Chapter 122

At the horizon, golden light and black mist churned together. In the end, it was the Celestial Emperor’s light that prevailed suppressing the darkness entirely.
But even so, strands of black crept into the gold, a fatal poison to a being rooted in the purest and most righteous energies of the world.
But this was no longer a battle of strength, it was a battle of resolve. And from the moment he acted, the Celestial Emperor had already made peace with death.
He ignored the corruption seeping into his soul, focused solely on tearing apart the darkness, ripping, shredding, obliterating. The Soulbane sensed true threat and retaliated viciously, amplifying its corruption.
The Emperor had long struggled with inner demons. Now, provoked by the resentful energy, his mind began to fracture. Regret. The will to rule. The fear of death. Countless conflicting emotions surged forth, weakening his resolve.
The Soulbane sensed his hesitation and struck harder, fanning the flames of doubt.
Then, just when it seemed the black mist had the upper hand, the Celestial Emperor stopped resisting. He opened himself entirely and absorbed all of the resentment into his body.
Not far off, Ling Qingxiao froze. Then realization struck. He raced forward to intervene but was repelled by a radiant golden barrier.
“Your Majesty!”
“I am the Celestial Emperor,” came the reply, now laced with a demonic undertone, guttural and echoing, no longer the voice of the kind and just sovereign they had known.
“It is my duty to defend the heavens.”
The Emperor had chosen to end this with a sacrificial technique, cultivator self-dissolution, known as divine disintegration. Since his heart had long been plagued by inner demons, he would use them now to consume the forbidden art and take it with him into death.
He who had been tormented by his demons...would now master them, and end this with purpose.
As the blackness was sealed within, his voice began to soften, the demonic resonance fading, replaced once more by that gentle and serene tone known to all. He turned to Ling Qingxiao one last time.
“This was my burden to bear. Though I fall...I fall with honor. And you—do not forget the burden that is yours.”
After the Celestial Emperor spoke his final words, his body erupted in a blinding golden light. Those watching—Ling Qingxiao floating mid-air, the citizens on the ground, and Luo Han in the distant village—instinctively raised their arms to shield their eyes. When the radiance finally began to fade, Luo Han lifted her head and saw countless golden motes scattered across heaven and earth. Wherever they drifted, land and vegetation slowly stirred to life, nourished by the remnants of spiritual energy.
The Celestial Emperor had been the most powerful cultivator across all six realms, his body a vessel of vast accumulated energy. In offering himself as a sacrifice to the Dao, he returned every ounce of his cultivation to the world. Though it could not undo all the devastation wrought by the ancient forbidden art, it was enough to begin healing the wounds.
Golden light shimmered through the air. A single speck could elevate one’s cultivation by an entire tier. Yet no one reached for it. Silence blanketed the land like a funeral shroud.
Hovering midair, Ling Qingxiao performed the dragon race’s highest ceremonial rite in the direction where the Emperor had vanished. On the ground, the people dropped to their knees one after another. Feng Yujia, Ye Zinan, and Zou Jibai bowed their heads solemnly and carried out their clan’s mourning ritual. Luo Han sighed quietly and lowered her head in silent tribute.
From the heart of the city came the mournful tolling of a bell. The Emperor had fallen.
The bell would ring day and night for three months across the land. Citizens, moved by grief, returned home to don mourning robes and observe three years of ritual in honor of their fallen sovereign.
The Celestial Emperor had reigned for nearly five million years. Under his rule, peace flourished, and the heavens knew prosperity unmatched. He had become a symbol of the golden age itself. No one expected such a sudden, brutal end.
Yet somehow, his death felt like an omen—the era of peace had ended. A new epoch was on the rise. The Heavenly Realm was draped in mourning. Bells tolled throughout the celestial planes. But no matter how deep the grief or reluctance to move on, one matter had to be addressed.
A kingdom could not go a single day without a ruler—let alone an empire of this scale. Who would inherit the throne of the heavens?
The moment of succession weighed heavily on the minds of every ruler in the realm.
In the days following the Emperor’s passing, the dragon clan elders convened in haste. After long deliberations, they agreed: on the ninth day of the ninth lunar month, they would hold the Nine Provinces Assembly.
Also known by its more direct name—the Emperor Selection Summit.
This was not merely a gathering—it was the gathering. Every major celestial force would send envoys: from the Thirty-Six Heavens, to the Six Sacred Mountains (Kun, Zhong, Lin, Qi, Jia, and Li), from autonomous realms to ancient sea clans. All corners of the celestial world would be represented.
Unsurprisingly, most of the empire’s princes and heirs would be attending. The unspoken rule was this: whoever qualified to participate in the Nine Provinces Assembly would be the next in line to rule their realm.
In short, those who made it to the summit were already recognized as their realm’s future monarchs.
When the ninth day of the ninth month finally arrived, the Three Pure Heavens were more vibrant than ever. Ceremonial banners stretched endlessly across the skies, procession after procession forming an unbroken stream of light and splendor. Even the clouds shimmered under the glow of the spiritual carriages.
Feng Yujia descended from her phoenix carriage with the help of her attendants. She wore a golden crown shaped like a phoenix, a formal robe of vibrant scarlet, and a pale yellow sash draped over her arm. With poise and grace, she lifted her long train and walked steadily toward the entrance of the summit hall. Her every movement was flawless—not a single tassel on her hairpiece stirred.
At the gates of the Celestial Hall, a greeting officer stepped forward, bowing respectfully. “Princess Feng.”
Feng Yujia returned the bow with elegant restraint. “Star Lord.”
“This way, please.”
She entered the vast hall, where she quickly spotted Ye Zinan. The two exchanged a glance and a nod before making their way to the seats reserved for the Sixteen Provinces of Wuyun.
Within her curtained pavilion, Feng Yujia observed the growing crowd. Many faces were familiar. Nearly every attendee was a renowned figure across the realms, yet today, they sat quietly as mere spectators.
In a low voice, she whispered to Ye Zinan, “It looks like everyone’s arrived. When will the summit begin?”
“Soon,” Ye Zinan murmured. “They’re waiting on someone from the dragon clan.”
“The dragon clan?” Feng Yujia looked toward the most prominent seating section in the entire arena. The seats for the Six Sacred Mountains—Kun, Zhong, Lin, Qi, Jia, and Li—were nearly full. Only two remained conspicuously empty: Zhong Mountain and Lin Mountain.
Though called a "summit," the event wasn’t held indoors. The venue was a vast, open expanse with a central dueling platform suspended in the air, protected by layers of powerful barriers. The clouds surrounding it rose in tiers, arranged in a circular amphitheater. The higher the tier, the better the view. The viewing seats were distributed according to geographic influence and cultivation strength.
Everyone present held significant status, but they were divided into two categories: observers and participants.
Observers, like Feng Yujia and Ye Zinan, attended in official diplomatic capacity—to witness the rise of a new Emperor. Participants, like those competing for the throne, sat elsewhere.
The dragon clan was especially competitive. Anyone with even a fragment of ambition wouldn’t resign themselves to watching from the sidelines. The six mountain patriarchs were all in attendance, and many long-forgotten recluses and slumbering elders had come out of seclusion. While they hadn’t formally declared their candidacy, their presence at the summit said more than words ever could.
To the dragon clan, battle was second nature. Unless your strength exceeded that of a typical True Immortal and your combat prowess crushed your peers, you weren’t even qualified to step onto the platform. Those who fell short could only spectate from the family viewing area, their names absent from the contenders’ list.
This was perhaps the most unified gathering of the dragon race in history. The prime viewing area overflowed with young, elite dragons. By tradition, the principal seat in each viewing area belonged to the designated crown prince. Zhong Mountain had no heir, so their main seat was left vacant. But Lin Mountain’s empty seat raised more than a few eyebrows.
Ling Qingxiao was one of the top contenders for the Heavenly Throne. It was only natural that Zhong Mountain’s seat was vacant in his absence. But Lin Mountain’s empty seat...was telling.
Feng Yujia quietly transmitted a thought to Ye Zinan. “So...Lin Mountain is now tacitly acknowledging Ling Qingxiao as its heir?”
Ye Zinan nodded almost imperceptibly. “The main seat signifies succession. Ling Qingxiao already manages much of Lin Mountain’s affairs. For any of the Su family’s side branches to try and claim it now would be suicide. If Ling Qingxiao wins the throne, they’d be challenging the Emperor himself. The Su clan is too clever to risk that. Until the results are clear, they won’t dare reach for the seat.”
Feng Yujia nodded. They had long known Ling Qingxiao would contend for the throne. None of this surprised her, but still, anxiety churned in her chest. Something important was about to happen.
From Feng Yujia’s perspective, of course she hoped Ling Qingxiao would succeed. But such matters were impossible to predict, after all, the dragon clan was full of lunatics. Until the very last moment, no one could truly guess who would emerge victorious.
She observed for a while longer, noting that the competition had yet to begin. Her brows slowly drew together. “The six mountains of the dragon clan have all taken their seats. Who exactly are they waiting for?”
Even Ye Zinan didn’t know. Though every heir in the grand hall maintained a dignified front, beneath the surface, whispered rumors flowed without pause.
Just as speculation was reaching a peak, a powerful spiritual pressure swept in from afar, and the crowd stirred. Heavens. Not one, but three Golden Immortals had arrived.
The heavenly hierarchy ranked from Spirit Immortal, Celestial Immortal, True Immortal, and Golden Immortal, up to Great Luo Immortal. The only Great Luo Immortal in existence had been the late Celestial Emperor. With his death and disintegration, the six realms were now without a sovereign.
That made Golden Immortals the current pinnacle of power.
Across the entire celestial world, there were only four such beings. One of them—the Black Tortoise of the Eastern Sea—had already declared abstention and did not attend. Yet shockingly, the other three had arrived in person.
It was clear now: everyone wanted a hand in shaping the future of the realm.
Among the three, two were dragons and one a Great Roc. They seemed to have coordinated their entrance, and as they stepped into view, they were immediately ushered to the highest tier of seats with reverence.
All present instantly realized: this Nine Provinces Assembly would be far from peaceful.
So the dragons had been waiting for these three Golden Immortals. Once they arrived, the competition officially began.
The rules of the Nine Provinces Assembly were brutally simple—anyone wishing to contend for the Heavenly Throne could step onto the arena and accept challenges from all others. No limit on the number of challengers, no restrictions on methods or duration. The last one standing would become the next Emperor.
In other words: ambushes, group attacks, war of attrition—all allowed. There was no fairness on this stage. Anyone aiming to rule the six realms had to prove they could endure anything.
Back in Zhong Mountain’s viewing area, Luo Han let out a long sigh.
She had only known the ending—that Ling Qingxiao would eventually become Emperor. She hadn’t imagined that the path to that destiny would be lined with such peril. Competing against countless True Immortals was one thing—but there were Golden Immortals in the mix?
The higher one's cultivation, the wider the chasm between realms. A newly ascended True Immortal like Ling Qingxiao stood at a stark disadvantage compared to others who had cultivated for tens of thousands of years. And now, there was even the threat of Golden Immortals looming over the field.
Just the thought of it made Luo Han’s heart ache.
The moment the tournament began, silence fell across the arena. Only the last one standing would claim the throne—going in too early was unwise.
Yet in that hush, Ling Qingxiao stood.
He stepped calmly onto the arena, cupped his hands politely toward the viewing platform, and said in a composed voice, “Zhong Mountain, Ling Qingxiao.”
Gasps echoed from the crowd.
Feng Yujia and Ye Zinan turned to each other in disbelief, the same shock reflected in both pairs of eyes. Everyone had expected Ling Qingxiao to be a top contender—the late Emperor had clearly favored him. Many had even placed their hopes, or bets, on him. But to go first?
Did he not realize that stepping out now meant fighting nonstop until the very end—defending against wave after wave of challengers, risking everything from exhaustion to assassination?
Surely he knew. Ling Qingxiao remained unaffected by the stares and murmurs surrounding him. He turned slightly and caught sight of Luo Han sitting among the spectators, her eyes fixed firmly on him.
In that moment, no words were needed. Silence spoke volumes. Ling Qingxiao understood her concern. And she, in turn, understood his resolve.
This was his choice. And Luo Han would stand by him—unconditionally.
Far above, amid the clouds, the faint voice of a Golden Immortal rang out, serene and distant:
“Such promise in the younger generation. In my youth, I too was graced by the late Emperor’s kindness. His passing grieves me deeply. I can do little to honor his memory, save to uphold his will. If Ling Qingxiao, his chosen successor, can endure to the end—I will support his ascension.”
A Golden Immortal had spoken.
The shockwaves from that declaration rippled instantly through the crowd. Discussions broke out across the tiers. The other two Golden Immortals remained impassive, but inside, thoughts swirled.
Ji Huan had come today with full intention to compete, assuming his main rival would be Li Ge. But unexpectedly, Li Ge had declined to participate.
That surprised him. As a Golden Immortal himself, Ji Huan found the idea of lowering himself to fight True Immortals absurd. Even if he won, what glory was there in it?
Still, it worked out in his favor.
With only three Golden Immortals present, and Li Ge abstaining while Peng Yue was not dragonborn, Ji Huan now saw the Heavenly Throne as all but his.
He relaxed, even grew curious enough to observe the skirmishes below. Normally, watching lower-tier battles was about as engaging as a warrior watching children play-fight—no skill, no thrill.
Yet to his surprise, this time was different.
The first youth on stage—Ling Qingxiao—moved with astonishing precision. In the blink of an eye, his blade was at his opponent’s throat. The match ended in surrender and automatic elimination.
Among dragons, only results mattered. Once defeated or drained of spiritual power, a contestant could no longer reenter. No exceptions.
Absolute strength could prevail at any moment. But even a single slip was enough to lose it all.
His opponent had felt the blade kiss his vital point—if he didn’t yield, death was the only outcome. He conceded swiftly, walking off the stage with regret, but no resentment.
Because he knew, without doubt, that Ling Qingxiao was stronger. And for that, he was willing to accept defeat.
Seated atop the Kun Mountain delegation, Yi Huaxuan watched Ling Qingxiao with an inexplicable sense of deja vu. Just recently, they had still been equals, their cultivations on par back at the Western Sea. And now?
In the blink of an eye, Ling Qingxiao had leapt realms and was standing shoulder to shoulder with immortals who had lived for tens of millennia—immortals who had once stood beside Yi Huaxuan’s own father and grandfather.
It was...surreal.
Absurd. Absolutely absurd.
If Yi Huaxuan hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed such a thing could even happen.
After Ling Qingxiao defeated his first challenger, his strength slowly began to reveal itself. Competitors below the stage, having gauged his style, came up one after another—each wielding tactics specifically designed to counter him.
From the spectator stands, Feng Yujia could hardly stay composed. “They’re that ruthless toward one of their own?”
“The dragon clan has always been like this,” Ye Zinan replied without surprise. “It’s precisely because they’re this ruthless with their own that they can rule over the six realms.”
Watching the scene on the arena, Feng Yujia felt her heart pounding. She had always known Ling Qingxiao was strong, but never truly grasped how strong. Only now, seeing him go blow for blow against other dragons, did she understand why the dragon clan had ruled as Celestial Emperors for generations—why they could govern the vast celestial world without opposition.
There was a reason for everything.
The Nine Provinces Assembly wasn’t just a selection for the next Emperor—it was a demonstration of dragon supremacy.
Feng Yujia had been thoroughly humbled. She wouldn’t be harboring any thoughts of challenging the central power again—not in this lifetime.
There was no need for the Emperor to act. Any one of the dragon clan could singlehandedly defeat the entire phoenix tribe.
As the tournament progressed, the battles grew longer and more grueling. By now, techniques and clever tactics were meaningless—every move Ling Qingxiao made was carefully recorded and studied by onlookers. His only remaining advantages were raw speed and power.
He had just concluded a drawn-out battle with the Qishan clan leader. The two had fought for seven days straight, and both emerged battered and exhausted.
The Qishan head lay heavily wounded. Ling Qingxiao, though still standing, bore fresh blood on his robes. At this point, even he was reaching his limit.
He had already defeated five challengers, including three prominent clan leaders. The toll this took on him was devastating.
From her seat, Luo Han could barely stay still. She desperately wished she could share some of the burden, but she knew—there was nothing she could do.
All she could offer...was silent support.
Just as Ling Qingxiao took a moment to steady his breath, a voice rang out from the high platform.
Ji Huan descended slowly, his tone amiable: “A fine seedling. With time, you’ll surely become a mighty pillar of the heavens. But you’ve fought quite enough today. It’s time to rest.”