Opening her hand to look at the fragments of divine soul, then glancing at the shattered plate on the ground nearby, Er’er’s eyes twitched slightly.

Her intuition told her this was no coincidence—how could a divine soul break into porcelain-like fragments? But in such a life-or-death situation, how could he possibly have time to care about such trivial matters?

After brief consideration, she looked directly at Li Ye and asked, “This hand is…?”

“Dui Ren’s divine soul,” Li Ye answered irritably. “He’s the one who broke my plate.”

Er’er: “…”

So he did have time to care about such trivial matters.

Both annoyed and amused, she crouched beside him, helping clean the wound on his hand while softly chiding, “Plates can be replaced.”

That’s different, it was the plate he had washed, and she said she wanted to see it when she returned.

He frowned with displeasure, about to retort, when he saw the person before him suddenly darken.

…

…

“How did you get this?” She examined the wound on his finger, her nose wrinkling.

Li Ye thought she was repulsed by the blood and was about to withdraw his hand, intending to sever and reclaim the meridians stuck to the ground. But as soon as he raised his hand, she lunged forward and embraced him, urgently saying, “Let me handle it, why are you in such a hurry?!”

“This is Gold-Corroding Poison,” he curved his lips. “It was hidden in the glazed bottle containing Qian Tian’s soul. I didn’t notice and was poisoned.”

Gold-Corroding Poison could spread rapidly through the blood vessels, devouring spiritual power. By the time he detected it, the poison had already infected all the meridians in his entire arm. With battles still to face, all he could do was sacrifice this portion of his meridians.

Although no one was interfering now, meridians were complex and chaotic things. Rather than expending enormous effort to realign them, he preferred to cut them off and cultivate anew. After all, he wasn’t merely flesh and blood—he wasn’t that fragile.

This was Li Ye’s thinking, but the little creature before him clearly wouldn’t agree.

She stubbornly held him down and began using her spiritual power to organize his meridians.

She needed to first capture the poison and expel it bit by bit, then restore the meridian channels—a long and intricate process. If it were up to him, he would have summoned the Phoenix-Slaying Blade in less than the time it takes an incense stick to burn.

But her movements were exceedingly careful, as if afraid of hurting him. Her fingertips traced along the meridian paths gently and softly.

Feeling a strange ticklish sensation, Li Ye uncomfortably turned his head away: “Too slow.”

“How can I not be slow? It’s painful,” Er’er replied without looking up. “Don’t worry, I know how to be gentle.”

Only she would fear pain. How could someone who had cultivated to become an Upper God be so weak?

Li Ye wanted to mock her, but looking down at her trembling eyelashes, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

One hour later.

The black poison had been flushed out, winding into strange patterns on the ground. Er’er glanced at it, freed one hand to grab his voluminous red robe, and disgustedly pushed the poison away.

Then she carefully returned the reorganized meridians into his hand.

“They had planned this from the beginning,” she said, annoyed. “First poisoning, then surrounding Upper Bing Palace to attack—they’re always looking to file complaints, this time let’s make our complaint with me as witness.”

The feeling of numbness in his fingers spread, making his heart feel warm as well. Li Ye snorted with amusement and flicked her forehead: “The Heavenly Dao judges will not listen to you.”

“We have to try,” Er’er frowned.

“If they listen, then what?” Turning to walk toward Upper Bing Palace, Li Ye swept his sleeve. “They attempted murder, and I severed three of their divine souls.”

It wasn’t certain who would end up imprisoned in the Heavenly Prison if they filed a complaint.

“…” She realized he had a point.

Following him nervously across the threshold, Er’er muttered, “So did I arrive in time to save you or to save them?”

The answer was the latter—he wouldn’t have died.

Li Ye disdainfully sat on his throne, took out the Phoenix-Slaying Blade, and placed it on the armrest.

Er’er followed his gaze, feeling quite conflicted.

Qian Tian’s soul fragment was still here. Given that they had already harbored murderous intentions, asking the Master to continue nurturing him with spiritual power seemed unreasonable. Yet using his soul to consecrate the Phoenix-Slaying Blade might give others ammunition against them.

“How about…” she hesitantly began, “you lend me the blade, and I’ll return him to Zhen Huan Gong.”

With a somewhat gloomy gaze, Li Ye pressed his lips together: “Why?”

“Qian Tian practices Gold Path Immortal Arts, so the Gold-Corroding Poison wasn’t from him,” Er’er analyzed, counting on her fingers. “You severed three divine souls today. Returning Qian Tian’s soul fragment to them doesn’t seem like a loss.”

But he didn’t like it.

Li Ye thought darkly, I’m not some great benefactor. They came to attack my palace, and I should return the soul fragment? Qian Tian’s divine soul was perfect nourishment for the Phoenix-Slaying Blade—it could serve as fertilizer.

However, before he could continue his gloomy ruminations, the person before him took his hand.

“Anger must have limits,” her fingers held his, gently swaying them. “They offended you first, so you were justified in severing their divine souls—that’s reasonable. But continuing to bear grudges would be excessive, and excessive evil is detrimental to cultivating immortal arts.”

“My immortal arts no longer need cultivation,” he narrowed his eyes.

He had reached the pinnacle, which was why he was willing to accept the qi of death and resentment.

The person before him furrowed her brows deeply.

“No,” she insisted stubbornly. “Even if you no longer need to cultivate, you cannot commit evil.”

Li Ye: “…”

He had committed countless evils—was it her place to judge? In this world, there was no right or wrong; it all depended on his mood. What pleased him was right, what displeased him was wrong. For tens of thousands of years, he had lived by this principle. She was truly inexperienced.

And yet.

Glancing at her serious and angry expression, he found himself unable to refuse.

She was too fragile—he feared even raising his voice might make her cry.

Impatiently rubbing his brow, he gave a vague grunt of assent.

“What does ‘hmm’ mean?” She stamped her foot, gripping his hand more firmly. “Did you understand?”

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Li Ye was puzzled: “You weren’t this bold before.”

“Of course not,” Er’er raised her small chin, quite proudly declaring, “You were so fierce to me before, threatening to kill at any moment. Now it’s different—once you’re nice to me, my courage grows. I excel at taking a mile when given an inch.”

Is that how one should speak about oneself?

He shook his head, trying to free himself, but she held onto his arm as well.

A heavy feeling, both warm and soft.

His lips unconsciously curved upward. Li Ye let out a light snort, allowing her to embrace him for quite some time before leisurely asking, “Can you lift the Phoenix-Slaying Blade?”

“Ridiculous, it’s just a blade.”

Knowing he had consented, Er’er happily jumped up, quickly spat into her palm twice, and gripped the handle of the Phoenix-Slaying Blade.

The Phoenix-Slaying Blade hummed once as if startled, trying to break free, but was silently subdued by its master’s power.

It quivered pitifully a couple of times, as if begging for mercy. Li Ye watched expressionlessly.

Fine then.

Giving up its struggle, the Phoenix-Slaying Blade obediently allowed itself to be lifted by an Upper Immortal who had just ascended.

This was the first time since its creation that anyone other than Li Ye had held it. Feeling wronged but not daring to move, it had to listen to the Immortal shamelessly exclaim:

“See, I can lift it!”