"This lady… are you right in the head?"

Fang Zhirou's innocent question struck Wang Chen like a bolt of lightning.

For a heartbeat, his mind went blank.

The words echoed again and again in his head, each repetition louder than the last, until his temples began to throb. He understood Fang Zhirou's reaction completely. Anyone would react the same way if a stranger in red robes suddenly declared herself the lady of the house without warning or explanation.

But understanding didn't make the situation any safer.

That red-robed woman was Ming Yao.

The same Ming Yao who had hovered above Seven Rainbow City like a living divine judgment. The same Ming Yao who had shattered demon armies, humiliated Demon Lords, and turned battlefields into silent graves with a flick of her wrist. Her strength wasn't just terrifying—it was unquestionable.

If she took offense at Fang Zhirou's blunt honesty…

Wang Chen didn't even want to imagine the consequences.

Before the air could grow any heavier, before Ming Yao's frost-laden gaze could sharpen further, Wang Chen stepped in.

"Lady Ming Yao," he said calmly, his voice gentle yet carrying just enough authority to cut through the tension, "what brings you here?"

Ming Yao had still been staring at Fang Zhirou, visibly processing the insult—or perhaps the sincerity behind it—when Wang Chen's voice reached her ears. The effect was immediate. The chill in her expression softened, the edge of irritation dissolving as though it had never existed, replaced by faint surprise… and something warmer.

Her eyes shifted to him.

The storm passed.

Wang Chen felt his shoulders loosen almost imperceptibly. Disaster, narrowly avoided.

"Come," he added smoothly, turning toward the inner chambers. "Let us talk inside."

Ming Yao nodded without hesitation and followed him, her red robes trailing behind her like a flowing flame. In a few breaths, both figures vanished beyond the doors.

Outside, silence settled.

Fang Biyu and Fang Zhirou stood frozen, staring at the closed entrance as if expecting it to explode at any moment.

They slowly turned to each other.

The same disbelief stared back at them.

"So… Master actually knows that… crazy woman?" Fang Zhirou muttered, her voice low and stunned.

"No," Fang Biyu replied quickly, shaking her head as if she could physically reject the idea. "That's impossible. There has to be a misunderstanding. Absolutely has to be."

She said it with conviction—but her eyes betrayed doubt.

Just as the sisters were struggling to reconcile what they had seen—

a sound echoed from the entrance once more.

Footsteps.

Fang Biyu's brow twitched.

"…Who is it this time?" she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice as she turned her head. After Ming Yao's domineering presence, her patience was already worn thin. The last thing she wanted was yet another troublesome visitor stepping into the dojo today.

From the drifting clouds above, Demon Empress Zi Han descended one step at a time, as if the sky itself had formed an invisible staircase beneath her feet. The wind stirred around her, tugging gently at her long, flowing hair, sending strands of silver-black silk dancing in the air. Her posture was elegant, unhurried—but the faint crease between her brows betrayed her unrest.

No matter how many times she closed her eyes, the same scene resurfaced.

Wang Chen standing beneath the ruined heavens.

The Original Demon frozen in disbelief.

And then—annihilation. Instant, absolute, irreversible.

It replayed endlessly, burned into her thoughts like a scar.

Killing the Original Demon had been her lifelong obsession. The axis around which her cultivation revolved. Every realm she climbed, every bottleneck she shattered, every sacrifice she made—none of it had ever been for herself.

It had been for that single goal.

And now… it was gone.

Completed.

But not by her.

By him.

If not for one thing—something even more important—Zi Han felt she might have truly shattered at that realization.

"Yes…" she murmured softly, fingers tightening within her sleeves. "I still have to protect this world."

That was the vow she had sworn before her teacher's grave. A promise carved into her very soul. For the sake of the world's survival, she needed answers. She needed to know what Wang Chen truly was.

At first, her interest in him had been curiosity.

Now, after witnessing power that defied common sense and shattered ancient balances, it had become necessity.

An unknown variable like him could not be ignored.

...

"Who…?"

Fang Biyu's eyes widened until they almost hurt. Her breath caught in her throat the instant Zi Han's figure came into view. This wasn't hearsay. This wasn't rumor.

This was the Demon Empress herself.

The sheer pressure radiating from Zi Han's presence pressed down on Fang Biyu's shoulders like an invisible mountain. Her legs trembled instinctively, knees threatening to give way. Memories surged unbidden—of the last time Zi Han had briefly entered the dojo, when both sisters had collapsed unconscious before they could even register what was happening.

Fang Zhirou fared slightly better.

At least… at first.

But the moment her eyes truly focused on Zi Han's face, any remaining composure vanished. Her lips parted, and the words slipped out before she could stop herself.

"A-a beautiful goddess…"

It wasn't exaggeration. Zi Han's beauty was overwhelming, the kind that made the world feel muted by comparison. She rivaled Ming Yao easily—but where Ming Yao was blazing flame and unrestrained majesty, Zi Han was moonlight on still water.

Ethereal. Serene. Untouchable.

Her presence carried a quiet authority that compelled reverence rather than awe. People didn't want to look at her longer—they wanted to lower their heads, to breathe softer, to exist more carefully in her vicinity.

A Few Moments Earlier — Inside Wang Chen's Chambers

The porcelain cup had barely settled onto the table.

Freshly brewed Nine Luminescent Green Tea released soft spirals of emerald steam, the fragrance light and clean, carrying a faint sweetness that calmed the spirit and sharpened the mind. The tea leaves at the bottom glowed faintly, refracting light like crushed jade. It was the kind of brew meant for contemplation, not conversation.

And yet—

A sudden jolt ran through Wang Chen's spirit.

Not pain. Not danger.

A disturbance.

His fingers paused mid-movement. The steam wavered. His brows twitched once, sharply, and the relaxed atmosphere inside the chamber shattered like thin glass.

He lifted his head.

His gaze cut straight toward the entrance, pupils contracting as layers of perception unfolded instinctively.

"…Demon Zi Han?" he muttered, disbelief flickering across his features. "What is she doing here?"

The faint ripple in fate, the subtle pressure brushing against the outer wards of the dojo—there was no mistaking it. Her presence carried a signature too distinct to confuse with anyone else.

His jaw tightened.

Her intervention during the clash with the Original Demon had not gone unnoticed. He owed her a debt, yes—but debts involving beings like her were never clean things. Gratitude and paranoia walked hand in hand at that level.

Before he could dwell further, a soft but dissatisfied sound reached his ears.

Ming Yao was watching him.

Her brows drew together slightly, her expression sharpening as she noticed the brief lapse in his focus. There was irritation there—but also expectation.

"What is it, Daoist Wang?" she asked coolly. "What do you think about my… proposal?"

The word hung in the air, deceptively light.

Wang Chen's lips parted.

"Proposal your head—"

The words nearly flew out on pure instinct. He caught them at the last moment, forcing them back down his throat before they could turn this already absurd situation into a catastrophe.

He exhaled once, slowly.

There was no need to offend a walking natural disaster over something so… inconvenient.

Turning away from the doorway, Wang Chen faced Ming Yao fully this time. The casual laziness he often wore slipped away, replaced by a measured seriousness. His eyes were steady, his posture composed, his tone calm—but resolute.

"Lady Ming Yao," he said, voice low and firm, "I am a man of deep roots and unshakable values."

The words landed cleanly, without flourish.

"I will only marry a woman who can defeat me in battle."

Silence fell.

Even the tea steam seemed to hesitate.

His gaze met hers directly, unflinching, carrying neither arrogance nor mockery—only certainty.

"If you can best me," he continued evenly, "then we may discuss your… proposal again."

The challenge was simple.

Blunt.

And utterly unreasonable.

For the first time since entering the chamber, the air truly tightened—charged not with hostility, but with something far more dangerous.

Expectation.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ming Yao froze—then smiled.

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't amused.

It was sharp, brilliant, and edged with unmistakable exhilaration.

A fierce battle spirit ignited in her amber eyes, flaring like a hidden sun breaking through clouds. For a heartbeat, she looked less like a celestial noble and more like a born war goddess who had just been offered the one thing she truly desired.

Fighting was the one thing she feared least in all the heavens.

At first, she had assumed Wang Chen was rejecting her politely, hiding refusal behind lofty principles. But now? Now she understood. This wasn't evasion.

It was a challenge.

Her pulse quickened.

A spark of excitement bloomed in her chest, spreading fast and hot.

"So let's fight," Ming Yao said, her voice calm—too calm.

"Right now."

The words carried weight.

The instant they were spoken, her aura surged upward like a breaking tide. Invisible pressure rolled through the courtyard, making the air groan under its force. Stone tiles trembled, beams creaked, and the surrounding space warped as if reality itself was bracing for impact.

If not for the ancient protective formations Wang Chen had laid down long ago, the courtyard would have collapsed on the spot.

Wang Chen pinched the bridge of his nose.

…This girl.

He could practically feel a headache forming.

Drawing in a slow breath, he forcibly steadied his Dao heart, then shook his head with a helpless sigh—like a man who had just realized he'd stepped into a pit of his own making.

Before Ming Yao could take another step forward, he turned his head toward the entrance and spoke calmly, his voice cutting cleanly through the tension.

"Fellow Daoist Zi Han," he called out evenly,

"what brings you to my humble abode?"

Ming Yao opened her mouth, clearly about to retort—only to stop mid-sentence.

The courtyard gates slid open.

Not with force.

Not with noise.

They simply… parted.

A soft radiance flowed in, pale and tranquil, carrying with it a serenity that pressed down on the battlefield-ready atmosphere like cool moonlight on burning steel.

Zi Han floated in.

Her movements were unhurried, her steps barely touching the ground as divine light trailed behind her like drifting silk. Her expression was composed, eyes deep and unfathomable, as if she had walked into chaos not by accident—but by expectation.

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