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That Altar of Heaven Worship was situated just to the right of the Hall of Governance. Beyond the sheer, thousand-foot cliff face, a colossal stone jutted out forty zhang into the open air.

And this Altar of Heaven Worship was built precisely upon that massive stone—the true apex of Qian Tian Peak, the very spot where one could claim to touch the heavens.

Zong Shou let out a cold laugh, already preparing to order men onto the stone platform to search. But as his mouth opened, he halted.

If he didn't come in person, using himself as bait, how could he possibly lure these people into taking such a risk? The legendary Illusionary Heart Mirror was profoundly mystical; sending men to search would, more likely than not, merely alert the enemy and scare them off.

Though he didn't fear Zong Shi, the man was still a potential complication, no matter how minor. To cut the weeds and dig out the roots now would save countless future troubles.

With a slight smile, he waited until the dozens of officiating priests had completed their routine inspection and cleansing of the platform, ridding it of any lurking specters or demons. Then, holding the sacrificial text he had already prepared, under the gaze of all assembled, he stepped forward, accompanying the eldest priest—a man of about sixty, vested in the most distinguished attire—onto the platform.

This priest, rumor had it, was an old retainer of Zong Weiran, named Zong Ling. He hailed from a collateral branch of the Zong family and had been responsible for overseeing all memorial rites within the city since the founding of Qian Tian Mountain. He held immense prestige; no matter the person, if Zong Ling was displeased, he would speak his mind and curse them openly, regardless of the setting or status.

Thus, Zong Shou dared not show the slightest disrespect, following closely in the old priest's wake.

Behind them, Zong Lanhun and the others from the Central Plains followed tightly. However, upon reaching the final nine steps, they stopped.

Zong Yuan hesitated slightly, a look of worry clouding his features. After a moment of deep contemplation, his expression turned solemn. Utterly unconcerned by the murderous glares rising from below, he boldly stepped forward, ascending the Altar of Heaven Worship alongside the old priest and Zong Shou.

The twenty zhang vanished in a blink. Zong Shou took his position in the center of the stone platform, where an incense table had already been set up.

First, he lit the incense, bowed three times deeply, and then began to read the text. Zong Shou opened the scroll and immediately curled his lip, the corner of his eye twitching almost imperceptibly.

Who knew who had written this? It spanned nearly twenty thousand characters. While the prose was undeniably magnificent, the parallel couplets and four-character phrases were impeccably neat. But reading this entire thing aloud would take an eternity.

To the astonishment of the crowd, he simply tossed the scroll aside. Then, he bowed deeply toward the heavens and proclaimed: "Heavens above! I, Zong Shou, Heir of Qian Tian Mountain, assume the position of City Lord of Qian Tian today. I implore the heavens to watch over and protect our Qian Tian! Though I am inadequate, I swear to bring peace and prosperity to all our cities, ensuring my people have a place to dwell, and that they may drink deeply and eat heartily every day..."

The crowd below had initially shown signs of discontent, but upon hearing these lines, every brow lifted, and a collective shout of approval rose up.

They, the Demon Race, did not adhere to numerous rigid rules and certainly had no patience for the tedious essays written by scholars.

Instead, Zong Shou’s direct prayer, though perhaps simple and crude, resonated much more with their tastes.

Only the officiating priest looked as if his eyeballs were about to burst from sheer rage, glaring fiercely at Zong Shou.

Fortunately, he understood that the timing was inappropriate to interrupt. He remained silent, his fury directed solely through his wrathful gaze.

Zong Shou ignored him completely, his expression grave and solemn as he spoke words that, while slightly vulgar, were profoundly sincere.

All things possess spirit; though this Heaven and Earth may lack a 'God,' reverence is still mandatory.

"I wish to see all races thrive, and my mountain city flourish. May the heavens bless us with timely rains and abundant harvests, so that all my subjects may bear descendants, birthing many robust sons!"

Another roar of approval echoed from below. Timely rains and bountiful harvests were one thing, but most of them lived by hunting spirit beasts, not farming. However, the continuation of their bloodlines was a shared desire for everyone. The Demon Race possessed formidable strength; even their infants could master impressive martial arts. But their fertility rates were far lower than the Human Race’s. Years of warfare had resulted in considerable losses. This truly was the hidden anxiety of everyone on Qian Tian Mountain.

The great priest’s white beard and hair seemed almost ready to stand on end. So vulgar! Terribly vulgar! How could such words reach the ears of the Heavens?

Yet, he too closed his eyes and, with deep sincerity, offered his own silent prayer in his heart.

After the sacrificial text came the offering of wine. Just as Zong Shou raised his cup, a clear, chilling laugh cut through the air, distinct and audible: "What a pity. Your words for the Heaven Worship were indeed well-spoken, much to the taste of my Zong Shi faction. Too bad that today, the Heavens will not be able to protect you!"

Zong Shou’s brow twitched instinctively. Finally, they’re here, he thought, having feared these people might have given up entirely. The old priest, being a Spirit Master of the Huan Yang Realm, also heard the voice clearly atop the platform.

His eyes instantly flared with anger as he scanned the surroundings: "Who dares to play tricks before me, Zong Ling? Who dares to disrupt the Heaven Worship ceremony of Qian Tian Mountain City? You possess great audacity!"

At the tip of a finger appeared a fiery red talisman, shot toward the source of the voice. Immediately, torrents of red flame erupted, spreading several zhang in every direction.

But before the flames could fully detonate, a finger—as white and smooth as jade—pierced through the void, touching the center of the fire. An overwhelming, icy cold power extinguished the flames and then spread outward. The immediate vicinity, nearly dozens of feet around, was instantly coated in a layer of frost.

The ground beneath the white finger froze solid.

As ice mist swirled, two figures materialized from the rear. One was Zong Shi; the other was the owner of the finger.

He possessed a face as exquisitely crafted as carved jade, appearing no older than twenty, his handsomeness bordering on the uncanny. In his hand, he held a gleaming ancient bronze mirror, radiating the power to enthrall the mind.

Upon manifesting, he smiled toward Zong Shou: "Xue Moyan of the Eight-Tailed Snow Clan, greetings to the Heir!" His expression was gentle, his smile dazzlingly bright.

When the voice first sounded, those below had already sensed that something was amiss.

Now, seeing both Zong Shi and Zong Moyan manifest, a wave of shouts erupted. Hu Qianqiu and the others changed countenance instantly, roaring as they charged toward the platform.

Zong Lan was closest, crossing the nine steps in a single stride. But before he could reach the Altar of Heaven Worship, a booming laugh stopped him: "Go back! It won't be that easy to climb up here!"

A massive eighteen-foot halberd suddenly chopped down from above. Zong Lan’s face shifted, and his Mo Dao flared with steel light, slashing outward without regard for his own defense.

He cared only about reaching Zong Shou as quickly as possible; even if it meant mutual destruction, he felt no fear!

The owner of the voice let out a low 'Hmph,' his halberd shadows shifting violently as they met the Mo Dao head-on.

Zong Lan felt a crushing pressure in his chest, as if he were about to vomit, an irresistible force sweeping over him, causing him to fly backward off the platform uncontrollably.

Looking up, he saw Li Hu Jichang, watching him with a smug smile. Li Hu Jichang himself was recoiling slightly from the counter-force, yet a look of satisfaction played across his face.

Meanwhile, Hu Zhongyuan and Li Luo on the flanks were also blocked by two Xuan Wu Grandmasters stationed on the platform, preventing them from ascending.

When Hu Qianqiu finally arrived, he saw another figure rising five zhang above the altar.

Dozens of flying swords, each the size of a willow leaf, suddenly scattered across the platform, swirling and cutting like a tempest—forty-eight in total.

"Wu Ye? Daoist name Zong, the Flying Leaf Sword Formation—you are a direct disciple of the Daoist Zong Sect!"

Hu Qianqiu looked up sharply, staring at the figure in the air. He saw a Daoist in a green robe looking down with a faint smile, nodding slightly, seemingly acknowledging his identity.

Hu Qianqiu exploded in fury. His Tiger Overlord Blade slashed out, sending a wave of gang energy outward, sweeping away the few flying swords before him. As he prepared to press inward, another Xuan Wu Grandmaster, wielding a ten-foot-long spear, thrust toward him from within the formation.

The spear thrust was fierce, like a crazed tiger. Hu Qianqiu sneered, ready to cleave the man in two with one strike.

But several streaks of sword light attacked him from the side. Hu Qianqiu was forced to parry the spear thrust, but he had no choice but to retreat several steps backward, unable to close the distance.

Everyone nearby faced the same predicament: either driven back or temporarily entangled by the sword formation.

The Forty-Eight Flying Leaf Swords, coordinated with Li Hu Jichang and the other Xuan Wu Grandmasters, formed an unbreakable dam, holding the gathered powerhouses of Qian Tian Mountain at bay.

At this moment, atop the high platform, Zong Ling's face was ashen. He had deployed several layers of protective barriers around himself but dared not move an inch.

Behind him, two Huan Yang Spirit Masters enveloped the area with an incredibly deep, sinister aura.

Zong Yuan’s spear thrust pointed directly ahead, faint thunder gathering around him, subtly shielding Zong Shou and Zong Ling behind him.

Despite the formidable enemies surrounding them, Zong Yuan’s expression remained unchanged, as did Zong Shou’s. He peered intently at Xue Moyan’s bronze mirror: "Is this your Xue Clan's Illusionary Heart Mirror? Truly marvelous. I heard this item is but a fragment of a true Dharma Treasure?"

Xue Moyan was clearly slightly taken aback by the greedy intensity in Zong Shou’s gaze. He quickly retracted the mirror: "It is this very mirror! I did not expect the Heir to recognize such an item—" Internally, he was puzzled. Zong Shou’s composure was far too steady, which was quite strange.

Zong Ling experienced a moment of sudden realization—it was that treasure. No wonder his earlier attempt to clear the altar with spiritual arts yielded no detection.

He then marveled inwardly that his clan’s heir remained so calm even at this juncture. Such mental fortitude alone was comparable to Zong Weiran’s.

Zong Shi paid no mind to these observations, stepping forward several paces to stare coldly at Zong Shou: "Having received the homage and sealed the pact with blood sacrifice, are you feeling quite pleased, Heir? Do you think my Zong Shi faction has already lost?"

Zong Shou’s expression settled into a half-smile as he shifted his gaze toward Zong Shi. Little Gold, resting on his arm, had already quietly slipped into the scabbard of the Nine Qilin Sword under the cover of his wide sleeve, merging with the blade.

Yuan Yi Sword, infused with a touch of Imperial Qi, was likewise channeled into the Nine Qilin Sword.

His peripheral vision swept the surroundings.

Including the dual cultivators Wu Ye and Xue Moyan, there were a full five Huan Yang Spirit Masters and seven Xuan Wu Grandmasters!

This lineup, in any other location, would be more than enough to end his life.

However, this place—this Qian Tian Mountain—was Zong Shou’s home turf. Could the merged essence of a kingdom truly be insulted so lightly? (To be continued)