It's All Fake

"An ambush?" Facing the incoming beam of light, Bing Aotian let out a cold snort. The spiritual energy at his fingertips suddenly turned violent, and the frigid air around him surged like a living thing, instantly coalescing into a crystalline ice barrier several meters high in front of him.

The barrier was as transparent as glass, its surface shimmering with intricate frost patterns, each line infused with the biting spiritual energy of a cultivator at the Spirit Transformation Realm—enough to withstand a full-force strike from a peer.

"BOOM—!"

The dazzling beam collided with the ice barrier, the deafening explosion shaking the entire treasure hall. Icicles rained down from the gilded pillars, and the golden brick floor cracked like a spiderweb.

The shockwave of energy sent everyone in the hall flying—ministers slammed into pillars, their blood splattering over the carved dragons; Cang Wu shielded the guards in front of him but was still forced back several meters, his knees leaving deep, bloody trails on the ground.

Princess Ademi was flung backward like a kite with its string cut, her dress tearing as her elbow scraped against the golden bricks, leaving streaks of blood. She only stopped when she crashed into a bronze crane lampstand in the corner.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she forced herself up. Through her blurred vision, she caught sight of a tall figure at the hall’s entrance. Her pupils constricted in disbelief, her voice trembling. "Imm—Immortal Master?!"

Bing Aotian wiped the blood from the corner of his lips. The ice barrier was now riddled with cracks. His cold gaze swept toward the entrance, where a young man in strange yellow robes strode in unhurriedly.

"Who are you?" Bing Aotian’s voice was frigid, his fingertips already gathering frost once more, ready to strike.

"Me?" Ye Chuan stood in the center of the hall, his eyes scanning the wreckage before settling on Bing Aotian. A faint smirk curled at his lips. "I’m the one you’ve been looking for—the so-called ‘heretical cultivator.’"

"It’s you?! Give me back my son’s life!" The cold fury in Bing Aotian’s eyes reached its peak. The freezing aura around him erupted like a tidal wave, plunging the hall’s temperature to subzero. Ice spread across the ground at a visible pace, and even the sunlight outside seemed to freeze into crystals.

His Spirit Transformation Realm spiritual energy shot into the sky, turning the clouds above the royal city snow-white. A flurry of snowflakes began to fall, landing on burning rooftops with a sizzling hiss.

"You’re just a brat, yet you dare kill my son?!" Bing Aotian roared, his spiritual energy growing even more turbulent. "Ant! Today, I’ll scatter your soul to the winds and make you pay with your life!"

Yet, faced with Bing Aotian’s rage, Ye Chuan remained utterly calm, that strange smile still playing on his lips.

Slowly, he raised a hand. Dark spiritual energy exploded around him, surging upward like an inky dragon. A black pillar pierced through the hall’s dome, clashing with Bing Aotian’s white energy high in the sky!

The fluctuations within that black energy were terrifying—several times more oppressive than Bing Aotian’s Spirit Transformation Realm aura. Even the snowflakes above the city froze midair, as if cowed by its power.

Worse, the black energy was steadily devouring Bing Aotian’s blue spiritual force.

Bing Aotian’s expression twisted. His spiritual energy faltered involuntarily as he stared at Ye Chuan, disbelief creeping into his voice. "You… you’re also at the Spirit Transformation Realm? No—this aura… it’s stronger than that!"

How was this possible? This man looked no older than twenty. Even reaching the Foundation Establishment Realm at such an age would be considered prodigious. How could he possess such monstrous power?

Having lived nearly a thousand years, Bing Aotian had never encountered a cultivator this young and formidable. For the first time, unease flickered in his heart.

Ye Chuan withdrew his energy, the black pillar dissipating. He studied Bing Aotian’s tense expression, his tone almost casual. "Hey buddy, you’re no match for me. Hand over all of the Ice Profound Palace’s treasures—"

"Every last spirit stone, crystal, and whatever keys you’ve got to secret realms. I’ll spare your lives. You can even join my banner. I’ll even give you, old man, a spot as a main soul. How’s that sound?"

"Good, very good!" Bing Aotian laughed, the sound dripping with fury. The cold around him intensified once more. "A mere demonic cultivator dares covet my Ice Profound Palace’s legacy? Today, I’ll show you what true sect heritage looks like!"

Before the words faded, Bing Aotian formed a hand seal. The frigid energy around him surged violently, instantly condensing into a massive ice blade hundreds of meters long!

The blade gleamed bone-white, its edge radiating a deadly chill. It hovered above the hall, casting the entire palace into shadow.

"Ice Profound Slash!"

With a furious shout, the colossal blade descended. The air split with an ear-piercing shriek—a flash of white light, and the imperial palace was cleaved cleanly in half. The ground yawned open into a bottomless chasm, black fissures spewing freezing mist as if to swallow the entire city.

Those inside the hall shut their eyes, their faces ashen, bracing for annihilation.

But the expected devastation never came. When they dared to look, Ye Chuan still stood there, watching Bing Aotian with calm amusement, as if the world-ending strike had never happened.

"Don’t you feel something’s off?" Ye Chuan’s voice carried a hint of mockery as his gaze settled on Bing Aotian.

Bing Aotian stiffened, about to retort, when a sharp pain flared in his arm.

He looked down—his right arm was now covered in eerie, blood-purple veins. They slithered like living things, spreading wherever they touched, turning his skin stiff and numb.

Then, agony flooded his body like a tide. His spiritual energy raged uncontrollably inside him, his meridians feeling as though they were being pierced by countless needles. Even breathing became difficult.

The world before him swayed. The bisected palace blurred, replaced once more by the intact treasure hall. The people inside stared at him strangely—he had never moved from his spot, his hands still locked in that seal, his lips muttering incoherently.

"I… what is this…?" Bing Aotian’s voice trembled. He tried to summon his spiritual energy to purge the purple veins, but it was like throwing mud into the sea—no response.

Even worse, he could feel his flesh melting away at a visible rate. The skin on his arms turned translucent, revealing glimpses of bone beneath.

Ye Chuan stepped forward, looking down at him with that same gentle smile. His words, however, sent Bing Aotian plunging into an abyss of horror:

"Buddy, the moment you blocked my beam, your perception was already corrupted."

"Everything that happened after you used your spiritual energy—all of it was an illusion."

"None of it was real."

Bing Aotian’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. Sheer terror drowned him.

An illusion?!

"No, that’s impossible! Why didn’t I sense anything?!"

Ye Chuan didn’t answer. He simply watched as Bing Aotian’s body dissolved into a pool of blood. Then, he pulled out a soul banner.

"Come inside, fellow Daoist. Your son’s waiting for you."