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The scrolls in the Palace of Ling Wen were stacked so high they threatened to block out the artificial sunlight of the Heavenly Realm. Xie Lian sat at a small side desk, sorting through old prayers about stray cattle, when Ling Wen casually dropped the ledger.
It landed with a heavy thud.
"Your Highness," Ling Wen sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her eyes carried the deep, dark circles of a goddess who had not slept since the previous dynasty. "If you are going to frequent the mortal realm near Mount Taicang, please be careful. The area is close to the territory of Crimson Rain Sought Flower."
Xie Lian paused, his brush hovering a millimeter above the paper. "Ah. San Lang?"
"San Lang?" Ling Wen’s eyebrow raised. "You speak of him so familiarly. I assure you, he is not a friendly youth. He is the Supreme King of Ghost City. The one who challenged thirty-three heavenly officials to a duel, defeated them utterly, and burned their mortal temples to ash when they refused to honor their bets."
Xie Lian did not move. He did not breathe.
For three long heartbeats, the only sound in the grand palace was the scratch of a dozen subordinate officials copying records in the background.
"Excuse me," Xie Lian said, his voice perfectly polite, though his ears were suddenly ringing. "Ling Wen, my hearing has been a bit poor since my second banishment. Dust in the ears, you see. Could you repeat that number?"
"Thirty-three," Ling Wen stated cleanly. "Simultaneously. Martial and civil gods alike."
Xie Lian’s brain completely stalled.
Thirty-three?
His mind immediately flew back to the broken-down ox cart. He remembered the boy in red with the crooked ponytail. The youth who lazily leaned against the straw, sharing a half-eaten bun, complaining about how his family kicked him out because he was ugly. The boy who spent hours patiently helping him patch the leaking roof of Puqi Shrine, getting mud on his pale fingers and laughing like a carefree teenager.
That San Lang?
Did what?
"Thirty-three," Xie Lian repeated, his voice climbing an octave. He dropped his brush. It rolled across the ledger, leaving a long, messy streak of black ink, but he didn't even notice. "As in... three more than thirty? All at once?"
"Yes," Ling Wen said, looking at him with mild confusion. "Is there an issue?"
"And he... he beat them?" Xie Lian’s mind was frantically doing the math. To fight one heavenly official was a massive undertaking. To fight thirty-three meant navigating thirty-three different divine weapons, thirty-three distinct styles of spiritual energy, and thirty-three separate egos. "Every single one of them?"
"Humiliated them," Ling Wen corrected dryly. "They lost their debates. They lost their martial matches. And then, because they failed to uphold their end of the wager, he unleashed his wraith butterflies and burned their earthly foundations. They vanished from the Upper Court within a week."
Xie Lian sat back in his chair, his hands resting on his knees. His mind was spinning like a runaway waterwheel.
When he had first met the youth in red, he knew San Lang was special. He knew the boy was incredibly knowledgeable, surprisingly strong, and possessed a silver tongue that could coax the birds from the trees. But Xie Lian had assumed he was a wealthy, eccentric young master or a powerful rogue cultivator.
He certainly hadn't pictured him standing on a battlefield, single-handedly turning the grand, arrogant pillars of the Heavenly Realm into firewood.
A strange, dizzying mixture of emotions surged through Xie Lian’s chest. First came a wave of profound disbelief. Then, a sudden, sharp urge to laugh. And finally, beneath it all, a quiet, roaring sense of pride that he had absolutely no right to feel.
My San Lang is terrifying, Xie Lian thought, a small, helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He is absolutely magnificent.
"Your Highness?" Ling Wen questioned, staring at his sudden grin. "You look remarkably pleased for someone being warned about a supreme demon."
"Ah! No, no," Xie Lian quickly cleared his throat, waving his hands in a frantic panic, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "I was just... thinking about how terrible that must have been. Yes. Quite a tragedy for the Upper Court. A true disaster."
"Indeed," Ling Wen said, though her sharp eyes clearly didn't believe him. "Just ensure you keep your distance. He is unpredictable."
"Of course, of course," Xie Lian mumbled.
He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. He hurriedly excused himself, bowing to Ling Wen before practically sprinting out of the palace gates. He needed to leave the Heavenly Realm immediately. He needed to walk down the heavenly path, cross the mortal fields, and get back to the small, drafty wooden walls of Puqi Shrine.
Because suddenly, he had a great deal of questions for a certain rogue youth in red. And more than anything, he wanted to see if that fierce, god-burning ghost king was currently sitting on his floorboards, waiting to help him wash the vegetables for dinner.