Xihong, so tightly guarded until now, seemed to fall into turmoil overnight!

All over the region, Dragon Palace demon soldiers were being slaughtered in the strangest ways, and every one of these atrocities was committed openly, right in front of everyone, with no regard at all for the West Dragon Palace, the local emperor.

Before these reports could even be pieced together, the living things of Xihong suddenly noticed…

The sky was changing!

The churning aura of heaven and earth, the dark, heavy clouds, the thunder flickering faintly among them—it all seemed to announce that something huge was happening.

Many powerful cultivators finally broke out of their closed-door cultivation in their cave estates. They looked up at the sky in silence, then turned horrified eyes toward the deep water, and without hesitation ordered their mountains and sects sealed.

Meanwhile—

Xihong, the great hall of the Dragon Palace.

Qi Shengtao sat high on its dais, with guests seated all along both sides. In the middle of the hall, Qi Zhaowen had just finished telling of the day's strange events and was still waiting for his father's response when he turned and looked out of the hall in puzzlement.

As if he had sensed something terrible.

Qi Zhaowen's face went white, and he even swayed slightly on his feet. For the future Crown Prince to look so unsteady—and in front of so many honored guests, no less—was a serious loss of composure.

But he was past caring about that. He turned back to his father in fear, opening his mouth to explain.

“Where did they go?”

Qi Shengtao looked down at him, a cold chill rising in its eyes.

“To… to the Ten Thousand Forms Pavilion.” Qi Zhaowen's mouth had gone dry, his throat burning as if it were smoking.

“Who sent them?” Qi Shengtao asked again.

The hall was dead silent. Qi Zhaowen pressed a hand to his forehead, nearly fainting. After a long while he said, in a voice as faint as a mosquito's, “Reporting to Royal Father: it was your son who sent them… but, but your son already…