Xihong, the jade mountain.

In the vast treasure hall, every maid and guard had withdrawn.

It was a rare day when the Dragon Consort lifted a hand herself. For a purple-whiskered white dragon to let killing intent this cold and this real spill out was almost unheard of. It proved she was truly angry.

"Stop."

Zixian no longer called herself This Palace. An Tingfeng's tiger head had already come out beneath the snow-scaled dragon claw. The fierce, ugly head was gradually buckling in its sharp grip.

She could tell how tight things were on the other side.

Otherwise this fierce tiger would not keep feeding his clansmen.

A lot could be read from that.

It meant there had to be another Sect Master with Shen Yi. But most likely it was not Ji Jingxi. She, too, stood at the Heaven Realm. Had she been there, it would not matter if the old beast spent his last drop of blood essence.

That was exactly why Zixian grew even more anxious.

If An Tingfeng really had his way, two Sect Masters of the Nanhong Seven would fall on her own ground in one go… How could she ever face Jingxi again?

"I told you to stop!"

With that low snap, Zixian suddenly bore down. There was a muffled crack, and fine fractures instantly spread across An Tingfeng's head. Then crimson blood welled out and stained the white fur and black stripes of his face.

"Hnh… hnh…"

Through the gaps in the dragon claw, An Tingfeng bared his split mouth and let out a strange, shrill laugh.

So even a great demon matching the Heaven Realm, one who had lived through the hundred-thousand-year kalpa of slaughter, became this weak once she had someone to care about. So weak that her realm was an empty shell, and anyone could see at a glance what she feared.

The secret method was already in motion. The moment he died, all his cultivation would pass to the clan's elder.

This woman did not dare gamble at all. She still hoped the people of the Nanhong Seven could…