Yan tapped a finger against the armrest, eyes half-shut in thought. Finally, he said, "Forty percent."
Sia's expression changed. "Five. Do not dream beyond that."
Yan's face darkened. "Child, that is no more than an insult."
"Do you think you are the only one whose hand will be in this matter?" she replied coldly. "Ten. No higher. My last word."
The old man fell silent. After a long mont, he exhaled softly, as though releasing dust that had clung for centuries. "Very well. Ten it is. But I require one more thing."
Her gaze sharpened. "Na it."
"A favor."
Sia tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Another debt? Very well. I will owe you one."
Yan shook his head, his lips curling in a thin smile. "Not from you. From the man who receives my fate aura."
Sia's eyes flickered with starlight as she considered. At last, she gave a single, slow nod.
"Agreed."
---
The chariot descended at a asured pace, the dragon and phoenix that drew it dispersing into countless motes of light as it approached the plaza. A faint murmur rippled through the assembled guests before gradually fading into solemn silence.
Monts later, three deep drumbeats echoed across the square, their sound reverberating like distant thunder. An officiant dressed in dark ceremonial robes stepped forward, his expression grave.
"The auspicious hour has arrived," he intoned. "The union of Young Master Liang and Miss Dong shall now begin."
At his signal, attendants swiftly unrolled a crimson carpet from the chariot to the grand hall. Rows of spirit lanterns hanging along the path ignited one after another, their soft glow illuminating the way with an ethereal light.
Liang extended a hand. Dong Rou, draped in a flowing bridal veil, descended gracefully to stand beside him. Without a word, the two walked the carpeted path together until they reached the ceremonial altar.
The officiant raised his hands and spoke in a clear voice.
"First bow—to Heaven and Earth."
The couple turned to the heavens and bent deeply at the waist. Overhead, the clouds shifted slightly, allowing a shaft of sunlight to pierce through and fall upon them like a silent benediction.
"Second bow—to the ancestors."
Before the ancestral tablets of the Dong Clan, they turned again and lowered their heads in solemn reverence.
"Third bow—to each other."
At last, the bride and groom faced one another. Liang's gaze lingered briefly on Dong Rou's veiled figure. His expression remained courteous and calm, yet a faint, indecipherable ripple flashed in his eyes before subsiding as swiftly as it ca. Dong Rou lowered her head slightly and returned the bow with steady composure.
"The rites are complete. Husband and wife are bound," the officiant declared, his voice carrying through the plaza.
At that mont, hearty laughter rang out from the center of the square. A tall figure strode forward—it was Dong Tianlong.
"Welco, everyone, to the Dong Clan's grand wedding."
His gaze swept over the assembled guests like a hawk surveying its domain before he approached the newlyweds with asured steps.
Seeing this, Liang's brows furrowed imperceptibly. What is this old fox intending now?
Dong Tianlong reached Liang's side and placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that was outwardly affable but carried a weight difficult to ignore.
"From this day forth, Liang, you are a mber of the Dong Clan," he said with a faint smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
Liang cupped his hands respectfully and replied with appropriate decorum. Inwardly, however, he had already guessed the old man's true intentions. This was not a simple marriage—it was a ans to bind him, and through him, to tighten the connection between the Divine Spirit Palace and the Dong Clan.
The Divine Spirit Palace's reasons for seeking this alliance remained veiled. Liang had once questioned Sun Wu about it, but the latter had only given a vague answer, saying he would understand in due ti.
It was clear that each party harbored its own motives. Liang, for his part, would have preferred to avoid entanglent in such sches. Yet he was not naïve. If he wished to break through to the Void Return Realm in the future, he would need the support of both sides.
The struggle for the Heavenly Will was not sothing that could be accomplished alone.
Since ancient tis, entry into the Heavenly Will Palace had followed a strict, ti-honored sequence.
The Heavenly Will Palace was not rely a location; it was a realm shaped by the Heavenly Law itself to temper future Domain Lords. Its trials had not changed since the Age of the Primordial Emperors, for they were inscribed by heaven, not by mortal hands.
Those who sought the Heavenly Will had to pass through five stages, each probing a different aspect of the cultivator's path. Few throughout history had managed to clear them all. Fewer still had done so without relying on alliances, betrayal, or bloodshed.
---
The first stage is known as the Convergence Trials. It is a vast, large-scale contest that serves as the foundation for all that follows.
Upon entering the Heavenly Will Battlefield, each participating faction finds itself in a living land attuned to celestial rhythms. Mountains drift across the plains like great beasts, rivers flow against gravity toward the heavens, and ancient formations buried since immorial tis stir without warning.
To advance, a faction must seize and hold one of the Ten Thrones of Ascendance before the final bell tolls. These Thrones are scattered across treacherous regions—many lie hidden within lands riddled with spatial fractures, while others are guarded by dormant arrays that awaken the mont intruders draw near.
This trial is not decided by strength alone. Strategy, prudent allocation of resources, and the ability to read and adapt to shifting terrain determine survival. Temporary alliances are struck and abandoned within hours; betrayal is a matter of course rather than sha.
When ten factions finally secure the Thrones, the battlefield undergoes a profound transformation. The victors are transported to the Heavenly Pavilions of Insight—ten floating halls suspended amidst drifting clouds, their walls covered in flowing divine runes.
There begins the Riddle of the Path. Each participant faces manifestations of obscure principles: fragnts of forgotten laws, illusions of primordial worlds, or scripture that defies ordinary comprehension. To proceed, one must either harmonize with the presented Path, counter it with their own Dao, or reach a level of understanding sufficient to withstand its pressure.
Within the Pavilions, the flow of ti becos erratic. So spend what seem like days or months in contemplation, only to erge monts later. Those who falter are expelled without rcy, their Thrones shattering in the sky. Many powerful sects that dominate the first stage find their efforts crumble here, undone not by blades but by shallow foundations.
Only factions whose key mbers pass this trial retain their qualifications to continue.
---
With their foundations tested, the surviving teams advance to the paired battles, held within the isolated Heavenly Arenas.
Each faction selects two of their finest cultivators to face the champions of another team. Within these arenas, natural laws bend and shift unpredictably. Gravity might reverse mid-strike; ti can fracture into overlapping segnts; elents behave as if they possess their own will.
Victory demands more than raw power. It requires perfect coordination, adaptability, and the ability to maintain composure under warped Heavenly Law. Many teams with formidable individual experts are eliminated here, unable to synchronize their strength.
From this stage, only five factions erge victorious, each represented by their sharpest blade.
---
Before the final contest, all mbers of the five surviving teams are cast into the Endless Night, a boundless shadowed expanse where even the concept of direction becos unreliable.
Here, they face a trial of willpower, endurance, and leadership. The path to the final arena lies hidden within this darkness, and participants must traverse it while confronting spiritual illusions, heart demons born of their own fears, and lingering remnants of fallen contenders—now transford into cursed heavenly spirits that roam the void.
This stage claims more geniuses than any other. Few fall by physical wounds; most break under the weight of their own minds. Those who erge from the Endless Night do so transford, their Dao tempered like steel through fire.
---
Finally cos the Royal Battle, the last and most decisive stage.
The five remaining factions enter the Celestial Arena, a vast battlefield suspended between realms. Above it floats the Heavenly Will—a radiant crown ford from pure law and destiny, exuding a pressure that makes even seasoned experts instinctively lower their heads.
Once this stage begins, all alliances dissolve. It becos a contest of individual destiny. The arena awakens ancient beasts, summons celestial weapons to hover above, and subjects the contenders to the scrutiny of the Heavenly Will itself.
Victory does not necessarily belong to the strongest. Only the one whose heart and Dao resonate with Heaven's will, and who can endure its gaze without faltering, claims the crown and ascends as the chosen.
Throughout history, this battle has determined the rise and fall of sects, clans, and entire realms. Many fight; only a handful ever transcend.
---
Liang exhaled slowly as these mories and teachings settled in his mind.
"The rites have concluded. According to custom, it is now ti for blessings. All who wish to offer their goodwill to the couple may step forward."
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