Inside a palace built of massive stones, two cultists in purple robes sat at a table during a break. They uncorked a jug of wine, chatting and laughing over drinks.
Most secret residences of the Pantheon Cult’s hall masters lay hidden deep in mountain forests—carved caves or stone-built dwellings. These secluded spots were perfect for the cult’s covert growth.
Noon sun hung high. The gatekeeper cultist dozed off, yawning repeatedly.
Suddenly, a dark shadow streaked across the sky. Still sipping wine, he glanced up, squinted—and the shadow swelled violently before his eyes, crashing down.
*Thud.*
A headless stone lion slammed into the earth, cratering the ground before shattering into fragments.
Only then did a shrill alarm whistle pierce the air.
This stone lion guarded the outer gate—a construct of at least Sixth Tier strength. Yet in a blink, before the alarm could even sound, it was blasted skyward and smashed to dust.
Cultists scrambled into chaos, bracing for intruders. Then two more figures shot forward, slamming straight into the iron gate of the cave dwelling—ripping it open on impact.
Several silhouettes approached slowly. As distance closed, their forms sharpened. They showed no overt hostility—yet had already effortlessly defeated the stone lion and every cultist who tried to intercept them.
Proof enough: to them, these guardians weren’t even worthy of the word *opponent*.
Three figures stood revealed. Flanking the center were two fox-eared maids. One cradled a crimson longsword still sealed, talismans clinging to scabbard and hilt. The other gripped a meteor hammer, blood dripping steadily from chain and iron ball.
At the center: a woman draped in an exquisitely embroidered crimson gown. Two fox ears perked atop her head; nine fluffy tails swayed slightly with each graceful step. Barefoot, the tiny bells on her anklets chimed softly with every light tap against stone.
Demon Emperor Su Zhaoyu…
Why would such a supreme being target this place? The cultists’ faces drained of color.
Su Zhaoyu’s aura had transformed. With each step, frigid winds howled. Ice bloomed beneath her feet before they even touched ground. Yet her bare soles remained immaculate—white as fresh lotus roots, without a speck of dust.
She had broken through to the Tenth Tier. No longer equal to faction leaders—she now stood alone at the world’s apex.
Logically, the Pantheon Cult was just a minor sect on the surface. Why would the Demon Emperor personally intervene?
In truth, “small sect” was all many cultists knew of their own order. Branch membership was strictly confidential—even insiders couldn’t grasp its true scale.
But Su Zhaoyu now knew.
Guided by the clinic owner’s warning, she mobilized every resource to uncover the cult’s foundations. The scale was staggering. To hide their numbers, the Pantheon Cult scattered followers under numerous hall masters—each lying dormant, awaiting the signal to rise as one.
Only the clinic owner’s insight let Su Zhaoyu see the threat. She set aside her feud with Situ Qingxue. Eliminate the uncertainty first; settle personal scores later.
Situ Qingxue took it seriously too. The Pantheon Cult was no benevolent force. With downtime and no urgent duties, she treated this as both duty and diversion. Though acting on personal authority, her raids had already dismantled countless dens.
A historic step: the first human–demon race cooperation in a millennium. The first move toward the alliance the clinic owner proposed between the demon race and the Eastern Empire.
“You… how did you find this place?” The branch hall master stared at Su Zhaoyu’s unhurried approach, face deathly pale.
He was strong—by ordinary cultivator standards. Against Su Zhaoyu? No chance at all.
She gave no reply. Walked straight toward the stone mansion. Raised one slender, fair finger.
He turned to flee—
A violent icy gale swept through. Even the sun seemed frozen. A snow-white frost coated everything. All movement ceased.
*One finger. The world froze.*
Purple-robed figures stood locked mid-motion in ice. Then the ice shattered. Every member of the branch hall crumbled to dust. None survived.
…
…
Lu Feng stood at the sink as usual that morning, brushing his teeth slowly. Facing the mirror, he paused. Something felt… different.
Golden strands now threaded through the cowlick atop his head.
“Awakening some ancient bloodline? Turning into a Super Saiyan?” He tugged the strands, puzzled.
Maybe yesterday’s peach was some special fruit? He clenched a fist—strength unchanged. No difference at all.
Probably just mixed heritage. He shrugged it off.
Beside him, Yuzi stood on a chair, tiny toothbrush dangling from her mouth, blinking up at him.
“Learn to do it yourself.”
Lu Feng bent down patiently, pulled the brush free—a silvery drool thread trailing behind.
Yuzi pouted, clinging to him, stretching for the brush but falling short.
“Remember toothpaste.”
He squeezed children’s paste onto the bristles and offered it back.
“Open up.”
“Nope.” She shook her ears and tiny head.
She hated toothpaste. He stayed firm.
“Open—up.”
“No—meow!”
He gently pinched her cheeks. She bristled, spat drool on his fingers, then snapped—trapping his finger between her teeth.
“Let go.”
The bite wasn’t hard, but pulling free was tricky. She shook her head stubbornly: *No release, no brushing.*
Lu Feng pursed his lips and yanked free—leaving faint tooth marks. In that split-second gap, he shoved the brush back in, held her jaw steady, and scrubbed quickly. Morning routine: complete.
Yuzi looked anxious. Head bowed, she fetched the first-aid kit and clumsily bandaged his finger.
Lu Feng just ruffled her head. No blame.
He stepped outside, stretched lazily, scanned the street—then froze.
Eyes locked on the far end.
“No way… a new clinic?!”
