Junhua led the merfolk still capable of fighting to the gates of the Dragon Palace.
After learning of their people’s suffering—and that many had been taken away—every merfolk was stricken with grief.
Junhua left the final decision to everyone, though she already knew what they would choose.
Because merfolk would never abandon their own.
Now that they knew Beast-Taming Manor was using vile means to force merfolk to produce mermaid beads, they couldn’t just wait. They had to rescue their kin—immediately.
They came to the Dragon Palace, planning to regroup with Mo Xuanli.
Junhua entered the vast palace alone to search.
The Dragon Palace stood in the depths of the ocean trench, far below the coral reefs, isolated from the seawater by an enchantment. A spiritual vein ran beneath it, filling the place with dense spiritual energy. Yet the entire palace felt cold and empty—perhaps because it was built to accommodate the original form of a dragon. Massive, ancient, and echoing—each step she took resounded through the halls.
Junhua disliked the place; it felt suffocating.
Sensing an intruder, Ao Hang released a faint breath of dragon’s might, guiding her toward him.
When she arrived, she was startled.
Because inside that frigid, grand palace was a room that looked entirely out of place.
There were coral climbing frames, wheels, balls of all sizes rolling on the floor, ropes hanging from the ceiling that could be tugged or climbed, even trees and odd seedlings growing—an almost dreamlike sight.
Junhua tried to keep her expression composed, and saw Mo Xuanli standing quietly before a pile of small toys.
Ao Hang sat not far away, looking bored out of his mind.
“What is this…” Junhua stepped closer and saw that Mo Xuanli’s God Nine Transformations floated midair, glowing strangely.
“An evolving spiritual weapon,” Ao Hang said lazily. “Didn’t expect someone would actually forge a weapon from shards of the God-Slaying Sword. Now that he’s got two pieces, this kid’s fate will never be ordinary.”
Mo Xuanli had done so many astonishing things that Junhua was no longer surprised. But still—why was he doing this here?
“Don’t tell me you threw the sword fragment into that pile of toys?”
Ao Hang shrugged. “It’s useless to me anyway.”
“So the reason you gave the merfolk dragon whiskers back then was because you couldn’t find the fragment?”
Ao Hang didn’t want to recall that part—after all, he’d tossed the shard away carelessly, not realizing San’er had dug it up to play with. He only found it after giving the whiskers.
“You brought those old, weak, and injured merfolk here… to die?” Ao Hang said bluntly, sensing the merfolk’s presence outside.
Once, Junhua would’ve exploded at such words—but now, she didn’t.
Because Ao Hang was right. Even when they had home-field advantage among the reefs and undercurrents, they couldn’t defeat Beast-Taming Manor. On land, their odds were even worse.
But still—Junhua said quietly, “Even if we’re weak, can we just abandon our own? Watch them die, their hearts cut out? The merfolk can’t do that. We’d rather die with our kin. Besides, we have our ways.”
Ao Hang arched a brow, saying nothing.
Junhua continued, “You’re coming with us, aren’t you? If you’d lend just a bit of help—”
“I’m not going.”
Junhua blinked in surprise. “Why? Aren’t you looking for your fiancée?”
Ao Hang didn’t bother hiding it; no one had ever asked him before, that was all.
“My body can’t leave this place. At most, my dragon soul can go with you—but I wouldn’t be able to do anything,” he said.
“How can that be? You have a human form, don’t you? Are you really some kind of fish—will you die without water?” Junhua, herself a creature of the sea, couldn’t quite grasp it.
Ao Hang immediately snapped, “Don’t compare me to your inferior species! The dragons’ duty is to suppress and guard the four seas. Without us anchoring the waters, do you think your kind—or the land dwellers—could live in such peace?”
Junhua froze for a moment—he had heard of similar ancient legends before, but never thought they were true.
“So that means you’re basically imprisoned?”
For a fleeting moment, Ao Hang’s face darkened.
“What of it? If we dragons were given freedom, the whole world would be trampled beneath our claws.”
Heaven’s Dao is fair. Just as those who ascend to immortality can never return to the mortal realm, there is an order to all things. The might of the dragon race would upset the balance of the world—so their imprisonment was inevitable.
True dragons were divine beasts born from the chaos of the primordial war between gods and demons. Their natural lifespans were endless, and through the long ages they had witnessed seas turn into fields and fields back into seas. The only thing that never changed was their fate of solitude.
To be unable to leave the sea was indeed a form of imprisonment. And since they looked down upon all other creatures by nature— dragons were always lonely beings.
Ao Hang, the black dragon, had been born near the end of the war between gods and demons. When the divine race fell, he too plummeted into the mortal world. The moment he sank into this sea, his soul told him what his destined purpose was. So here he remained—either sleeping or staring blankly into the depths. When restless, he would thrash about, stirring waves that shook the heavens. Eventually he learned to let his dragon soul wander outside his body, but the process was excruciating, so he only did it when he was unbearably bored.
Until one day, at the bottom of the sea, he found a little cat who had fallen into the water—and his dragon life suddenly gained a touch of color.
“I’d rather be trampled beneath the feet of your dragon race,” Junhua muttered. “Maybe the world would actually be safer that way. So your inability to protect us is also because you can’t leave the sea?”
Ao Hang snorted. “Big fish eat small fish. Do you think a passing shark would stop to help?”
That left Junhua momentarily speechless. Irritated, she retorted, “Right now we’re working with Mo Xuanli. If your little sweetheart really is in the Beast Taming Manor, I’ll be the one helping you.”
At that, Ao Hang’s expression immediately soured. Junhua, still unwilling to drop it, pressed on, “So you really can’t leave at all? The moment you do, something goes wrong?”
“There are old tales,” Junhua continued, “that dragons can be tamed into contract beasts. If that’s true, how could there be such legends if dragons can’t leave the sea?”
Mo Xuanli’s voice suddenly broke in.
Both turned to look at him—he was slowly calming his spiritual power. The divine bracelet of God Nine Transformations on his wrist looked unchanged, yet the patterns across it seemed subtly different.
Both the dragon and the merfolk could sense an ancient, dangerous aura emanating from it—something that resonated sharply with their old, primordial bloodlines.
“If one becomes a contract beast,” Mo Xuanli asked, “does that mean he could leave?”
Ao Hang’s face immediately darkened. “What, you just got your hands on two fragments and now you’ve set your sights on me?”
“What nonsense,” Junhua frowned. “Xuanli is trying to help you leave this place.”
Ao Hang gave a cold snort. “And how would you know what’s in his heart? You’ve seen human greed before.”
Indeed—for cultivators, the desire to possess a true dragon would be madness itself, restrained only by fear.
“If it’s truly possible,” Mo Xuanli said evenly, “then yes, I want to form a contract with you. Because the fighting strength of the merfolk and me isn’t enough.”
He had a feeling that once Gu Baiqing discovered the truth behind the persecution of the merfolk, his master would never stand idly by. But his master’s powers fluctuated unpredictably, and facing the Beast Taming Manor would be dangerous. Mo Xuanli didn’t want another disaster like the one under the sea. He wouldn’t let his master be harmed again. So even if he had to ask others for help, he felt no shame—his own strength simply wasn’t enough yet.
Ao Hang narrowed his eyes at him. The fact that he didn’t immediately refuse meant the method might actually work.
Mo Xuanli said directly, “I promised to bring Three Bean to meet you. But if he refuses to come even at the risk of his life, I may not be able to force him. Why don’t you come yourself instead? And don’t worry—I can swear a blood oath. Once this matter is over, I’ll dissolve the contract immediately and return your freedom. Or, if you wish, you can bind me by some other means.”
Ao Hang was momentarily stunned.
Junhua quickly added, “Xuanli, when a beast contract is dissolved, the backlash is severe. It might not matter much to a dragon, but for you…” Normally, the bond only ended upon death. To forcibly break it early was to invite immense pain.
Mo Xuanli frowned slightly. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes.” He was of mixed blood—his recovery rate even surpassed his master’s. If this trade could work, it was worth it. After all, right now he didn’t even know his master’s condition—or whether he could still ask for help from Zixiao Sect.
Ao Hang’s eyes narrowed, and at last he relented. “Your proposal is acceptable. But I must warn you—Heaven and Earth demand balance. Once a dragon becomes a contract beast, its power will be greatly reduced. And my strength will also be affected by your spiritual power.”
“Even weakened, you’d still be strong,” Mo Xuanli replied.
Ao Hang smiled faintly. “Indeed. Roughly about the level I used when I fought you before.”
That was already comparable to a cultivator at the Tribulation stage. So Ao Hang had been holding back earlier—he hadn’t even fought seriously.
Without hesitation, Mo Xuanli extended his hand. “Shall we bind the contract?”
Ao Hang looked deeply into his eyes. Then, with a flash of light, he branded his spiritual mark. In that instant, a powerful bond formed between them— the link between master and contract beast.
To Junhua, though, both of them looked equally uncomfortable. Yet the entire sea seemed to shudder faintly in response to the dragon’s binding.
Gradually, excitement lit up Ao Hang’s face—he could feel it, the invisible chains that had bound him to the sea loosening at last.
Freedom. He could truly leave. The feeling was intoxicating.
If he didn’t still need Mo Xuanli’s help to locate San’er, he would’ve taken off already.
“Let’s go,” Ao Hang said eagerly, striding forward.
Mo Xuanli and Junhua hurried to follow.
“Junhua,” Mo Xuanli said as they walked, “I overheard you and Ao Hang earlier. Are you planning to have your people enter the Ten Thousand Beasts Forest directly—to trigger a beast riot as a distraction for the rescue?”
Junhua froze, not expecting to be guessed so easily.
Indeed, this was now the only method her clan could see even a sliver of hope in.
The beasts of the Ten Thousand Beast Forest were far more numerous—and far stronger—than those of the sea. But they also hadn’t forgotten that their ability to control beasts seemed to be countered by the young disciples of the Beast-Taming Manor.
So all they could do was seize that fleeting chance—provoke a riot first. If the enemy managed to suppress it, everything would depend on that brief window of time.
Junhua had never planned to shamelessly pin all her hopes on Mo Xuanli and Ao Hang, but this was already the best strategy she could come up with.
“Exactly. When the time comes, I’ll act together with you. If we travel the same route, we’ll strike the Beast-Taming Manor together. At the key moment, my people will incite a beast riot. But if our paths don’t cross, you needn’t worry about us.”
“We’re already involved,” Mo Xuanli said simply.
Junhua fell silent, then only murmured, “I’m sorry—and thank you.”
“Your plan’s sound. Let’s do it. But be careful of beast demons—if the beasts are infected with demonic energy, you won’t be able to control them, and you’ll be in danger instead. At least now that a true dragon’s on our side, things should go more smoothly,” Mo Xuanli replied.
A trace of hope flickered across Junhua’s face. Watching Mo Xuanli gradually catch up to Ao Hang’s figure ahead, a sudden thought flashed through her mind.
The surface of the sea began to grow restless.
The beast demon, carrying a crystal jar on his back, coldly watched the approaching figures of merfolk near the cliff edge of the Ten Thousand Beast Forest—but behind him came the sound of cheerful splashing.
Clearly, someone was happy to sense their own kind.
“Qinfan, your little sister’s temper… really is just like yours,” the beast demon muttered. “Let’s wait and see.”
Meanwhile, deep inside the mountain, Gu Baiqing was wearing an extremely sour expression as he used Morning Snow to dig at the wall behind him, cursing the system under his breath.
To escape, he’d been forced to ask the system for help— spent ten points to redeem a strategy pouch—and this time, at least, it wasn’t another “shameful” option. But still—
Option one: wait for rescue.
Option two: wait to be discovered by the enemy.
That was when Gu Baiqing suddenly realized—he still had the same face he’d used in battle with those old men! They hadn’t noticed only because those high-ranking elders had no interest in personally inspecting the captured merfolk.
But those young masters and ladies had seen “Brother Mo.” If they spotted him, he’d be dragged out immediately—he wouldn’t even know how he died. Wait to be found? That was just waiting to die.
Option three: “Do it yourself, reap your own rewards.”
Then the system pointed out a route that completely defied the logic of an immortal-cultivation novel— “See that chain locked around your neck? The collar’s sealed, so you can’t pull it off—but the chain’s fixed into the wall, and the wall’s not sealed. So if you just dig out that chunk of stone, you can escape, right?”
And so, the celestial-grade artifact Morning Snow, though unable to channel spiritual power, was absurdly tough and durable—and was now being used for the most humiliating purpose imaginable: chiseling through stone.
Watching the little hairpin Morning Snow glint and spark as it scraped, Gu Baiqing felt his future dimming fast.
But he had no choice—not escaping wasn’t an option. He couldn’t use spiritual power, couldn’t change his face—if he got unlucky and someone recognized him, he’d be doomed. Better to run first and think later.
After a long struggle, he finally pried the other end of the chain loose, stood up with the collar still around his neck, and hastily took off his soaked outer robe. Stuffing it with nearby stones to look like a person, he set it in place as a decoy.
He didn’t try to wake the merfolk beside him—those trapped in illusion wouldn’t wake easily. Without being bitten awake like he had been, no one could break free. He only shifted them slightly to cover his absence and buy himself a chance to escape.
“Master, this way,” came Three Bean’s voice from above.
Three Bean had already scouted ahead. Overhead were four interconnected tunnels—his escape route.
Gu Baiqing nimbly climbed up and followed the upward path for a while, soon passing through a vast cavern full of illusory beasts. Thanks to Three Bean’s presence, their passage went smoothly—and only then did Gu Baiqing learn that Three Bean had nearly shared the same fate as the others.
After the Immortal-Demon War, Three Bean had been separated from little Xuanli. He’d met other fleeing tricolor illusion cats and been brought to the Ten Thousand Beast Forest.
He’d wanted to find Mo Xuanli, but back then he’d been too weak—he couldn’t even take his true form and was trapped in the forest. One day, when a group of cultivators invaded the forest to hunt illusion-type beasts, Three Bean fled with his kin, was wounded, and accidentally fell into the sea—where Ao Hang found him.
So even Three Bean’s past was tied to the Beast-Taming Manor’s schemes. Clearly, the secrets buried in this mountain ran deep.
Gu Baiqing’s face darkened. The crimes of the Beast-Taming Manor had to be exposed.
Minor, hidden evils might be ignored by the cultivation world—everyone had their secrets—but things of this magnitude couldn’t go unpunished. The sects would fear them too; a power that rose through such methods could not be left unchecked.
Otherwise, why else would the Beast-Taming Manor go to such lengths to hide everything—swapping bodies, staging false deaths—just to cover it all up?
Thinking of the villa’s ultimate downfall in the original story, Gu Baiqing thought grimly: they truly deserved every bit of it.
The two continued upward and soon spotted a brightly lit chamber—apparently a resting room.
Peering down from a small hole, Gu Baiqing’s sharp eyes caught sight of someone wearing a robe embroidered with the Beast-Taming Manor’s insignia—fine quality, too.
He exchanged a glance with Three Bean. Then a small furry paw reached down through the hole—hooked onto the robe—and quietly lifted it up.
Well, he couldn’t just walk around in his underclothes—it was embarrassing. And who knew? The outfit might come in handy as a disguise later.
But just as he slipped the robe on, noises sounded in the corridor outside the chamber.
“Yu Yingwan went to find that little merfolk? Then I’ll go see if she actually dares to do it.”
Gu Baiqing’s expression changed slightly—it was Yu Chun’s voice.
Yu Yingwan? Little merfolk?
Fuye!
