Chapter 1202

Upon hearing the commotion outside, Hong Zhencheng hurried to the window—but all he saw was billowing dust that obscured everything.

“What’s happening? Has Elder Nangong gone mad, summoning the Divine Pact’s Leader to his death? And what does he mean by the Hall of Fortune?”

Hong Zhencheng’s brow furrowed, but Ye Yu remained silent. In his heart, however, everything had already become clear: Nangong Yantian intended to seize power today. Damn it—he still hadn’t escaped this day of reckoning.

Just as Hong Zhencheng reached for the door, Ye Yu grasped his arm. “Zhencheng, listen to me: don’t leave here. You have no business out there. Wait until the dust settles, then choose your side.”

“What side?” Hong Zhencheng objected. “With things so chaotic, I’m worried about my Master. His health is poor—I must go check on him.”

Ye Yu fell silent. Of course—besides Nangong Yantian and Xie Buyu, there was Dongfang Yelai, whose own secrets had surfaced today. Ugh—the Hall of Boundlessness was full of schemers, every one of them a potential thunderbolt.

Outside, the divine power fluctuations grew ever stronger—someone had already made their move. Hong Zhencheng’s anxiety mounted. “Great Ascendant, I’m truly worried about my Master. Please let me go!”

Ye Yu released him and smoothed the folds of his robe. “Be careful out there. If it’s dangerous, remember to flee. And... never mind. Just stay alert.”

He had wanted to warn Hong Zhencheng to watch out for Dongfang Yelai, but such words would fall on deaf ears. Hong Zhencheng cared too much for his Master; to doubt him now would sound like slander. Better to hope Dongfang Yelai still cared enough to protect him.

After Hong Zhencheng departed, Ye Yu wasted no time in the chamber. He intended to slip out of the Hall of Boundlessness altogether—what was decided here no longer concerned him. Concealing his figure, he moved slowly toward the outer hall.

What had once been peaceful was now half-ruined, dozens of buildings collapsed into rubble. Over a hundred gods wearing white mourning flowers besieged twenty-odd fellow disciples. By numbers and cultivation alone, the outcome seemed certain.

Among the weaker side were more than a dozen whom Ye Yu had rescued from the Graveyard Divine Pact. Seeing them wounded again, his expression remained as calm as still water. He refused to involve himself in yet another quarrel—and besides, his current strength wouldn’t permit any grandstanding. Life, whether mortal or divine, was finite; reshaping fate required power he did not yet possess.

Above, a massive black circular barrier hovered in the sky, tremors rippling through the air whenever two supreme figures clashed within. Without doubt, Xie Buyu and Nangong Yantian were battling overhead. Such a scene was far too perilous for true gods to linger beneath.

Ye Yu ducked into the shadow and pressed onward—until suddenly, a figure was sent hurtling down into the weaker group. Ye Yu stopped dead in his tracks. It was Hong Zhencheng, struck down and wounded grievously, a bone-deep gash across his shoulder.

The hundred or so gods surrounded him in a tight circle. At their front stood a man in white robes, a paper fan in hand—Dong Zhi Zai, Nangong Yantian’s most trusted lieutenant. With one hand clasped behind his back, he surveyed the injured disciples with disdain. “Look at your pitiful state. The New Hall of Boundlessness has no use for trash like you. Kill them all.”

A roar of approval rose from the assembled gods as they prepared to strike.

Ye Yu’s brow tightened. He could ignore others—but not Hong Zhencheng. This guileless succubus had always treated him as a friend. Ye # Nоvеlight # Yu had felt the warmth of his kindness: just moments ago, Hong Zhencheng had wanted to introduce him around while clutching that jar of spirit wine. Even one so accustomed to life-and-death farewells could not remain unmoved.

Then Ye Yu remembered: Hong Zhencheng’s path was Blood Sense. No matter how well Ye Yu hid, Hong Zhencheng would find him instantly. And yet the succubus had refused to cry for help—instead, he shook his head, urging Ye Yu to stay out of it. Perhaps he worried for Ye Yu’s safety.

A bitter laugh escaped Ye Yu’s lips. “Zhencheng, you should have been called ‘Hong the Succubus’—you stab others by retreating yourself. Do you think once I’m safe you’ll feel guilty every time you think of me? Don’t be foolish. I won’t give you the chance!”

“Stop!” Ye Yu’s shout echoed across the courtyard. Instantly, every god froze. All eyes turned skyward to where Ye Yu descended from the darkness, landing decisively before Hong Zhencheng and the others.

They recognized that silhouette. Not long ago, he had thrown himself between them and death without hesitation—and now he did the same again.

The dozen or so disciples whom Ye Yu had saved from the Graveyard Divine Pact trembled with emotion, tears glistening in their eyes. One knelt on a bleeding knee. “Welcome, Great Ascendant!”

Hong Zhencheng, overwhelmed, grasped Ye Yu’s sleeve. “Great Ascendant, I knew you wouldn’t abandon me. But what will you do now? You said your cultivation is only at True God—”

At those words, every face present, Ye Yu’s included, shifted in stunned realization.