Faced with provocation, Ao Kun did not strike immediately, but his cold gaze alone had already passed sentence on Dustin. This man must die. “Good. Good. Good.” The effeminate man repeated the word three times, his voice still smooth and lilting, but now laced with venomous chill. He gently set down his jade cup and rose, straightening his lavender robe with the poise of a performer stepping onto stage. “To have wounded Qing Mu so grievously—your sword truly has some merit. Unfortunately for you, you’ve met me, Xuan Ming.” As he named himself, the atmosphere of the entire palace shifted. Moisture thickened in the air. The spiritual liquid in the wine pool rippled without wind. Beads of water condensed upon the luminous pearls inlaid along the walls. Even the spiritual energy hanging in the air felt damp and heavy. Xuan Ming seemed to have become the sovereign of every trace of water essence in the space. Dustin stood with his sword, his breathing ragged. After such relentless combat—es...