Some time ago, Lin Huang had asked him for guidance.

But what guidance could he give?

Wang Chen had never walked a "proper" path. His strength was stitched together from stolen experiences, borrowed avatars, and decades spent grinding inside frozen worlds where time meant nothing. His Dao was crooked, patched, and fundamentally unsuitable for imitation.

In the end, he had chosen the only method he truly trusted.

The Dao of Bullshit.

His own words echoed clearly in his mind.

"Lin Huang, my disciple, I have high expectations for you."

Back then, a trace of weariness had surfaced in his eyes—so faint that even Lin Huang hadn't noticed it.

"I don't want you to follow the same path as me. I want you to walk your own path to greatness. A teacher can only point the direction. How far a disciple goes… that depends on themselves. Do you understand, little disciple?"

Wang Chen still remembered that moment vividly.

Lin Huang's eyes had burned like twin torches, filled with fierce resolve and reverence. At that time, Wang Chen had felt it clearly—the unmistakable pull of destiny. A disciple blessed by the Grand Dao of Reverence would never remain ordinary.

He'll find it, Wang Chen thought with certainty.

Even if it takes time.

With that, he made his decision.

There was nothing more he should say.

Before Lin Huang or Zhao Yunfei could sense anything amiss, Wang Chen activated One Thought to Cross the World. His presence folded inward, slipping cleanly out of the world's perception—as if he had never been there to begin with.

He wanted to say more.

But Zhao Yunfei was too close.

Her existence was unstable, dangerous in ways even Wang Chen couldn't fully quantify yet. One careless exposure, one unnecessary karmic ripple, and the price could be catastrophic.

His disciples' futures were precious.

But his own fortune was even more so.

After all—if something happened to him, who would shield them from the storms to come?

Once he reached that conclusion, the faint tension in Wang Chen's heart finally eased.

A soft, absent-minded tune escaped his lips as he drifted across the city, his senses spreading outward. Beneath the calm surface, demonic traces crept like poison through the veins of the streets.

And Wang Chen began to observe.

Quietly.

Patiently.

Like a predator who had already chosen where to strike.

Somewhere within the Seven Cloud Converged World—

A shrill, high-pitched screech tore through the void.

"What do you mean, Demon Queen?"

The voice echoed like glass grinding against glass, harsh and distorted.

"How can you retreat at a moment like this? Everything is ready. The war preparations are complete. All seven tribes stand united, waiting to reclaim this world from those filthy humans!"

A colossal shadow writhed as it spoke.

The figure stood well over a hundred feet tall, its three enormous eyes burning with fanatical light. Every breath it exhaled caused the surrounding space to warp and tremble, as if reality itself was struggling to bear its presence.

This was Rufus, Lord of the Three-Eyes Clan.

A being who stood at the absolute peak of the Seven Cloud Converged World—answering to only a handful of existences.

One of them was Zi Han.

As Rufus's furious aura surged outward, the space around him groaned, thin fractures spiderwebbing through the void. Lesser beings would have been crushed into nothingness just by standing here.

Yet Zi Han did not even flinch.

Compared to their last meeting, she appeared even more ethereal—her presence calm, sovereign, and terrifying in its restraint. Draped in long, dark ceremonial robes, she carried herself with effortless authority, as though the world itself instinctively yielded to her will.

Her beauty was unreal.

The kind that could drive kings mad and gods astray.

She looked at the towering demon before her with indifferent eyes and spoke softly.

"Three-Eyes Lord Rufus," she said.

"Have you forgotten what happened the last time you spoke to me in this tone… or do you need me to remind you?"

The words were calm.

But the meaning behind them struck like thunder.

Rufus's massive body shuddered violently.

His three eyes widened in reflexive fear before he could suppress it.

How could he forget?

When Rufus was still nothing more than a fledgling demon—when his claws were soft and his horns unformed—Zi Han had already been a nightmare whispered across realms. Entire civilizations had collapsed under her shadow. Entire races had been erased because she found them inconvenient.

Silence fell.

A suffocating, absolute silence.

Then Zi Han exhaled, a quiet sigh carrying centuries of weariness. She turned away, her posture making it clear she had already lost interest.

"Rufus," she said without looking back,

"I have watched you grow since you were a child. That is the only reason I will warn you."

Her steps were unhurried.

"Do not try to stop me. I no longer believe in the so-called original demon prophecy. Do whatever you wish. I will not interfere."

She paused briefly, her voice cooling.

"But do not expect me to follow those ancient delusions."

Rufus roared, rage and disbelief boiling over.

"You—how can you say this and still call yourself a demon?! The original demons will rise! This world belongs to us! We will drive those invading humans back into the dirt where they came from!"

Zi Han sighed again.

This time, there was faint disappointment in it.

She could hear the fanaticism in his voice. The blind devotion. The same rot she had seen countless times before.

He was already lost.

Without turning back, Zi Han took a single step forward.

The space before her folded silently.

And she vanished.

Leaving behind a furious, trembling demon lord—and a war that would no longer have its queen.

...

Fang Family Headquarters.

Compared to the terror ravaging the outside world, the Fang residence was wrapped in an oppressive, ceremonial stillness.

The Fang Family Patriarch wore his most extravagant robes, every thread screaming dignity and desperation. The ground beneath his feet was paved with sky-dew jade, its faint glow reflecting off the carved pillars, while the fragrance of snow lotus drifted through the halls, heavy and cloying.

Today was the day.

Envoys of the Yun Family were arriving—to take away the Fang Family's remaining seedlings to the Soaring Dragon Continent, sparing them from the coming annihilation.

They were not the only ones. Other noble families had already begun their evacuation long ago, sending away their talents, bloodlines, and treasures.

What remained behind were nothing more than empty shells—grand estates waiting for the storm.

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