He Begins to Ponder: What Realm Is High Enough for Peace, What Power Is Strong Enough for Self-Preservation

Stepping off the Flying Ship, the two walked side by side.

After a moment of thought, she seemed to feel that her previous words had been somewhat inappropriate.

"It doesn't matter if you couldn't answer what I asked just now." She spoke suddenly, her voice a few degrees softer than before. Seeing Qin Wangchuan look over, she continued, "It is far too early for both you and me to be discussing the Great Dao."

"If it were me, being asked what path I seek—"

"I would only be able to shake my head as well."

"So, there is no need to rush."

Qin Wangchuan chuckled upon hearing this. "You are truly gentle."

At first glance, she had seemed like a naive, cold beauty; he hadn't expected her to be so gentle.

He certainly wasn't in a rush.

The Great Dao required a lifetime to seek; how could one be in a hurry for a single moment?

(Gentle? Me?)

Li Qingluan's breath hitched. This assessment, something she had never heard before, made her momentarily forget how to move.

A strange ripple stirred in the depths of her heart. She instinctively wanted to refute it, only to find that the corners of her mouth had already curled upward without her noticing.

Unexpectedly... she didn't hate it.

However, her soft demeanor caused the expressions of the Li Clan members behind them to turn strange once again.

That cold beauty who would shout "get lost" at every turn and resort to violence at the slightest disagreement was now acting like this...

In two words:

Unfamiliar!

The two walked slowly across the scorched earth of the Han Clan ruins, their boots crushing broken rubble and emitting faint, crisp sounds.

Li Qingluan suddenly grabbed Qin Wangchuan's sleeve. "Watch out."

She struck out with a palm, knocking down a precarious, crumbling wall nearby.

Her gaze swept over the charred beams and cracked foundations, her fingertips lightly brushing against the various marks on the ruined wall.

"Not a blade of grass grows here. This doesn't look like an ordinary vendetta; this was a clan extermination by a powerful expert." She frowned and pulled her hand back, her sleeve stained with specks of black ash, then asked, "Why come here?"

A breeze swept through, carrying ashes past his fingertips. Qin Wangchuan suddenly crouched down and picked up half a charred plaque—only half of the character "Han" remained, yet one could still discern the vigorous and graceful spirit of the original calligraphy.

"The home of an old friend."

"Thirty-seven people. The eldest was barely sixty, and the youngest had just turned one." He whispered to himself, his fingertips brushing over the plaque. "Every year at the beginning of spring, they would hold a feast under the old plum tree in the courtyard..."

Deep sword marks scarred the surface, as if narrating a final, desperate struggle.

"Though they came from humble beginnings, the family was harmonious, happy, and complete."

"That is how it should have been." Qin Wangchuan suddenly raised his hand, discovering his palm stained with years of soot.

The simulation was more than just text; he could feel a portion of the emotions within it.

At the moment of the Han Clan's annihilation, only one thought occupied Qin Wangchuan's mind:

"Just how high a realm must one reach to be secure? Just how much power is needed to protect oneself?"

"An Immortal Emperor can transcend..." Li Qingluan's heart stirred, and she instinctively caught his wrist.

A plain white handkerchief slid halfway out of her sleeve, but then paused—

She suddenly realized such an action was far too intimate.

Fortunately, the youth did not resist.

She let out a sigh of relief after wiping his hand, but froze the moment she looked up.

In the sunlight, Qin Wangchuan's profile was pulled taut.

He lowered his gaze to stare at the charred plaque, his eyelashes casting heavy shadows across his face. Within his eyes, a dark fire seemed to burn—a gravity that had no place on the face of a nine-year-old boy, a gravity so intense it was nearly stubborn.

"Not enough." He interrupted, his voice decisive, his knuckles tightening slightly.

Watching Qin Wangchuan like this, Li Qingluan was momentarily stunned.

She suddenly realized that the person standing before her was different from everyone else.

Those who have never felt the despair of an ant being crushed beneath a thumb could never understand.

An Immortal Emperor might be enough in this world, but he was not Han Han, nor was he in the Xuanming Realm.

In the Ten Directions Immortal Court, an Immortal Emperor was truly not enough.

Li Qingluan parted her red lips: "Then the Heavenly Emperor..."

"Also not enough."

The three words were cast with such weight that they startled several cold crows from the ruins.

The plaque in his hands cracked with a sharp snap, and debris fell in a flurry onto the scorched earth.

Previously, Qin Wangchuan had been well-protected at home, and his bold declaration of becoming an Immortal Emperor had merely been a reflection of his confidence in his own talent.

But now, it was different.

He had reached a deeper level of realization.

"There's nothing left here. Let's go."

His tone was as flat as if he were discussing dinner; the suffocating pressure from moments ago had vanished without a trace.

Qin Wangchuan brushed off the dust and, as he turned, casually straightened a bent blade of wild grass—this time, he made no grand declarations. He wanted to see more, to feel more.

"You..."

Li Qingluan stood frozen in place, her mouth slightly agape.

But she saw that Qin Wangchuan had already walked five paces away, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it gently between his fingertips.

Sunlight fell upon the tips of his hair, and his entire being seemed so translucent that one could almost see the unique vitality of youth flowing through his veins.

At times profound, at times naive.

Which one was the real him?

Her knuckles rubbed unconsciously against her handkerchief. Suddenly, she stepped forward in two or three strides and caught the youth's fingers, which were stained with grass sap.

"Don't move."

"It's dirty."

Her voice and movements were very gentle. In Qin Wangchuan's eyes, it was nothing; he simply assumed she was fastidious.

Like an older sister.

But in the eyes of those accompanying them...

The members of the Qin Clan looked up, meeting the meaningful gazes of the Li Clan disciples.

Their eyes met in mid-air, and the corners of their mouths curled into a tacit understanding.

"Right. Since you were old friends, why didn't he come to you when his clan was wiped out?"

"If I had to put it a certain way, we were actually enemies."

"Mutual admiration is one thing, but as long as we are enemies, there can be no mercy. If you can't bring yourself to do it, I can help you."

"No need. I will handle it."

As cyan spiritual light flowed across the hull, the Flying Ship slowly ascended and set sail once more.

The destination of this trip: Lower Thousand Provinces.

Lower Thousand Provinces, Canglan Sea Realm.

On the flagstone road of Qingshi Town, the morning mist had yet to dissipate.

Yin Qiyue stepped out of the Yin Clan, her footsteps light as she wove through the morning market, anxious to return to her sect.

The mighty figure who had descended upon the Holy Land had specifically mentioned a "daughter of the Yin Clan," and she had wondered if it concerned her family.

That was why she had taken advantage of her leisure time to return and make inquiries.

Yet, she had come away with nothing.

The Holy Land was several days' journey from her home; she needed to get on the road early.

As she turned a street corner, she suddenly halted her steps.

In the morning mist, a young boy stood alone beneath an old locust tree, gazing at the leaves.

Although he was still young, his height and bearing were no different from a boy of fourteen or fifteen.

He was dressed in a black and gold brocade robe, with a celadon jade pendant suspended from his waist, its surface shimmering with a gentle luster in the morning light.

What was most striking were his eyes—clearly still possessing a youthful innocence, yet revealing a composure that far exceeded his years.

How could such a noble young master appear in this small town all by himself?

Yin Qiyue hesitated for a moment, then smoothed her dress and stepped forward, using a tone she deemed gentle. "Little master, are you lost?"

The boy looked up at the sound of her voice, his gaze lingering for a moment on the Qinglan Holy Land token at her waist. "I am just wandering about."

His voice was clear as a jade chime, yet carried a composure that did not match his appearance.

"I see." Yin Qiyue smiled brightly, though her fingers inside her sleeves tightened involuntarily around her sash.

How strange. He is clearly an ordinary person without a shred of aura, yet looking at him gives me a stinging sensation.

At fourteen years of age, she had already stepped into the First Realm, officially becoming a cultivator.

Moreover, her talent was so heaven-defying that she was called a once-in-a-century prodigy.

The last time she had felt this way was when she looked upon those immortals from the Upper Realm.

But how could a child even younger than herself compare to an immortal?

Yin Qiyue shook her head at the thought and continued:

"Qingshi Town may be small, but the Tangren Zhang at the east end has excellent craftsmanship. If you don't mind, little master, you might want to try his osmanthus candy."

"I know every street and alley around here like the back of my hand. If you're looking for someone or need directions, young master, I can certainly help."

It wasn't that she was usually this eager with everyone; it was just that the person before her was truly too extraordinary.

For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to say a few more words.

"Looking for someone?"

"I do indeed have someone I need to ask about." The youth raised his eyes, the morning light sweeping across his pupils.

In an instant, Yin Qiyue felt as if she were looking into a pool of autumn water reflecting cold stars—so clear and frigid that it was startling.

"The daughter of the Yin Clan, Yin Qiyue."

Qin Wangchuan spoke Yin Qiyue's name and background calmly. His voice was neither light nor heavy, yet it made her heart skip a beat.

"Where is your childhood sweetheart?"