In the Hall of Mental Cultivation.
Blade light and a talisman formation exploded simultaneously.
Golden light flared brilliantly on Ling Xiaozi’s Heavenly Master Sword. Three hundred and sixty-five demon-suppression talismans peeled off from the blade, transforming into fist-sized golden runes that spun rapidly throughout the hall, sealing the entire bedchamber in an airtight talisman formation.
Wherever the runes passed, the cold, sticky, decaying aura in the air was stripped away layer by layer with a sizzle of burning energy.
The dark shadow coiled beside the Dragon Couch let out a shrill screech and jerked back into a corner of the hall.
The tentacle-like protrusions along the shadow's edges retracted fully into its body, and the entire mass curled into a dense sphere. A dark green glow rippled across its surface.
That was a protective aura formed from a thousand years of demon essence.
“Vile beast, submit to death!”
Ling Xiaozi’s sharp shout rang out like a booming bell, shaking the hall so intensely that the golden dragons carved into the four walls of the Hall of Mental Cultivation vibrated in a low hum.
He formed a hand seal with his left hand while holding his sword in his right, tracing nine talisman seals in the void with the tip of his blade.
With each seal traced, the talisman formation tightened a fraction.
Squeezed by the formation, the dark shadow shrank smaller and smaller, from three feet across to one foot, and then down to the size of a fist.
It emitted one final, piercing shriek.
The sound cut so sharply that the flame of the Everlasting Lamp in the hall flickered violently, nearly going out.
Qi Tianchen watched from the side, his brows tightly furrowed.
He held the saber Suiyue across his chest, his blade intent locking down every possible escape route for the shadow.
Though this old Daoist usually acted so carefree and uninhibited, once he made a move, there was likely no one else in the world who could match his skill in subduing demons and devils.
The talisman formation tightened further, golden runes pressing directly against the surface of the dark shadow.
Every time a rune attached itself, the shadow twitched violently as if burned by a red-hot iron.
“Bind!”
Ling Xiaozi clenched the five fingers of his left hand, and the talisman formation snapped shut.
The dark shadow produced a muffled explosion within the golden light, collapsing into a shower of black ash that rained down.
Before the ashes hit the floor, Ling Xiaozi flicked his Heavenly Master Sword, using the tip to gently pick out a thumb-sized, dark green orb from among the debris.
The orb was deep emerald, so green it bordered on black, and a hairline strand of dark qi could be faintly seen swirling inside its center.
“A demon core.”
Qi Tianchen’s eyes narrowed.
He had read many ancient texts about the war between humans and demons a thousand years ago, so he knew that a demon core was the culmination of a demon's lifelong cultivation.
As long as the demon core remained intact, the creature retained the potential for rebirth.
Ling Xiaozi sheathed his Heavenly Master Sword and produced a palm-sized purple-gold gourd from his sleeve.
The gourd was purple-gold throughout, covered with dense, intricate runes carved into its surface.
Its mouth was sealed with a piece of cinnabar talisman paper.
He aimed the opening at the dark green demon core and chanted a Daoist invocation. The core turned into a streak of green light and was sucked inside.
Ling Xiaozi swiftly resealed the cinnabar talisman paper and placed three additional seals upon the gourd before slipping it back into his sleeve.
“Ling Xiaozi, is that gourd reliable?”
Qi Tianchen sheathed Suiyue, a hint of concern in his voice.
Ling Xiaozi flicked his horsetail whisk, a rare look of solemnity crossing his usually cynical face.
“This is a sacred treasure of Mount Longhu, the Demon-Refining Gourd crafted by the founding Heavenly Master himself.
Even if it were a Demon King’s core placed inside, it couldn't stir up any trouble.
Once I return to the mountain, I will thoroughly refine it with Mount Longhu's subterranean fire to eliminate the threat forever.”
Qi Tianchen nodded, saying no more.
He looked around as the traces of the fierce battle within the Hall of Mental Cultivation gradually vanished.
With a wave of Ling Xiaozi’s horsetail whisk, the golden floor tiles split by blade intent closed back up, and the pillars sliced by sword qi returned to their original state.
This divine technique of reversing time was even more refined than when he had restored the flagstones before the gate of Mirror Water Villa.
Even the residual demonic qi lingering in the air was completely swept away with a flick of his whisk.
Having completed his task, Ling Xiaozi slung the whisk over his shoulder and shot Qi Tianchen a glance.
In a flash, both of their figures vanished from the Hall of Mental Cultivation.
Outside the hall, the imperial guards frozen on the white marble plaza regained the ability to move at the exact same moment.
They continued marching in their night patrol formation, their strides unhesitating and their gazes showing no sign of disturbance.
No one noticed anything amiss.
To them, it felt like nothing more than a blink of an eye.
The Everlasting Lamp inside the hall remained lit, the night clouds hung low in the sky, and everything was as it had been.
They had no idea that in the span of that single "blink," two Earthly Immortals had subdued a thousand-year demon inside the imperial bedchamber.
Inside the Hall of Mental Cultivation, the flame of the Everlasting Lamp flickered gently.
On the Dragon Couch, Emperor Zhao Heng of Grand Zhao slowly opened his eyes.
His consciousness resurfaced bit by bit, as if ascending from deep waters.
First, he felt the hard surface of the Dragon Couch pressing against his back, followed by the smell of ambergris mixed with the bitterness of medicinal broth permeating the room, and finally the bean-sized flame of the Everlasting Lamp swaying before his eyes.
It took him a few breaths to focus his vision.
Then, he saw two people.
Two young women stood side by side before his Dragon Couch.
The one on the left wore moon-white martial attire with a silver-thread soft mail over it, and a green-sheathed sword hanging from her waist.
She was tall and slender, noticeably taller than ordinary women, with straight shoulders and a spine held as upright as an unsheathed sword.
Her features inherited the heroic spirit of Zhao Heng’s youth.
She had sword-shaped eyebrows sloping toward her temples and a high-bridged nose.
Only her eyes resembled her mother's—bright, clear, and gentle.
Yet at this moment, those eyes were brimmed with tears, shimmering with fine glimmers under the light of the Everlasting Lamp.
The Fourth Princess, Zhao Qingning.
The one on the right wore a plain green scholar's robe, her hair tied casually with a bamboo hairpin, devoid of any unnecessary ornaments.
Her face was not stunning, but between her brows lay an innate composure and scholarly grace.
Standing beside the Fourth Princess, she appeared neither humble nor out of place.
It was as if she naturally belonged there.
Most striking were her eyes—calm as still water, deep and fathomless.
The moment Zhao Heng saw the two of them, he understood everything.
The demon that had coiled inside the Hall of Mental Cultivation for years was gone.
The shadow beside the Dragon Couch was completely empty; not even a trace of residual chill remained.
And the fact that these two women could appear silently before his Dragon Couch meant the demon had already been subdued.
Leaning back against his soft pillows, a bitter smile faded onto his gaunt face, which resembled a candle about to burn out.
“It’s you.”
Zhao Heng spoke.
His voice was raspy and weak, as if choked with phlegm.
Every word came with a wheezing rattle from deep within his chest.
With great effort, he raised his hand and beckoned to the Fourth Princess.
Zhao Qingning stepped forward and knelt before the Dragon Couch, clasping her father’s emaciated hand with both of hers.
That hand was alarmingly cold, and the jade thumb ring carved with "Mandate of Heaven" hung loosely on his thumb, looking as if it could slip off at any moment.
She pressed her father’s hand against her face, unable to hold back her tears any longer as they streamed silently down her cheeks, dripping onto the back of his withered hand.
Watching his daughter's face bathed in tears, the bitter smile at the corners of Zhao Heng's mouth deepened.
“What, have you come to force me to abdicate?”
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