A sharp crash echoed through the quiet corridor, followed by a terrified cry. Xuanyuan Zhen's eyes snapped open. The desolate room, filled with the lingering scent of incense and dust, suddenly felt alive with tension.
"Stop! Please, don't—"
The voice trembled, fragile yet desperate. Yin Mei.
Xuanyuan Zhen's chest tightened. For five long years, she had been his only constant, the one thread of care in a world that had abandoned him. Now, her voice, quivering with fear, reached him like a lifeline.
Footsteps—heavy, confident, predatory—approached. Xuanyuan Han and Xuanyuan Chen. He knew them without seeing: Xuanyuan Han, fourth stage Qi Condensation, sharp and commanding, younger brother to the clan's golden prodigy Xuanyuan Hao; Xuanyuan Chen, third stage, cruel and reckless.
"Where is he hiding, Yin Mei?" Xuanyuan Han's voice sliced through the air, dripping with contempt. "The cripple? Let's see if he's worth the pity he's earned."
Xuanyuan Chen stepped forward, his palm glowing faintly with Qi. "Step aside, maid. We'll deal with him ourselves."
Yin Mei stumbled back, her mortal frame trembling. The Qi radiating from the two cultivators was suffocating. Each step they took made the air pulse with pressure, a physical weight that pushed her to the ground. She was powerless, but she did not retreat completely. Loyalty anchored her.
Xuanyuan Zhen rose, his body humming with the fused purple-golden Qi. The room seemed to darken, the air thickening as his energy expanded outward, almost visible—a spiraling aura of golden holy light and deep, simmering purple power. Every breath he drew pulled in energy, feeding the Qi sea within him, strengthening muscles, bones, and meridians that had long been dormant.
Xuanyuan Chen's hand lunged forward, palm crackling with Qi, aimed at Yin Mei. A strike that would have shattered her chest in an instant.
Xuanyuan Zhen moved.
Golden Qi surged along his arms, coiling around his bones and muscles like molten light. Purple Qi twisted through his torso, heavy and commanding, flowing into his limbs with the weight of authority. His body moved instinctively, postures and stances of the Battle Saint Dao Method unfolding with fluid precision. He inhaled sharply, drawing in the Heavenly purple Qi from the vision of the emperor, blending it with the purple of his own Qi sea.
Xuanyuan Chen's palm collided with Xuanyuan Zhen's forearm. There was no crack of breaking bones, only the force of a man who had endured a storm pressing back, and the younger cultivator staggered, eyes wide with disbelief.
"You… you're alive?" Xuanyuan Han's voice trembled now, a mixture of anger and fear. "Still… just a cripple?"
Xuanyuan Zhen's eyes opened fully. Golden light flared from his body, coiling with deep purple Qi. He spoke slowly, deliberately:
"You made a mistake."
Then the storm unleashed.
His combat postures flowed seamlessly. Every motion, every turn, every step sent waves of purple-golden Qi lashing out. Xuanyuan Han and Xuanyuan Chen scrambled, but their movements were sluggish against a body honed by years of torment and five years of fusion. Strike after strike landed—not to kill, but to cripple. Bones twisted, joints bent unnaturally, limbs shattered under precise, merciless force.
Screams echoed down the corridor as Xuanyuan Zhen stopped. Both cultivators lay groaning, broken, the arrogance wiped clean from their faces. They had underestimated him. They had mocked him, insulted him, even invoked the name of his father, Xuanyuan Wudi, as though it could shield them.
Xuanyuan Zhen turned to Yin Mei. Her small form shook, tears streaming down her face. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softer now, the golden and purple Qi curling gently around her.
"I… I'm fine, master," she whispered, though the tremor in her hands betrayed her fear. She had suffered for him, endured humiliation, and risked her life for a boy the clan deemed worthless.
Xuanyuan Zhen knelt beside her, brushing her hair back. "You've suffered too much," he murmured. "No one will harm you again. Not them, not anyone."
She shivered, leaning against him, and he felt a quiet resolve settle over him. This display of power, this first confrontation, was only the beginning. The fused purple-golden Qi coursing through him was no longer a secret—it was the foundation of the path he would walk, one no clan, no cultivator, and no history had ever seen before.
Outside the room, Xuanyuan Han and Xuanyuan Chen moaned in agony, their arrogance shattered, and for the first time, they truly felt fear.