Sparks danced through the air. Nothing could be seen anymore—nothing at all. Only mountains of piled debris gave off a searing blaze.
The fire burned fiercely. Standing before that sea of flames felt no different from being roasted over a fire.
His skin and flesh burned with pain, his clothes and hair beginning to curl and scorch. Yet Yuan Gang remained silent. He had failed to fulfill Hu Yan Wei's dying request.
His clothes were already riddled with holes, tattered beyond recognition from the arrows that had punched through them.
After a long while, Yuan Gang silently turned around and walked back. Reaching Hu Yan Wei's corpse, he stared at it for a moment. With a swish, the blade in his hand pierced stone and sank into the ground.
He crouched down, pulled the arrows from Hu Yan Wei's body, lifted the corpse horizontally in his arms, then turned and walked once more toward the sea of fire.
The rebel soldiers outside, along with the cultivators among them, all watched the scene quietly, unable to guess what he intended to do.
The Imperial Palace had already fallen, and the final guards within had been wiped out. They were in no hurry now.
At the edge of the blazing inferno, Yuan Gang stopped. He gazed at that blood-stained, bearded face for a while, then suddenly flung both arms out and hurled Hu Yan Wei's corpse into the flames.
In war, there was a practice of displaying corpses to provoke and humiliate the enemy. He did not want Hu Yan Wei's body to be further disgraced or used by others, so sending him into the fire to reunite with Hao Qingqing was not a bad choice.
Without watching the corpse vanish amid the burning coals, Yuan Gang turned and returned. Reaching the