As Ding Xingfeng shouted a warning, his foot struck the ground.
Though the motion was hurried, the Martial Saint's control over power was still unmatched. The ground instantly split apart with a deep, echoing crack.
"Boom!"
From beneath Ding Xingfeng's feet, the fissure shot forward like lightning toward the place where Gu Fangchen stood. What began as a thin crack quickly widened to several meters across.
"Rumble..."
As the fissure spread, the ground on both sides surged upward in sections, tilting sharply.
Though Ding Xingfeng's hands were occupied, every movement of his body carried immense force. Even an offhand action from him surpassed the strength of a hundred men combined.
That single stomp was meant to open a gap between the scythe-wielding black shadow and Gu Fangchen, separating them completely.
If the opponent were a martial cultivator, their balance would certainly have been disrupted, the swing of the scythe deflected by even a fraction of an inch.
But in battle, a fraction of an inch meant life or death.
That small difference would have been enough for Gu Fangchen to dodge a killing blow.
However, this time the demonic cult had fully accounted for the presence of a Martial Saint—their main forces were all Divine Path cultivators.
The illusion array the fierce ghost had set earlier didn't just cover the storm of blood and wind—it extended into the earth itself.
The ground within a hundred miles was permeated by the ghost's divine sense. The seeping blood from before was part of its "veil of perception."
From the start, Ding Xingfeng's judgment had been wrong.
If the foundation of judgment was flawed, no amount of strength could reverse the outcome of that instant.
Within the overwhelming storm of blood and wind, the crack he had stomped into existence veered slightly off course.
Instead of splitting the ground between Gu Fangchen and the shadow, it ran past them both—parallel to their line.
As a result, the tilt of the ground actually shortened the distance between them.
Ding Xingfeng's heart sank. He knew he had fallen prey to the illusion without realizing it.
Had this been years ago, when the Marquis of Yizhou's Dao heart was unshakable, no illusion could have clouded his mind.
But after his Dao heart shattered, after years of reclusion and idle talk, even the Martial Saint once hailed as invincible had lost his former spirit.
He would never admit it aloud, but the truth was plain.
Otherwise, why would he have pinned his hopes on Gu Fangchen?
Gu Fangchen was not surprised by Ding Xingfeng's mistake.
After all, this world's "game balance" was still quite fair...
The Divine Path and Martial Path each had their own advantages and countermeasures.
If all the opponents were Divine Path cultivators, even Ding Xingfeng at his peak would have faced difficulty.
But if it were the Ding Xingfeng of the Yizhou Marquis days—fearless, charging forward without hesitation—his soul would burn like a blazing sun, his will radiant and absolute, scattering ghosts like mist before dawn.
The pinnacle of Martial cultivation naturally gave rise to the pinnacle of Divine cultivation.
Like the great Dao of heaven and earth—where yin births yang and all things flow between origin and end—such was the realm of the "Perfected One."
At that level, one stood half a step into eternity.
Even Divine Path cultivators could not defy his will.
Unfortunately, the Great Tiansha of Qingman calculated that Ding Xingfeng was about to reach his ultimate state. If Great Wei produced another First Grade cultivator, Qingman's fate would be sealed.
So he entered the game himself, shattered Ding Xingfeng's Dao heart, and caused his regression.
Now, Ding Xingfeng finally understood the true meaning of "times have changed."
Just as he prepared to resist the fierce ghost's assault on his soul and rush to Gu Fangchen's aid, he suddenly froze.
For at that instant, he saw Gu Fangchen turn his head.
The youth's face showed no fear or panic—only calm. His gaze did not waver in the slightest.
It was the same look he had worn when he made that reckless wager with Ding Xingfeng before.
Then Ding Xingfeng realized—even this ambush was within Gu Fangchen's expectations.
"Swish!"
The scythe of Wangliang fell, cleaving toward Gu Fangchen's shadow—and his body along with it.
In Wangliang's mind, his "Shadow-Slay" should have sliced through Gu Fangchen's shadow like a hot knife through tofu, effortlessly severing the head.
That would have ended Gu Fangchen's life in an instant.
Against a nineteen-year-old Sixth Grade cultivator, it should have been light as a feather.
But when the scythe struck, the feeling was utterly wrong—like hacking rusted iron against a mountain of refined steel.
"Clang!"
The sound of metal against metal echoed in Wangliang's mind like a thunderous bell, shaking his soul to the brink of collapse.
"Pfft!"
His true body, thousands of miles away, was blasted backward, vomiting blood. His organs liquefied into pulp, and the light vanished from his eyes.
He died instantly.
Had he been a martial cultivator, his body would have perished on the spot.
But as a Fourth Grade Divine Path cultivator, his soul could linger even after death.
Even so, Wangliang's soul was gravely damaged. His awareness went blank as he stared, horrified, at where his scythe had struck.
Instead of a shadow's neck, it had struck a vast golden wheel.
The golden wheel shone behind Gu Fangchen's dark silhouette, like the halo of a Buddha or Bodhisattva. The radiance of merit and great light made his shadow seem like a faceless, emotionless deity.
Wangliang's fragmented soul trembled. The world around him warped and twisted—but his eyes remained wide in disbelief.
A deep hum filled the air.
The wheel was divided into four sections, each depicting the myriad faces of living beings—joy, sorrow, desire, rage.
The boundless karma within drove the wheel's endless rotation, completing one cycle of heaven and earth after another.
The sheer information carried within that karmic power was immense—beyond mortal comprehension. To gaze upon it even for a moment meant madness.
And yet Wangliang, with only the karmic weight of a hundred thousand lives, had dared to strike at that endless sea of karma—immeasurable as the sands of the Ganges.
A true ant trying to shake a tree.
Gu Fangchen reached out, pinching the section of the scythe resting near his neck, and smiled.
"Don't recognize it?" he said lightly.
"This belongs to your Dao Lord."
Wangliang stared up at the Wheel of the Sea of Calamity, his expression blank.
He did not answer.
Gu Fangchen raised an eyebrow, flicked his finger against the black scythe.
With a faint sound, the scythe dissolved into drifting dust and vanished.
The karmic backlash from earlier had already shattered Wangliang's divine ability.
His soul remained frozen, motionless.
Gu Fangchen blinked, then realized—Wangliang's karma had been crushed by the wheel.
Now he was nothing more than an empty thought.
Seeing the soul beginning to collapse, Gu Fangchen's expression changed. He immediately drew out the Spirit-Nurturing Bottle and captured Wangliang's remnant within.
This was the soul of a Fourth Grade Divine Path cultivator—enough to upgrade the bottle by an entire tier.
It must not be wasted.
All of this had happened in an instant.
Around him, the demonic cultists were still attacking, hurling spells and divine arts his way.
As Gu Fangchen wielded the Spirit-Nurturing Bottle, he drew his sword, White Steed.
Narrowing his eyes, he saw faint glowing fissures on everything around him.
He had refrained from drawing his sword earlier precisely to conserve strength, guarding against this ambush.
Wangliang's stealth technique was powerful, but casting Shadow-Slay carried one tiny omen: the nearby shadows would all turn toward his position.
It was subtle, almost undetectable—especially in chaotic combat.
Normally, no one would ever notice, because anyone who saw it would die immediately.
There was never a chance to tell the tale.
Though only a Fourth Grade, Wangliang's karmic arts were terrifyingly potent.
In fact, all who cultivated the Path of Extinction were monsters of mechanism and cause. Once ensnared, death was certain.
But for "players," such tricks were meaningless.
Death could be retried endlessly. With enough deaths, patterns emerged, and strategies could be shared.
When all others were distracted by the storm of blood and wind, Gu Fangchen noticed the shadows' anomaly.
He realized that apart from the fierce ghost of Saishao City, the true assassin was Wangliang.
From that moment, he knew the demonic cult would once again fail.
The Wheel of the Sea of Calamity he bore carried karma that a Fourth Grade could never withstand.
Any attempt to kill him with Shadow-Slay would only lead to death.
Usually, Gu Fangchen relied on others' arrogance. But this time, he did the opposite.
To prevent Wangliang from underestimating him and choosing not to act, Gu Fangchen deliberately created the illusion of being besieged yet unthreatened—free to flee at any moment.
Thus, Wangliang, fearing failure, chose the most direct method—and fell right into the trap.
Though the victory seemed effortless, as Gu Fangchen raised his sword against the cultists, he bit his tongue, blood spilling from his lips. His face turned pale as though grievously injured.
"Swish, swish, swish!"
White Steed flashed. Gu Fangchen cut through several attackers' weak points and, feigning ferocity, shouted coldly,
"Your leader is dead! Even a Fourth Grade has fallen! Don't you see?"
"Leave now if you wish to live!"
The cultists exchanged shocked glances. None could understand how he had slain Lord Wangliang—but seeing his pallor, they assumed the victory had come at great cost.
That fit their logic.
Otherwise, a Sixth Grade killing a Fourth Grade instantly? Impossible.
Someone shouted, "He's at his limit! Everyone, attack together—kill him!"
Strike when the enemy is weak.
The cultists reached a quick consensus, their combined assault intensifying.
Meanwhile, Gu Yuandao had noticed Gu Fangchen's apparent struggle. Seeing him forced back again and again, his gaze turned cold and cruel.
His resolve hardened—Gu Fangchen must die here today.
If he could slay a Fourth Grade and live, even injured, then once he grew further, Gu Yuandao—and even his father—would be the ones to die.
He could not allow such a threat to exist.
Opportunity waited for no one. This was the best and only chance.
Taking a deep breath, Gu Yuandao walked to Ning Caiyong's side and bowed slightly to Gu Lianqian. His tone was respectful.
"Mother, I apologize. I lost my composure earlier and frightened Little Sister."
Ning Caiyong sighed gently, unaware of his intent. Her voice was soft but reproving.
"You've studied under the Sage at Mount Yao Academy. How can you forget a gentleman's virtues—broad yet not lax, upright yet not sharp, discerning yet not quarrelsome, steadfast yet not overbearing?"
"To be so impatient, so easily angered—how can you bear the Sage's name? What will others think of the Academy?"
"You are still young. It is understandable to have temper, but one must reflect daily, and never repeat mistakes."
Her tone was gentle yet firm. For a moment, Gu Yuandao froze, dazed.
Everything he knew of his mother came from Gu Yuye.
And in Gu Yuye's words, Ning Caiyong was merely a beautiful, delicate woman—fond of music, kind but weak, unfit for the paths they walked.
Yet hearing her speak now, Gu Yuandao suddenly realized—perhaps he and his father had never truly known her.
Bitterness welled within him. So this was the kind of woman who had raised the Gu family's true heir—with warmth and strength alike.
And what about him?
He had grown up in a broken hut, studying by lamplight, scorned by others.
All he'd known was to study, to enter the Academy, to earn honor.
He'd suffered for it—nineteen long years—sustained only by obsession.
Now, when he tried to reclaim what was his, that wretch blocked him again and again!
Ning Caiyong saw him lower his head and thought he was ashamed.
She had promised Gu Fangchen never to treat Gu Yuandao as her son again.
Even so, her heart held no hatred.
After all, the true culprit was Gu Yuye. When he switched the infants, Gu Yuandao had been but a baby.
He was not the one who planned it.
It was Gu Yuye's will imposed upon the child that had driven all this.
Ning Caiyong could only hope the boy might repent—that he would stop aiding his father's wicked schemes.
Her voice softened.
"If you realize your wrongs, it is not too late."
Beside her, Gu Lianqian felt a chill of foreboding. She tightened her grip on Evil-Bane and nodded anxiously.
"Yes, Second Brother, it's not too late! Don't act rashly!"
But Gu Yuandao stood silent for a moment before murmuring,
"Too bad..."
"Too late."
He lifted his hand. His divine sense moved, sending the dagger from his sleeve flashing toward Ning Caiyong's throat. His eyes were cold, merciless.
"Too late!"
Gu Fangchen, die!
Once you're gone, everything will return to its rightful course!
I'll be the heir, and you'll be nothing but a wandering ghost!
Cold light gleamed from the dagger.
Gu Lianqian, still only a Sixth Grade and shaken, could not react in time. She could only watch as the dagger swept past.
Ning Caiyong froze in shock, her face pale with horror, anger, and grief.
"Clack!"
A hand caught the dagger midair.
Gu Yuandao's expression froze as his eyes met an old man's calm gaze.
Sword Servant examined the blade briefly and said flatly,
"This dagger is well-forged and balanced, but it's wasted in the hands of one with a crooked heart."
Gu Yuandao's pupils constricted. Terror surged within him.
This man's aura was clearly Fourth Grade—yet he had never seen him before!
When had he appeared?
His face went pale as he swallowed hard, shouting,
"I am a disciple of Mount Yao Academy, direct student of the Sage! Who are you to accuse me of ill intent?!"
But before he could retreat, a cold, sneering voice sounded.
"Tsk, tsk. As expected, the young master foresaw this. Let us old servants enjoy the show."
Hu Wenxin emerged from the shadows, blocking his escape with a chilling grin.
"Even an old heretic like me still honors his parents. Yet you—raising your hand against your own mother!"
Ning Caiyong, trembling, turned in confusion.
"The young master you speak of is...?"
Sword Servant bowed solemnly.
"We dare not claim such honor. Our lord is His Highness, the heir apparent."
When Gu Fangchen had brought them to the Sword Pavilion, he'd explained his identity and the situation, instructing them to stay hidden. Only Ning Songjun and Qingjian knew of their presence.
They had been waiting for Gu Yuandao to act.
Hearing those words, Gu Yuandao's last shred of hope vanished.
Had these two simply intervened by chance, he might have argued his way out.
But no—their words made it clear. These Fourth Grade cultivators were Gu Fangchen's men.
Once Ning Caiyong regained composure, she turned to Gu Yuandao. Her face was calm now, stripped of all anger, her voice trembling slightly.
"Why? What are you plotting that requires so many deaths?"
"Killing one isn't enough—you must kill a crowd? And even me?"
Gu Yuandao took a deep breath and bit down on a black pill he'd kept hidden in his mouth.
At once, countless tiny black spiders crawled out, burrowing into his flesh, emerging from his mouth, ears, and even eyes.
His expression twisted hideously, blood flowing from every orifice.
This was his final contingency.
If the plan failed completely, he would use the poison cultivated by the Path of Life—on himself.
The pain would be excruciating, but it would at least preserve a shred of dignity.
He had never intended to use it unless there was truly no hope.
Now, using it meant total failure.
Returning to Huangtian City like this would be utter disgrace—a betrayal of his father's trust.
But he had no other choice.
Gu Yuandao trembled, his face ashen. Falling to his knees before Ning Caiyong, he howled in agony,
"I didn't! Mother! Save me!"
He screamed with all his might.
"The demonic cult—their poison! I didn't want this—I didn't want it!"
Then he clutched his throat, eyes rolling back, and collapsed unconscious.
Ning Caiyong pressed her lips together. She didn't even order anyone to check his condition.
Had it been any other stranger, she would have helped immediately.
But for her own son to receive such silence spoke volumes of her heartbreak.
Ding Xingfeng, having finished off the fierce ghost, walked over in his usual relaxed manner, looked down at the unconscious Gu Yuandao, and clicked his tongue.
"Pitiful. What a waste of effort... doesn't even know what he's fighting for."
Gu Fangchen returned from the battlefield, having slain the remaining cultists. He landed beside the carriages, eyes full of concern.
"Mother, what happened?"
Ning Caiyong opened her arms and pulled him into an embrace. She said nothing at first. After a while, she murmured,
"It's all right... Chen'er, let's go home."
Her voice darkened.
"Once we're back, we'll ask your father and his good son exactly what they're planning."
Only Gu Lianqian still cared for Gu Yuandao. She lifted him gently, checked for breath beneath his nose, confirmed that he was still alive—but didn't dare to attempt any treatment. She could only look pleadingly toward Ning Caiyong for help.
But Ning Caiyong pressed her lips together and remained silent.
Gu Fangchen raised his brows and said, "The Buddha's Hand Silken Thread—he won't die for now. Take him back."
Gu Lianqian was about to lift Gu Yuandao onto the carriage.
Gu Fangchen reached out and stopped her, his voice calm.
"If you wish to bring him back, then carry him yourself—walk all the way to Huangtian City."
...
Huangtian City, the Prince's Manor.
The residence was alight with lanterns and draped in bright red silk; servants hurried about in excitement.
Suddenly, someone came rushing in with delight, shouting,
"They're back! They're back! The Princess Consort has returned with the Heir Apparent!"