi’s smile deepened: “If you kill me, she’ll also perish. She and I are bound heart to heart, pulse to pulse—as long as one is injured, both can feel it. Junior Brother Fucang, I know you like her, but I warned you long ago—liking her will only bring heartbreak.”