Zhiyin led Zhang Xian and Li Fuxi into the tent situated on the lower platform. As they crossed the threshold, the space within abruptly expanded.

It was a spatial pocket.

The interior of the seemingly ordinary tent spanned over a hundred zhang. More than a hundred seats were arranged in a circular formation, surrounding a central square table designed for twelve.

Seated at the head was a man in a yellow robe. His countenance was imposing, and an aura reminiscent of a dragon swirled faintly between his brows, commanding absolute respect. This was the current emperor of the Great Xia Dynasty, Xia Xuanyin.

The first seat on the left was occupied by Su Ling, who appeared utterly indifferent to the high-stakes gathering. Beside her, True Person Wangya sat with a deeply furrowed brow, his gaze grave as he whispered to the gaunt, elderly monk at his side.

The monk wore kasaya robes and possessed eyes as profound as abysses, shimmering with Buddhist light. He was the abbot of the Joyous Zen Courtyard at Mountain Chan Monastery, Master Mingbai.

Surprisingly, the first seat on the right held a familiar face: Alchemy Grandmaster Yang Poxiao, representing the Spirit Ruins Sword Sect. He sat with his arms crossed and a heavy sword strapped to his back, his expression radiating arrogance.

Next to him was a young nobleman in brocade robes and a jade belt. A “Golden Toad Devouring Treasure” token from Baoqing Workshop hung at his waist. He fanned himself leisurely, exuding an air of unearned superiority. This was Hu Yanzhi, the young master of Baoqing Workshop and the wealthiest heir in the Southern Region.

Yun Wanqing occupied the second seat on the left. Dressed in a pale yellow gown, her presence was gentle and graceful, though a trace of gravity lingered in her expression. Upon seeing Zhang Xian, she gave a slight nod, a complex emotion flickering in her eyes.

Zhang Xian’s gaze swept the assembly, landing on a figure among the Spirit Ruins Sword Sect: Long Zhi. She sat on a bench in their designated area, her eyes vacant and distant.

She had restored her original appearance, proving why the system recognized her as a 92-point Daughter of Destiny. Clad in white, she resembled an immortal maiden from an ink-wash painting, her jet-black hair tied loosely with a white silk ribbon that fluttered like a spirit.

Zhang Xian glanced at her twice before looking away. Curiously, he noticed his master, Li Fuxi, was also staring intently at Long Zhi.

Is she feeling competitive? Zhang Xian wondered. Aside from being shorter, his master was not inferior to Long Zhi. Furthermore, Li Fuxi possessed certain… physical assets that more than compensated for the height difference.

Hu Yanzhi had been eyeing Yun Wanqing when he noticed her acknowledging a newcomer. He followed her gaze to Zhang Xian and felt an immediate surge of displeasure.

Who was this man to earn Yun Wanqing’s attention? To his eyes, Zhang Xian was merely an ordinary middle-aged cultivator accompanied by two stunning beauties. Though one was the famous Yunmiao Sect puppet, Zhiyin, the shorter woman was undeniably enticing.

“When did a Foundation Establishment-stage False Core cultivator gain the qualification to enter this hall?” Hu Yanzhi sneered.

With a sharp swish, he opened his folding fan. The characters for “Baoqing Workshop” gleamed with a piercing golden light. He shot a contemptuous look at Zhang Xian, his mouth curling in disdain.

Zhang Xian gave him a cold glance and chose to ignore him.

The young master’s eyes flashed with rage. He snapped his fan shut with a loud clack. “Is no one in charge here? If anyone can walk in, can I call for my concubines to observe as well?”

He raised his voice, drawing frowns from the assembly. However, because Baoqing Workshop was immensely wealthy and well-connected, no one moved to silence him.

Zhang Xian slowly turned his head, his gaze icy. “My mood is poor. Do not provoke me.”

His voice was quiet, yet each word carried a chilling weight.

Hu Yanzhi burst into laughter. “What do you think you are? How dare you speak to me that way?”

Suddenly, a sharp sword intent erupted. Li Fuxi’s robes billowed as chilling energy overflowed from her body.

“He is my disciple,” she said, her voice calm but heavy with pressure. “And what, exactly, are you?”

She was only at the third layer of the Golden Core, yet her soaring sword aura demanded the room’s attention. Even Long Zhi briefly looked up from the floor.

Hu Yanzhi’s face flushed. Panic flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by indignation. He was a sixth-layer Golden Core cultivator; how could he let someone three layers lower intimidate him?

Just as he was about to lash out, Su Ling spoke.

“My master is also in a foul mood,” she said placidly. “Say one more unnecessary word and get out.”

Hu Yanzhi flew into a rage. “How dare you—a mere puppet—”

Clang!

A sword gleam flashed from Su Ling’s hand.

Hu Yanzhi’s guardian instantly teleported in front of him, erupting with the full power of a peak Golden Core cultivator to block the strike. Yet, the sword gleam sliced through his protective light like a hot knife through tofu, piercing his shoulder.

“Pfft!”

Blood sprayed as the guardian staggered back. The residual force of the strike slammed into Hu Yanzhi’s chest, sending him flying.

Bang!

Both men crashed into the tent’s barrier and tumbled to the ground, coughing up blood. The hall fell into a stunned silence.

“Is this the Yunmiao Sect’s attitude?!” the guardian stammered, clutching his shoulder in terror.

True Person Wangya sighed and spread his hands helplessly. “Elder Su Ling holds a higher status than I do. I can only offer my apologies.”

Hu Yanzhi’s face turned deathly pale. Resentment burned in his eyes, but he dared not speak under Su Ling’s frozen gaze. He staggered to his feet and retreated from the tent.

Yang Poxiao snorted in disdain. “Trash is useless here anyway.”

Xia Xuanyin tapped his knuckles on the table, a low dragon’s roar resonating through the space to silence the room. His voice was deep and authoritative.

“Esteemed guests, we gather here today for one purpose: demon extermination.”

He waved his hand, and a golden light screen unfolded to display a map of the Southern Region, dotted with red marks over mortal nations and minor realms.

“The primary task,” he said, pointing to the red dots, “is to investigate every mortal region. Any evil arrays found must be eradicated immediately.”

His voice deepened with a crushing majesty. “This array feeds upon mortals, seizing their lifespans. It is an act of defiance against heaven itself. All involved shall be executed.”

The assembly nodded solemnly.

“Secondly,” Xia Xuanyin continued, “we pursue the source. The Muling Sect remnants are ants; the key is Jianchen, who has fully embraced the demonic path.”

He looked toward a monk seated in the back. The elderly man rose slowly; he looked youthful, yet his eyes were turbid.

“Amitabha… This old monk is Jianchen’s mentor, Abbot Minghuai of the Six Paths Courtyard.”

Xia Xuanyin nodded. “Jianchen holds crucial information. I have invited divination grandmasters from Penglai to assist. When they arrive, I will ask Abbot Minghuai to guide them in searching for Jianchen’s whereabouts.”

Because of his deep bond with Jianchen, Abbot Minghuai was the perfect catalyst for divination.

Xia Xuanyin tossed several silver, shuttle-shaped treasures into the air. “Boundary-Piercing Shuttles,” he said gravely. “General Han Yichen will escort the Abbot and the grandmasters. Safety is paramount; you are our most critical link.”

A young general stood from the Great Xia camp and bowed. His father had perished in the secret realm only days ago; his expression was grim.

At that moment, the tent curtain stirred. A figure stepped inside with an unhurried grace. She was a woman clad entirely in white, her skin as lustrous as jade and her features picturesque.

Zhang Xian’s pupils contracted sharply.

Nangong Yao.

You bitch… we finally meet.