“Our affairs at Heavenly Deity Mountain are none of your concern—worry about yourselves!” Yun Jinhai stepped forward, a trace of cold mockery curling his lips.
“Oh-ho! If I recall, yesterday I sent some fool coughing blood. And today, he dares to challenge me again?” Kong Qiuji sneered, the majestic aura of the Peacock Great Venerable radiating from him. Golden light surged, feathers like snowflakes danced in the air, scattering dazzling radiance.
Yun Jinhai’s killing intent was overwhelming, yet his face betrayed no anger—only an icy chill. Without a word, he spat out a small cyan banner. With a flick of the wind, it rapidly expanded in his grasp, fluttering fiercely as cyan mist surged, shaking the heavens.
Everyone, even the Venerables, felt a chill in their hearts, involuntarily stepping back. The pressure was palpable, silencing the crowd.
What kind of weapon was this?
The banner’s pole was cold, forged of cyan metal, while the flag itself was ancient, adorned with embroidered stars stained with black blood. Its aura was eerie, its fluctuations overwhelming—enough to unsettle even the Venerables.
This was no mere sacred artifact—it was a divine weapon, capable of slaying Venerables with ease.
Yun Jinhai, humiliated before, had returned for vengeance, wielding this weapon to suppress and capture the accursed peacock.
“Kong Qiuji, you were once a figure of renown. Have you lost all sense of judgment now? Weren’t you always the one who never suffered losses? Today, I’ll crush you!” Yun Jinhai’s voice was frigid.
With a *shing!*, he gripped the cyan-gold banner pole with both hands and swung it violently. In an instant, the heavens darkened, the sun and moon lost their luster, and the very fabric of the world trembled under the deafening roar.
The banner unfurled like a cascading galaxy, exuding an aura of boundless grandeur, suppressing all directions!
The crowd shuddered—how could such power be resisted? Even a Venerable would likely be torn apart if they faced it head-on.
“Damn it, Second Elder is done for,” the Fire Crow muttered fearfully.
“Call me *Elder Kong*. I don’t go by ‘Second,'” Kong Qiuji retorted calmly, utterly unfazed by the sweeping banner.
Having spent so long in Stone Village, he had witnessed the transcendent might of the Willow Deity—far beyond any mortal comprehension. With such a presence nearby, he stood unshaken, watching the battle unfold as if it were a mere spectacle.
The Golden Peng Clan retreated, even their elder stepping back with a grave expression, unwilling to face the banner’s overwhelming force.
Yet, to everyone’s astonishment, Kong Qiuji remained rooted in place, hands clasped behind his back, exuding the demeanor of a peerless expert.
The banner surged, unleashing waves of cyan sword beams aimed straight at him—enough to wound even a Venerable.
Kong Qiuji merely smirked, plucking a flower bud from a nearby bush and peeling its petals. With a lecherous grin, he flicked them forward—dispersing the sword beams effortlessly.
Yun Jinhai roared in fury, eyes bulging.
“I am the reincarnation of the Peacock Great Bright King, impervious to all arts! Mortal weapons cannot harm me. Step aside—your petty tricks are meaningless,” Kong Qiuji declared, playing the mystic.
“Die!” Yun Jinhai refused to believe it, swinging the banner once more. Lightning crackled as if the Thunder God himself had descended.
Yet again, Kong Qiuji scattered petals, shattering the lightning with ease.
The crowd gasped. Yun Jinhai’s golden pupils contracted as he stepped back, suppressing his rage.
“Have you… surpassed the Venerable realm?” he asked, uneasy.
“Mm, not quite,” Kong Qiuji replied modestly.
Relieved, Yun Jinhai’s killing intent flared anew—he still wished to strike down this detestable peacock.
“Jinhai, *enough*!”
A group emerged from beyond the palace complex, stepping lightly over grass and flowers, their sleeves fluttering like celestial beings.
The Heavenly Deity Mountain’s patriarch had arrived—this battle would go no further.
“Brother Jin, you’ve come,” Yun Canghai clasped his fists toward the elder Golden Peng—Jin Luantian, the patriarch of the Golden-Winged Great Peng Clan, a figure of unfathomable power.
Jin Luantian returned the gesture with a smile. “Heavenly Deity Mountain bears the divine formations of antiquity. We’ve come to share in its blessings.”
With a wave, his followers poured out divine materials—glowing treasures that bathed the area in radiant splendor.
Yun Canghai’s eyes gleamed. “Brother Jin, you flatter us. Who is truly benefiting here?”
The Golden Peng Clan had brought five of the missing divine materials—a staggering display of wealth.
As discussions turned to the Upper Realm, Shi Hao listened intently, his mind racing.
“Perhaps our clans should ally upon crossing,” Jin Luantian suggested.
“A wise thought,” Yun Canghai agreed.
Then, Jin Luantian gestured to his prodigy, Jin Yunteng—a handsome, formidable youth. “What do you think of my grandson?”
“A future deity, without doubt,” Yun Canghai praised.
“Then let him wed Yun Xi,” Jin Luantian proposed with a smile.
The atmosphere shifted.
Kong Qiuji, unusually silent, merely glanced at Shi Hao and muttered, “A real man wouldn’t stand for this.”
Jin Yunteng was tall, golden-haired, and regal—Yun Xi, ethereally beautiful in her violet robes. They would make a striking pair.
Shi Hao took a single step, golden runes flaring beneath his feet—the pinnacle of Peng Clan movement arts. In an instant, he stood before Yun Xi, grasping her delicate hand.
“This is *my* wife,” he declared.
Yun Xi’s flawless cheeks flushed crimson as she tried to pull away.
The Golden Peng Clan froze, then erupted in fury.
“Are you jesting, young friend?” a Peng elder asked, his smile strained.
“Let go,” Yun Xi whispered, mortified.
“Not joking,” Shi Hao replied, then added softly, “Be careful—don’t jostle the baby.”
Jin Yunteng, who had remained composed even in the Fire Nation’s capital, now turned away, his face twisted with rage.
With a collective *hmph!*, the Golden Peng Clan stormed off.
The Heavenly Clan stared at Shi Hao, then Yun Xi, bewildered.
Yun Xi, having nearly fainted from embarrassment, finally wrenched free. “You—!”
“Calm down,” Shi Hao said, stepping back. To Kong Qiuji, he muttered, “Why let the Peng Clan strut about when we hold all the power?”
Kong Qiuji nodded. “You’re right. Let’s bar them from the formation—leave them stranded in the Wasteland.”
“Too harsh,” Shi Hao mused. “Instead, let other sacred mountains challenge them for extra spots. The Peng Clan will guard the formation. Losers forfeit passage.”
“You dare?!” Yun Jinhai snarled.
“Defy us, and you’ll guard the arena too,” Shi Hao retorted. “We decide who crosses. Not you.”
The Heavenly Clan tensed—this brat was playing a ruthless game.
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