There was silence for a long moment.

No one spoke.

Rong Lua's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, as if searching for something far beyond mortal sight. The courtyard wind howled softly, carrying the faint scent of pine and the coppery tang of fear. Song Po didn't dare utter a sound.

Then, slowly, Rong Lua turned his head. His sharp eyes, cold as tempered steel, locked onto Song Po once more. When he spoke, his tone was calm—but every word carried the weight of divine authority, making the very air seem to chill.

"I have accepted the advance payment," Rong Lua said evenly. "But do not forget—if this city somehow manages to survive the coming catastrophe, however unlikely that may be, then for the next fifty years… ninety percent of its wealth will belong to the Thousand Sword Sect."

The words struck like a blade driven straight into Song Po's chest. His breath caught. The mighty Golden Core cultivator trembled, his hands curling into fists. For a moment, anger flashed in his eyes—then faded, crushed beneath necessity.

He gritted his teeth and nodded silently.

Rong Lua's lips curved faintly. "Good, good…" He paused, a glint of amusement flickering in his gaze. "Now, there's something else I want you to do for me."

Song Po's heart stirred. The way the envoy said it—lightly, almost lazily—made him think there might be a chance to earn favor, perhaps even reclaim a shred of dignity. He lowered his head respectfully.

"What would you have me do, Honored Envoy?"

Rong Lua's smile deepened, though there was nothing warm about it. He spoke with deliberate slowness, his words cutting through the silence like a cold breeze:

"Thousand spirit banner. Find everything there is to know about this treasure."

The air rippled faintly, reality bending for a heartbeat—and then the Nascent Soul expert was gone.

Not a sound, not a flicker of qi. One instant, he was there; the next, only emptiness remained.

The suffocating pressure that had hung over the hall dissipated instantly. Song Po felt his spine straighten on instinct, as if a mountain had been lifted off his back. For the first time in what felt like hours, he could breathe again.

"Banner…"

He repeated the name under his breath, trying to recall where he had heard it. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened.

"A treasure in the hands of mysterious Phoenix and Dragon Dojo…"

He remembered the reports—how the gang leaders and even a Golden Core cultivator had fallen mysteriously, all linked to that cursed dojo.

A slow, sinister smile crept across his face.

Perfect.

He had invited the Thousand Sword Sect to deal with the demon threat—but fate, it seemed, had delivered him a bonus. Not only could he save his city, but he could finally settle his grudge with that arrogant so-called master, Wang Chen.

"Perfect," Song Po whispered, eyes glinting. "I couldn't ask for a better outcome."

...

Phoenix and Dragon Dojo

In the dim stillness of dawn, Wang Chen sat cross-legged within his meditation chamber, brows drawn tight. His expression was calm, but his heart was anything but. His consciousness was focused entirely inward—deep within the Garden of Eternity that now pulsed inside his soul.

He could feel it evolving.

His spiritual space—once a simple, fog-covered plain—was changing at an alarming rate.

Within the pulsing sea of qi at its center, something was happening. Something miraculous.

Tiny motes of light—microscopic, flickering sparks—were swimming through the air. They multiplied, split, and evolved with each passing second, forming delicate, shifting currents of luminescence.

Wang Chen leaned inward with his mind's eye, watching in stunned silence.

They were alive.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing. He had read about such phenomena only in the oldest records—ancient myths describing how the first cultivators once witnessed the birth of spirit life within the Primordial Void.

But this… this was happening inside him.

It was like watching the dawn of creation.

The scene reminded him vaguely of Earth—of how microscopic algae had once filled the air with oxygen, giving rise to the great evolutionary cycle that birthed life itself. But this was something far more profound. These sparks weren't merely living—they were spiritual, forming the foundation of an entirely new ecosystem.

Wang Chen opened his eyes abruptly, his heart pounding.

This shouldn't be possible.

Even the greatest of cultivators, those who had transcended mortality and ascended to the Upper Realm, had never been known to produce life within their spiritual spaces.

His mind raced.

Could this be because of the Garden of Eternity?

The longer he thought about it, the more certain he became. The spiritual realm born from that skill was no ordinary construct—it wasn't just energy given form, but creation itself, governed by rules beyond mortal comprehension.

He took another cautious look inward. The life forms continued to shimmer and multiply, but there were no signs of instability or corruption. The qi flow was balanced, harmonious.

Only after a long observation did he exhale, a trace of relief in his tone. "At least it's not dangerous," he murmured.

Still, he didn't dare relax completely. He wanted to study it longer—to understand the connection between the Garden and his soul. But before he could, a faint knock echoed from outside his chamber.

His brow creased.

At such a crucial moment, interruptions were rare—and unwelcome.

But he also knew his disciples wouldn't disturb him unless something important had happened.

Moments later, Lin Huang's voice came through the door, calm but urgent.

"Master, the gang leader of the Sharp Tooth Gang has come to visit."

Wang Chen's eyes narrowed.

"The Sharp Tooth Gang…? Sui Zheng?"

He couldn't think of any reason for that cunning gangster to come calling. But he could feel no killing intent in the surrounding air. Whoever it was, they weren't here to fight.

After a brief pause, Wang Chen stood and straightened his robes. His expression returned to calm indifference—the quiet dignity of a cultivator who had long transcended mortal concerns.

"Let him wait," he said softly, then stepped out of the chamber.

In the training yard, Li Mei's sharp gaze was locked on Sui Zheng.

Every move the gang leader made—every twitch of his hand, every flicker of qi—was noted. Her wariness was palpable. After her last encounter with Bu Fang, she had learned the hard way that a gentle smile often hid venomous intent.

Sui Zheng, however, was no ordinary thug. His rise through the city's underbelly had been meteoric. With no family background or patron, he had clawed his way up through cunning and ruthlessness alone.

The faint smile on his face didn't fool her.

From the side, Lin Huang emerged from the inner courtyard. His expression was firm, his voice sharp.

"I've informed Master. If he wishes to meet you, he'll summon you himself."

The authority in his tone left no room for argument.

After speaking, Lin Huang's gaze drifted briefly toward the garden behind him—the spiritual heart of the dojo. His eyes softened for a moment, protective and proud, as if ensuring not a single leaf or petal had been disturbed.

Then, the sharp glint returned to his eyes.

He looked back at Sui Zheng coldly. "Until then, you'll wait—quietly."

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