Volume One: The Emperor's Decree Chapter Sixty-Four: The Way of the Northern Dipper Heavenly King

Seven Stars City stands with its back to six towering mountains. Amidst their unbroken chain, an ancient stone gate rises at the center—ninety-nine feet tall, sixty-six feet wide. No words are inscribed upon it, only a single fingerprint and the mark of a blade. Though it has faced a thousand years of wind and rain, the stone gate remains as pristine as the day it was hewn.

Behind the gate lie six peaks, each named for a star of the Northern Dipper: Tianshu, Tianxuan, Tianji, Tianquan, Yuheng, and Kaiyang. From the center of the gate, one can gaze straight through the aligned summits at noon and glimpse the azure sea beyond.

With two hundred elders and over ten thousand disciples, the sect commands the region of Yanliang and dominates the northeast of the Iron Dynasty, holding the crucial passage to the ocean—truly a paragon among the world’s powers.

Every ten years, the sect opens a secret realm for its disciples to test themselves. Any who return unscathed from within are destined for greatness. None can say what lies within, as if bound by some mysterious force that forbids speech of its secrets. The existence of this secret realm is the very reason the founding patriarch chose this place.

A winding mountain path, no more than a thousand paces, may take as little as half an hour or as long as several days to traverse. The longer one remains inside, the greater the rewards to be had.

This year is the day of the secret realm’s opening. The sect has long since gathered all resident disciples in the central plaza, waiting in silence for the grand assembly to commence.

For this grand occasion, the Heavenly King Sect has invited esteemed figures from across the land to lend prestige and awe.

Around the plaza, which can seat ten thousand, stand eighteen martial columns of stone. Atop each is carved a rare and peerless technique. Each column rises thirty-three feet and is eleven feet wide, embodying the harmony of heaven and earth.

Each peak is ruled by its own master, all lined up in neat formation. On the high platform are over a hundred seats—those who sit here are, at minimum, masters of the tenth level of the Earth Soul Realm. They are either sect leaders or reclusive sages, some accompanied by disciples or family.

In the plaza, those disciples seeking to compete for the position of sect leader each command their own recruited forces, waiting apart from the others. In both number and quality, Feng Changzai is without peer—yet he himself has not arrived.

Feng Nanque ranks second, commanding a full ten thousand stalwart warriors in orderly armor and strict formation. His gaze sweeps over his fellow disciples, burning with longing. He has mastered two skills from the martial columns and can hardly wait to test his prowess. He searches for challengers, but each who meets his eyes quickly looks away.

A martial fanatic obsessed solely with self-improvement is someone others shun, even the disciples of the mountain masters find him troublesome.

The Heavenly King Sect is divided into inner and outer halls. Once a disciple surpasses the Fifth Heaven, they study under an elder. Inner disciples enjoy better treatment, and their status rises accordingly.

Those who come here as disciples are of two sorts: some seek status and wealth, for the name of Heavenly King Sect brings natural distinction. Others long for a higher path, striving to ascend to an unattainable peak.

All strive devotedly toward their aims, and the entire sect thrives with energy. This assembly is of utmost importance to Dao Xuzi, the sect leader. Since last night, he has stood with hands clasped behind his back on the foremost jut of the high platform, motionless to this very moment.

He waits. The disciples wait as well, for the arrival of the famed guests. Only today is the sect gate open to wandering martial artists for observation. At the hour of Chen, the gate will again close.

The disciples tasked with reception are overwhelmed; the queue stretches from the stone gate down to the foot of Seven Stars City. Liu Xiaoyi, at Old Master Ma’s advice, set out after supper to line up through the night, barely making it in before closing.

"Old Master Ma is quite generous; there’s no need to be so upset."

After hours of waiting, Meng Qiaoqiao’s anger had only grown. Last night, Old Master Ma tried to match Liu Xiaoyi with his daughter, Yue’er, hoping for a fortuitous marriage. Meng Qiaoqiao was so flustered she nearly lost control of her power and overturned the table.

Having experienced a few things at his side, she realized Liu Xiaoyi had no such intentions—he’d come solely for the Heavenly King Sect. Was he a martial fanatic, too?

Meng Qiaoqiao couldn’t understand, but she would find out soon enough at the sect in the coming days. Still, the thought of Yue’er’s delicate, pitiable appearance stirred her heart. Though she had cultivated for years and paid attention to her looks, she still had a bit too much of a martial air and was rather brash in manner.

"I’m not angry! He gave us so many spirit stones and two quality magical artifacts—why would I be angry?" Meng Qiaoqiao replied coyly, veiling her face with a gauzy scarf—a magical item that concealed her presence and hid the fluctuations of her power.

What puzzled her was that although Liu Xiaoyi was a cultivator, his spiritual energy was as calm as still water—almost undetectable. As they walked side by side, Liu Xiaoyi strode swiftly, leaving her sighing and out of breath.

To run so fast without using spiritual power—he’s a real oddity, she muttered inwardly, not noticing someone approaching and colliding with them.

"Where did this blind wench come from? Watch where you’re going!" the other bellowed after a moment’s surprise.

"Who are you calling names? Just because you’re big doesn’t mean you can bully me!" Meng Qiaoqiao retorted, standing on tiptoe to barely reach the man’s chest. He was at least twelve feet tall, broad as a bear, and radiating menace.

The welcoming disciples lowered their heads in silence at his approach. In the inner hall, he was a notorious thug, bullying the weak with his strength. Even the elders could do little—his master was one of the mountain lords.

"You’re the first to talk to Yan Zong like that!" The giant swung his fist—big as an iron cauldron—without further ado. Meng Qiaoqiao was ready; a talisman shield materialized before her.

The fist crashed down with the force of a mountain, shattering the shield and forcing Meng Qiaoqiao back several steps. Before she could react, Yan Zong’s fist came again.

Suddenly, he felt a chill at his back. He spun, raising his arm to block—but how could mere flesh withstand a sword? Liu Xiaoyi gritted his teeth and slashed down, severing the forearm in one stroke. Blood sprayed forth.

Blood spilled at the sect gate! The disciples drew their blades and encircled him. "Defiling the gate! Wounding our brother! Seize him at once!"

"How amusing! Where were you all just now when he bullied visiting guests?" Liu Xiaoyi swept his sleeve, sending eighteen black-and-white chess pieces whistling through the air to scatter the disciples. With a leap, he soared six feet high, his ice sword flashing as he attacked them all at once.

Rather than fear, Meng Qiaoqiao cheered from the sidelines: "Go, good man! Knock them all down!" She even gave Yan Zong, writhing in pain, a kick for good measure.

Yan Zong, skilled though he was, had never expected someone would actually draw a sword and strike at the gate. As he pondered how to seek his master’s revenge, a polished black boot came down on his face.

"Kid, if you dare go looking for trouble, you’d better not sleep tonight." The one stepping on him was Xie Dongting, who had joined Liu Xiaoyi on the journey after dinner.

Though he’d met many nobles in the capital, it was his first time witnessing the grandeur of a sect’s stronghold. The imperial martial arts and those of the sects were two entirely different worlds, rarely interacting.

With Liu Xiaoyi fighting, Xie Dongting could hardly sit idle. Drawing his sword, he leapt several yards and flew straight into the sect gate—his footwork far superior to Liu Xiaoyi’s.

"How dare you cause trouble at the sect gate! Death to all!"

A single finger touched the sword tip. Xie Dongting was instantly hurled back to the ground. From the forest emerged an elder with white hair and a youthful face, clad in a gray robe, three long whiskers floating on spiritual energy.

The disciples rushed forward. "Greetings, Master of Yuheng Peak!"

Xie Dongting’s right arm, clutching his sword, went numb. One finger had nearly shattered his technique—the Yuheng Lord’s power was unfathomable.

"To wound our disciples is a grave offense. The three of you must give an account today!" thundered the Yuheng Peak Lord, his authority silencing the mountains and all present.

"As one of your standing, you ought to discern right from wrong. Why not ask what your disciple did first, instead of abusing your authority?" Liu Xiaoyi stood with his sword on his back, calm and flawless.

The Yuheng Lord was startled. To maintain such composure was rare even among his own. The boy must be disciple to a true master. Yet seeing Yan Zong bleeding and faint, he had no choice. "Even stray cats and dogs dare to defy the Heavenly King Sect! Disciples, seize them!"

With their master backing them, the disciples unleashed their killing techniques, intent on slaying the three on the spot.

Meng Qiaoqiao drew out a medallion bearing the image of a Daoist temple. "I am the young mistress of White Cloud Temple! To harm me is to declare war on White Cloud Temple!"

The disciples halted at once, stifling their own energy and suffering internal injuries.

The name of White Cloud Temple was legendary. A thousand years ago, before the continent was united, its Daoists saved thirty-six sects and seventy-two minor schools. Three hundred years ago, at the founding of the Iron Dynasty, its Daoists thwarted assassins from Chu.

Veins bulged on the Yuheng Lord’s temples. "Even if the Jade Emperor himself came, you would still be seized today!" Under immense pressure, he chose to act. White Cloud Temple or not, he would capture them all!

Xie Dongting gritted his teeth and met the Lord’s finger technique. Each touch drained his energy—and after only a few exchanges, he was coughing blood.

"What a righteous sect! All full of thugs!" Liu Xiaoyi tossed out an object to block the finger aimed to kill Xie Dongting.

The Yuheng Lord hesitated mid-strike, catching sight of the medallion. Two characters—"Tai Shang"—were engraved upon it. His expression changed instantly.

"How did you come by that medallion? Who are you?" Stomping the ground, the Yuheng Lord sent all attacking disciples flying before he could finish. From the mountains rose a beam of white light, streaking toward the gate.

The white light exploded above the gate with an unrivaled force. The Yuheng Lord spat blood and collapsed, curling on the ground, unable to rise.

"What nerve! You disgrace the Heavenly King Sect!" A voice thundered from the heavens, echoing in every ear!