The restaurant hung suspended in the sky, drinking in clouds and mist, with starlight pouring down around it — towering like a magnificent heavenly palace rising into the cosmos.

The middle-aged Daoist nun caught sight of Ye Fan, and a flash of icy light crossed her eyes before vanishing. Her mount had been slain by Ye Fan in front of everyone — a humiliation beyond measure.

Ye Fan found a table and sat down with Rui Wei, paying no attention to the remarks being thrown around.

Quite a few people took notice of the two of them. All manner of eyes swept over them, deliberate or otherwise. He was a prominent figure standing in the eye of the storm, and he had left a deep impression on many.

At the middle-aged Daoist nun’s table sat seven or eight people, each one distinguished and outstanding — entirely expected, since anyone who could walk the ancient path through the stars could hardly be considered ordinary.

“Knowing a person’s face tells you nothing of their heart. Some people are truly deranged — disguising themselves as saint-killers to eliminate their rivals. Despicable and utterly without humanity. What they’ve done is outrageous.”

At the middle-aged Daoist nun’s table, a young man swirled the wine cup in his hand, his tone unhurried, his voice low yet perfectly audible to all nearby.

He was dressed in a sky-blue treasure robe and appeared quite young. His complexion was fair, and his fingers in particular were almost crystalline — a beautiful contrast against the jade cup, making him look refined and cultured.

“Indeed, the dregs of society. If you have real ability on the Emperor’s Path, then fight with it openly. What kind of skill is it to use shameless underhanded methods to ambush your rivals?” Another person at the table — a woman — spoke. She was strikingly beautiful, and her words were sharp as blades. Clad in red like fire, she should have looked enchanting and alluring, yet in that moment she radiated a cold, ruthless killing air.

Rui Wei’s face clouded with worry. He could plainly see that the people at that table were targeting Ye Fan — what they were saying could not have been more obvious, slandering him in public.

“Brother Ye, let’s leave. Find another place.” Rui Wei said quietly.

Ye Fan shook his head. “Flies and dogs make a fuss everywhere they go. No need to bother with them.”

The area of the palace fell suddenly quiet. Many eyes turned their way. All seven or eight people at the middle-aged Daoist nun’s table wore cold, hard expressions.

“You did it, and yet you don’t dare admit it. A worthless rat — and you think you can swagger around here?!” The red-robed woman’s brows knitted into two sharp lines like crossed swords, her eyes blazing with icy light.

The middle-aged Daoist nun smiled. “Why get so worked up, little Red Willow? We enter the trial grounds tomorrow. We’ll hunt down rats and slaughter dogs and see who racks up the bigger score.”

“Red, don’t let a man who can’t stand the light ruin your mood. The Lord of Junwei Mountain is about to arrive — let’s not waste another word on someone so shameless.” The blue-robed man spoke calmly, unhurried as ever, yet the pointed edge of his words was plain.

The middle-aged Daoist nun smiled and nodded. “Brother Blue Maple is right. We should go receive the Lord of Junwei Mountain.”

Rui Wei’s expression changed sharply. Those people had gone too far — singing in chorus, belittling and smearing Ye Fan’s name, clearly harboring wicked intentions at heart. What he truly feared was that Ye Fan would lose his temper and start a massacre right here, heedless of the consequences — that would be disastrous, certain to bring great calamity down on them.

It was clear that the middle-aged Daoist nun, Red Willow, and Blue Maple were all hoping for exactly that — waiting for him to erupt, so they could seize the moral high ground and condemn him for it.

Ye Fan remained perfectly calm. He raised his cup and gently clinked it against Rui Wei’s, then said: “The world is full of all kinds of people — the six desires, the red dust of worldly life. There’s no shortage of people like these. Why bother with them? Just treat it as a dog barking.”

“Slash!”

Gazes shot over like blades — sharp as swords — making the atmosphere in the palace grow tighter and colder. The people present sensed that a great collision was likely coming.

The number of conversations within the great palace dwindled noticeably, all eyes turning in their direction. Even the brocade-robed young lord, the monk with the golden headband, and the six or seven other seed-level powerhouses each seated alone at their own tables glanced over with a casual, detached air.

A faint sneer curled the corner of the middle-aged Daoist nun’s mouth as she smiled lightly. The killing intent in Red Willow’s eyes grew thicker. Blue Maple remained cold and indifferent, fixing his gaze on Ye Fan for several moments. From their table, a wave of killing intent began to seep outward.

Ye Fan could naturally see that these were the middle-aged Daoist nun’s allies — an immensely powerful group when combined, not to be taken lightly. It seemed she had spent these past few days working hard to stir up trouble and draw a faction of people to her side.

“The Lord of Junwei Mountain has arrived.”

A group of people ascended into the great floating palace in the sky.

Five individuals strode in. The one at the center moved with the poise of a dragon and the bearing of a tiger. He wore a purple-gold crown and armored robes adorned with the qilin motif — majestic and imposing, carrying a weighty pressure about him, like a divine mountain pressing forward, like the descent of a divine king.

“Brother Junwei, this way please.” Blue Maple, refined and elegant in his blue robes, rose with a smile to receive him.

The middle-aged Daoist nun also came forward, whisk in hand, with a look of genuine deference — a far cry from the cold indifference she showed Ye Fan. She was now all smiles, greeting the man with a Daoist courtesy: “The Lord of Junwei Mountain’s name resounds throughout the ancient path through the stars. You have singlehandedly stormed ninety-nine celestial passes — walking one of the most grueling trial paths imaginable. Truly a divinely gifted genius!”

Red Willow and the others also stepped forward with smiling faces, treating this person with great care and not daring to show the slightest disrespect. They surrounded him like stars clustered around the moon and guided him to his seat.

Throughout the great palace, others wore expressions of surprise. Many had heard of the Lord of Junwei Mountain. Word had it that he hailed from an ancient stellar domain, and over these past few days, a steady stream of visitors had come to pay their respects — making him something of a lord among the four hundred and thirty-seven trial participants.

He was unquestionably a front-rank figure, no weaker than those eight or nine cultivators who each commanded their own table alone. He inspired wariness in all quarters and was viewed by many as a strong contender for the Emperor’s Path.

“The Lord of Junwei Mountain comes from a great academy within an ancient stellar domain. His learning is said to be terrifying — he has most likely already achieved sainthood.”

“His inner energy is completely concealed, without so much as a thread leaking out. It’s impossible to gauge his depth. But anyone who could storm through the most demanding of the ninety-nine celestial passes must have transcended into sainthood without question.”

Such was the general assessment of him — people regarded him with exceptional esteem and undisguised wariness. Anyone seeking to walk the Emperor’s Path would undoubtedly have to contend with this man as a formidable rival.

The Lord of Junwei Mountain possessed a pair of natural purple eyes. His hair was bound beneath a golden crown, and he carried the bearing of a dragon and tiger. Simply by sitting down, he projected a quiet, effortless sense of authority.

“I heard you all talking about the assassin just now. Have there been any real leads?” He spoke in an even tone, his purple eyes deep as an ocean.

“Just a petty wretch, not worth mentioning. Let him feel smug for one more night. Once we enter the trial grounds tomorrow, we’ll see him exposed for what he truly is.” The middle-aged Daoist nun replied with an air of casual indifference.

“Look — that’s him, isn’t it. Hunting down fellow cultivators in the shadows — a crime deserving death ten times over. I think we should rally together to eliminate him the moment we enter tomorrow.” Red Willow pursed her lips and pointed directly toward where Ye Fan was sitting — this time without any attempt at concealment, making her target perfectly plain.

“Indeed. A man like this is despicable to the core. He kills rivals from the shadows, his mind narrow and his character rotten. If we let him continue to live, who knows how many more people will fall victim to him? He should be eliminated by all of us together!” The others at the table chimed in one by one.

Many people throughout the great palace wore strange expressions, their gazes shifting between Ye Fan and the middle-aged Daoist nun’s group, murmuring quietly among themselves.

“A pack of creatures who don’t know what they’re walking into.” Ye Fan tossed back a cup of wine and swept a glance in their direction, his eyes cold and without mercy.

For a moment, the great palace fell utterly silent. This was an irreconcilable conflict. Even if hostilities didn’t break out here and now, a brutal and bloody battle in the trial grounds tomorrow was inevitable.

“Who are you talking about?” Someone at the middle-aged Daoist nun’s side stood up — and in an instant, five or six people rose alongside him, their cold stares bearing down, using sheer numbers and presence to intimidate, as though they intended to slaughter everyone right where they stood.

Everyone assumed Ye Fan would respond with cold sarcasm. No one expected him to be so direct.

“I’m talking about you — a pack of flies and mongrel dogs.”

“Who do you think you are? Nothing but a despicable wretch who hides from the light. Do you dare meet me in open battle? I’ll take your head in a hundred moves!” One man stepped forward, eyes sharp with malice — clearly little more than a “spear” being thrust out ahead of the rest, a probe and a provocation aimed at Ye Fan.

“The assassinations have nothing to do with me. But if you insist on slandering me, I don’t mind living up to the name of saint-slayer.” Ye Fan cast him a look of utter contempt. “And as for fighting you — you’re not worth it. A hundred moves? One blade is more than enough to cut you down.”

As Ye Fan spoke, every word rang out like a hammer strike, accompanied by an overwhelming surge of wild and domineering blood-energy that flooded the air — causing the man’s face to go white as a sheet, as though he were staring into a boundless torrent of blood raining down to swallow heaven and earth.

“You—!”

The pressure inside his chest was unbearable. He kicked back his chair and stepped out, unable to stop himself — he was actually about to draw his sword on Ye Fan.

“Slash!”

A flash of light — and Ye Fan, his back still turned, didn’t even look around. He flung a cup of wine outward. With a crack, it sent the man flying, blood spraying from his mouth. He toppled straight as a plank into a corner, as though he’d been struck by a force of ten thousand tons.

Many faces changed color. A cup of wine — and it had sent a powerful cultivator flying. The display of skill made many of the cultivators present wary.

“How utterly arrogant. To make such a violent scene within the First City of the Human Race — do you not care at all about the city’s rules? To conduct yourself this way, so recklessly and disrespectfully, making an enemy of all cultivators — do you intend to stand against everyone here?” The middle-aged Daoist nun let out a cold laugh.

“This is clearly a grudge between you and me. Why drag so many innocent people into it? You slander me as a saint-killer, you stir up so many people to come at me — don’t you find that lowly?” Ye Fan looked at her. The divine light in his eyes was luminous and sharp. Every word he spoke rang like a sword, making people’s ears buzz. “Invite as many people as you wish. When we enter the cultivation grounds tomorrow, no matter how many come, I’ll take them all on.”

You use your schemes of darkness — I will answer with a single sword of light. That was Ye Fan’s killing intent. In the end, what it all came down to was one word: battle.

In an instant, the great palace turned frigid to the bone — bitterly cold. Both sides stood on the knife’s edge, blades drawn and bows bent. It seemed a full-scale clash might erupt even before they stepped into the trial grounds.

Then suddenly, startled cries broke out. Wild beasts roared and screamed — something abnormal was happening.

Some of the cultivators had ridden exotic birds and ancient beasts into the city, and naturally there were places outside the great palace where those mounts were being tended. Now, chaos was erupting there.

The sounds of mounts bellowing pushed their way inside. Many of those at the middle-aged Daoist nun’s table changed expressions and leaped to their feet, charging for the exit.

Outside the great palace, a cacophony of noise — shouts and cries filtering in.

“Whose horse is this, causing trouble out here?!” came a furious, exasperated voice.

Ye Fan and Rui Wei exchanged a look and headed outside. The area where the mounts were being kept was thrown into chaos beyond measure, birds and beasts alike shrieking and howling without end.

“I don’t eat grass — I eat meat. Those two beasts provoked me, and I had no choice but to roast them!” Long Ma’s overbearing voice rang out.

The middle-aged Daoist nun, Blue Maple, Red Willow, and the others wore cold, dark expressions. Two among them had faces gone utterly ashen — their mounts were in mortal peril, currently strung up and being roasted over an open fire.

The owner of the great palace stood there with a pained look on his face. He had brought over some spirit grass, but Long Ma hadn’t even looked at it. Meanwhile, a nearby peacock and a golden chisel-beast had mocked and insulted Long Ma with cutting, contemptuous remarks — knowing full well that their own masters were targeting the owner of the Crimson Scale Horse.

The result was grim. Long Ma was a scoundrel through and through. On the spot, he kicked out with three hooves, sending the powerful peacock and golden chisel-beast rolling back with their eyes going white — knocked senseless. Then he plucked every last feather from them and began roasting them over a crimson flame. By now the smell of cooked meat was already drifting through the air.

“What… is going on? How can a horse be this outrageous?!” The middle-aged Daoist nun and the others demanded coldly.

“What are you all staring at? Never seen such a handsome, meat-eating horse before?” Long Ma shot back.