At dawn, a solemn silence enveloped the Divine Wood Sect’s mountain gate. Seventy qualified disciples stood in formation, their black battle robes snapping in the chill morning wind.

Shen Xian stood among them, his gaze sweeping the assembly. Wei Zhaoli, dressed in moon-white armor, stood with the core disciples, her Cold Plum Reflecting Snow Hairpin gleaming with a frosty light. Not far away, Lin Lang’s dark gold cloud-patterned robes shimmered ominously. At the very front stood his elder brother, Shen Xing, his plain white robes immaculate and untouched by the dust of the world.

Dong—

A deep, resonant bell toll echoed from the summit of the Jianmu Divine Tree.

Nine azure-scaled flood dragons burst through the cloud layer, towing a massive bronze war chariot shaped like a lotus throne. Each dragon was over thirty zhang long, their scales glinting like cold steel in the dawn light.

Venerable Qingxiao hovered in mid-air, his sleeves billowing without wind. “This journey is perilous. Exercise utmost caution.”

Shen Xian boarded the chariot with the others. The bronze lotus petals slowly closed, sealing them within a fortified compartment.

Through the crystal observation ports, he watched the Jianmu Divine Tree shudder. Countless emerald leaves drifted down, forming a winding, spectral path that pointed northwest—toward the Ancient Ruins.

“Depart!”

At the command of a Nascent Soul Elder, the nine flood dragons roared in unison. They surged forward, pulling the chariot along the leafy road in the sky.

Shen Xian felt a slight tremor as they pierced the cloud layer. Below, the seven peaks of the Divine Wood Sect shrank into ink dots.

The ride smoothed out quickly. Wei Zhaoli sat opposite him, lightly tapping the crystal pane. “At this speed, we should reach the entrance in three days.”

Shen Xian nodded, staring out at the passing landscape. Mountains and rivers unrolled like a painting beneath the sea of clouds. Occasionally, wisps of smoke rose from mortal cities.

But on the far horizon, a murky gray shadow loomed—the baleful aura of the Ancient Ruins leaking into the world.

Lin Lang’s chariot maintained a steady distance. Shen Xian could feel Lin Lang’s gaze flicking toward the spirit beast pouch at his waist. Inside, Xiao Bai shifted restlessly.

Three days passed in a blur of clouds and wind.

Shen Xian leaned against the window, watching the gray zone sharpen. The air outside grew turbulent, filled with distorted spatial ripples where the laws of nature began to break down.

“Almost there,” Wei Zhaoli murmured, her finger tracing a calculation on the pane.

Shen Xian nodded, but his eyes suddenly narrowed.

A patch of angry crimson clouds was rushing toward them from the east. Figures stood atop the burning mist, their auras blazing like wildfires.

“Li Fire Sect?” Shen Xian raised an eyebrow.

As a Shen scion, he recognized the signature crimson cloud technique. The Divine Wood Sect and the Li Fire Sect were sworn enemies in the Azure Province. Whenever their disciples met, blood flowed.

Meeting on this narrow path meant trouble.

Boom—

A pillar of fire erupted from the crimson cloud, aimed straight at their chariot.

“Presumptuous!”

The Divine Wood Sect’s leading Elder snorted. He flicked a sleeve, and a cyan barrier instantly expanded, intercepting the blast. The chariot shuddered but held firm.

“Hahaha! Fellow Daoists of the Divine Wood Sect, why so timid? Come out and greet your old friends!”

A wild, arrogant laugh tore through the sky. The crimson clouds dispersed to reveal dozens of cultivators.

The leader wore robes the color of fresh blood. His features were sharp as blades, and flames coiled around his body like living serpents.

“Grand Elder of the Li Fire Sect, Yan Wujiu,” Wei Zhaoli said, her voice dropping to freezing point.

Yan Wujiu was a late Nascent Soul monster with an Innate Fire Spirit Body. He was a veteran of countless wars, famous for his brutal combat style.

Behind him stood seventy-two Li Fire disciples, each wearing a flaming token that cast a bloody glow in the dim light. Three Li Fire Elders faced off against the Divine Wood Sect’s three Nascent Soul Elders, the pressure between them thickening the air until it was hard to breathe.

“Old Man Xuanming, you’re spending big this year,” Yan Wujiu boomed, his gaze pausing on Shen Xing. “Even the Azure-Scaled Flood Dragons are out. You must be desperate to succeed.”

Elder Xuanming stroke his white beard, cyan light pulsing in his sleeve. “Old Ghost Yan, at your age, you’re still babysitting? Afraid your disciples will die too quickly without you holding their hands?”

A cyan lotus platform materialized beneath Xuanming’s feet, resonating with the distant Jianmu Divine Tree.

The space between the two elders began to twist and buckle. They weren’t moving, but a silent, terrifying contest of spiritual pressure was already tearing the clouds apart.

Behind the Li Fire lines, a woman in a crimson dress stepped forward. She walked on flames, crimson lotuses blooming with every step. A blood-red mole marked her forehead, and a crimson serpent with purple fire in its eyes coiled around her wrist.

Su Mei, the Li Fire Sect’s head disciple.

Her gaze locked instantly onto Shen Xian’s chariot.

“Wei Zhaoli,” Su Mei purred, her voice seductive yet laced with venom. “Five years. Is your Frostwater Sword still sharp?”

Wei Zhaoli’s expression didn’t change, but the air around her dropped ten degrees. “Sharp enough to kill you.”

Shen Xian noted the tension in Wei Zhaoli’s fingers.

Wang Yu leaned in, whispering, “Young Master, Senior Sister Wei beat that woman for a treasure five years ago. It was ugly.”

Shen Xian nodded. A grudge over resources. Classic.

Suddenly, an earth-shattering roar erupted from the horizon.

The space at the entrance of the Ancient Ruins twisted violently. A chaotic pillar of light shot into the sky, tearing the clouds apart for a hundred miles. Phantoms of broken weapons swirled within the light, radiating a heart-stopping killing intent.

“The spatial tide is early!” A Divine Wood Elder’s face paled as the jade slip in his hand cracked. “Prepare for entry immediately!”

Yan Wujiu snorted, recalling a crimson flag into his sleeve. “Xuanming, truce. For now.”

“Anytime,” Elder Xuanming replied coldly. He waved a hand, and the nine bronze chariots surged forward, their defensive arrays lighting up.

As they passed, Su Mei flicked a finger. A streak of Heart-Burning Fire shot toward Shen Xian’s window.

“Don’t let your fiancé die in there. The Godfiend Battlefield loves tender meat like him.”

Wei Zhaoli didn’t even look. She slashed two fingers through the air. A blade of Frostwater Qi intercepted the fire, slicing it cleanly in two.

“Control your fire,” she said icyly. “Or I’ll extinguish it for you.”