The imperial aura expanded — but then quickly settled back into stillness, as though nothing had happened at all. Yet people’s hearts were filled with tension and dread as they waited in silence.

A long time passed, and still nothing happened.

Had a great upheaval truly come to an end? What had become of the Ancient Heavenly Court’s divine general? The world waited, bewildered and uneasy.

But as time stretched on, nothing occurred. The cosmos remained as tranquil as ever. Everything was calm and peaceful, and no dark chaos erupted.

Eventually, people at last set down what had weighed upon their hearts.

The Underworld, however, was far from quiet. The underworld realm lay in ruin, having endured an inconceivable calamity. Across that vast, dark, and gloomy expanse of black earth, countless stars had come crashing down — craters from fallen meteorites pocked the land everywhere.

Yin mist coiled and drifted. Within those deep pits lay burial ground after burial ground, one after another. The entire underworld realm was a sea of corpses, and now it had been broken open, exposing it all to the world of the living.

It was difficult for anyone to imagine how this place had come to be — it was as though every living creature across the entire cosmos had been gathered and buried here together.

The Underworld Emperor stood on that vast, dark earth for a long while, his left hand gripping a war spear, his right holding a black-gold shield, and on his back a shaft of an underworld lance. Slowly, he turned, and walked into the sea of corpses.

Cough…

Outside the underworld realm, a young man was laughing — and coughing blood — yet his smile remained radiant, unrestrained and extraordinary.

“Someone like me — how could I die in such a manner? If I don’t bring down one life’s forbidden zone with me, I would be doing myself a disservice.” The young man let out a great laugh, turned, and walked away, leaving the underworld realm behind.

He was severely wounded — yet what he had done could only be called a miracle. He had not yet fully attained the Dao, was not yet a Great Emperor, and yet he had dared to raise such a tremendous ruckus, bringing the very earth of the Underworld close to splitting apart in four directions.

The young man laughed as he went, scattering blood across the ground, journeying alone and far away through the starfield.

At last, he walked faster and faster, until he tore open the cosmos itself and plunged into the boundless galactic river — becoming a brilliant beam of shooting-star light.

Bang!

The void shattered open. The First Divine General of the Ancient Heavenly Court stepped out. Before him stood a Phoenix Platform, a phantom figure, and a heap of ash.

“It is you?” The remnant spirit of the Undying Daoist was shaken.

“I was concerned that the Celestial Empress would become a menace across all directions, so I left a mark upon her once — to track her down and discipline her if the need arose. I never imagined she would already have returned to the yellow earth.” The young man shook his head, his eyes bright and luminous, fixing on the bloodstains atop the Phoenix Platform, then turning to look at the remnant spirit.

The remnant consciousness of the Undying Daoist’s expression shifted. He knew all too well how terrifying this young man was. Had the young man not encountered someone who had already attained the Dao before him, he would certainly have been an emperor-level powerhouse of this generation.

Even so, he had forged his own path — cultivating supreme divine abilities, and without attaining the Dao, he had still reached a plane that placed him alongside those who had, possessing absolute power in battle. In all this world, it was difficult to find a match for him.

The remnant spirit had long since lost its former glory, and now, encountering him here, it would inevitably come to a bad end. Furthermore, the immortal phoenix blood that had been sustaining it would certainly fall into the young man’s hands — the consequences were too dreadful to contemplate.

“Ning Fei underwent the ultimate sublimation and fell in battle — and you… you deceived him!” the remnant spirit snarled in a low voice.

“Nonsense. What kind of person do you take me for? He had something he clung to — he was hampered by his concern for that woman. His fate was already written,” the young man said coldly.

“Yet you survived!” The remnant spirit’s eyes were ice cold.

“Free and unbound as I am, devoted as he was — both of us were true men. Character determines fate. All of this was always bound to happen; we are two extremes.” He paused at that, then said: “Besides — how could I bring myself to die before I leveled the Underworld?”

He began to laugh — brilliantly, radiantly — and fixed his gaze upon the remnant spirit.

The remnant consciousness of the Undying Daoist immediately stiffened, sensing that something terrible was about to happen.

And indeed, the young man burst into laughter. “Were you waiting for me? I’m deeply moved by your hospitality!”

With that, he reached out his hand and seized forward. His presence surged and swelled, like a primordial beast awakened — yet his radiant smile never dimmed. What lay before him was the remnant consciousness of the Undying Celestial Emperor’s divine self. Destroying it carried no burden whatsoever — on the contrary, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction, as though a great hatred was at last being repaid.

This was not the true divine self. The Celestial Emperor’s divine consciousness had already departed the body; the Undying Daoist had been granted an entirely new existence. Though its power had once covered the heavens, it had ultimately become a diminished remnant.

The young man grabbed it with one hand, and drove his fist into it, shattering its skull on the spot, then drew out the specks of its soul-light, reading through what remained of its consciousness.

He then stood atop the Blood Phoenix Platform and laughed heartily: “You ancient relic of an Undying Celestial Emperor — my greatest wish has always been to kill you. For now, I’ll start by slaying this remnant body of your divine self, then bathe myself in your own blood using your own methods. As the saying goes: repay people with their own coin.”

The blood upon the Phoenix Platform rose and coiled into wisps of crimson radiance, which then rained down upon the young man. His optimism never faltered — even gravely wounded, he laughed without cease.

“As expected, the effect is excellent. Underworld Emperor, and you, Underworld — wait for your burial. What does attaining the Dao matter? Sooner or later, I will cut my way to you and bring your Dao crumbling, your spirit extinguished.”

The First Divine General’s bones crackled and popped all over his body. It did not take long before he was full of life and vigor once more, in a hundred times better condition than when he had left the Underworld.

“Those who attained the Dao after me — appear sooner rather than later. I will hold the Underworld in check for you for a century,” he murmured quietly. He settled into a cross-legged position atop the Phoenix Platform, and then vanished entirely along with it.

Outside, the world was in an uproar, everyone debating the great battle of this day in endless discussion.

Within the Heavenly Court, a number of coffins had been prepared. Three among the sages who had once called Long Ma their sworn brother had fallen. Four of the Thirteen Great Demon Kings were dead. The casualties among the heavenly soldiers and generals were not insignificant either.

The greatest cause had been the appearance of the Undying Heavenly Blade, which had nearly reversed the entire tide of battle and nearly caused everyone to perish. Even Ye Tong and Pang Bo had been blown apart on the spot — had it not been for the primordial imperial talisman shielding them, they would have died without question.

Even Little Pine had been split in two, barely escaping with his life.

This battle had ended in their ultimate great victory — but a certain price had been paid as well. For several consecutive days, they held rites to honor the fallen heroes, and the mood was somewhat heavy.

It was not until half a month later that the atmosphere began to ease. They understood that war would inevitably bring death — it was unavoidable, and such things would certainly happen again in the future.

A month later, the Heavenly Court began to recover, and gradually, the sound of laughter returned.

Three months later, life slowly returned to normal. This was an age of chaos, and the law of survival was cruel — everyone seized upon every moment to cultivate, to advance their own cultivation realm.

The bloody divine trees, one after another, had been assembled into a Phoenix Nest, but it had now been torn apart and divided three ways among the Heavenly Court, the Dao Palace, and the Divine Organization. These were all sacred artifacts.

The Phoenix Nest contained not only secret treasures but also Dao scriptures and other items of immeasurable value. What was regrettable was that no trace of the Nine-Revolution Immortal Pill’s residue could be found — it was assumed the Celestial Empress and her divine generals had long since consumed every last bit of it.

Furthermore, the shattered Phoenix Nest itself was a supreme treasure, for carved upon it were imperial-path formation patterns — symbol after symbol glowing with brilliance, each one embodying a fragment of the Undying Celestial Emperor’s Dao-pattern attainments.

Over these three months, the Black Emperor had been consumed with study, throwing himself into it without rest or sleep. Not until three days prior had he finally fallen into a deep slumber, leaving Hua Hua to continue the effort.

The red sun descended in the west. The Black Emperor had slept for three full days and nights before waking at last. Hua Hua hurried over and said: “Senior Uncle, I took apart the Phoenix Nest.”

“Was it the part I had already studied?” the Black Emperor asked.

“It wasn’t,” Hua Hua said with an awkward grin.

“As long as you are well, the skies remain clear,” the Black Emperor said with perfect calm. Then he bared his snow-white teeth and added: “But if you are not well — I’ll spank your backside into eight pieces!”

“Help! Murder!” A screech like a pig being slaughtered rang out through the area.

“Clear skies… eight pieces!”

……

“The doggy is bullying people again — the poor bald weird big brother,” Xiao Zi said, her large eyes blinking, sitting side by side with Xiao Nannan. The two little ones both propped their chins in their hands, pink and tender-cheeked, watching the scene ahead.

The autumn wind rose and fell. Ye Fan had been seated cross-legged beneath the Bodhi tree all this while, contemplating his own laws and Dao. The battle with the Undying Heavenly Blade and the Heaven-Swallowing Demon Jar had left a deep impression upon him.

For more than a year, he had been in constant reflection.

At last, he opened his eyes and rose to his feet. He glanced toward his daughter in the distance — she had grown somewhat over this time — and a flash of tender warmth passed through his eyes. The two little ones came running toward him together.

“Big brother!”

“Father!”

Time had passed swiftly. Since that great battle ended, nearly two years had gone by in the blink of an eye. Xiao Zi had grown to be as tall as Xiao Nannan — they looked like two little porcelain dolls, their large eyes black as obsidian, gazing up at him together.

Ye Fan smiled and patted them each on the head. “So much time has passed — has anything happened?”

“Yes! The Dao-attaining big brother came, and has been wanting to see you for a long time — but you’ve always been napping and won’t wake up,” the little one said, pouting.

“I see. Let us go meet him.” Ye Fan nodded and set off with them.

Half a dark-red ancient mirror was displayed upon a jade plate. It was covered in spider-web-like cracks and was missing its other half — it was the Void Mirror.

In the past, the young celestial master Zhang Qingyang, Long Yuxuan, and Zhang Wenchang had come from the Northern Dipper to the Heavenly Court, bringing this half-mirror with them. Ye Fan had since traded it to the Ji Family.

“All these years, we have been calling out to the divine being within the mirror, hoping to wake him — and at the same time, searching for the scattered remains of the young ancestor Ji Zi. Yet both efforts have failed,” Ji Chengdao said.

The Ji Family had tried every method available to them. They had poured their clansmen’s blood as an offering — and the broken mirror had once responded, turning entirely crimson throughout — but it had only remained so for a brief time before going completely dim once more.

Over these years, the Ji Family had run out of ideas and could no longer rouse the broken mirror to life. They had brought it to the Heavenly Court seeking help, hoping to draw upon Ye Fan’s matchless combat power.

Ye Fan took the mirror in his hands. It felt extraordinarily heavy — it had not only drunk the blood of several supreme beings, but in the end had also been stained by the imperial blood of its own master.

Thinking back to that battle of old, Ye Fan fell into silence. The half-broken mirror, stained with blood, buried in the void — that scene seemed still to be before his eyes.

In that battle, he had lost several of those dearest and closest to him. Gai Jiuyou, the White-Robed Divine King, Ji Zi — every one of them had been so breathtakingly brilliant, yet they would never return.

“Leave it with me,” Ye Fan said with a touch of sorrow. “I will study it and search for the whereabouts of their remains.”

The White-Robed Divine King — mentor and father figure in one. Ji Zi — a sworn brother who had fought at his side through life and death. And the elder Gai Jiuyou, whose spirit soared to the heavens, who had once roared before a supreme being: Who dares do battle with me? Their faces and voices seemed to be right before him even now.

Ye Fan set out. This was a singular kind of cultivation — a pursuit of bonds that had once run deeper than mountain and sea. These people he missed with all his heart, and whenever he thought of them, he could not help but be moved to tears.

They had all been peerless talents, each one dazzling across ancient and modern times. Yet to quell the dark chaos, they had been buried forever in the cold void of the cosmos, their very remains yet to be found.

Ye Fan’s heart could find no peace. Filled with deep feeling, he walked the heavenly path alone, solitary amidst the boundless cosmos.

He came to the Northern Dipper and gazed toward the life’s forbidden zones. He had heard that after that battle, fallen soldiers and fragments of flesh had tumbled into the forbidden zones. He stood in silence for a long while at these places.

At last, Ye Fan departed the Northern Dipper and wandered without destination, carrying the broken half of the Void Mirror, entering the cosmos.

A star hung before him, encircled by nine moons, exceptionally sacred and pure.

Ye Fan looked up and was momentarily stunned. This was actually the Ascending Immortal Star — he had previously kept away from it and never entered. Now, without realizing it, he had come here.

This was a mysterious and formidable star. In ancient times, its earth had been sealed to contain a primordial terror — it harbored presences and secrets beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.

“Since I’m here, I won’t turn away this time. Let me go and see.” Ye Fan said — for he had noticed the mirror’s surface seemed to have flickered.