Once the victims realized the pressure on their bodies had vanished, praise erupted from every direction. As always, those who had shouted insults most loudly became the first to flatter. Wang Dehai, his face still covered in mud, nearly prostrated himself while crawling forward. “Honored State Preceptor Lin Zhao! Your greatness is like the mountains and the heavens!” “If not for you, I would have been crushed to death by that evil spirit!” His voice trembled, partly from fear and partly because he deliberately made it sound sweet. Chen Guifu hurriedly straightened his dirty robe and cupped his hands with a face full of false respect. “The State Preceptor is truly the light of righteousness. With one action, every evil technique immediately shattered.” “This is the difference between someone who truly follows the righteous path and those corrupt cultivators.&

As soon as Rong Tian crossed the rear wall and landed inside, he immediately sensed the familiar atmosphere of his own home. The inner courtyard was neat, with clean stepping stones arranged across carefully maintained ground. Bamboo shifted gently in the night breeze, while an old plum tree stood in the corner beside the wooden corridor like a silent guardian. A short, well-kept pine grew nearby, and hanging lanterns carved with cloud patterns cast a soft yellow light. The air carried the scents of old wood, tea, and the remaining herbal fragrance from the family’s medicine room. This was the home of a respectable but modest family that had preserved its discipline and reputation. It was not the grand residence of a prince, but it was clearly not an ordinary household that could receive a bleeding woman in the middle of the night without consequences. In a place like this, one wrong step could

Aunt Lan’s warning remained in Rong Tian’s mind when he returned to his room. The chamber was dim, lit only by one oil lamp in the corner and a pale line of moonlight slipping through the window lattice. He knelt beside the bed, opened the long chest hidden beneath it, and removed the equipment of the Black Bat King piece by piece. None of it inspired the childish excitement of a youth admiring battle armor. The black robe was a disguise, an identity, and a thin wall separating Rong Tian from the figure that had once terrified the entire Hadarac Desert. The chest armor protected his body, while the mask erased his face. Once everything was in place, he did not feel majestic. He felt the weight of a role that could not afford a single hesitation. When he pushed open the door and entered the rear corridor, two servants standing across the courtyard froze. One nearly dropped the small lanter

The pressure struck Rong Tian from every direction. The qi was cold, but beneath that coldness lay the weight of metal, a throne, and commands that had once been obeyed by thousands. It flooded his meridians while rejecting his existence, as though the tomb itself had awakened and discovered an insignificant creature sitting within the sacred territory of imperial blood. Rong Tian clenched his teeth. He did not cry out, but sweat immediately rolled down his temples and soaked the black robe across his back. His breathing grew heavy. Each cycle of circulation became a struggle between his own qi and the ancient will pressing inward. He adjusted the flow little by little, forcing his meridians to accept the invading energy without allowing them to split. Every thread had to be caught, guided, and compressed before the next one entered. A single mistake would not merely injure his c

Rong Tian did not move when the two auras entered the innermost grounds of the imperial tombs. He pressed his breathing and qi down to their lowest possible level, allowing his body to merge with the shadow of a stone pillar and the thin mist hanging between the statues of long-dead court officials.The burial complex had felt sacred only moments earlier. Now it had become a chamber for a clandestine meeting.The night wind curled around the dragon pillars, and the small guardian bells beneath the stone eaves rang with faint metallic notes. The two newcomers walked through the spirit gate without offering the slightest bow, as though the resting place of the Son of Heaven were merely an empty hall borrowed for private conversation.Lin Zhao entered first along the stone path to the left. His gray robe moved quietly around his legs, yet the aura beneath that calm surface remained cold and keen.He resembled a sword deliberately left inside its sheath. The blade was hidden, but the kill