private dining hall’s doors swung open, and Empress Xia Qingwu stepped into the corridor with Tian’s hand clasped firmly in her own.
Her phoenix crown caught the light of the spirit lanterns that lined the walls, throwing rainbows across the polished marble floors.
“Come, little husband,” she said, her voice warm.
“Let me show you the imperial gardens.
The moonflowers are in bloom.” Tian allowed himself to be led, his eyes taking in the splendor of the imperial palace.
The hallways were vast—so wide that twenty people could walk abreast—and the ceilings arched high overhead, painted with murals of phoenixes soaring through golden clouds.
Spirit lanterns floated at regular intervals, their flames eternal and smokeless, casting a warm, amber glow that made the white marble walls seem to glow from within.
Phoenix Guards stood at attention every fifty paces.
They were women of the Great Saint Realm at minimum, their armor gleaming crimson and gold, their figures athletic and powerful beneath the polished plates.
Each one bowed as the Empress passed, their eyes—hidden behind the visors of their phoenix-crested helms—flickering toward the young man at her side.
note: If you’re wondering why there are no eunuchs in the Xia Imperial Palace, the answer is quite simple.
Qin Tian doesn’t like them.
When Xia Qingwu ascended the throne four years ago, one of her first decrees—made at the quiet suggestion of a certain nine-year-old boy—was to replace every eunuch in the palace with maids.
The transition took less than a week.
The maids were happier.
The guards were happier.
And Qin Tian, who had always found the practice of creating eunuchs distasteful, was very happy indeed.
Maids in elegant palace uniforms—crimson silk with gold trim—pressed themselves against the walls as the Empress and Tian passed.
Their eyes, demurely lowered, still managed to peek at the young master through their lashes.
Whispers followed in their wake like the rustle of leaves.
“Did you see him smile—” “So handsome—” “Those eyes, I could drown in them—” “The Empress is so lucky—” Tian caught the eye of one particularly bold maid—a young woman with chestnut hair and freckles across her nose—and smiled.
The maid’s face went crimson.
The stack of linens in her arms wobbled dangerously.
Her companion had to steady her before she toppled over entirely.
Xia Qingwu sighed, a helpless, doting sound.
“You do this on purpose, don’t you?” “I smiled,” Tian said innocently.
“Smiling isn’t a crime.” “Your smile is a weapon of mass destruction.” “That seems like an exaggeration.” Behind them, the chestnut-haired maid had sunk to her knees, her companion fanning her frantically.
“I’m fine,” she was whispering.
“I’m fine.
He just…
he just smiled at me.
That’s all.
I’m fine.” “You’re not fine.
You’re swooning.” “I’m NOT swooning—” “You’re literally on the floor.” Xia Qingwu’s expression was a perfect mixture of exasperation and fondness.
“My ministers.
My generals.
My maids.
Is there any woman in this palace who is immune to you?” “You,” Tian suggested.
“I am the LEAST immune.
I’ve just learned to function while permanently flustered.” They passed through a set of massive golden doors and emerged into the imperial gardens.
The gardens were a paradise within a paradise.
Spirit flowers bloomed in every color imaginable—crimson phoenix lotuses floating on ponds of liquid moonlight, star-orchids that sang soft melodies when the breeze passed through their petals, eternal roses whose blooms never faded.
Trees with trunks of silver and leaves of jade provided shade over winding paths paved with polished moonstone.
A spring burbled at the garden’s center, its waters so clear that the colorful spirit fish swimming within seemed to hang suspended in air.
And everywhere, there were animals.
A phoenix chick—its downy feathers still the soft gold of infancy—hopped along the bank of the spring, chasing luminescent butterflies.
Spirit foxes with nine tails each lounged beneath the silver trees, their fur white as snow.
A qilin foal, its scales still soft with youth, drank from the spring beside a fawn with antlers of crystal.
Jade rabbits nibbled at the spirit grass.
Celestial cranes preened their wings.
They were all, Tian noticed, female.
note: The Empress has a strict policy regarding her personal spaces.
No males.
Not even spiritual animals.
The phoenix chick is female.
The nine-tailed foxes are vixens.
The qilin foal, the crystal-antlered fawn, the jade rabbits, the celestial cranes—all female.
The only male permitted in the Empress’s private gardens is the thirteen-year-old boy currently being led toward a pavilion of white jade.
And honestly, the female animals adore him too.
The phoenix chick has already started following him.
Sure enough, the golden chick had abandoned its butterfly hunt and was now hopping after Tian with small, eager chirps.
“You’ve made a friend,” Xia Qingwu observed.
“Everyone likes me,” Tian said.
“That phoenix has bitten every guard who tried to pet it.” “It knows I’m special.” “It knows you’re a menace.” They reached the pavilion—a structure of white jade pillars wrapped in flowering vines, with a domed roof that was open to the sky.
Cushions of cloud-silk surrounded a low table of polished spirit wood.
Maids materialized as if from thin air, bearing trays of tea and light snacks.
“Empress.
Young Master.
The tea is Moon Dew White, harvested from the peak of the Starlight Mountains.
The snacks are spirit cakes filled with phoenix fruit paste.” Xia Qingwu settled onto the largest cushion and immediately pulled Tian into her lap.
He opened his mouth to protest—he was thirteen, he was too old for lap-sitting—but a piece of spirit cake was already being lifted to his lips.
“Open wide,” the Empress cooed.
“Qingwu, you fed me a few minutes ago.” “Those were main courses.
These are snacks.
Completely different.” “My stomach is not a bottomless pit.” “Growing boys need to eat well.” She pressed the cake against his lips, her purple eyes taking on a pitiful, pleading gleam.
“You must grow up healthy, little husband.
How else will you support your helpless wife?” Tian’s eye twitched.
‘Helpless wife,’ he thought, staring at the woman who had obliterated a Holy Land master with a single palm strike.
‘You are a Quasi-Great Emperor realm cultivator.
You have two Supreme Bones.
With the luck of the dynasty amplifying your power, you can fight a true Great Emperor—granted, only a first-realm Great Emperor—but that’s still a GREAT EMPEROR.
The gap between Quasi and true Great Emperor is a chasm that most cultivators can never cross, and you can bridge it.
And you’re sitting here calling yourself HELPLESS.’ [The Host’s wife is clearly a delicate flower who needs protection.] ‘System, you’re not helping.’ [This system is merely observing the facts.
The Empress is very small and fragile.] ‘She killed a man with a single slap.’ [A very powerful slap from a very delicate hand.] ‘I hate you.’ [The Host’s vital signs indicate otherwise.] Tian accepted the cake and chewed it with the resignation of a man who knew he was being manipulated but couldn’t bring himself to care.
The Empress’s lap was warm.
Her arms around him were gentle.
The cake was delicious.
He swallowed and reached up to cup her cheek.
“Don’t act pitiful,” he said, his voice soft.
“I know how strong you are, Qingwu.
I haven’t even started cultivating yet—I’m still in the Body Tempering Realm, doing foundation exercises.
But I will always protect you.
No matter what.” Xia Qingwu’s purple eyes went wide.
Then soft.
Then dangerously misty.
“My darling,” she breathed.
“So heroic.
So gallant.
My little husband.” She pulled him into her chest, wrapping her arms around his head and pressing him firmly against the generous swell of her breasts.
The silk of her imperial robes was soft and warm.
Her scent—phoenix feathers and sacred incense—filled his senses.
Her heartbeat thumped steadily against his ear.
“Mmph,” Tian said.
“Shh.
You’re being hugged.” “Mmph mmph.” “I can’t hear you.
You’re too busy being hugged.” Tian’s arms flailed briefly before giving up.
The Empress’s chest was extremely soft.
Resistance was futile.
He sank into the embrace and accepted his fate.
‘This is my life now,’ he thought.
‘Suffocated by beautiful women.
What a tragedy.’ [The Host’s suffering is truly profound.] ‘I can feel your sarcasm.’ [This system has no idea what the Host is talking about.] Footsteps approached—the measured, graceful steps of someone who had no need to hurry.
Tian, his face still buried in the Empress’s chest, heard a familiar voice.
“Well, well.
Starting without me, Qingwu?” The arms around Tian loosened, and he emerged from the embrace to see Xia Ziyan standing at the pavilion’s entrance.
The National Teacher was even more beautiful than she had been four years ago.
Her hair—that deep, twilight purple—fell in waves past her hips, shimmering with an almost metallic luster.
Her golden eyes were warm and teasing, fixed on Tian with an expression that was equal parts adoration and mischief.
Her lips were painted with her signature purple lipstick, the shade matching her hair perfectly.
She wore the formal robes of her office—deep purple silk with gold embroidery depicting the constellations of the Primordial Realm’s night sky.
The robes were cut to emphasize her mature, voluptuous figure: full breasts that strained against the bodice, a narrow waist cinched with a belt of woven starlight, wide hips that swayed with every step.
On her head sat the Hat of the National Teacher—a tall, cylindrical headpiece of black silk, decorated with gold stars that seemed to move and shift as if alive.
note: The position of National Teacher is the second most powerful position in any dynasty, second only to the Emperor or Empress themselves.
The National Teacher can channel the dynasty’s accumulated luck to enhance their combat power, receiving a massive boost that scales with the dynasty’s prosperity.
In a flourishing dynasty like the Great Xia, a National Teacher of the Quasi-Great Emperor realm could theoretically match a mid-stage Great Emperor while within the dynasty’s borders.
This is why National Teachers are chosen not just for wisdom, but for absolute, unwavering loyalty.
They are the dynasty’s final shield.
“Ziyan,” Tian said, smiling.
“You look beautiful as always.” Xia Ziyan crossed the pavilion in three graceful strides and plucked Tian from the Empress’s lap as if he weighed nothing.
“You always visit Qingwu first,” she said, her golden eyes narrowing with mock jealousy.
“Never me.
Am I not your favorite auntie anymore?” “You’re not my auntie.” “I’m hurt.
Wounded.
Devastated.” “You’re dramatic.” She pulled him into her chest, and Tian’s world became soft purple silk and the scent of midnight orchids.
Her breasts were even more generous than the Empress’s, and he found himself wedged firmly between them.
‘Why,’ he thought, his voice flat even in his own mind, ‘why do they always give me a face wash with their breasts?
Is it because I’m small?’ [Yes, Host.] ‘I’m going to grow tall in a few years.’ [Yes, yes.
The Host will definitely grow tall.
This system believes in the Host.] ‘You’re patronizing me.’ [This system would never.] ‘I can FEEL you patronizing me.’ [The Host is imagining things.] Xia Ziyan released him—reluctantly—and set him back on his feet.
Her golden eyes sparkled.
“Qingwu, have you told him about the gift yet?” The Empress’s face lit up.
“Oh!
I’d almost forgotten.” She rose from her cushion with fluid grace and took Tian’s hand.
“Come, little husband.
We have something to show you.” Tian looked between the two women.
Their expressions were identical: barely contained excitement, like children waiting to reveal a secret.
“What gift?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” they said in perfect unison.
They led him out of the gardens and through the palace corridors.
The Phoenix Guards bowed as they passed.
The maids peeked and whispered.
Tian’s curiosity grew with every step.
At last, they stopped before a set of massive doors.
They were different from the other doors in the palace—these were carved from a single slab of spirit jade, their surface etched with phoenixes that seemed to move in the corner of the eye. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Above the doors, in elegant calligraphy that glowed with soft golden light, were two words: IMPERIAL HAREM Tian blinked.
“When was there a harem hall here?” He remembered the old Emperor’s harem.
Or rather, the lack of one.
The previous ruler had only two wives—the mother of Xia Qingwu and the Crown Prince, and the mother of the Third Prince.
Both were dead now.
The old Emperor, in his youth, had fought a mysterious enemy and suffered a vicious wound to his lower dantian.
His male genetics had been damaged.
He managed to repair the physical injury, but his sexual drive was reduced to almost nothing.
He touched his wives perhaps twice in his entire life, resulting in exactly three children.
note: You may have heard stories about emperors with harems of three thousand beauties.
These stories are, to put it politely, absolute rubbish.
A male cultivator’s stamina is indeed enhanced by cultivation—but so is a female cultivator’s.
A single female cultivator at the Saint Realm could drain a mortal man to death in a single night.
Forty such women would kill even a Great Emperor if he attempted to satisfy them all.
The “three thousand beauties” myth is just that—a myth.
Real harems are much smaller and much more carefully managed.
The old Emperor’s harem of two wives was small, but it was practical.
Tian knew all of this.
Which was why the existence of a dedicated harem hall was so surprising.
“Open the doors,” Xia Qingwu said, her voice soft with anticipation.
The jade doors swung open.
And Tian’s breath caught in his throat.
The hall was vast—a cathedral of silk and gold, with pillars of white jade and floors of polished moonstone.
Spirit lanterns floated near the ceiling, their light soft and golden.
Fountains of liquid spiritual energy burbled in the corners, filling the air with a gentle mist that smelled of flowers.
Cushions and divans were arranged in comfortable clusters, and gauze curtains drifted in a breeze that carried the faint sound of wind chimes.
But the true splendor was the women.
Hundreds of them.
At least two hundred women filled the hall, and every single one was breathtakingly beautiful.
They were gathered in groups—some seated on cushions, some standing by the fountains, some reclining on divans with the easy grace of women who knew they were in a place of safety and luxury.
Their hair came in every color of the rainbow: raven black, snow white, ocean blue, forest green, sunset orange, starlight silver.
Their eyes sparkled with curiosity and anticipation.
Their figures ranged from slender and graceful to mature and voluptuous, and their temperaments were just as varied—some cold and aristocratic, some warm and approachable, some scholarly and intelligent, some youthful and playful.
Each of the two hundred women was attended by two or three personal maids.
The maids were beautiful too—not quite on the level of their mistresses, but close.
Their uniforms were elegant and modest, and they stood behind their ladies with perfect poise.
Six hundred women in total.
At minimum.
And they were all looking at him.
[DING!
Multiple Daughters of Destiny detected in the Host’s vicinity!] Tian’s eyes widened.
‘Multiple?
How many?’ [Scanning…
Eight Daughters of Destiny among the assembled women.
Eight Daughters of Fortune at the Gold Luck level.
The maids are not Daughters of Destiny, but many possess Purple Luck and at least Saint Rank physiques.] ‘And the women themselves?’ [Every woman in this hall who is not a maid possesses at minimum a Dao Rank physique.
Most have Purple Luck or higher.
The eight Daughters of Destiny have Gold Luck.] Tian’s mind reeled.
Dao Rank physiques.
Two hundred of them.
Eight Daughters of Destiny.
This was not a harem.
This was a strategic assembly of the most talented young women in the dynasty.
The women noticed him.
How could they not?
The Maiden Calamity Body pulsed, and the Yin-Yang energy that suffused his very being reached out like invisible threads, touching every feminine heart in the room.
The mature women—women in their thirties and forties, with the voluptuous curves of experience—looked at him and thought: ‘Such a cute child.
So adorable.
I want to hold him and never let go.’ The younger women—maidens in their twenties, with the fresh beauty of youth—looked at him and thought: ‘What a handsome little brother.
Those eyes…
that face…
when he grows up, he’ll be devastating.’ The girls closest to his age—teenagers of fifteen or sixteen—blushed and thought: ‘He’s our age…
and he’s so handsome…
is this really the young master of the five forbidden forces?’ “Ladies,” the Empress said, her voice carrying through the hall with gentle authority, “this is Qin Tian.
Young master of the five forbidden forces.
Savior of my life.
And…” She paused, a smile curving her purple lips.
“Your future husband.
As well as mine.” Silence.
Then chaos.
“FUTURE HUSBAND?!” “THAT adorable child?!” “Sister Qingwu, you can’t be serious—” “He’s so YOUNG—” “I mean, he’s VERY cute, but—” “I call dibs on teaching him calligraphy!” “You can’t call dibs on a FUTURE HUSBAND—” “I just DID!” Xia Ziyan stepped forward, her golden eyes sweeping across the assembled women.
“You all remember what your families told you four years ago,” she said.
“This is that child.
The one who saved the Crown Princess.
The one who called down the wrath of five forbidden forces.
The one who looked at two Great Emperors and called them ugly old men.” When said the last part of the ugly old she giggled.
The women fell silent.
They did remember.
Every single one of them had been told the story by their clan elders and familys —how a nine-year-old boy had faced down the Xia Dynasty’s mightiest cultivators and won.
How he had protected four women he didn’t even know.
How he had changed the course of the dynasty with a single commend.
And now he was here.
In front of them.
Looking at them with those impossible eyes that no woman can resist.
The Maiden Calamity Body pulsed again.
And from that moment two hundred women fell hopelessly, completely, and forever in love with man but now only a boy who will they forever be with .
— Four Years Earlier The throne room of the Xia Imperial Palace was silent as a tomb.
The old Emperor sat on the Dragon Throne, his body frail and withered despite his mere hundreds of years.
In a world where cultivators could live for hundreds of thousands of years, he was a candle guttering in the wind.
The injury he had suffered in his youth—the vicious attack that had damaged his male genetics—had also wounded his origin.
Only a Ninth-Grade Emperor Pill could have healed him, but such a pill required a Great Emperor realm alchemist.
And Great Emperor alchemists were as rare as Immortal Grade Dao Treasures.
Perhaps rarer.
His eyes, dull and tired, swept across the throne room.
He had heard the reports.
His daughter was being hunted.
His sons were the hunters.
And he…
he did not care.
‘She killed her mother,’ he thought, as he had thought for thirty-nine years.
‘The labor was too difficult.
Her Supreme Bones took too much energy.
If she had been born normal, her mother would still be alive.’ He knew, in some buried part of himself, that this was not true.
That the Empress Consort’s death had been a tragedy of fate, not a fault of the infant who had survived it.
But admitting that would mean admitting that he had neglected his daughter for thirty-nine years for no reason.
And he was too old, too tired, too weak to face that truth.
So he sat on his throne and waited for news of her death.
The court officials—ministers and generals, all of them male—milled about in tense clusters.
They had heard the rumors too.
The Crown Princess was being hunted by the Shadow Guards.
The Crown Prince and Third Prince had made their move.
Some of the officials had already chosen sides.
Most were simply waiting to see who emerged victorious so they could swear fealty accordingly.
The doors slammed open.
The First Ancestor, Xia Ruyan, strode into the throne room.
Her crimson hair billowed behind her like a battle banner.
Her amber eyes—usually so warm and gentle—were blazing with cold fury.
Behind her came the Second Ancestor, Xia Lengyue, her silver-white bob immaculate, her grey eyes freezing everything they touched.
Behind them came Xia Qingwu, her white hair still matted with blood, her robes torn, her face pale but her eyes blazing with defiance.
Xia Ziyan flanked her on one side.
Li Xueyan flanked her on the other.
Xia Yurou brought up the rear.
And at Xia Qingwu’s side, holding her hand, was a nine-year-old boy with eyes that held the beginning and end of time.
The officials stared.
Who was this child?
Why was he holding the Crown Princess’s hand?
Why did his face make them feel so…
so inferior?
Behind the boy, forty maids filed into the throne room.
Supreme Realm cultivators.
All of them.
All female.
All breathtaking.
The officials’ confusion deepened into wariness.
Then the Crown Prince and the Third Prince were dragged in by invisible forces, their golden robes stained with dirt and blood and piss.
The Fourth and Fifth Ancestors stumbled after them, their faces ashen, their cultivation foundations shattered.
Xia Ruyan’s voice rang out like a bell of judgment.
“Xia Qingwu will be the next Empress.” Gasps echoed through the throne room.
“The Crown Prince and Third Prince,” Xia Lengyue continued, her voice cold as winter ice, “will be executed for attempted kinslaughter and conspiracy to harvest Supreme Bones.” The Third Prince began to scream.
“FATHER!
FATHER, SAVE ME!
THEY’RE GOING TO KILL ME!
FATHER!” The Crown Prince said nothing.
His face was ugly, twisted with the knowledge that he had lost.
The Emperor stirred on his throne.
His dull eyes looked at his sons—his precious, favored sons—and something flickered in their depths.
“Ancestors,” he said, his voice rasping like dry parchment, “please.
Forgive my sons.
They are young.
They made mistakes.
They will be the future pillars of the dynasty.
One of them will be the future Emperor.” Xia Qingwu’s hand clenched around Tian’s.
Her teeth bit into her lip.
Blood dripped down her chin.
‘He knows what they tried to do to me.
And he doesn’t care.’ Tian squeezed her hand.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered.
“I’m here with you.” Xia Ziyan took her other hand.
Li Xueyan placed a hand on her shoulder.
Xia Yurou pressed against her back.
The Crown Princess felt the warmth of their touch and, for the first time in thirty-nine years, smiled through her tears.
The officials, seeing the Emperor’s stance, began to murmur in agreement.
“The Emperor is right—” “The princes are young—” “They can be rehabilitated—” “Surely execution is too harsh—” One minister, bolder than the rest, stepped forward.
He was the Minister of Personnel, a corpulent man with small, calculating eyes.
“First Ancestor, Second Ancestor,” he said, bowing deeply, “why not simply take the Supreme Bones from the Crown Princess and transplant them into the bodies of the Crown Prince and Third Prince?
This way, the dynasty gains two Heavenly Emperor level prodigies, and the princes are punished by being forced to carry their sister’s legacy.
A poetic solution.” The ministers who were the friends of him and the rest of ministers and generals were thinking think basterd is so shameless.
Silence.
Then other ministers and generals began to nod.
“Yes, yes—” “A wise solution—” “The Crown Princess can live as a mortal—” “It’s for the good of the dynasty—” The Crown Prince’s head snapped up.
Hope flared in his eyes.
The Third Prince stopped screaming.
Even the Emperor nodded slowly.
“A reasonable compromise.” Xia Ruyan’s amber eyes went cold.
Xia Lengyue’s grey eyes went colder.
The temperature in the throne room dropped by twenty degrees.
Before either ancestor could speak, a small sound cut through the murmurs.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Tian was applauding.
“Bravo,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Truly, bravo.
I have never seen such shamelessness gathered in one room.
Even demonic dao cultivators—the kind who refine human souls into pills—would not sink to this level.” The officials turned to stare at him.
The Minister of Personnel’s face reddened.
“You—who are you, boy, to speak in this court—” “Someone with more integrity in his smallest finger than all of you combined have in your entire corrupt bodies.” Tian turned to Xia Ruyan and Xia Lengyue.
“Ancestors.
May I do something?” The two ancient women exchanged glances.
Then Xia Ruyan bowed—actually bowed—to the nine-year-old child.
“Young Master Qin, you may do whatever you wish.
The Xia Dynasty is at your disposal.” The officials’ faces went pale.
The First Ancestor—a woman who had lived for six million years—had just bowed to a child.
Who WAS this boy?!
Tian stepped forward.
From his spatial ring, he withdrew a mirror.
It was a simple thing—liquid silver, nine feet tall, framed in petrified moonbeams.
But the moment it appeared, every cultivator in the room felt their soul tremble.
This was no ordinary artifact.
The Mirror of Truth.
The Primordial Chaos Dao Treasure of the Heavenly Moon Pavilion.
On loan from his mother Su Meiyao for exactly this kind of situation.
Tian turned to the Minister of Personnel.
“Minister.
Are you an honest official?” The minister swallowed.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
He could feel something wrong—something deeply, fundamentally wrong—but he couldn’t back down now.
“Young Master, I am an honest minister.
I have never taken a bribe or done anything wrong in my entire career.” “Wrong,” the mirror said.
Its voice was not loud.
It was not dramatic.
It was simply…
true.
The single word echoed through the throne room like a death knell.
Then the mirror began to speak.
“Minister of Personnel Wei.
Accepted bribes totaling four million spirit stones over the past century.
Falsified personnel records to install loyalists in key positions.
Conspired with the Crown Prince to embezzle military funds.
Promised immunity from prosecution in exchange for support of the Crown Prince’s ascension.
Has three secret mansions in the capital housing seventeen mistresses, all of whom are unaware of each other’s existence.” The Minister of Personnel’s legs gave out.
He collapsed to the marble floor, his face the color of curdled milk.
“I—that’s—you can’t—” “The mirror does not lie,” Xia Lengyue said, her voice colder than the void between stars.
“Does it, Minister Wei?” Tian turned to the rest of the officials.
“Would anyone else like to volunteer their innocence?” No one spoke.
“Mirror,” Tian said, “list the crimes of every official in this room.
Generals included.” The mirror began to speak.
It listed bribes.
Embezzlement.
Conspiracies.
Betrayals.
Promises made and broken.
Loyalties bought and sold.
The generals had skimmed military funds.
The ministers had sold positions to the highest bidder.
The royal advisors had poisoned rivals.
The list went on and on and on.
The officials’ faces went from pale to green to grey.
They couldn’t flee.
They couldn’t fight.
The First and Second Ancestors’ auras pressed down on them like mountains, and the mirror’s voice was absolute judgment without appeal.
When it finished, the throne room was silent.
Xia Ruyan’s amber eyes were blazing.
Xia Lengyue’s grey eyes were arctic ice.
The two female ancestors—who normally spent their time in secluded cultivation, rarely involving themselves in court politics—had just discovered exactly how corrupt their dynasty had become.
“Guards,” Xia Lengyue said, her voice soft and utterly terrifying, “surround them.” The Royal Guards—Quasi-Great Emperors and peak Supreme Realm cultivators—moved instantly.
They had been loyal to the Crown Princess from the beginning.
Their armor gleamed as they formed a circle around the assembled officials.
“Take them to the Heavenly Prison,” Xia Ruyan ordered.
“Seal their cultivation.
No one leaves.
No one speaks.
Their families will be investigated.
Their assets seized.
Their crimes judged.” The guards moved.
Cultivation seals were slapped onto the officials’ dantians.
The once-proud ministers and generals were dragged from the throne room like cattle, their faces blank with shock.
They didn’t dare resist.
Resistance meant death.
And even death might be preferable to what the ancestors would do to them.
The Emperor watched it all from his throne.
His dull eyes were fixed on Tian.
Hatred burned in their depths—irrational, desperate hatred.
This boy had ruined everything.
His sons would die.
His officials were being purged.
His dynasty was being torn apart and rebuilt in his daughter’s image.
Tian met the Emperor’s gaze.
His own eyes were cold.
‘It would be better if this old scoundrel died,’ he thought.
The Emperor’s breath caught.
His eyes went wide.
Then red.
Blood vessels burst in his sclera, turning the whites to crimson.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
His hands clawed at his chest.
A heart demon.
The injustice of his thoughts, the hatred in his heart, the years of neglect and cruelty and self-deception—it all crashed down on him at once.
The Dao itself judged him and found him wanting.
He coughed.
Blood sprayed from his mouth—black, corrupted blood that splattered across the golden steps of the Dragon Throne.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
And the Emperor of the Great Xia Dynasty died on his throne, alone and unloved.
The Fourth and Fifth Ancestors, kneeling in the corner with their shattered cultivation, stared at the corpse of their descendant.
Then they sighed.
They knew they were doomed.
The Crown Prince’s face was blank with despair.
The Third Prince had fainted, a dark stain spreading across his already-soiled robes.
Xia Ruyan looked at the Emperor’s body with an expression that was not quite sorrow and not quite satisfaction.
“Take the body away,” she said quietly.
“Prepare the funeral rites.
The dynasty has a new ruler now.” She turned to Xia Qingwu.
“Empress.” Xia Qingwu stared at her father’s corpse.
She had expected to feel something.
Grief, maybe.
Anger.
Relief.
But all she felt was…
empty.
Then Tian squeezed her hand again.
“You’re not alone,” he said.
“You’ll never be alone again.” The emptiness filled with warmth.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Qin Tian smiled.
“That’s what I’m here for.” — if you like this give it a 5 star review.