The spatial tremors produced by the ancient formation altar did not disturb Zhi Xuan’s breathing in the least. To him, traveling through the folds of dimensions was like stepping across the surface of a still lake. As the blinding silver light faded, the aroma that greeted his senses was no longer the thin, dry mountain air, but the damp scent of fertile soil, the fragrance of blooming flowers, and the remnants of rain soaking the jade asphalt.

  Zhi Xuan opened his eyes. He stood in the center of a formation altar on the outskirts of the Imperial City. This was the city where the emperor’s subjects lived under the shadow of the Imperial Palace—a place where Zhi Xuan had first carved his mark into the imperial stage hundreds of years ago. Above him, mountains scratched the sky, surrounded by waterfalls and clumping white clouds, all adorning the towering Imperial Palace.

  "Imperial City, the Fifth Envoy has returned," Zhi Xuan said coldly, stepping out from the formation altar.

  His calm footsteps made no sound as he trod upon the wide streets. Although hundreds of years had passed, the layout of the Imperial City seemed reluctant to change; it remained a symbol of mortal grandeur attempting to mimic the eternity of heaven. Above, dawn began to break as the surrounding streets started to fill with people.

  "Black-Haired Devil, Silver-Haired Devil," Zhi Xuan murmured with a faint smile, taking a long breath as he recalled his own names, or rather, the titles bestowed upon him by practitioners. "I have returned."

  However, as his steps took him deeper into the heart of the commercial district, Zhi Xuan felt a subtle change creeping through the city's atmosphere. Though the magnificence remained, there was a hidden tension behind the smiles of the merchants and the footsteps of the city guards passing by.

  He passed a teahouse that had once been a frequent spot for traveling practitioners to exchange news. There, a large announcement board made of sandalwood stood firmly. Zhi Xuan stopped for a moment, his sapphire eyes sweeping across the rows of characters written in gold ink that radiated an aura of mockery.

  His eyes dimmed as he saw several scrolls of paintings displayed there. Those paintings were no longer about the achievements of young geniuses, but rather a denunciation of a young elder from the Western Continent. Nearby, two men were whispering with expressions of disgust.

  "Did you see that? How could a Young Elder possibly want to become the Dao Protector of Sacred Fairy Zhu?" one whispered, his face showing visible disdain. "Is he mad? Does he not know who Sacred Fairy Zhu’s Dao Protector is?"

  "Hush! Don’t speak so loud," his companion replied, glancing at a passing city guard. "Perhaps he is just insane. That Young Elder, Wan Xing, is at the Weaver Transformation stage. He feels he is worthy enough to boast about becoming her Dao Protector."

  "True," the other replied, sighing and spitting beneath the board. "But isn't it true that Sacred Fairy Zhu doesn't even consider Wan Xing to be alive?"

  "Hahaha! Exactly, brother!" a man who had just stepped out of the teahouse chimed in, wiping the steam from his beard. "Even if Wan Xing has touched the Weaver Transformation realm, in the eyes of Sacred Fairy Zhu, he is no more than a noisy fly. I heard that a month ago, Wan Xing sent a vast amount of Divine Herbs just to earn a smile from the Fairy, but what happened? It was all intercepted and taken by Holy Son Zhu!"

  "Divine Herbs?" the first man’s eyes widened, his face showing a pang of greed at the thought of such wasted wealth. "Tsk tsk, even Holy Son Zhu Yanghai accepted them? Wan Xing truly has no face left. But can Wan Xing endure such shame? As a Weaver practitioner, wouldn't his pride be wounded?"

  "Pride?" the second man snorted dismissively. "In the face of beauty that can topple cities and talent that transcends the ages, Wan Xing's pride is mere dust. The problem isn't Wan Xing; it's the vacant position of the Dao Protector. Since 'he' was reported missing in Yao Gu and presumed fallen into darkness, many old monsters and geniuses from neighboring continents have begun to pop up like mushrooms after autumn rain."

  The newcomer nodded in agreement, his eyes glancing toward the Imperial Palace whose peaks were swallowed by clouds. "You should know, the atmosphere inside the great sects is currently boiling. It’s not just Wan Xing. There is also a prince from the Eastern Mountains and several old hermits from the Red Desert who have begun eyeing that position. They view the disappearance of the previous Dao Protector—that Silver-Haired Devil—as a golden opportunity to plant their influence on Sacred Fairy Zhu."

  "But hasn't the Emperor issued a decree?" the first man whispered in a lower tone, ensuring no walls had ears. "That the position of Sacred Fairy Zhu’s Dao Protector cannot be filled by just anyone because of the importance of that Silver-Haired Devil figure?"

  "That is exactly why Wan Xing is so confident," the man from the teahouse replied. "He says that while it is true the Silver-Haired Devil once calmed the Three Plains Competition and made the Xing Luo Plain famous—drawing many outside practitioners here just to find the origin of the figure who shook the competition—that is merely the past. Wan Xing wants to prove that the era has ended and that the Silver-Haired Devil is gone."

  "The Silver-Haired Devil..." the second man murmured, his eyes looking off into the distance at the announcement board swaying in the morning wind. "You mean the Fifth Envoy? The one who hundreds of years ago carried the Greatsword and made the Eighth Prince of the Empire unable to resist?"

  "Who else could it be?" the man replied, puffing out his chest as if boasting of a legend he grew up with. "Even back then, the three of us weren't born yet and only heard of it from records across the Empire. A figure that great, how could he be replaced by Wan Xing? If I were that man, I would kick Wan Xing until he no longer had a face in the Xing Luo Plain."

  "Yes, and do you know something?" the first man added, sharing in the pride of that name. "Holy Son Zhu Yanghai once said that his brother-in-law was merely someone who left the stage of the Three Plains Competition three hundred years ago. And I feel that the Holy Son accepting Wan Xing's tribute is just a way to showcase Wan Xing’s shameless stupidity! That’s why the Holy Son keeps accepting them."

  Zhi Xuan, standing only a few paces away from the three men, remained still with a gaze that seemed to pierce through the announcement board. His black-and-white robes fluttered subtly, matching the rhythm of his breath, which now felt colder. Every word spoken by the commoners and low-level practitioners entered his mind, piecing together a picture of what had transpired while he was in the underworld of Yao Gu.

  "Brother-in-law...?" Zhi Xuan murmured within the depths of his soul. A subtle twitch appeared at the corner of his lips—not a laugh, but an acknowledgment of Zhu Yanghai's unchanging arrogance.

  Apparently, Qinglan’s older brother was truly exploiting his disappearance to reap profits from power-hungry suitors. Using his name so that those suitors would continue to send luxury goods, all while chasing a title that would never be theirs.

  He glanced toward the peak of the Imperial Palace. This Wan Xing from the Western Continent, a Weaver Transformation expert, dared to set foot on this land and attempt to seize a position that was destined to be locked? Zhi Xuan slowly stepped forward, passing the three men who were still busy gossiping. His presence was so faint, like a shadow passing over a puddle without a ripple, that none of them realized the very person they were discussing had just brushed past their shoulders.

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  "Zhi Xuan, it seems your name has become a profitable ghost for some," Ruo Xianxue hissed from within his sea of consciousness, her voice full of sharp mockery. "Or perhaps, a burden that those old monsters want to bury as soon as possible."

  "No match for me," Zhi Xuan replied calmly, continuing to survey his surroundings as he walked. "This Karmic Bond—not even the Heavens can replace it."

  A practitioner of the Weaver realm should possess dignity as high as the clouds, but in Zhi Xuan’s eyes, pursuing a woman by bribing her brother was nothing but a disgrace to the path of Dao. He could feel it in the distance—high atop the mountain peak that served as the pillar of the Ancient Zhu Clan above the Imperial Palace—a familiar resonance of coldness. A coldness that was sacred and sharp, yet held a silent longing.

  "Oh? No match for you, huh?" Ruo Xianxue chimed in with a laugh like an ancient bell. "A Weaver Transformation expert, and he achieved it hundreds of years younger. Isn't that quite the genius?"

  "Genius?" Zhi Xuan retorted, shifting his gaze and stopping near a crossroads, leaning against a building wall to rest. He waved his hand and grabbed a jug of wine, taking a swig before replying. "How could I be replaced by a brat who was probably still drinking his mother's milk when I shook the Three Plains?"

  Zhi Xuan sipped his wine slowly, letting the warm liquid burn his throat, though not a single drop could thaw the coldness emanating from his eyes. He leaned his back against the damp stone wall, watching the hustle and bustle of people before him.

  "That Wan Xing brat..." Zhi Xuan murmured again, his voice nearly inaudible amidst the city's noise. "If he wants the position of Dao Protector, then he must be prepared to face the heavy weight that accompanies that name."

  "Heh, I just want to see how you will welcome this 'replacement' of yours," Ruo Xianxue teased. "Will you cut off his head immediately, or let your Sacred Fairy do it?"

  "Beheading him might be too crude," Zhi Xuan muttered, twirling the wine jug in his hand. "But turning him into one of the Puppets within the Vile Heavenly Banner? I don't yet have a Puppet capable of fighting a Weaver Transformation expert directly. However, that would surely multiply my troubles."

  "Puppet? You underestimate yourself too much, Zhi Xuan," Ruo Xianxue’s voice echoed again, this time with a more serious tone. "Use this momentum. Let them know your name never fell."

  "Momentum, is it?" Zhi Xuan replied, his tone playful as he took another drink of the fragrant wine. "To me, those who are aligned are beloved humans. Those who are not are merely fertilizer."

  Zhi Xuan wiped the remains of the wine from the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, a movement that appeared wild yet radiated the elegance of an ancient noble. He pushed off from the wall, allowing his figure to merge back into the increasingly dense flow of people as the sun climbed higher, chasing the dawn mist from the pavilion roofs of the Imperial City.

  His steps led him toward the main entrance to the upper districts, the residential area for grand clans and imperial officials. There, the security was much tighter. Soldiers wore armor that reflected the sunlight blindingly, and each of them possessed a cultivation base that could not be underestimated.

  "Stop!" a baritone voice thundered. A guard captain with a silver spear blocked Zhi Xuan’s path. The captain’s eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the mist of mystery surrounding the man in black-and-white robes before him. "Show your identification or your clan badge. The Imperial Palace grounds are no place for travelers without origin."

  Zhi Xuan stopped. He did not look up, but an extremely thin aura began to seep from him—not an oppressive Weaver aura, but a sharp, cold one, reminiscent of a sword just drawn from its scabbard.

  "Origin?" Zhi Xuan hissed, his voice low yet enough to make the guard captain’s hair stand on end. "Tell Emperor Hongmeng that the Fifth Envoy has returned from his journey to the Sacred Land of Yao Gu."

  The guard captain froze, as if time around him had suddenly stopped. The term 'Fifth Envoy' was not something frequently heard by the newer soldiers, but for those who had served long enough, the title was an echo of a legend drenched in blood and glory. He stared intently at the man before him—the dark purple hair contrasting with the black-and-white robes, and a pair of sapphire eyes radiating a coldness beyond anything he had ever seen.

  "F-Fifth Envoy?" the captain’s voice hitched slightly. He glanced at his comrades, who also began to lower their weapons with trembling hands. "The figure who held the mandate of the Heavenly Sword hundreds of years ago? Wasn't it rumored that he had..."

  Zhi Xuan did not give the man a chance to finish his sentence. He simply flicked his robe sleeve, bringing out the Heavenly Sword which glowed in a dark blade with reddish lightning runes. He gripped the hilt in his arm, the tip of the blade nearly touching the ground.

  The aura produced by the Heavenly Sword upon being drawn felt like the weight of thousands of slaughtered lives, settling and becoming one until the clouds above the upper district gate seemed to dim. Zhi Xuan swung the Heavenly Sword to be bound to his back, immediately shrouded in the white cloth that wrapped the blade. This sight was exactly the same as the appearance of the Fifth Envoy, though the hair and robes were different.

  "Is this what you were talking about?" Zhi Xuan asked flatly, instantly leaving the soldiers stunned.

  A massive shock struck the guard captain’s soul. He nearly dropped his silver spear upon seeing the blade that seemed woven from the darkness of night and the fury of blood-lightning. The aura emanating from the weapon was not mere spiritual energy, but an authority that had washed itself in thousands of life-and-death battles.

  "This style... that greatsword..." the captain murmured with a voice that was nearly gone. He immediately dropped his knees to the earth, followed by the thud of the other soldiers' armor as they prostrated in unison. "This servant, who has eyes but failed to recognize Mount Tai, begs for forgiveness! Welcome back, Fifth Envoy!"

  Zhi Xuan did not reply. He walked through the tall gate with constant steps. His presence was no longer faint; every footstep left a trail of coldness that froze the dew in the crevices of the street stones.

  Zhi Xuan’s footsteps on the jade asphalt of the upper district echoed, creating a forced silence among the nobles and high-level practitioners who happened to be passing by. They moved to the edge of the road, staring with wide eyes at the back of the man carrying the sword wrapped in white cloth.

  "Who is he? That sword intent... it’s as if he carries an entire mountain of sorrow on his back," whispered a noblewoman, her face pale as she covered her mouth with a silk fan.

  "Look at his flawless stride," an old practitioner beside her noted, his beard trembling violently. "This coldness... there is only one person in the recorded history of the Central Continent who possesses an aura as deep as an ocean trench."

  News of the Fifth Envoy’s return spread like wildfire consuming a dry grassland. Before Zhi Xuan reached the marble bridge connecting the grand clan territory to the Main Palace courtyard, dozens of eyes from behind tall pavilion windows were already watching him. Zhi Xuan looked up. There, at the peak of the tallest watchtower, a giant bronze bell tolled once—a note only sounded for high-ranking officials or entities equivalent to the state's power entering the sacred territory.

  DONG—!

  The echo of the bronze bell traveled between the jade pillars of the Imperial Palace, breaking the morning tranquility usually only filled by the sound of waterfalls and heavenly birdsong. Its vibration seemed to awaken old memories that had been covered in hundreds of years of dust. In the distance, cranes perched on pavilion roofs took flight, as if sensing a ripple of energy that was foreign yet very familiar.

  Zhi Xuan kept walking, ignoring the inquisitive looks and the increasingly loud whispers around him. His eyes were fixed on the highest peak, the residence of the Ancient Zhu Clan. There, the coldness he had felt earlier suddenly surged, as if its owner realized that the only resonance capable of balancing the frozen state of her soul had returned.

  He faded into a shadow, and in a few brief breaths, he reappeared in the center of the Imperial Main Square, the place where he had once arrived with such arrogance. This time, he intentionally released a massive ripple of spiritual energy, causing the spiritual water of the Nine Dragon Jade Pond to twist like dragons. The spiritual vibration held no killing intent, but rather a proclamation of return.

  In an instant, the silence of the Main Square shattered. From all directions, shadows of practitioners in imperial battle robes darted out, surrounding the center of the square in a tight formation. The imperial core guards, who on average had reached the Soul Transformation realm, stared at Zhi Xuan with extreme vigilance.

  However, before anyone dared to draw a weapon, a laugh that thundered like summer lightning broke the tension. "Three hundred years of wandering, and you have finally returned, Zhi Xuan!"

  From the direction of the eastern gate leading to the Grand Pavilion, the figure of Zhu Yanghai emerged with a face full of nostalgia and disbelief. His aura was now far denser and deeper than when they had parted.

  Zhi Xuan remained standing still, immediately withdrawing his spiritual pressure. He turned slowly and clasped his hands together. "Holy Son, this Zhi has returned."

  Zhu Yanghai suppressed his laughter, wearing only a thin smile that contained both relief and deep understanding. He saw that the man he called his brother-in-law now possessed a high cultivation base, nearly equal to the generations of the Ancient Clans. He stepped forward and appeared directly in front of Zhi Xuan, placing his hands on Zhi Xuan’s shoulders.