Chapter Thirty-Four: Return!

Everyone exchanged glances, none daring to provoke Liu Yan’s temper. In the imperial capital, Liu Yan was infamous as a she-devil; though her beauty was unmatched in the realm, her temperament was equally formidable.

“Come, let me introduce you all—this is my fiancée, Tianling!” Seeing the rising temperature around them, with the others relying on their cultivation to shield themselves while Zhou Tian could only endure it, sweat already beading on his forehead, he hurriedly changed the subject.

“Greetings, everyone,” Tianling said with a polite bow.

The others returned the gesture. They had all heard some rumors about the Haotian Sect, but no one was foolish enough to bring up such matters now.

“Zhou Tian, you are truly fortunate to have a beauty like Tianling as your wife!” Liu Yan stepped forward, grasping Tianling’s hand warmly. As the Prime Minister’s daughter and a close friend of King Qin, Liu Yan was one of Zhou Tian’s better acquaintances.

Like a bold and protective elder sister, Liu Yan fussed over Tianling, who seemed as helpless as a lamb, glancing at Zhou Tian with a look of reassurance. Zhou Tian decided to let Liu Yan take over—Tianling’s timid nature could use some of Liu Yan’s guidance.

While the two young women whispered together, Zhou Tian chatted absently with Zhou Xunchuan and the others, using the conversation to quietly size up those he didn’t know. Besides himself and Tianling, there were eight people present whose identities he soon clarified: Zhou Xunchuan, Liu Yan, Gu Feng, Li Xuanyi, and then—

Zhang Yi, disciple of the Grand Preceptor, scholarly in demeanor, with eyes like bright moons and starlit pupils, gentle in nature, and the dream of countless young women in the capital.

Zhao Yuan, son of the Marquess of the Wilds, who had inherited his father’s powerful build—broad-shouldered and robust, even at a young age resembling a primordial beast.

Wu Ling, son of the Marquess of Heavenly Lions, with golden hair cascading over his shoulders and dazzling eyes. Rumor had it that his bloodline carried that of an ancient celestial lion, granting him terrifying innate abilities. How their family had acquired such a lineage remained a mystery.

Sun Chou, son of the Duke of Wei, whose appearance was plain and unremarkable, his presence as ordinary as Zhou Tian’s. Yet, rumors abounded about his extraordinary cunning and talent for strategy—said to be capable of feats that could shape the world.

Including Zhou Zui and Zhou Tian, these were all the most prominent youths of the capital’s younger generation. Except for Zhou Tian, a rare “waste” in ten thousand years, the rest were all outstanding prodigies. There were no so-called wastrel sons among them; even Zhou Zui, known for frequenting pleasure houses, was suspected of following some special cultivation method—how else to explain cultivation progress matching his peers?

With such ancient family legacies, how could they fail to raise capable successors? Character was not innate but shaped by subtle influence and nurture. Wastrels? Bullies? Nonsense!

Boredom settled in as idle conversation drifted on. Liu Yan and Tianling seemed to have become fast friends, whispering animatedly away from the group.

Time slipped by until, suddenly, Gu Feng, standing quietly to one side, remarked, “Looks like Zhou Zui is about to have his legs broken by His Highness Prince Xiaoyao.”

Everyone turned to follow Gu Feng’s gaze. In the line led by Emperor Qin, the Grand Preceptor stepped forward, dressed in white robes, holding a golden talisman disk encircled by flowing runes.

The Grand Preceptor himself was a fascinating figure. Zhou Tian’s father, Zhou Yi, had often spoken of him, so Zhou Tian’s memory of him was vivid. The Tianqin Empire hadn’t originally had a Grand Preceptor. During the era when Emperor Qin and Zhou Yi, among others, undertook their trials across the Eight Provinces, they’d encountered the most prized disciple of the Fool’s Gate Master. Somehow—though he had been famed for his cunning—he’d been tricked by Emperor Qin and Zhou Yi into coming to the capital and was given the post of Grand Preceptor.

It was said that the Fool’s Gate Master had been furious, but what was done was done. Once the Tianqin Empire had a Grand Preceptor, there was no leaving. And so it remained.

Judging by the Grand Preceptor’s actions now, the welcoming ceremony was about to begin. Prince Xiaoyao’s face was dark as thunder—Zhou Zui was in for a rough time. Although the ceremony was of no real consequence, everyone else had come; for Zhou Zui to be missing was hardly excusable.

Silently, Zhou Tian offered a prayer for Zhou Zui. Though the supernatural event was caused by his own power, he could hardly control its consequences.

More and more runic tassels unfurled from the golden talisman disk, until a beam of golden light soared into the sky, piercing the clouds.

The light exploded, and high above, an immense golden formation unfurled, slowly rotating.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Deafening drums resounded. Zhou Tian felt blood rush to his face—he was merely a mortal, and the force of the drums sent his blood surging backward.

“Faster… please, a little faster… I’m about to die!” Though he was suffering, Zhou Tian kept silently urging the drums to hurry, his persistence almost perverse.

Just then, a broad hand settled on his shoulder, and a wave of energy swiftly suppressed the turmoil in his veins.

Zhou Tian turned to force a wan smile, but Zhou Xunchuan merely waved it off as if to say thanks were unnecessary.

Thank you, my foot!

The drums thundered on, the golden formation spinning ever faster, until everyone in the imperial capital paused, gazing skyward.

A bestial roar, source unknown, resounded from the great array above.

With that roar, a monstrous creature emerged—a thousand feet long, covered in violet scales, a single horn upon its head, resembling a dragon yet not, pulling behind it a war chariot.

The chariot gleamed as if forged from the stars, its body crimson and edged with cold metallic light, marred by scars from countless battles—proof of its dominance in bygone wars.

It radiated a murderous aura, as if rivers of blood flowed about it, corpses piled like mountains, and vengeful souls reached skyward, wailing—a testament to all who had perished beneath its wheels.

Atop the chariot stood a man clad in black armor, only his eyes visible, sharp as blades, his vitality surging to the heavens, like an ancient god of war descending to cleanse the world in blood.

Upon exiting the array, the beast shrank to a mere ten feet, and the armored man removed his helmet, revealing black hair cascading down and a face cold and severe—bearing a striking resemblance to Emperor Qin.

“Kneeling before the Emperor—your son, Zhou Quan, pays his respects!” The black-armored man knelt on one knee before Emperor Qin. He was none other than the crown prince of the Tianqin Empire, Zhou Quan.

“At ease,” Emperor Qin responded with a wave, a hint of gratification in his eyes, though he said little else.

Zhou Quan thanked him, rose, and stood aside, gazing up at the array—there were many more to come; he was merely the first.

A thunderous lion’s roar shook the air as a golden lion leapt from the formation, a hundred feet tall, its fur gleaming with unblemished gold, muscles knotted and fierce, as if cast from molten metal, its beastly eyes fierce and sharp, its very presence shattering the void.