Chapter 439 – The Wheel of Fate Turns, the Dragon Son is Born - Part 2

“Hah! Hah! Hah...!” Heavy breathing echoed across the icy plains.

Ping’an’s eyes were sharp as blades. Beads of sweat had barely formed on his skin before freezing solid, but he didn’t care. He only grew fiercer with every blow.

With a sharp arc of his sword, he lunged once more at Naran, who stood across from him like a blood-drenched war god, wielding a massive golden axe.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Blow after blow landed like a rapid-fire war drum.

But then the sound stopped abruptly.

Ping’an had been knocked flying again.

Naran looked at his tireless, tenacious older brother with a mixture of irritation and helplessness.

If not for the fact that he had grown up starved of family love, and so harbored a deep, instinctive fondness for any relative, even those he'd never met...Ping’an would’ve been killed by now. Dozens of times over.

Even so, Naran was thoroughly exasperated. Since leaving the encampment, he’d already been challenged 18 times. The longest Ping’an had lasted in any of their bouts was two breaths. And that was with him holding back.

“That’s enough for today.” Naran said, his voice low and gruff. He patted the direwolf at his side and said, “Finn, let’s go.”

The direwolf gave Ping’an a disdainful look, then held its head high, tail swaying arrogantly as it strode away.

A line of direwolf riders followed, disappearing into the snowy distance on their routine patrol of the icy frontier.

The Nine Flames had grown strong, strong enough that Naran’s ambitions had begun to stir. Now he wanted more than just survival.

He wanted to measure the land of the Evernight and draw a map of the entire domain.

No one had ever done it before. Everyone simply accepted that the Western Extremes were vast, endless, and unknowable.

And even when a tribal chieftain had briefly entertained the idea in the past, it was always quickly dismissed. The nine tribes were fractured and competitive. If one chieftain wasted resources on something so impractical, it wouldn’t be long before their home was overrun by rivals.

Now that the Nine Flames were unified, Naran had finally decided this was the moment to act.

The frozen tundra was a sacred land, bestowed upon the Ice Folk by the Sunmother herself. A land of rest. A place of legacy.

To remain ignorant of such a place would be a betrayal, an insult to the divine.

So Naran walked with pride through the darkness and ice, a solitary figure wrapped in honor and purpose. Behind him, his wolf-riding warriors followed with reverence in their eyes. To them, he wasn’t just the Khagan, he was born to lead.

Yes, the Khagan could be a tyrant. But he was

their

tyrant. And they would follow him through life and death all the same.

Meanwhile, Ping’an lay sprawled in the snow, every inch of him bruised and bloodied from the beating.

“...Heh.”

A soft laugh slipped out.

“Heh...haha...”

The chuckle spiraled into wild, self-mocking laughter.

“Ping’an, you really are pathetic.”

He fell to his knees, one hand bracing against his sword, fists clenched tight.

“I’m too weak...far too weak.”

“Fourth rank. I

have

to break through to fourth rank. If I don’t...I can’t save anyone. Every time, it’s my old man who has to step in. Even Mom’s resting place, he handled that too. And me, their son, what have

I

done?”

“Truly unfilial. Ping’an, you’re useless and unworthy. Hahahaha!”

He had rarely tasted true failure in life. Born with talent, cherished by his master, admired by his junior disciples. Even the missions assigned to him were carefully curated to avoid any real danger.

He was, in many ways, a hothouse flower. Not naive, no, but protected. And so, when life struck hard, he cracked.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

The Evernight knew no seasons. But far outside its borders, summer was drawing to a close.

A man with a floral crown and a smiling face raced through the mountains, leaning on a staff yet moving with speed. Through the bloodline that connected them, he had sensed something, something powerful enough to reach him across thousands of miles.

This time, he’d decided to pay the boy a visit.

It hadn’t been part of the plan. At least, not so soon.

But the boy...he was a good thread to follow. A connection, perhaps a way to forge ties with that elusive Li Yuan and the enigmatic Yan Yu.

And if he could win Yan Yu over, persuading her to finish the Grand Union of Yin and Yang...things would go a lot smoother.

The world was like a chessboard. Once a move was exhausted, and no new force emerged to change the game, even the strongest player would edge toward defeat.

That was why the Revival Tree God had begun to lean toward the Lotus Cult. Out of necessity. When he intervened, it wasn’t for the sake of Lotus Cult. He simply wanted to see the Grand Union of Yin and Yang fulfilled.

That goal still guided his every step.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

The Jade Capital.

The ghost cavalry were fully assembled. A total of 2,200 fearless soldiers atop exotic beasts stood in silent formation. At the center, surrounded by a press of followers, stood their commanders—Peng Mingyi and Ying Zhuoyao.

Lately, disciples from all branches of the Lotus Cult had been gathering around them, including members of both the Red and White Lotus Cults.

As for those from Zhao Gutong’s faction of undying husks, they had all gone into hiding.

The reason was simple: the moment one of them showed their face, ghost servants would hunt them down. These days, they were all hiding in the ancient ghost street, afraid to step foot outside.

Within the Lotus Cult, arguments had been raging nonstop.

Some said they should remain in the Jade Capital, just like last time, choose a new Emperor and hold the capital.

Others insisted that the Jade Capital was just an isolated fortress now. Since their goal had failed, they should withdraw quickly to the southern lands and disappear once more.

And still others urged patience. The situation in the south remained unclear. What if there was still hope for the Grand Union of Yin and Yang? If they pulled out now, it might take untold effort to reach the capital again when the time came.

In short, some wanted to retreat, others insisted on staying, and still others urged caution and patience.

But regardless of where the debate leaned, the other major powers were finally starting to recover from the initial shock.

Even the most ordinary disciples within the Lotus Cult could sense it, that creeping feeling of being slowly, deliberately surrounded.

Yes, the ghost cavalry were unmatched in battle. But they weren’t machines. They couldn’t fight forever without rest.

Even if they split the ghost cavalry into rotating shifts, the problem remained. Their commanders, Peng Mingyi and Ying Zhuoyao, were still human. They needed sleep. They needed time to recover.

And that vulnerability was beginning to show.

The only reason the Lotus Cult still held its ground in the Jade Capital was because of its deep-rooted foundations. Scattered all around were hidden disciples of the Red and White Lotus Cults. The former specialized in assassinations, and the latter in intelligence gathering.

It was a deadly pairing.

This allowed the ghost cavalry to receive real-time information and react with terrifying precision—swift, surgical strikes that obliterated newly gathered martial factions before they could even settle in.

Their momentum was still overwhelming. Their dominance was undisputed.

But the jianghu had learned to be cautious. Like a pack of wolves circling a tiger, they now waited in silence, watching and biding their time for a bigger misstep.

One day, inside the main Lotus Cult tent, a stunningly beautiful woman suddenly spoke, “Let’s head south.”

She was Bai Lianjue, the cult leader of the White Lotus Cult.

Clearly not a jade husk, her allure was mesmerizing. Every glance from her sparkling eyes carried a dangerous charm that could steal a man’s soul.

No sooner had she spoken than another voice followed. It was a deep, booming one, like stone grinding steel.

“This place was never meant to be permanent,” a man with a buzz cut said. He sported hulking muscles as dark as iron and as thick as that of a bear. “We return to the south, settle there, and focus on growing the Bladeseekers. The more ghost cavalry we produce, the more unstoppable we become.”

This was Peng Chao, the cult leader of the Red Lotus Cult, formerly known as the Red Lotus Prince.

“The Python of Desires, it’s no longer in the south. It’s in the Jade Capital,” Ying Zhuoyao countered calmly.

“And the flower shop that grows the worry-free flowers? That’s in the south, not here. We need both ingredients to forge ghost cavalry. Miss one, and the process fails. Besides...we aren’t the jade husks of the Apparel Atelier. Zhao Gutong is dead.

“If we return south now, we’ll lose the ability to produce ghost cavalry either way. The end result wouldn’t be much better than staying put.”

Even among the Lotus Cult’s core leadership, the tension was palpable. The debate was fierce.

After a long silence, the three turned to look at the elegant, silver-haired youth.

“Mingyi,” Peng Chao rumbled, “what’s your take?”

Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the tent’s heavy air, followed by a breathless voice shouting from outside.

“Cult Leaders, news from the Apparel Atelier!"

The debate paused. A young disciple burst into the tent, panting hard.

“Some disciples...they’ve started mumbling in their sleep, asking for Peng Mingyi to come immediately. And when the sun came up, they went mad. Screaming, grabbing people, and shouting for him to come over and over.”

The silver-haired youth replied calmly, “Send word to Apparel Atelier. Tell them I’ll be there soon.”

The disciple nodded respectfully and rushed out.

Bai Lianjue smiled faintly. “As expected. Without a jade husk, Apparel Atelier is already spiraling into madness.”

Ying Zhuoyao added, “But that might be an opportunity. The Apparel Atelier is no longer what it once was. Part of it now belongs to the python from the Exotic Beast Park. If Mingyi can become the

new

jade husk of this reformed ghost domain, then perhaps...the Jade Capital can become our permanent stronghold. As long as we stay near the Apparel Atelier, we can never truly be defeated.”

Peng Chao rumbled, “But can the jade husk really change?”

At that, both Ying Zhuoyao and Peng Mingyi fell silent for a moment.

Then, Peng Mingyi spoke. “It can. I can feel the link between myself and the Apparel Atelier. As long as that bond continues to grow, I can become its new jade husk.”

He stood and said simply, “Then I’ll go now.”

With a gentle smile, he mounted a horse and rode off into the distance.

But unexpectedly, he never went to the Apparel Atelier at all.

Halfway there, Peng Mingyi tugged lightly on the reins. The horse veered sharply, then slipped into a narrow alleyway. With a few deft skills, he vanished from the Jade Capital entirely.

After all, if the cult leader of the Black Lotus Cult truly wanted to leave unnoticed, and if there was no ambush specifically laid for him, then no one could stop him.

Peng Mingyi left the Jade Capital behind, but he left his horse there. And he didn’t care in the slightest. He spread his arms, face lifted in bliss as he ran into the crisp winds of early autumn.

“Is this happiness?” he murmured aloud. Then answered himself, “To shake off duty...to be free from obligation...

that

is happiness. I’m not the jade husk of the Apparel Atelier. I’m not the jade husk of that Yan Yu down south. I’m just me. This feeling of freedom...it’s exactly what I dreamed of. It’s real. It’s beautiful.”

He might have been an ordinary human, but among jade husks, he was one of the strongest.

He remembered the road that brought him here. Every step. Every turn.

So now, he chose a different path. One that led away from the well-trodden roads, into the wilderness, into obscurity.