The golden-crimson fire did not burn the wooden platform. It flowed like warm, liquid sunrise, enveloping Mu Qing in an orb of swirling immortal light.
Dr. Gu Qinghe stepped to the eastern edge of the dais, his silver needles dancing in the air like a constellation of protective stars. Chu Lingxiao stood on the western edge, her blue sleeves fluttering in the rising thermal winds, her Taichu Benevolence Sword drawn three inches from its scabbard. General Meng Tie stood directly in front of the stairs, his halberd resting across his iron shoulder like an immovable mountain.
Not a single hostile cultivator dared breathe too loudly.
“Stay back,” Chu Lingxiao’s voice rang across the front rows, cold enough to freeze water in mid-air. “Anyone who takes half a step toward this stage will be cut into thirty-six pieces before their foot touches the ground.”
Several Jade-Clear elders who had considered sneaking forward to interrupt the fusion immediately took two steps back, their boots scuffing nervously against the marble.
“General Meng, sword lady, let us not be hasty!” an elder stammered, raising his hands in placating gestures. “We are merely observing the sacred ritual!”
“Observe with your eyes, not your feet,” General Meng Tie rumbled back. “Move an inch, and my halberd will observe your ribcage.”
