A flash of red streaked through the air and landed gracefully atop the marble arch of the Immortal Sword Sect’s grand gate. From her perch, the woman in crimson looked down at the crowd of martial artists below with open disdain.
The sect members’ expressions darkened immediately—not because of her arrogance, but because of where she stood.
Yan Qiren quickly tugged on the sleeve of a woman surnamed Li, whose face had turned stormy. He shook his head slightly, signaling her to stay calm.
Li’s face flushed with barely contained fury, but she held herself in check for the moment.
Meanwhile, the gathered martial artists craned their necks, trying to get a glimpse of the red-clad lady’s face. They couldn’t see her clearly; instead, crimson petals began drifting down from nowhere, fluttering through the air.
Everyone froze. Some fools even reached up to catch the petals—only to recoil when the touch of them burned cold as frost.
Before they could react further, the woman above, the one they called the Snow Demon Sovereign, curved her lips into a cold smile. Her sleeve rippled though there was no wind, and in an instant, the petals shattered mid-air into glittering red ice crystals. A wave of biting chill swept through the air, carrying the shards like a blizzard. The icy storm engulfed the entire crowd below.
The world went silent for a breath—then came the screams, shrill and unending.
The Immortal Sword Sect disciples outside the blast instinctively drew their weapons, hearts pounding. They could see nothing but a thick red mist swirling where the crowd had stood. The screams clawing out from within made their scalps prickle and their stomachs turn. No one doubted that whatever was happening in there was worse than death.
Yan Qiren and Xiao Yan stared in disbelief. He had assumed this woman was perhaps the old man’s daughter—or maybe his wife, or even his younger sister. The age difference had seemed too great for anything else. Never had he imagined they were husband and wife.
Seeing her terrifying display of power, his heart settled slightly. If her strength was this great, then that old man’s must be even more unfathomable. Perhaps he was a master on par with their own teacher… maybe even one of the Supremes. But which one?
The storm didn’t last long. The crimson mist began to thin.
When it cleared, the crowd had vanished. In their place, red ice crystals carpeted the ground in a thick layer—like snow drenched in blood. The sight was enough to drain the color from every face.
Those who had hung back, hidden in the forest and watching from afar, were trembling too hard to run.
The Snow Demon raised her sleeve with lazy grace, her movements almost sensual. “Ants are still ants,” she said with a drawl. “Those inside—if you think you’re not afraid of dying, come out. If you value your lives, here’s your one chance: go back and tell whoever sent you that the Immortal Sword Sect is not theirs to covet. Don’t take the Sword Saint’s righteousness for weakness. I, the Snow Demon, do not share his patience. From this day on, anyone who dares act against this sect within three miles—regardless of who they are—will end up like them.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. With a cold snort, her figure blurred and vanished into the sect grounds, leaving only a faint echo in the air:
“Disciples of the Immortal Sword Sect—get back to your duties. Stop standing here embarrassing yourselves.”
For a long time, silence reigned. Then, someone shrieked and bolted. The rest followed, stumbling and scrambling to escape.
The Snow Demon Sovereign—one of the Five Great Supremes of the martial world.
By sheer power, she might not rank first, but among the five, she was the one most feared. Her techniques were unpredictable, her methods cruel—none who fell into her hands left so much as a corpse behind. Despite her gentle manner and calm beauty, her ruthlessness was unmatched.
Seventy years ago, she was known as the Blood Demoness, a name that made warriors pale in terror. If not for her later marriage to Bai Feng of the Western Shu Snow Peaks—after which she withdrew from the world—the martial realm would have never known peace.
Fifty years ago, their only son was murdered. The Snow Demon went mad, bathing the martial world in blood in her search for vengeance. Those who survived her wrath still woke from nightmares decades later.
Though Bai Feng himself was not counted among the Supremes, he was widely respected—for people believed he had sacrificed himself for the greater good by taming the demoness and binding her heart.
And now, after fifty years of silence, she had reappeared. The news of her return would shake the entire martial world far more than any rumor of the Immortal Sword Sect seeking dominance.
Yan Qiren, lost in thought, was startled by a sudden sharp pain. He looked down at the pale, trembling man he had been shielding. The man’s lips quivered, eyes burning with feverish excitement as he whispered, “The Snow Demon Sovereign… it’s truly her. I never thought I’d live to see the greatest of the Supremes.”
The sect disciples snapped out of their daze—only to double over, retching uncontrollably.
Later, they were all settled into Murong Qiufeng’s personal courtyard. Everyone except Shangguan Ye seemed pleased; he alone looked sour.
The courtyard, after all, was filled with reminders of Yun Feiyang—his carvings, his calligraphy, even the plaque above the gate bore his hand. The fool hosting them couldn’t stop boasting about his “senior brother,” and every word made Shangguan Ye itch to draw his sword and challenge Yun Feiyang on the spot. Perhaps it would be best to make sure that boy didn’t come back here for a while.
Outside, a number of elders and senior disciples waited anxiously.
It wasn’t a secret that the Snow Demon Sovereign and the Sword Saint were acquainted—Bai Feng, her husband, was the Sword Saint’s sworn brother. Back then, it was only through the Sword Saint’s mediation that she stopped her rampage.
So while the Snow Demon’s reputation was terrifying, to the Immortal Sword Sect, her presence was more honor than threat. Her wrath was for outsiders, not for them.
“Everyone,” Murong Qiufeng said as he stepped out wearily, “Senior Xue and Senior Bai are resting. They’ve had a long journey. Please, go back for now.”
His usually quiet courtyard had never been so lively.
One elder, his tone both respectful and cautious, spoke up, “May I ask, Junior Uncle—did Senior Xue come here to resolve this incident?”
Murong Qiufeng sighed softly and nodded. “You could say that.”
