Ming Yao's lips quivered.

An unprecedented sense of danger washed over her entire being, cold and suffocating, like standing at the edge of an abyss she could not see the bottom of. For the first time in a long while, her instincts screamed—not of battle, not of strategy, but of pure survival.

Who… is this woman?

The question surfaced unbidden in her mind. Beads of cold sweat formed along her forehead, sliding down her temples despite her ironclad composure. Ming Yao knew this feeling all too well. It was the same instinct that warned her moments before death on countless battlefields.

If this woman wished it… I would be reduced to ashes in an instant.

And that terrifying realization wasn't even the most unsettling part.

What struck her harder—far harder—was the sight of Zi Han speaking to Wang Chen with ease. Warmly. Casually. Even smiling.

That smile pierced deeper than any blade.

A realization bloomed in her mind, unwelcome yet impossible to suppress.

A competitor.

The thought rooted itself instantly, growing stronger the more she tried to deny it. Wang Chen was not an ordinary man. His strength, his mystery, his composure—everything about him marked him as exceptional. If she, Ming Yao, had recognized his worth and desired him…

Then it was inevitable.

Other women would too.

By the time that thought fully settled, Ming Yao had already regained her composure. Her chin lifted slightly, proud and defiant. Her back straightened, posture sharpening as if she were stepping back onto a battlefield.

She would not retreat.

She was Ming Yao of Seven Rainbow City—no prey, no bystander.

The hunger returned to her gaze.

A lioness reclaiming her ground.

At that exact moment—perhaps sensing the shift, perhaps merely by coincidence—Zi Han's eyes turned toward her.

Their gazes met.

And just then, fate played one of its cruel little tricks.

The distance between Wang Chen and Ming Yao, already close, seemed suddenly… intimate. Close enough that their auras brushed. Close enough that it could be misread.

Zi Han's gaze flickered.

Meaningfully.

Wang Chen felt it immediately. A silent pressure. An unspoken implication.

He resisted the urge to sigh aloud and instead released a quiet, internal one.

Here we go…

Understanding exactly what Zi Han was insinuating, he stepped forward half a pace and spoke before the silence could sharpen into something dangerous.

"Allow me to introduce you, Zi Han," Wang Chen said calmly, his tone measured and neutral.

"This is Lady Ming Yao—one of the bravest warriors of her generation."

He paused deliberately, letting his words settle before continuing.

"During the demonic invasion, she alone stood as the shield of Seven Rainbow City. Because of her strength and resolve, the city remained completely unharmed."

Zi Han's eyes rippled faintly.

A trace of genuine recognition surfaced on her flawless face.

Though she rarely concerned herself with the affairs of mortals, the name Ming Yao was not unfamiliar. A heaven-blessed genius. A woman who had defied demon lords and rewritten the fate of an entire city.

That alone was worthy of acknowledgment.

Her gaze softened—just slightly.

"So," Zi Han said, her voice serene yet profound, "you are the Ming Yao of Seven Rainbow City."

Ming Yao met her eyes head-on.

Two goddesses stood facing one another.

And the air between them, though silent, was anything but calm.

However, that fleeting recognition was all Zi Han allowed herself.

Because standing before Ming Yao reminded her of the true reason she had come here in the first place—and it had nothing to do with rivalry, jealousy, or idle curiosity.

It was about Wang Chen.

The faint smile at the corner of Zi Han's lips slowly faded, as though wiped away by an invisible hand. The warmth in her expression drained, replaced by a calm, unreadable stillness. In an instant, she returned to the Demon Empress who had stood at the apex of countless battlefields—cold, composed, and utterly merciless to irrelevance.

"Fellow Daoist Wang," Zi Han said, her voice steady and devoid of ornament, "forgive me for disturbing you, but there are urgent matters that require our attention."

The shift was subtle, but impossible to miss.

Wang Chen's brows lifted slightly. The abrupt change in her demeanor caught him off guard. Just moments ago, this had felt like a tense but manageable exchange—something he could navigate with words and patience. Now, the air itself felt heavier, as if the conversation had crossed an invisible threshold.

So this isn't small talk, he realized.

He straightened, his casual composure giving way to a more serious bearing. Whatever Zi Han had come to say, it was not something she intended to dance around.

"Pray tell," Wang Chen replied calmly, inclining his head.

"Fellow Daoist Han."

For a brief moment, neither spoke.

Then—almost as if sensing the subtle shift in the room, or perhaps reaching a conclusion of her own—Ming Yao suddenly turned and left. No dramatic farewell. No sharp words. Just a decisive step backward, followed by her figure dissolving beyond the threshold of the chamber.

Even Wang Chen blinked in surprise.

She… left?

He hadn't expected that. Not from someone as proud and willful as Ming Yao. Yet she was gone, leaving behind only a faint trace of her aura and an unspoken tension that lingered like static in the air.

With her departure, the chamber fell into a deep, oppressive silence.

No guards.

No witnesses.

Just the two of them.

Zi Han wasted no time.

Her gaze locked onto Wang Chen, sharp and unwavering, as if she were peering through layers of illusion, intent on stripping him bare.

"Fellow Daoist Wang Chen," she asked slowly, each word deliberate, "what are your intentions with this little Seven Cloud Converged World?"

The question landed heavily.

Not accusatory.

Not hostile.

But absolute.

Zi Han's expression was firm, her posture unyielding. She did not care about his origins, his lineage, or the mystery shrouding his past. At their level, such things were meaningless. Once a cultivator's strength reached a certain height, background ceased to matter.

Strength was the background.

And from what Wang Chen had already displayed—erasing an Original Demon, wielding powers that bent existence itself—there was no doubt.

Wang Chen did not stand upon a background.

He was one.

As such, any other line of questioning would have crossed into outright disrespect.

Zi Han understood boundaries. She had lived long enough to know that probing too deeply into the affairs of someone at Wang Chen's level was not curiosity—it was provocation. And she had not come here seeking an enemy.

Wang Chen, who had half-expected something absurd along the lines of Ming Yao's shameless declaration, was momentarily thrown off balance by the gravity of Zi Han's question. Heat crept up his neck.

…Did I seriously overthink this?

He shook his head sharply, forcefully sweeping away the stray thoughts. This was not the time for embarrassment or distraction. The atmosphere was heavy, taut like a drawn bowstring.

And when he examined the situation properly, Zi Han's question was not unreasonable in the slightest.

A mysterious cultivator had appeared out of nowhere, wielding power capable of erasing one of the world's oldest existences. Anyone with responsibility toward the world would ask the same thing. In fact, not asking would have been negligence.

His expression settled. Gone was the casual ease he used to deflect lesser threats. He met Zi Han's gaze directly, neither arrogant nor falsely humble.

Then, in an even, unhurried tone, he replied.

"Fellow Daoist Zi Han, if you believe this world holds something capable of truly interesting me, then you are thinking too much. I am merely a wanderer, passing through and enjoying the scenery along the way. Nothing more. Please don't read too deeply into it."

The lie slid out smoothly, without hesitation.

Wang Chen delivered it with a straight face.

He could have given a cleaner answer. He could have sworn he harbored no malicious intent. But he knew better than anyone that such words would ring hollow. At Zi Han's level, intent was not measured by promises but by patterns.

A vague truth, artfully framed, was often far more convincing than blunt honesty.

Sometimes, the truth wasn't about accuracy.

It was about acceptability.

Just as he anticipated, a faint but unmistakable relief flickered across Zi Han's face.

She studied him in silence for a long moment, her gaze searching, weighing, measuring something intangible. Then, without another word, she gave a small nod and turned away.

Wang Chen watched her retreating figure. Her back was straight, her steps unhurried, her presence still carrying the quiet authority of someone who had borne the weight of countless lives.

For the briefest instant, he felt it.

The burden on those slender shoulders.

His gaze lingered—then his brows knit together slightly.

"Hm," he muttered under his breath.

"She has no intention of leaving…"

Outside, Zi Han stood beneath the gently swaying branches of the Bodhi Tree, her eyes reflecting a tangle of complex emotions.

The monster she had pursued for countless years was gone.

Only the tree remained.

Perhaps it was lingering hatred. Perhaps caution honed by ages of failure. Or perhaps something deeper—an instinct that refused to be silenced. What if the Original Demon had left something behind? A seed. A remnant. A backdoor buried deep within the roots of the world itself.

Zi Han could not allow such a possibility to exist unchecked.

No matter how small the chance, it was unacceptable.

So she made her decision.

She would stay.

She would guard this tree.

Wang Chen observed her from a distance, watching the way her attention never left the Bodhi Tree for long. He quickly realized she wasn't here out of idle curiosity—something had genuinely caught her attention.

Still, he didn't interfere.

Once her doubts were resolved, she would leave on her own.

With Zi Han's presence—and Ming Yao's earlier arrival—the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo had somehow become overwhelmingly female, with Wang Chen standing alone at the center of it all.

If it were anyone else, the thought alone would have been enough to send them spiraling into foolish fantasies.

But Wang Chen felt nothing.

He had long since passed the age where desire clouded judgment or emotion dictated direction. Love, attachment, longing—these were tools or obstacles, nothing more.

Only one goal mattered.

Eternal life.

Everything else was noise.

Shaking his head, he cast the thought aside.

"Enough of this," he muttered quietly.

"First, I need a plan… one that convinces Mo Huyan to part with her knowledge of the reincarnation cycle."

At the mention of her name, his expression darkened ever so slightly.

He knew what she wanted.

After all, the person he had spent the most time with over these long, twisted years was none other than Mo Huyan herself. Whether he liked it or not, familiarity had bred understanding.

And understanding, inevitably, came with a price.

A dangerous one.

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