"A name that leaves a trail of blood, you mean?" interrupted Shen Jiuxiao of the Ancient Shen Clan. His tall, sturdy frame was clad in light bronze armor that emitted subtle sparks of lightning. "I have heard rumors of a wanderer wielding a strange weapon and possessing a killing intent capable of drying up rivers. If that is you, then I doubt whether you are fit to sit among us."

  "Jiuxiao, do not be so hasty to judge," countered Chen Jianyun of the Ancient Chen Clan in a calm but heavy voice, as if every word carried the weight of ten thousand jin. He was born with a Sword Body said to be capable of subduing ten thousand blades. "The world of cultivation is vast. Sometimes, to reach the peak, one must pass through the valley of death. What interests me is... how does he continue to wander without knowing fear?"

  Zhi Xuan stood calmly amidst the swirling vortex of clashing auras. These eight Holy Sons were not merely geniuses; they were living manifestations of different Heavenly Laws. On one side, he felt the majestic chill of Zhu Yanghai, and on the other, the profound sharpness of Chen Jianyun’s sword intent.

  Bai Wuchen, the host and Holy Son of the Ancient Bai Clan, finally spoke. He wore a pure white robe with water-dragon embroidery that seemed alive, moving across the silk fabric following the wearer's breath. As the ruler of the Cang Hai region, his aura felt vast and deep, like an ocean that accommodates everything.

  "Brothers, let us not allow the past to taint our wine cups today," Bai Wuchen said in a crystal-clear tone. He waved his hand, and a chair made of blue jade coral appeared at the end of the circular table, equal in position to the Holy Sons. "Zhi Xuan, or Gu Fengyan, whatever your name may be, your presence here is proof that your destiny is not shallow. Sit."

  Zhi Xuan did not refuse. He stepped forward with a steady motion, his black-and-white robe rustling softly as he sat upon the coral chair. His presence created a strange imbalance; he was the only practitioner there without an imperial bloodline, yet his back did not bend in the slightest under the pressure.

  Wang Mingshen, the Holy Son of the Ancient Wang Clan, who had been observing with half-closed eyes like a hermit, slowly opened them. His pupils were gray, emitting a heavy and profound aura. "Interesting. A practitioner not from the Ancient Clans, yet capable of withstanding the weight of these Nine Seats without vomiting divine blood. Brother Zhi, you possess a physical foundation that is... most unusual."

  "This Zhi indeed does not possess a God Body like the Holy Sons," Zhi Xuan replied calmly, cupping his hands forward in greeting. "It is truly an honor to sit and listen to the discourse of the unparalleled descendants of the Great Emperors."

  "Speaking of being unparalleled," Feng Haoyue remarked while swirling his porcelain cup, "my sister, Yaoyue, seems to hold a very high opinion of you. Tell me, are you the reason she left the Ancient Feng Clan and went as far as to disguise herself?"

  Feng Haoyue’s question turned the previously heavy atmosphere as cold as ice frozen at the bottom of a trench. The gaze of the Feng Holy Son was sharp, as if the Phoenix fire within his eyes could incinerate any lie Zhi Xuan might utter. Across the table, Zhu Yanghai appeared to choke on his wine, while Hua Tianming could only massage his forehead, realizing that Zhi Xuan’s woman troubles had now reached the level of inter-clan diplomacy.

  Zhi Xuan remained calm, though internally he cursed his abysmal karmic luck. "Holy Maiden Feng is an individual with a free will like the wind," Zhi Xuan answered in a controlled, flat tone. "If she chose to wander, it was not by this Zhi's direction. We merely happened to cross paths beneath the vast sky."

  "Furthermore, I initially did not know that the companion I thought was a male Daoist," Zhi Xuan added, sighing for a moment and offering a slightly bitter smile to Feng Haoyue, "was a mask worn by Holy Maiden Feng. I possess a thread that can prove this."

  Zhi Xuan waved his hand and carved a rune that formed a scroll. Within it were the visions and spiritual traces of Xu Han—the man in the crane robe who was Feng Yaoyue’s disguise—approaching Zhi Xuan and binding a promise to travel to the Collapsed Wilderness of Huang Tu. It showed the journey leading up to the moment Zhi Xuan discovered her true identity.

  "Brother Feng," Zhi Xuan continued calmly, floating the scroll toward Feng Haoyue. "Please."

  Feng Haoyue accepted the vision scroll with a lazy yet authoritative motion. As his fingers touched the rune's surface, a flare of Phoenix fire consumed the scroll, projecting the image of Xu Han—the slick figure in the crane robe—above the banquet table.

  The Holy Sons watched, particularly noting the vision of Zhi Xuan’s wooden workshop from that time, where Xu Han had approached so skillfully, inviting Zhi Xuan into the threads of the plan orchestrated by the Feng Holy Maiden.

  A momentary silence enveloped the cliff peak. Zhu Yanghai’s hearty laughter finally broke the stillness; he slapped the table until the wine in his cup rippled. "Hahaha! Brother Feng, look! Your sister truly knows how to snare a wolf that is worth as much as an eternal artifact."

  Feng Haoyue snorted, though flashes of amusement and annoyance could not be entirely hidden from his golden eyes. He flicked his hand, destroying the remnants of the scroll. "Enough. That Feng Yaoyue is truly uncontrollable. However, Brother Zhi, you will not get off so easily just because you showed us this."

  Feng Haoyue leaned back, the burning fire aura around him dimming but leaving behind a suffocating pressure. "If she was willing to lower her dignity and even disguise herself, then you possess a value greater than that of a mere wanderer. Remember this, Zhi Xuan: within the Feng Clan, a strand of phoenix feather will always be watching you."

  Han Shanshan, who had been suppressing a boiling rage in his chest, suddenly laughed coldly. The sound was like bones cracking in the middle of the night. "Value? The only value I see is him being fit as an atonement for the sins he has committed."

  Zhi Xuan placed his wine cup down slowly; the clink of porcelain on the coral table sounded clearly in the midst of the chilling silence. "Blood debts can indeed only be paid with blood, Holy Son Han. But if you demand it here, it would surely be unfair given the chasm-like difference in our cultivation."

  Han Shanshan slammed the table, causing the jade cups atop it to vibrate violently. "Cultivation difference? You speak of fairness after you slaughtered thousands of practitioners in Yao Gu? You are nothing but a rat hiding behind the protective robes of the great clans!"

  Bai Wuchen, as the host, set his cup down with a very subtle motion that nonetheless radiated a ripple of energy, suppressing Han Shanshan’s heat. "Brother Han, this is the Banquet of the Nine Plains under the auspices of the Bai Clan. If you wish to settle a personal grudge, do so when the waters of the Cang Hai Ocean have truly erupted. Do not let your bloodlust stain the purity of this dragon wine."

  Han Shanshan snorted, his ice-cold eyes staring sharply at Bai Wuchen—his clan’s arch-rival—before locking back onto Zhi Xuan. "Fine. Let him live a few moments longer. But remember this, wanderer... when the gates of the Secret Realm open, no coral chair will protect you."

  Zhi Xuan only offered a thin smile, an expression so calm it unsettled Shen Jiuxiao of the Shen Clan. Jiuxiao stroked his bronze armor, which occasionally emitted sparks of lightning. "You are remarkably calm for someone who was just handed a death sentence by Holy Son Han. Tell me, what actually brought you to Cang Hai?"

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  "As this Zhi has said," Zhi Xuan replied in a low tone, weighing whether to mention his arrival concerning Feng Yaoyue or not. "I came to Cang Hai because I was inadvertently carried along by Holy Maiden Feng. Besides, I have just emerged from Huang Tu after finding something quite... interesting."

  Upon hearing the word "interesting" from Zhi Xuan’s lips, the cliff peak suddenly fell silent. For high-level practitioners, "interesting" coming from someone with a karma as complex as Zhi Xuan's was no trivial matter. The howling sea breeze seemed held back by the curiosity radiating from the eyes of the eight Holy Sons.

  "Interesting?" Chen Jianyun of the Ancient Chen Clan raised an eyebrow, his long, slender fingers—the fingers of a true swordsman—tapping the table surface. "In the Collapsed Wilderness of Huang Tu, there is only sand and the remains of ancient ruins. Did you find a lost artifact, or did you find traces of those long forgotten?"

  Zhi Xuan sipped his wine, letting the warmth of the liquid burn his throat before answering. "Not an artifact, but an understanding. There, beneath the dust of thousands of years, I saw how even a mortal is capable of experiencing ascension to the Upper Realms."

  Spiritual thunder suddenly rumbled in the clear sky as Zhi Xuan finished his sentence. The words "a mortal capable of ascension" were not mere boastful talk to the heirs of the Great Emperors; it was an insult to the heavenly order and an anomaly that shook the foundations of their cultivation.

  Wang Mingshen, the hermit of the Ancient Wang Clan who was usually the most composed, now released a gray shimmer from his eyes that seemed capable of piercing layers of reality. "A mortal’s ascension? You speak of breaking a boundary that for us—who possess divine bloodlines—is a predestined absolute? Brother Zhi, your joke is too heavy for wine this deep."

  "This Zhi is not joking," Zhi Xuan said as he set his cup back down. He stared straight at the horizon where the ocean began to emit a strange, deep blue light. "In Huang Tu, I saw that the Dao does not reside only in bloodlines or ancient legacies, but in the will to transcend death itself. And is that not the very reason you all are gathered here? Waiting for the gates of the Cang Hai Ocean to open to seek the Heavenly Ascension Fruit?"

  At the mention of the Heavenly Ascension Fruit, the atmosphere at the cliff peak tightened once more. The auras of the eight Holy Sons manifested unconsciously, creating a vortex of energy that caused the clouds above them to split into nine sections.

  Zhu Yanghai laughed, but this time his laughter held a note of caution. "Brother Zhi, you are truly bold. In the presence of the Holy Sons who have targeted that fruit as a ladder to the Divine Transformation stage, you instead speak of the ascension of mortals. Do you mean to say that you, who do not possess an imperial bloodline, plan to snatch that fruit from our hands?"

  "This Zhi is but a grain of dust in the middle of a storm," Zhi Xuan answered with a thin, secretive smile. "Zhi will not compete for the Heavenly Ascension Fruit, nor take the opportunity of the Holy Sons. For someone like me who lacks the blood of an Emperor, I do not dare to gamble my early-stage Weaver Transformation cultivation against the Holy Sons who have already reached the peak of this stage."

  "A very wise admission," quipped Shen Jiuxiao, stroking his sturdy chin as the electric sparks on his bronze armor dimmed for a moment. "At least you know where the sky stands and where the earth lies. Without an Emperor's bloodline, consuming the Heavenly Ascension Fruit for an ordinary practitioner is like forcing a dragon into a rabbit hole; the body will crumble before even touching the gate of Divine Transformation."

  Chen Jianyun, the owner of the Sword Body, sipped his wine slowly. His sharp eyes remained fixed on Zhi Xuan. "However, I do not believe a practitioner capable of escaping the clutches of two Sacred Fairies—or even three, if we count Holy Maiden Feng—came only to be a spectator at the bottom of the trench. Tell me, if not for that fruit, what do you seek within a vortex of energy capable of crushing the bones of a Weaver Transformation expert?"

  Zhi Xuan fell silent for a moment, letting the whistling cliff wind be his only temporary answer. He felt the demanding gazes of the Holy Sons upon him. "This Zhi only seeks enlightenment for his own body. Sometimes, the pressure of the deepest trench is the best furnace to forge a fragile soul."

  "Forging a soul in the pressure of the deepest trench?" Han Shanshan interrupted with a snort full of disdain. The blue ocean aura around him surged, creating a sensation as if the weight of the sea were pressing down on the cliff peak. "Your words are grand, Gu Fengyan. You sit here, sipping the same wine as us, yet you pretend to be a holy hermit? Do not forget that you have the Slaughter Seal on your forehead. You are a devil, and a devil does not come to a sacred place just to seek enlightenment."

  Zhi Xuan glanced at Han Shanshan, his Sapphire Eyes flashing with a deadly calm. "Holy Son Han, you keep calling me by that name. If you miss the 'Southern Devil' so much, perhaps you wish to see the remnants of his madness now?"

  Zhi Xuan did not wave his hand, but the Heavenly Sword, which had reached the enlightenment of Man-Sword Unity with him, didn't even need to be drawn. Zhi Xuan merely blinked his eyes for a second, and in Han Shanshan’s vision, thousands of dark Heavenly Swords appeared around Zhi Xuan, glowing with terrifying reddish lightning runes.

  The atmosphere at the cliff peak, which was previously only tense with verbal sparring, instantly transformed into a minor doomsday for Han Shanshan’s spiritual senses. Although the other practitioners only saw Zhi Xuan sitting quietly with a cup in hand, in Han Shanshan’s spiritual vision, the world had turned dark gray. Thousands of black swords manifested from pure sword intent, each carrying a reddish thunder that pulsed with a thirst for blood.

  "Sword Intent... that has touched the Laws?" hissed Chen Jianyun of the Chen Clan. As the owner of the Sword Body, he was the first to feel the strange resonance in the air; the cup in his hand vibrated. "Quite impressive."

  Han Shanshan flinched, his face turning pale for a moment before he released his own pressure to dispel the illusion. "You... you dare to unsheathe killing intent in my presence?!"

  "This Zhi has unsheathed nothing, Holy Son Han," Zhi Xuan replied in a perfectly flat tone, even as he set down his now-empty porcelain cup. "It is just that, if you continue to call upon the darkness, the darkness will eventually look back at you. Is that not a simple law of cause and effect?"

  "Enough!" Bai Wuchen slammed his jade cup onto the coral table. The impact was not just a sound, but a wave of Water Law that swept away all sword intent and heat from the cliff peak. "We are here to discuss the opening of the Secret Realm, not to test the depth of each other's graves."

  Zhi Xuan withdrew his gaze, and instantly the thousands of phantom swords in Han Shanshan’s eyes vanished, leaving a suffocating silence.

  Wang Mingshen of the Wang Clan, who had been observing with his gray pupils, let out a dry laugh. "Remarkable. An early-stage Weaver Transformation was able to make Holy Son Han’s inner state waver for a moment. Brother Zhi, you are truly an unpredictable figure. Now I understand why those Sacred Fairies are so... persistent."

  "Let us return to the main discussion," Feng Haoyue interrupted impatiently, the Phoenix fire in his eyes flashing as he stared at the sea below the cliff. "The gate of the Ocean Chaos Secret Realm will open when the moon reaches its peak tonight. The energy fluctuations have already begun to tear through the lower dimensional barriers. We all know the rules. Each of the Nine Ancient Clans brings one hundred elite disciples as warriors for the Holy Sons and Maidens."

  Feng Haoyue glanced at Zhi Xuan with a meaningful smile. "Zhi Xuan, you have no clan. Yet, you sit in this chair. This means one of the Ancient Clans must surrender a 'Noble Guest' qualification to you. If you wish to enter, you will need an Ancient Clan willing to accept you as their guest."

  Instantly, the gazes of the eight Holy Sons were fixed on Zhi Xuan. Granting a Noble Guest quota to an outsider was a rare occurrence, especially to someone with enemies like the Han Clan. The silence enveloping the cliff peak felt heavier than thousands of fathoms of seawater. The howling wind seemed to stop, waiting for an answer.

  Zhi Xuan remained silent for a moment. If he leaned toward the Ancient Zhu Clan, it would trigger issues with the Heavenly Leaf Sacred Pavilion. Conversely, if he leaned toward the Heavenly Leaf Sacred Pavilion—which was said to be capable of rivaling the Ancient Clans despite not being one—he would trigger issues with the Ancient Zhu Clan.

  Zhi Xuan looked at Feng Haoyue; naturally, he wouldn't get a guest quota from the Ancient Feng Clan. That man certainly harbored at least some displeasure toward Zhi Xuan due to Feng Yaoyue's antics. Zhi Xuan withdrew his gaze from Feng Haoyue and closed his eyes for a second before opening them again with a slightly sharpened glint.

  "Obtaining permission from the Ancient Clans?" Zhi Xuan hissed, his voice sharpening as he felt his leverage slipping. "Why must I obtain permission? You surely know there is no one I can choose. Holy Son Feng, you—"

  "I shall be the one to guarantee him." The voice fell from the sky, as delicate as the tinkling of a heavenly harp that purified all tension. The ocean seemed to stop its waves, and the wind ceased to rustle as every step descending from the sky felt like the strumming of a soothing string.