Fengyun Wuji cradled the unconscious Leng Ruoshuang in his arms as he led the group toward the city center. Behind him followed Gu Yuetian and the demon lords Helian Nanshan and Shentu. They hired a rickety carriage and set off on the road to the capital.
Throughout the journey, Gui Jianchou couldn't stop touching his new body—stroking his arms, his chest, even his face—murmuring dazedly to himself, occasionally drooling at the corner of his mouth. The excitement was overwhelming. He could hardly believe this strong, youthful body was now his. Gone were the sallow skin and hunched frame of old age; in their place, fair skin and a tall, lean figure. Even his silver hair had turned a lustrous black. If not for the lingering depth in his eyes, no one would believe that this man in his twenties was once a dying old man.
To Gui Jianchou, Fengyun Wuji had become a being beyond comprehension—almost divine. Whenever he glanced at Wuji, admiration was laced with a subtle fear. In his heart, someone capable of such a miracle might as well be a god or demon.
When they reached a nearby major city, a crowd of imperial guards awaited them at the gates. Soldiers stood watch in neat formations, attracting the curious gazes of countless onlookers.
Parked outside the city gate was a lavish black carriage—an ultra-luxurious vehicle reserved for royalty. When the guards saw the golden insignia hanging from the side of Wuji's modest carriage, they immediately dropped to one knee and shouted in unison, "Welcome back, My Lord!"
A wave of armored guards surged forward to form a path, parting the crowd from the carriage. Then, as one, they turned their backs, shielding their gaze from the man within. By decree of His Majesty, the Shengming Emperor, Fengyun Wuji's face was not to be seen by the public.
More imperial guards, clad in yellow uniforms, scanned the surroundings with sharp vigilance.
Two robust guards stepped forward to the carriage. Without a word, they knelt before the door, forming a human step.
Fengyun Wuji stepped onto their backs and exited the carriage, still holding Leng Ruoshuang. Gui Jianchou and the others followed behind.
The coachman sat frozen in shock, completely unprepared for the true identity of his passengers. Even Helian Nanshan was stunned—he hadn't expected that after just a few days apart, Fengyun Wuji had not only entered the palace, but seemingly secured a position of great power. Only Gui Jianchou remained indifferent. In his eyes, there was nothing Fengyun Wuji couldn't do.
"Scoundrel! Die!"
A sudden shout broke through the crowd, and a figure leapt into the air, sword flashing straight toward Fengyun Wuji.
Wuji didn't even flinch. Still cradling the unconscious woman, he continued toward the royal carriage, as if unaware of the assassin. Within seconds, several imperial guards shot into the air, intercepting the attacker mid-flight.
Then, in an unexpected turn, the two guards who had acted as footstools sprang to life, murderous intent flaring in their eyes. Like arrows loosed from a bow, they lunged toward Gui Jianchou and the others.
Whoosh!
But before they could strike, two sharp arrows whistled through the air, piercing their chests. Their momentum turned into collapse as they were driven into the dirt, the steel-feathered bolts buried to the fletching.
In the distance, among the ranks of soldiers, an officer lowered his bow with practiced ease and turned away without a word. The power behind that shot was terrifying—far beyond the capabilities of an ordinary guard. The surrounding crowd, sensing the danger, began to back away in silence.
Fengyun Wuji lifted the curtain of the ornate carriage and stepped inside. Behind him, several figures fell from the sky like dying birds, blood painting the ground in their wake.
The royal carriage, now under heavy escort, sped toward the capital. Upon arrival, the gates of the Imperial City opened without delay, and the carriage made its way directly to the palace. Along the route, guards saluted with the highest honors, as per the Emperor's decree. This particular carriage had become Fengyun Wuji's personal chariot, and all who saw it were to treat it with the respect due a sovereign.
Wuji paid little mind to the grandeur. These rituals—whether meant for emperors or immortals—meant nothing to him now. He was above such things. To him, it was all theater. Meaningless.
Outside a palace hall, the carriage finally came to a stop. A group of eunuchs stepped forward to welcome them. This palace had been prepared specifically for Fengyun Wuji by the Shengming Emperor.
Inside, Wuji laid Leng Ruoshuang gently on a grand bed and signaled Gui Jianchou to examine her. The old man sat at the bedside, checked her pulse for a while, then frowned.
"Strange. The poison is gone. Her qi is depleted, yes, but her body's fine. By all logic, she should be awake. But she isn't."
"What?!" Helian Nanshan burst out. "Are you saying you can't save her?" He grabbed Gui Jianchou by the collar in panic.
"I can save her!" Gui Jianchou protested, struggling to free himself. "She's not in danger—just... inexplicably unconscious."
"Shentu, let him go," Fengyun Wuji said calmly. Helian Nanshan scowled, then stepped back.
"Gui Jianchou, take care of Leng Ruoshuang. Whatever materials you need, ask the imperial physicians—they won't dare refuse." With that, Wuji turned and left the hall.
Truthfully, Wuji had already guessed the cause. Leng Ruoshuang's life was no longer in danger, but the fact that she remained unconscious pointed to an external force—a hidden enemy's secret technique. Once the caster was found, she would awaken. For now, her safety was enough to bring Wuji a sense of relief.
In a neighboring hall, Wuji entered alone and sat upon the dragon throne at its center. From the shadows, a masked figure in black stepped forward and knelt.
"My Lord," the figure said.
"Report," Wuji said, hands resting on the dragon-carved armrests, his voice calm but commanding.
"My Lord, the Drifting Sword Sect was annihilated today by a single youth. All ten of their Ascendant-level warriors were slain. As of today, a total of 8,724 cultivators of the Ascendant realm have perished across the martial world. The chaos continues to spread unchecked…"
As the man spoke, Wuji's expression grew darker.
After a while, the black-clad figure withdrew, leaving Wuji alone in the dim hall.
For a long time, he sat in silence.
Then finally, he spoke, voice barely above a whisper:
"It's your move now... isn't it?"