"This isn't theatrics."

Nie Jun shook his head, still holding the Dao token up in offering.

There were not many people he cared about in his life.

Nor did he carry any great cause for the living of the world.

If he had to name something he minded about, it was probably only this crowd of fellow disciples from Wutong Mountain.

Shen Yi walking out to meet Zhang Laifu with that offhand look on his face could fairly be counted as hauling all their lives back out of the King of Hell's own hands.

On the day he became Sect Master, at the very least, the man was worth a knee.

The others, arriving at last, all stopped where they were and watched the scene in silence.

There was no need to say anything.

What had happened here, the whole world knew.

Every one of them had seen with their own eyes Shen Yi drive the purple-empyrean divine-thunder sword through the old dog's neck.

And now, with that white robe over his shoulders, the title fit the man.

"……"

As more and more of them gathered, and all those blazing gazes turned on him together—

Shen Yi, somewhat unused to it, arched an eyebrow.

Then he rose slowly, took the Dao token Nie Jun held out, turned his back on them all, and looked toward the hall.

The Thousand Demon Den was swept clean at last.

He looked at the token in his hand, and something like a smile came onto that blood-covered face.

It seemed he could finally stop walking and rest a while — and while he was at it, go out and see the scenery beyond.

The long white robe stirred faintly.

Gentle streaming light wandered through the Nanyang gold tracery upon it, veiling a little of the intensely thick air of slaughter about the young man.

The Wutong Mountain disciples, and a number of the Great Qian and Xu family people, all found themselves following.

They had thought Shen Yi would step straight into the light-curtain.

Instead, having stowed the old dog's corpse into a storage…