A man like Xuanqing, even in dying, had to die with some grace to it.

Bringing out, for instance, the last of the Primordial Purple Qi that sustained his life, to add a brick and a tile to the Sect Master's Boundless Demon-Sovereign Palace.

And then perishing there, leaving no trace behind — that too would count as a fine story.

But things seemed to have changed now. He was rather afraid that once he was dead, the Sect Master would set up a great stele and leave a few large characters on it, in a hand like flying dragons and dancing phoenixes.

The Dragon-Slaying Daoist.

And through the years to come, disciples without number, going by that stele, would ask about it out of curiosity, and pass the tale of the Dragon-Slaying Daoist from mouth to mouth…

At the thought of it Xuanqing went stiff all over, his toes curling by instinct.

Outside the Founding Ancestor's hall.

Shen Yi cast a bland glance at his retreating back, shook his head, and walked unhurriedly off into the distance.

That the man knew shame was enough; it meant there was still something he cared about, and so he could go on gritting his teeth and living.

Still, Xuanqing's behavior had genuinely surprised Shen Yi.

By all ordinary reckoning, breaking through to the ninth layer of Return-to-Void in so short a time, and with a complete Heavenly Palace besides, ought to count as a very fair showing.

And yet Senior Xuanqing, far from taking any hope from it that a great vengeance might be had, had set about ending his ruined body outright.

That was proof that the other's story was still not a thing he was qualified to hear, even with what he could show now.

“Tch.”

Shen Yi swept off toward the Technique-Storing Pavilion.

He did not quite understand it. However loudly Xuanqing's name had rung, after all he had once been only a Dao-son, with White Jade Capital cultivation — what sort of existence could he possibly have made an enemy of?

Surely even the four great Dragon Palaces…