After Lin Huang departed—taking Rong Luo and Young Master Yun with him—the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo seemed to exhale into an unfamiliar stillness.

The usual currents of presence were gone. No footsteps echoed through the stone paths. No low hum of sword qi lingered in the air. Even the wind felt quieter, as if it, too, had learned to tread carefully.

The Fang Sisters had long since withdrawn from the public eye, sealing themselves inside their quarters. Their doors remained shut day and night, faint ripples of cultivation aura leaking out only when their breathing aligned with the world. They spoke to no one, disturbed nothing, and treated the silence as a fragile thing not to be broken.

Even the Bodhi Tree had changed.

Its ancient branches no longer creaked with restless intent, and its roots lay dormant beneath the courtyard tiles. When Wang Chen passed nearby, there was no whisper, no sudden surge of hostility, no murderous impulse wrapped in sanctimonious silence. In the past, the tree would have seized upon his presence like a starving beast, attempting to crush him seven times over in as many breaths.

Now, it did nothing.

Whether the recent possession had damaged it, weakened it, or merely driven it into cautious dormancy, Wang Chen couldn't say. He only knew that for the first time since arriving, the Bodhi Tree felt… subdued.

He wasn't particularly worried.

A gentle rustle brushed the air.

Through the half-open window, a pristine green leaf drifted inward, spinning lazily as sunlight caught along its veins. It floated like a feather, unhurried, before settling softly onto Wang Chen's lap.

The faint touch stirred him.

Wang Chen's closed eyes fluttered as his breathing shifted almost imperceptibly. He stirred, then opened his eyes, their depth calm and reflective. He did not look at the leaf.

Instead, his attention turned inward.

His consciousness slipped into the intricate lattice of divination threads and ticking mechanisms within his soul. Doom Clock timers unfolded before him—countless invisible hourglasses marking causality, danger, and fate. His focus narrowed, honing in on the comparison he cared about most.

Upper Realm.

Lower Realm.

He traced the flow carefully.

Two hours spent beyond the Realm Gate… and only a handful of hours had passed in the Azure Dragon Continent.

The difference was present—but manageable.

A quiet breath left his lips, barely disturbing the air.

Good.

That meant no catastrophic time dilation. No sudden loss of years. No silent theft of what little lifespan he possessed.

His shoulders eased as tension he hadn't consciously acknowledged melted away.

Time—at least for now—was still on his side.

Which meant he could afford to plan.

He leaned back slightly, the leaf still resting on his lap, its faint scent of greenery mingling with the clean, aged aroma of the dojo's wooden beams. Outside, distant city sounds were muted, softened by layers of formation and space.

"One year…" Wang Chen murmured, voice low and thoughtful.

In that single year, he needed to push himself as far as possible.

No distractions.

No wasted moments.

"…Nascent Soul by the end of the year should be feasible."

It was a calm statement, but the weight behind it was immense. For others, such a leap would take decades, perhaps centuries. For him, it was a calculated necessity.

Not ambition.

Survival.

If he could step into the Nascent Soul Realm, the gap between himself and immortals like Bai Xeitian would finally narrow. Not enough to stand on equal footing—but enough to breathe. Enough to act without gambling everything on a single desperate move.

Enough to live.

Wang Chen lowered his gaze at last, glancing briefly at the leaf resting on his lap before flicking it away with a light motion.

The dojo remained silent.

But within that silence, something was already moving forward.

Outside the inner chambers, Fang Biyu sat cross-legged beneath the open sky, her posture straight and unmoving. The rhythm of her breathing was slow and deliberate, each inhale drawing vital energy inward, each exhale sending faint ripples through the air around her. The qi within her meridians rose and fell like a quiet tide, steady but powerful, responding instinctively to the peace she had finally found within the dojo.

Not far away, Fang Zhirou knelt on the stone path, utterly unconcerned with cultivation. A small pile of multicolored stones lay before her, catching the sunlight as she sorted them by hue, occasionally holding one up to the light with childlike fascination. Compared to the weight pressing on her elder sister's heart, her world was still light, still simple.

Then, without warning, Fang Biyu's eyes snapped open.

Her gaze lifted toward the inner quarters of the dojo, sharp and alert, as if something invisible had brushed against her senses. The flow of qi around her stuttered for a brief instant before settling again.

"…Master is back," she murmured softly.

It wasn't guesswork. She had felt it.

A moment earlier, an unfamiliar yet unmistakable fluctuation had swept across the dojo grounds, subtle but all-encompassing, like a veil being lifted and set back into place. It was the same sensation she had felt countless times over the past weeks—each time Wang Chen left, the world around her grew restless, cultivation becoming strangely difficult, her thoughts slipping no matter how tightly she tried to grasp them.

And each time he returned, everything aligned again.

The air grew calm. The world fell back into rhythm.

Fang Zhirou, sensing the shift in her sister's mood, stopped playing with the stones and frowned. She followed Fang Biyu's line of sight toward the dojo entrance.

"…Who?" she asked, instinctively rising to her feet.

Someone was standing there.

Since the fall of the demons and the battle that had shaken the continent, the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo had become a forbidden zone to outsiders. Wang Chen's name alone was enough to deter even the boldest cultivators. Visitors were almost nonexistent—those who came close usually turned back long before reaching the gates.

Which made this presence all the more unsettling.

Curiosity overtook Fang Zhirou. She leaned forward slightly—and then froze.

At the entrance stood a woman.

No… not a woman.

An immortal goddess.

She wore a long, flowing crimson gown that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, as if woven from living flame. A phoenix-shaped hair clip bound her dark hair neatly in place, radiating an unspoken authority. Her eyes—misty yet impossibly bright—swept across the dojo with measured calm, as though she were inspecting something that already belonged to her.

The moment Fang Zhirou met that gaze, her breath caught.

At the same time, Ming Yao's attention shifted inward.

Her eyes paused—just for a fraction of a second—on Fang Biyu.

And in that instant, the faint warmth in her expression cooled.

Her slender brows drew together, a subtle crease forming between them.

…Another woman.

No—two.

Ming Yao's gaze flicked briefly toward Fang Zhirou before returning to Fang Biyu, assessing, measuring, calculating.

Her husband was living with two females?

A quiet, dangerous thought surfaced, sharp as a blade wrapped in silk.

Of course, in Ming Yao's mind, there was no doubt at all.

Wang Chen was already her husband.

Whether he knew it or not.

By now, Fang Biyu had also noticed Ming Yao's arrival.

She rose smoothly to her feet, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves, her expression calm but cautious. Whoever this woman was, her presence alone carried a pressure that made the air feel tighter, heavier. Fang Biyu had intended to step forward and politely inquire about her identity—

—but she never got the chance.

Ming Yao's gaze snapped onto her.

It was sharp, cold, and unapologetically evaluative. Her eyes lingered for an instant too long, tracing Fang Biyu from head to toe, pausing briefly at her chest before lifting again with clear displeasure. Then, in the deathly stillness of the dojo, her voice rang out, crisp and frosted with authority:

"Who are you," she demanded,

"and what are you doing at my husband's residence?"

"..."

The words echoed.

Somewhere deep inside the dojo, Wang Chen nearly toppled off his chair.

Husband?!

How husband? When husband?!

Lady, are you suffering from sudden enlightenment-induced madness?!

He pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the overwhelming urge to facepalm himself into another realm. Of all the possible complications he had anticipated after returning—this was not one of them.

Outside, Fang Biyu and Fang Zhirou stood frozen, their minds momentarily refusing to process what they had just heard.

Master's… wife?

The thought echoed blankly.

To be fair, it wasn't entirely impossible. Their Master was an unfathomable ancient existence, someone who treated calamities like mild inconveniences. Having a Dao companion was hardly strange.

But this woman?

Young. Stunning. Overwhelmingly confident. And apparently self-appointed.

The Fang Sisters exchanged a glance, then looked back at Ming Yao—this time more carefully.

Fang Biyu's eyes narrowed slightly.

Hostility crept in, quiet but unmistakable.

She didn't like the way this woman looked at her.

She liked even less the way she spoke—as if the entire dojo already belonged to her.

After a brief, awkward silence, Fang Zhirou tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. Her brows furrowed as she studied Ming Yao with innocent curiosity, then she spoke, her tone clear and unfiltered:

"This lady…"

"…are you right in the head?"

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Inside the dojo, Wang Chen closed his eyes.

This was going to be troublesome.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.