Chapter 461 - Outstanding Move, Gaining All the Advantages, Breaking Through to Third Rank - Part 1

The blazing flame surged like a tidal wave, drowning Li Yuan entirely.

It poured into every pore, every opening of his body, only to surge out again from the other side. His form was nearly unrecognizable now, reduced to a faint silhouette made entirely of light.

The bronze bell in his hand had long since melted into liquid, silent. His clothes and pants had burned to ashes, leaving only flawless skin and solid flesh that were being endlessly scoured and cleansed by this sea of fire.

If not for the flame within his own body, he would have been reduced to ash already, left to rely on that single drop of blood in Yan Yu’s safekeeping to slowly be reborn.

But even with his Yang flame protecting him, the torment was unbearable.

This Yang energy was overpowering, boundless.

It came from the Evernight’s expansion, the strange force born when darkness consumed land and daylight was squeezed into concentrated pockets.

Li Yuan had checked before. The boundary of the Evernight Line had expanded outward by dozens of kilometers, swallowing several small villages along the way. Thankfully, the Tang Sect and Nine Flames had been monitoring the border closely, relocating the villagers before disaster struck.

Beyond that, though, the spread was uncontrollable.

Dozens of kilometers may not sound like much, but that was only the depth, the width of the expansion was immeasurable.

To the West alone, it now stretched across entire regions. Cloudpeak, Silkfloss, Ocean, Hidden Dragon, and Wildsouth Province—the Northern Wastelands and Southern Rainforest—all of it had fallen under this engulfing shadow.

The sheer size was terrifying.

The advancing edges cut jaggedly into the land, uneven and countless. Where darkness reigned, the Yang energy was forced to gather into the bonfires of the Nine Flames.

And now, Li Yuan was drawing power from one of them. But even fire had its limits. His own Yang flame had already reached its natural boundary. Yet now, without fully understanding how, he was pushing into a breakthrough.

The flame washed through him. Blood, flesh, organs, bones, everything...

The human body existed because of Yang energy. And now, under the onslaught of the flames, his body wavered between reality and illusion, as though it might be destroyed entirely and vanish into the inferno.

Time slipped away.

This strange, sacrificial prayer ritual had lasted more than a month.

Meng Xingxian, meanwhile, received daily reports from the White Deer Tribe. Her ties to the Deathless Tomb ran deep. She naturally knew that Li Yuan had merged with the Everflame in the past.

And because of that, Li Yuan’s fate was the same as that of Naran before he met her; the old Khagan would not live long.

Suddenly, Meng Xingxian understood.

This was a grand celebration of a hero’s final act.

The old Khagan was embracing a fiercer, brighter flame, showing his people the majesty of the Sunmother’s firstborn son.

He was also choosing his own ending. His hair was already white; he refused to die quietly, feeble and powerless in his bed. Instead, he wanted to meet his end beneath the blaze, amidst song and dance, drawing the curtain on his life with brilliance and dignity, declaring to the world that Jen’gal Yuan’s glory would burn eternal.

More than that, his actions carried a message to her. He was telling her that he was leaving. That with his death, his people would no longer pose any threat. And he wanted her to know until his final breath, he was praying for her child.

Some things needed no words.

“Better to die singing in the flames than cling to a pitiful life in this world...” Meng Xingxian closed her eyes briefly, then exhaled softly. “Enough. Father-in-law, I accept this favor of yours.”

But she paused, a shadow crossing her gaze. “Although...there may still be variables.”

The ambitious, mysterious Wolfmother from Kabrol, from the Silent Sea, shut her eyes, letting her thoughts drift back through the former Khagan’s life. Even she, who rarely admired anyone, couldn’t help but feel a pang of awe.

No one could deny it. The former Khagan was a true overlord. It was he who, with iron and blood, unified the Nine Flames. It was he who, with cunning and ruthlessness, seized control of the Deathless Tomb, forcing her, once hidden deep within the Silent Sea, to emerge and contend with him.

And now, was this man...using his own death to purchase true peace between them?

She lowered her head and gently stroked the tiny infant cradled in her arms. Her voice softened. “You...the men of the Trueflame bloodline have always been heroes. You, my son, must grow to be one too.”

But even as she whispered those tender words, her eyes grew darker, a flicker of cold, distant light glinting in their depths.

Suddenly, she called out, “Xiao Yan!”

Her personal maid, ever loyal and quick, hurried in from outside the tent. “My Khatun, at your command.”

Meng Xingxian’s voice was calm, but firm. “Keep your eyes on the White Deer Tribe.”

Then, after a slight pause, she added, “If the old Khagan dies...inform me immediately.”

“Yes, my Khatun.”

Xiao Yan bowed and turned to leave, but Meng Xingxian’s voice came again, steady and commanding, “Summon General Ironwood.”

Shen’dai Ironwood was one of Naran’s most trusted confidants, but also fiercely loyal to her.

Moments later, a tall, weathered figure entered the tent. He knelt slightly and saluted.

Meng Xingxian’s tone was cool and even. “General, are the wolf riders prepared?”

“Yes. By your command, my Khatun, I dare not disobey,” Ironwood answered. Then, as if hesitant, he ventured cautiously, “Shall we inform the Khagan? And...who is our enemy?”

“The Khagan is at a critical moment; there is no need to disturb him.” Meng Xingxian shook her head slowly.

“As for the enemy...” She smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “You swore an oath, to strike anyone toward whom I point my spear. That oath still stands, does it not? It is not mine alone, but the will of both the Khagan and me.”

Ironwood lowered his head, his voice deep and resolute. “No matter who the enemy may be, wherever your blade points... there, my wolf riders shall charge.”

“Go, then,” she said softly.

The general bowed and withdrew.

Meng Xingxian tilted her chin slightly, staring into the distance, her thoughts silent and unreadable.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

Time passed. Another month slipped away.

Inside her golden pavilion, Meng Xingxian sat cross-legged on a cushion, watching the infant before her. He was barely half a year old, yet already toddling unsteadily on his little legs. A rare, fleeting smile curved her lips.

In truth, the finest seed should have been the old Khagan’s.

Had he desired it, he could have sired many who were born as

Arikhans

, warriors destined for greatness from the very moment of their first cry.

But fate had granted him only one.

She had once feared her son might be too frail, unable to inherit the burning bloodline of his father. But now, with the existence of the

withered flame

, those fears were gone.

Her son, Jen’gal Tengsur, would still grow into someone who could rival his father. And that alone was enough.

Her small hand curled into a fist. Her sharp gaze swept past the pavilion walls, lost in silent calculations, until suddenly, hurried footsteps approached from outside.

The tent flap was lifted. Her maid Xiao Yan burst in, breathless.

“Such carelessness,” Meng Xingxian said coldly, frowning.

But Xiao Yan had no time to bow or apologize, panting heavily, forcing the words out between gasps: “Th-the old...the old Khagan... he’s gone!”

Meng Xingxian shot to her feet. Her voice was low, but sharp enough to cut. “Gone? How?”

Xiao Yan’s voice trembled as she spoke, “He...he left the withered flame, walking alone into the endless snow. His whole body burned as pale flames leapt from him, and when he seemed to realize his final moment had come, he sat cross-legged...and quietly turned to bone amidst the fire.”

Her lips quivered. “A skeleton...untouched by decay. Even the flames could not consume it.”

Meng Xingxian said nothing. Her expression froze like carved ice. Then, without warning, she snatched up the infant in her arms and threw her head back, letting out a long, unrestrained howl. It was the kind only a Wolf Empress could make, a sound that split the sky.

Outside the golden pavilion, the direwolves stirred instantly. The sound of claws tearing into snow, low growls, and restless pacing filled the air.

Within moments, hundreds of two-headed direwolves gathered, surrounding the tent like a storm of living shadows.

Meng Xingxian strode out, her son in her arms. Without a word, she mounted the largest wolf, its twin heads snarling in unison, and urged it forward, heading straight for the White Deer Tribe.

She had to see it for herself.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

The next day.

Meng Xingxian, carrying her child, arrived at the outskirts of the White Deer Tribe.

The icy plains outside the settlement were choked with people—ordinarty tribesmen, warriors, all gathered in silence.

A few were crying quietly.

Among them, Jen’gal Snow wept openly, her face pale and wet with tears. Beside her stood Ping’an, Cui Huayin, Jing Shuixiang, and Yao Jue, their expressions frozen in disbelief, unable to accept the sight before them.

Tang Nian, however, stood at the very center of the gathered crowd, motionless. His face was blank, yet her stillness carried the weight of a collapsing sky, as though her entire world had shattered.

Meng Xingxian’s gaze drifted forward.

And there, at the heart of the snowy field, sat a single, pristine skeleton.

It sat cross-legged, as though meditating, as though untouched by time. Its bones shone like polished jade, crystal-clear as carved glass, faintly radiating warmth despite the raging blizzard around it. Even the sweeping winds could not bury it.

Its head tilted slightly upward, like the eternal posture of a deity. No one knew what thoughts filled his mind in that final instant...or if he’d thought of anything at all.

But bone was still bone. Flesh and blood had burned away, leaving nothing but this silent monument.

There was no longer any doubt. This was the old Khagan.

He had truly died to the withered flame.

Even after merging with the bonfire, his years were too far spent. And yet...deep down, Meng Xingxian believed this man had hoped for more. Perhaps he had entered the withered flame not only to die, but to gamble, gamble that he might succeed in fully fusing with the flame, reborn stronger than ever.

Had he succeeded, he would have returned in glory, raising the Khagan’s banner high once more, reclaiming his people and everything that was stolen from him.

And if that had happened...that would have been her signal. The moment she would unleash General Ironwood and his wolf riders, launching the assault she had long prepared.

But he failed. And his failure meant something else, the path of peace remained open. There was no reason, neither in emotion nor in logic, for her to move against the old Khagan’s remaining forces.

So she had come here. To see it herself. To confirm.

Meng Xingxian drew in a deep breath, the weight inside her chest loosening ever so slightly. A quiet relief washed over her. The old Khagan’s death meant the Nine Flames would not tear themselves apart before even stepping into the Central Plains.

She climbed down from the massive two-headed direwolf, cradling the child in her arms.

The direwolves, sensing her intent, spread out instinctively, forming a living barrier that pushed back the gathered tribesmen, parting the crowd with silent, menacing grace.

Step by step, Meng Xingxian led her son forward until she stood before the skeleton. Then, without hesitation, she sank to one knee and bowed deeply, her forehead lowering toward the icy ground.

And then, still kneeling, she guided the infant down beside her.

The boy stared at the skeleton, his round black eyes wide with curiosity. He did not cry. He did not fuss. His tiny head tilted from side to side as though trying to make sense of the strange white figure.

Then, as his gaze wandered, he caught sight of someone in the distance.

Not far away stood a woman. Her face was still youthful, but her expression was worn and weathered by grief. Her long hair was pinned with a dry peach blossom branch, her posture trembling faintly. She was staring at him.

The boy tilted his head.

Meng Xingxian followed his gaze and saw her—the woman with reddened eyes, watching them silently, her presence heavy as a storm about to break.

It was Jen’gal Snow, the old Khagan’s wife, Naran’s mother.

For the first time, grandmother and grandson looked upon each other.

Meng Xingxian tightened her hold on the boy’s hand and walked toward her.

When they stood before the grieving woman, she crouched slightly and whispered softly to the child, her voice both gentle and unyielding.

“Tengsur...call her Grandmother.”

The infant couldn’t yet speak clearly, but he babbled soft, broken sounds, as though trying to respond.

Snow’s breath trembled. Her reddened eyes brimmed with heat, but she said nothing.

Meng Xingxian’s voice softened, gentle as falling snow. “Father-in-law was a hero all his life. Perhaps...this is the ending most worthy of him. Mother-in-law, from now on...come live with us. Tengsur still needs you.”

In truth, the one she had always feared was the old Khagan.

Even though he had once given her a degree of freedom, his shadow had never left her heart. He was a thorn she could neither swallow nor spit out.

The fact that she had never brought Tengsur to meet his grandparents, that alone had been a silent act of defiance.

She had prepared herself for his wrath, prepared for the possibility that one day the old Khagan would turn on her in fury.

But now...he had given her the best possible answer.

From this day forward, Meng Xingxian decided she would truly play the role of a good daughter-in-law.

And then, suddenly, a raw, guttural roar split the silence.

“AHHHHHHHH!”

Meng Xingxian turned her head sharply and saw a man kneeling in the snow, gripping his sword for support, his head thrown back as he screamed at the sky, tears streaming freely down his face.

She recognized him, another son of the old Khagan, her husband’s older brother. A man renowned as a genius within the Central Plains, one whom many saw as brilliant and untouchable.

But in her eyes...he had never been worth a second glance.

Meng Xingxian turned back to Snow instead, her expression softening, her voice quiet. “Mother-in-law...grieve, but do not break.”

Snow’s eyes still burned, her fury and sorrow colliding violently within her chest. But when her gaze fell upon the small child, waving his tiny arms as though asking to be held, the fire within her slowly dimmed, cooling into something deeper...heavier.

A lifetime of glory. A lifetime of burden.

This was her son’s fate. And it had been her husband’s fate as well.

Just then, a cold, clear voice sliced through the frozen stillness.

“I will be taking my godfather’s remains.”

From within the crowd, a woman in crimson stepped forward, parting the gathering like a blade through water.

Behind her followed hundreds—tall and short, young and old—but most of them bore no expression, their faces like carved masks.

Only the hulking man at her side and four graceful women standing closest to her carried a glimmer of something different in their eyes, something disturbingly human.

The woman’s gaze locked with Meng Xingxian’s, sharp, unwavering, and cold as winter steel. Her voice carried over the icy wind.

“I came here because of my godfather. Now that he is gone, I will take him with me. From this day onward, the relationship between the Nine Flames and Cloudpeak Province...remains as it was. Nothing changes.”

She was Tang Nian, the Grand Matron of the Tang Sect. The hidden hand behind half of Cloudpeak Province’s power, the one who controlled the lifeline of resources, grain, and manpower upon which the Nine Flames relied.

Even if the Tang Sect had changed leaders, no one doubted where their loyalty truly lay.

Meng Xingxian lowered her gaze to the skeleton again.

There was no trace of life left in those flawless white bones, no lingering warmth, no pulse. The old Khagan was truly gone.

She nodded faintly, then offered a soft smile. “The gates of the Nine Flames will forever remain open to you, Grand Matron Tang.”

Tang Nian inclined her head in return, then gestured lightly.

From behind her, dozens of puppets sprang into motion. They moved with unnerving precision, surrounding the cross-legged skeleton, and together they carefully lifted the heavy, still-warm jade-white bones.

Then, from within one puppet’s chest, a black coffin unfolded soundlessly, strange mechanical limbs placing the bones inside with ritualistic care.

Once the coffin was sealed, Tang Nian turned without another word. Her face was blank, stripped of all expression, cold as ice.

With a flick of her wrist, an ornate, floating palanquin appeared out of thin air, carried effortlessly by four stunning puppet women. Without so much as a backward glance, she stepped inside and lowered the curtain.

The four puppets rose into the air in unison, the crimson silk swaying against the wind.

Beside them, the towering, burly man hoisted the coffin onto his back and followed, lifting into the sky as if weightless.

One coffin-bearer. Four beautiful puppets carrying a floating palanquin.

Together, they soared eastward, vanishing into the cold, pale horizon.

The rest of the old and young ones dispersed silently, their figures swallowed by the swirling snow, their destinations unknown.

Cui Huayin and the others also came to bid their farewells.

Meng Xingxian nodded to each of them, granting permission, even arranging for the direwolves to escort them safely through the frozen tundra.

However, the women refused.

As for the maids—Mei, Lan, Zhu, and Ju—the little girls who had once served Xue Ning, their hair had long since turned silver. They no longer had the strength to fight against the bitter winds, nor the heart to leave this land. So they stayed, choosing to live out their remaining days here, within the White Deer Tribe.

Ping’an departed as well, taking his wives and daughters along with Cui Huayin’s group.