"Your Majesty, you must not!"
"Your Majesty, please reconsider!"
"Spirit City is a dragon's den—how can you personally take the risk?"
The moment Emperor Xue Ye declared his intention to go to Spirit City himself, the court instantly devolved into chaos.
Civil and military officials alike fell to their knees, wailing and pleading as if the emperor had already written his suicide note.
Anyone who walked in would think Emperor Xue Ye was announcing his funeral.
But the emperor, sitting on the dragon throne with a face as black as storm clouds, had no patience left for any of them.
His eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaved violently, and the rage emanating from him could've set the hall ablaze.
"Enough!"
"All of you—SHUT UP!"
He slammed his sleeve against the throne armrest, pointing toward the doors with a trembling finger.
"You want me to reconsider?! Then who will reconsider the half-empty national treasury for me?!"
"That was the Heaven Dou Empire's wealth—accumulated over thousands of years!"
"And now it's gone! Gone! And you expect me to sit here and wait?!"
The more he spoke, the more furious he became.
"What news have I received while waiting?"
"Nothing but the disappearance of School Master Ning and the Sword and Bone Douluo!"
"And the Heaven Dou Empire becoming the laughingstock of the entire continent!"
"I'VE HAD ENOUGH!"
The hall temperature plummeted.
Every official lowered their head further, trembling, praying not to catch His Majesty's attention.
Except one.
One person's thoughts were nowhere near the tension filling the air.
Xue Beng.
Fourth Prince.
The emperor's only surviving biological son.
He knelt among the other officials, appearing anxious and loyal on the surface.
Head bowed.
Back hunched.
A portrait of "filial concern."
But hidden under the shadows—
His lips curled upward in pure, undisguised joy.
Refreshing!
Absolutely refreshing!!
Half a month ago, when he learned that his "gentle and capable elder brother," Xue Qinghe, was actually Qian Renxue—
A Spirit Hall spy.
A monster in disguise.
A black-hearted snake who could've killed him any day—
And that she had run off with half the national treasury—
Xue Beng felt as though the heavens had opened and poured sunshine onto his miserable life.
No more fear.
No more acting stupid to survive.
No more waking up each morning wondering if he'd still be alive by noon.
He was free!
And now?
His father—whose lifespan should've lasted another decade—wanted to personally march into Spirit Hall's headquarters?
Into a place where not even chickens return alive?
Xue Beng's heart fluttered with excitement.
What if… just what if…
His father were to meet an unfortunate "accident" on this dangerous journey?
Then the vast Heaven Dou Empire would have only one rightful heir:
Him.
Add in Uncle Xue Xing's support?
Well…
It didn't take a genius to predict the outcome~
He could already picture himself ascending the throne.
Ruling the world.
And his first imperial decree—
Turn that hypocrite Xue Qinghe's Crown Prince palace into the official latrine.
The thought was too beautiful.
"Pfft—"
A tiny laugh escaped him.
Quiet.
Barely audible.
But in the deathly still hall, it was as loud as thunder.
The hall froze.
Dozens of gazes—including Emperor Xue Ye's burning eyes—stabbed toward one place:
Xue Beng.
His smile died instantly.
He looked up.
Into his father's eyes.
Shock.
Disbelief.
And then—
Pure, unfiltered rage.
Only two words clanged in Xue Beng's skull:
It's over.
"REBELLIOUS SON!!!"
Emperor Xue Ye shot up from the throne, trembling with fury.
"You—you actually LAUGH?!"
"Good! Very good! Truly my good son!"
"Are you hoping I'll die in Spirit City so you can inherit the throne? IS THAT IT?!"
"You DREAM!"
He pointed at Xue Beng, so angry his voice cracked.
"You! You're coming with me!"
Xue Beng nearly fainted on the spot.
"Imperial Father! No! Your son didn't! Your son would never—!"
He scrambled forward, hugging the emperor's leg, crying like his life depended on it (because it did).
"I only thought that with Imperial Father going personally, Spirit Hall would never dare be negligent!"
"The treasury will surely be recovered! I—I was happy for Your Majesty!"
"And… and I was too worried for Imperial Father! My heart was overwhelmed with grief—I choked! That's why it sounded like a laugh!"
His nonsense came out in a desperate torrent.
Miraculously, his pitiful performance managed to cool Emperor Xue Ye's rage a little.
Panting, the emperor slumped back onto the dragon throne.
He stared at Xue Beng with eyes full of disappointment, fatigue, and resignation.
Finally, he waved a weak hand.
"Enough."
"Issue a decree. Summon Poison Douluo Dugu Bo to escort me to Spirit City."
"He will guarantee my safety."
Meanwhile — Spirit City
Outside Feng Ran Pavilion, the night was lively.
Dozens of Titled Douluo crowded around barbecue grills like excited street hooligans.
Grease sizzled.
Cumin and chili filled the air.
Charcoal lit the street brighter than lanterns.
And in the middle—
Ning Rongrong stood with dead eyes, flipping skewers skillfully, occasionally gulping from her Energy Replenishment Kettle.
The continent's once-proud princess—
now Spirit Hall's Chief Barbecue Master.
Life was cruel.
But tonight, she wasn't the center of attention.
Everyone kept glancing toward a particular table.
There sat a woman eating with unmatched savagery.
Left hand: a fistful of lamb skewers.
Right hand: a jug of iced beer.
Two bites per skewer.
Three gulps per beer.
Even Devil Bear Douluo felt inferior.
"Burp—"
She reached for a chicken wing—
Then froze mid-air.
A divine aura suddenly burst from her.
Her eyes lost all wicked charm—turning clear, holy, annoyed.
"It's my turn! Rakshasa, you greedy pig!"
"We agreed on ten skewers per turn! You already ate eleven!"
"I'm taking over!"
And just like that, her posture shifted—
She crammed the chicken wing in her mouth, eating no less savagely than the Rakshasa God minutes earlier.
Even more, perhaps.
The surrounding Titled Douluo twitched uncontrollably.
Ghost Douluo elbowed Chrysanthemum Douluo.
"Yue Guan…"
"You understand anything?"
"They share one mouth, one stomach. What's the point of fighting over eating turns?"
Chrysanthemum Douluo's expression was complicated.
Very complicated.
"…Ghost, shut up."
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