With a wide swing of his guandao, He Yu cut down another dozen beasts. By now, he’d lost count of how many he’d killed. The stench of death hung thick in the air. Along with smoke from countless fires, ignited by either He Yu’s techniques or fire aspected attacks coming from the horde. Or from mundane sources, like a toppled candle.

At his direction, the mortals of the town had erected barriers from the smashed remains of homes and furniture to herd the beasts into a single area. It had been in vain. Either by the beasts themselves, or under He Yu’s desperate techniques, the barriers fell quickly. They’d barely lasted the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn. It had simply been too hectic for He Yu to care for the barriers’ integrity. If he had to choose between a stack of furniture or the life of a mortal, he’d save the mortal every single time.

He’d also lost track of how many of the mortals or lower realm cultivators had died. There simply wasn’t time to count or to think. The only thing he knew was that he needed to keep pushing himself. Keep fighting. Save whoever he could.

Even as the fight settled into a routine—dash from one side of the square to the opposite, kill a beast, then do it again—He Yu could see it was a war of attrition that he’d eventually lose. There were simply too many foes.

Then, bit by bit, the tide turned.

The rush of bodies slowed. The deluge of spirits, beasts, techniques, and attacks faded. He Yu found himself able to take a few breaths between leaping in front of a pack of wolves attacking a mortal, and a bear mauling one of the few remaining cultivators. The spaces grew larger, and the attacks eased up. The tide became a trickle.

Then there was silence. He Yu stood in the square of a ruined town with nothing to fight. He let his shoulders sag and exhaustion wash over him. His core was empty. His meridians ached. Wounds and blood covered him. Corpses, human and beast alike, littered the square. But he’d done it. He’d stood until there were simply no more beasts or spirits to come. Nothing left for the Empress to send into a frenzy with her influence.

Most of the cultivators were dead. The few that had survived were gravely injured. The handful of mortals that somehow hadn’t died did their best to tend to the wounded. He Yu wished Chen Fei was around. She could help—she always carried medicine with her. He shook his head, and let his guandao rest against the paving stones of the ruined square. He wanted to feel elation. Feel accomplishment. Feel anything. He only felt numb.

It was more than exhaustion, but he couldn’t say what. Witnessing the scope of the damage done was too much for him to really grapple with. He couldn’t fully say he’d failed, though. A few yet lived when he’d expected that he wouldn’t be able to save anyone in the end. No, he’d gone into this fully expecting the entire town would die. That even one person had survived was more fortune than he’d ever asked from heaven—let alone the two dozen or so he’d saved in the end.

He’d thrown himself into this fight, certain it would come to nothing. Certain his efforts would be in vain. And he’d been wrong in the best possible way. He knew there was a profound insight into his Way here. If only he weren’t on the verge of collapse from exhaustion. He’d have to examine it later.

For the first time in what felt like days—maybe weeks—He Yu turned his spiritual perception to the battle in the distance. A raging flood and a stark brilliance clashed with a giant of iron and flame and blood. He leaped up to the roof of one of the few buildings that remained fully intact. Taking one of his last remaining pills, he sat down and cycled while casting his perception to the battle between his master, the First Disciple, and the Emissary.

That Kong Huizhong still lived and still fought was almost beyond belief. Merely contemplating the power the demon core afforded him made He Yu suppress a shudder. Such power was unnatural, and not anything one ought to take into themselves. He could see why someone like Sha Xiang would be tempted by it, however. He supposed Kong Huizhong wasn’t that much different in that respect.

He Yu cycled his medicine, restored himself by what measure he could, and felt out the battle beyond the horizon. Gradually it went much the same way his own struggle had. Kong Huizhong’s qi faded, slowly at first, then all at once. The Emissary’s qi winked out, and He Yu’s eyes snapped open. The Cloud Emperor’s Peerless Judgment screamed in his spirit.

West.

He stood, turned. What he saw horrified him.

A column of red light shone to the sky. A wave of fading qi—the remnants of the Dawn Palace—broke over the town. Murmurs, then shouts, rose from below as the remaining cultivators and mortals turned to the west. As the red light swallowed the sky.

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“Run,” He Yu said, his throat tight and dry. He did what he could to swallow. “Run!” he shouted.

“Where?” came the response from below.

“Anywhere but west. It doesn’t matter. Just get as far away from the light as you can.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Activating the Sky Dragon’s Flight and forcing what meager qi he’d still left, He Yu headed west.

Beyond the shrouded peaks, the column of red light darkened, growing tinged with black. Twisting cords of shadow rose along with the light. Even though it was still early afternoon, a red sun hung in the west and the rest of the sky grew dark. With every breath he drew, He Yu felt the growing weight of the Sunset Empress and her insatiable want.

Another spirit slammed down over him. Bright radiance turned twilight to day—and He Yu collapsed under the full weight of Yi Xiurong’s presence. A hand gripped him by the arm. He looked up into Zhang Lifen’s churning black eyes.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I have to help them,” he said, trying to wrench free. His friends were back at the sect. He Yu knew in his mind and his heart that Jin Xifeng would attack the sect before anywhere else. He still remembered her beautiful features twisted in hatred as she rushed down Elder Cai in his vision of her suppression.

“Who can you help?” Zhang Lifen asked, practically ripping his arm off as she hauled him to his feet. “What can you do? You’re only a Golden Core. Do you know what it is you face?”

“I don’t care! I owe them everything, just as I owe you everything. I won’t abandon them”

He knew it was pointless. There was truly nothing he could do. If they came under direct attack from Jin Xifeng, an ancient cultivator at the peak of the Eighth Realm—Divine Soul Apotheosis—they would die. He Yu was utterly powerless to save any of them. For all he knew, they were dead already.

“Release him,” came the sharp and severe voice of Yi Xiurong.

Zhang Lifen spun on the First Disciple. “You can’t be serious. There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing we can do. You know as well as I do that to return to the sect is death.”

“Yet still we return. Do we not, Sect Sister Zhang?”

“We are core disciples! We have a duty to the sect, and to our juniors. He Yu is my disciple. I will not send him to his death.”

“You aren’t sending me anywhere!” He Yu shouted. “I’m going where I’m needed. I refuse to abandon my friends.”

Yi Xiurong’s gaze pinned him in place, pressing down on him with the full weight of a Sixth Realm’s attention. “Let him go,” she said, not breaking eye contact with He Yu.

“You’re going to let him go?” Zhang Lifen asked.

“I’m going to bring him with us. He’ll never reach the sect in time to aid his friends on his own.”

Zhang Lifen finally released him. “What are you doing?” she demanded, the heat in her words now directed at Yi Xiurong.

“Junior Brother He acts in accordance to his Way. Do not seek to obstruct the Heavenly Dao. Such a thing is futile.”

“You can’t be serious,” Zhang Lifen said. It looked as though she was about to continue, but Yi Xiurong silenced her with a sharp gesture.

“We will return him to the sect. He will collect his friends, and with them he will flee.” Then she returned her attention to He Yu. “Do you understand the conditions of my aid in this, Junior Brother He?”

He Yu bowed to Yi Xiurong over a salute. “This one understands, and will do as Senior Sister Yi commands.”

“Just so. Now, both of you. Get on.” Yi Xiurong’s peacock feather appeared, hovering a finger’s width above the ground. It had expanded to a size where it could easily accommodate all three of them. As He Yu stepped on to the flying treasure, Yi Xiurong handed him a medicine box. “Take this. You’re useless as you are now.”

It was the first time he’d seen anything resembling a crack in the severe outer facade Yi Xiurong wore. There was a note of compassion, with a tiny dash or wry humor mixed in as well. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that there was more to her than just the surface—there had always been more to anyone he’d met at the sect, after all.

He Yu sat down on the peacock feather and cultivated as best he could. The feather rose to the sky, and Zhang Lifen joined him. She’d taken some medicine of her own, and her breathing was slow and controlled as she restored herself after her battle with Kong Huizhong. Yi Xiurong guided the feather as it shot across the landscape, traveling at speeds that were incomprehensible even to He Yu as a Golden Core.

“It will take us just under an hour to arrive,” Zhang Lifen said. “I expect you to do exactly as Sect Sister Yi commanded.”

He Yu nodded his agreement, keeping up the breathing pattern of his cultivation technique.

“I trust you know what we’re headed towards?”

“How did she break free?” he asked.

“The demon core,” Zhang Lifen said, confirming his suspicions. “We—” she looked away, shame crossing her features. “We should have known.”

“The cores are one of her techniques,” Yi Xiurong said. “Jin Xifeng bestows them upon her followers. When one of those hosts dies, the core returns their cultivation base to her. Sect Sister Zhang is correct. We should have known something like this was possible.”

“But why now?” He Yu asked. “What’s so special about Kong Huizhong?”

“Nothing,” Zhang Lifen said with a rueful laugh. “He was just the bucket that broke the dam. That dam has been cracked and crumbling for a long time, it seems. How many members of the court have we killed that fed drops of power to her over the past year? How many of the beasts under her control that died in the western wilds pushed her power ever closer to breaking free? Kong Huizhong was at the peak of Nascent Soul. Nothing compared to Jin Xifeng herself, but apparently she was much closer to breaking free than we had imagined. We pushed our fortune further than it could take us. Now we pay the price.”

As they sped across the lands of the western Dragon Empire, He Yu tried to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. The red and black column of power pierced the sky. A black vortex of qi swirled around where the light vanished. Far to the west, a red sun hung motionless just above the horizon. The Sunset Empress, Jin Xifeng, was free.