A streak of azure light shot into the Hall of Good Deeds on Dragon Tiger Mountain, landing before Elder Yun, who was holding a headstand. The light resolved into a cyan bead, upon which the character "Jia" () was distinctly visible. Elder Yun flicked his finger, and the bead automatically flew into an open jade tablet resting on the desk, transforming back into a line of script. "That little bastard actually managed to kill Wuduya so quickly... He's got some skills!" Elder Yun chuckled heartily and sprang up.

Xi'an, the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda. A handsome monk dressed in white regarded the sealed pagoda doors with a grim expression, letting out a soft sigh. "Junior Brother, the Dragon Qi is lost now; the larger situation remains unchanged. Your efforts using the eighty-one thousand volumes of the Tripitaka to suppress the grievances of the netherworld are utterly in vain. Twenty years of effort, wasted like drawing water with a broken basket..." "A broken basket doesn't necessarily mean the water is empty." A faint reply drifted from within the pagoda doors—the weak voice of an old man, yet his words were still brimming with optimistic hope.

"The Dragon Qi is lost. Your scheme spanning a century to trap that dragon in the Southern Barbarian lands has ultimately failed. Now that the times are perilous, how do you intend to respond?" A Confucian scholar in a crimson robe stood in the center of the hall, vehemently questioning several elders seated around him. A silence followed, broken only by the sudden opening of eyes by an elderly man seated facing a portrait of Confucius, his eyes closed in meditation. His gaze shot out, radiating brilliant light. "Mencius said: 'When the path of righteousness is clear, I shall advance, even against ten thousand men!'" A chorus of approval rose from below!

"Master, for the next hundred years, must I again chant the Huangting Jing in this cave and not descend the mountain?" In a serene, ethereal mountain realm, a young Daoist acolyte asked his Master, who stood amidst swirling mists, gazing out upon the world. "Alas..." The old Daoist sighed deeply, gently stroking the two long swords strapped to his back. "To seek non-action, yet be unable to attain it." "Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat all things as straw dogs. Sages are not benevolent; they treat the common people as straw dogs." "What then can be done?"

"Hahaha!" On a secluded mountain path, a black-robed figure with an icy countenance suddenly burst into laughter. He turned back and called loudly to his groggy apprentice: "Apprentice! Wake up!" "Our era has arrived! The Dragon Qi has now manifested in the South. Hurry and follow this dragon. In time, you shall govern the world with your learning, establishing our sect's methods as the universal law—then the world shall know great order!"

Some turned their gaze toward the South, clicking their tongues in wonder, beginning to weave new legends and poems. Others scrutinized the interplay of Yin and Yang, their brows furrowed in ceaseless thought, unable to decipher the hexagram that suggested a hen ruling over the rooster. Still others paid no heed, spending their days in banquets and nocturnal revelries; in contrast, some tirelessly tilled the fields, sweating with hard labor. Some worried that great chaos was imminent, leading to widespread suffering; while others secretly rejoiced, thinking the age of turmoil was ripe for heroes to emerge. Upon a high platform by the shore of the Bohai Sea, an old man, half-drunk, was lecturing his students. "...The so-called Flood Dragon is not a true dragon, and a true dragon is also not a dragon; therefore, a dragon is not a dragon, and not a dragon is also not a dragon..." "Have you understood what I said?" The assembled disciples exchanged bewildered glances, admitting their confusion. The old man roared with laughter, tipping back onto the bluestone slabs, happily wiggling his toes. "It's right that you don't understand..." A sly smile crossed his face. "Because... your old master doesn't understand either..."

Feng Zikang was utterly unaware that killing a single Wuduya had stirred such widespread upheaval across the realm. After fighting fiercely for half a day, he was exhausted in body and spirit. He stripped Wuduya’s corpse of valuables, intent only on finding a place to rest. Among the disordered troops, Tang soldiers were cutting and slashing everywhere, their eyes bloodshot from the slaughter. The barbarians wailed and fled; with Wuduya dead, they had lost their core, and their elite soldiers and fierce warriors had become little more than sheep awaiting the butcher’s knife. Just as the Tang army reveled in the slaughter, cannon fire erupted simultaneously from the east, west, and south. "Report! The Yigu, Lanwu, and Baishan tribes, totaling six thousand troops, are attacking from the East!" "Four thousand barbarian soldiers are advancing from the West!" "The chieftain of Black Mountain Tribe, Xiaomu An, leads five thousand troops to attack us from the South!" Wu Ji remained unperturbed, even showing a trace of disdain. With Wuduya gone, what difference could these common barbarians make, even with their minor sorceries? He calmly issued orders, sending Luo Kedi and two others to each lead five thousand troops to pacify the three fronts, while he remained securely in place to reap the victory. As expected, the three generals performed flawlessly, easily repelling the hastily assembled mob of barbarians. Without powerful demonic arts, they were mere lambs to the slaughter against the well-equipped and highly disciplined Tang army. Feng Zikang frowned slightly. Although it wasn't his concern, it was clear that Moli’s efforts had failed; instead, things had devolved into utter chaos. So many barbarian tribes revolting at once—he couldn't fathom how they had managed to persuade them. Even before Moli's group arrived, the Black Mountain Tribe and a few other major tribes had been observing from the sidelines, offering only provisions to Wuduya but holding back from direct combat. Now that Wuduya was dead, they were all rising up—what logic governed this? He had no interest in these affairs. Despite being amidst the chaotic fighting, he found a quiet tent and began inventorying his spoils of war. He hadn't expected Wuduya to possess anything of value, but he was surprised to find a Moon-Slaying Demonic Sword among the loot. This weapon turned out to be a Yellow-rank, sixth-grade magical implement, bizarrely effective in that it completely ignored an opponent's defense upon striking. Feng Zikang was delighted, planning to use this sword for assassinations after achieving Foundation Establishment; it was truly a sharp instrument. He recalled two banners he hadn't examined closely and took them out now. His iron sword was cumbersome, so he casually placed it next to the Moon-Slaying Demonic Sword. Just as he was about to refine the two banners with True Fire, he suddenly heard a rustling sound. Turning back, he watched in astonishment as his own nameless iron sword coiled tightly around the Moon-Slaying Demonic Sword like a snake! Feng Zikang stared, dumbfounded. His iron sword was incredibly hard, incapable of even slight bending; he had never seen it display such pliancy. This... this posture resembled... Feng Zikang shook his head, casting away the indecent thought. Swords, after all, were inanimate objects, devoid of gender; how could they engage in anything illicit? Intrigued, he didn't rush to separate the two swords, curious to see what his moving iron sword intended to do. Then, with a sharp clang, the iron sword rang out joyfully! "Not good!" Feng Zikang’s heart lurched. The iron sword, tightly entwined with the Moon-Slaying Demonic Sword, gave a sharp tug, and the demonic sword's surface immediately dimmed, turning into dull, ordinary iron! The iron sword circled twice in the air, seemingly quite pleased, before slowly descending onto the tabletop and extinguishing its light. It was still a broken sword, covered in cracks resembling a spiderweb. However, those cracks seemed to be slightly fewer than before.