Outside the Bai Clan estate, the two warships hovered like looming giants—casting long shadows over the land.
Crimson flames and silver lightning danced along their hulls, making the sky churn with unnatural weather.
And then—
A voice boomed across the heavens, amplified by Qi so that it echoed for miles.
“Bai Tianheng!”
The air trembled.
It was Li Jianhong’s voice—cold, sharp, and brimming with righteous fury.
“Come out and face this head of the Li Clan!”
The spiritual pressure behind his words sent cracks rippling across the clouds. Several weaker cultivators down below staggered just from the weight of his voice.
Inside the Bai Clan’s main courtyard, silence fell for a breath.
Then—
Bai Tianheng walked out slowly from the ancestral hall, robes fluttering, hands clasped behind his back.
His long black hair swayed in the wind.
He gazed up at the massive warships without a hint of fear.
And then he spoke, his tone relaxed—almost playful.
“Li Jianhong?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“You’ve come all this way… and with such fanfare. Don’t tell me—have you come to congratulate us?”
A few of the Bai Clan elders barely held in their laughter.
Bai Tianheng went on, as if having a polite conversation at a teahouse.
“After all, our Bai Clan has had quite a few happy events recently.”
He smiled faintly.
“It warms the heart to see our old friends from the Li Clan rushing over so eagerly. Really, it’s touching.”
A pause!
Then Li Jianhong’s voice thundered again, no longer masking the killing intent.
“Enough with the games, Bai Tianheng! You know damn well why we’re here!”
Bai Tianheng raised a brow and said lazily, “Why are you here, pray tell?”
From atop the Li Clan warship, Li Jianhong’s face twisted into a sneer.
“The girl,” he said coldly. “Hand her over!”
“She carries something far too dangerous to be left in the hands of a single clan. We won’t allow the Bai Clan to hoard the Immortal Emperor’s Inheritance for themselves!”
His words rang out like thunder—sharp, biting, and dripping with unspoken threats.
But before Bai Tianheng could reply, another voice echoed from the second warship, this one smoother, more composed—but no less heavy with pressure.
“Patriarch Bai,” said Zhao Wutian, stepping forward.
“There is no need for this to become something regrettable.”
His voice was serene, almost gentle—like a kindly senior advising a junior.
“As Patriarch Li said, what the girl possesses is not something that should belong to any one clan.”
He looked down at the Bai Clan estate, eyes half-lidded yet glinting with calculation.
“The Immortal Emperor’s Inheritance… if properly shared, could uplift the entire Desolate Heaven Empire. Think of what good it could do—shared cultivation methods, ancient insights, treasures of immeasurable value.”
His gaze hardened.
“But if left in the hands of one family, what do you think will happen?”
A soft hum of tension spread through the surrounding onlookers—various sect elders, noble clan envoys, and rogue cultivators who had come to spectate.
Most remained silent, eyes darting between the clans.
Zhao Wutian gestured slowly, deliberately.
“We are not here for war. We are here to get justice for everyone.”
“Let Bai Xinyue come forward and share what she received. In doing so, she will be helping everyone.”
Zhao Wutian’s words made it sound as if they were righteous saviors—here not to seize, but to help, to uplift others.
He twisted the narrative skillfully, painting the Bai Clan as selfish hoarders rather than victims forced to defend against an invasion.
By invoking the so-called “greater good,” they positioned themselves on the moral high ground, casting their aggression as a noble purpose.
After all, in war, it’s not always truth that wins hearts—but the one who appears more righteous.
And they knew it.
Li Jianhong immediately followed up, his voice sharp like a drawn blade.
“This is your only chance, Bai Tianheng. Refuse—and everything that follows will be on your head.”
The air grew still.
Dozens of spiritual senses clashed above, locked in a silent storm, while down below, thousands watched with bated breath.
Would the Bai Clan give in?
Or would they stand firm against the two apex clans at their gates?
At the center of it all, Bai Tianheng simply smiled.
Not because he found it funny—but because he had expected this exact charade.
The “greater good.” The so-called peace offerings.
All just veils.
An excuse!
Then, Bai Tianheng looked back toward the two warships—his gaze calm, his tone light.
But before he could speak—
Another voice cut through the air, young yet filled with biting clarity.
“Gentlemen… your speeches were lovely.”
The crowd stirred as all eyes turned.
From behind Bai Tianheng, a figure emerged—clad in black robes with a faint smirk playing on his lips.
It was Bai Zihan!
His presence, though nowhere near the two Patriarchs in cultivation, didn’t shrink beneath their pressure.
Bai Zihan stopped at his father’s side and looked up at the two massive warships in the sky.
“But if you truly wanted to protect the Empire…”
He chuckled.
“I recommend that you go to the border, not come to my Bai Clan.”
A sharp silence followed.
Then—
Li Jianhong’s voice exploded like a thunderclap.
“You impudent brat!”
He stepped to the edge of the Li Clan warship, robes flaring behind him as his killing intent surged.
“This is not your place to speak! The affairs of Clan Leaders are not something a junior should interrupt!”
The air seemed to crackle with rage, and even many of the neutral cultivators nodded slightly.
Normally, a younger generation member would never speak when clan leaders were negotiating at such a level.
But Bai Zihan?
He didn’t flinch.
Instead, he gave a slow, mocking clap.
“Oh, I agree completely,” he said smoothly. “It’s not my place.”
Then he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Just like how it’s none of your business what the Bai Clan does with something we obtained.”
His words landed like a slap across the face.
The implication was clear: if juniors shouldn’t interfere in patriarch-level business, then what was Li Jianhong doing? Sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
The crowd stirred.
Even some of the spectators from other factions couldn’t help but let out quiet exclamations.
Li Jianhong’s expression twisted.
“You—!”
Bai Zihan stepped forward calmly, cutting him off with a gesture of one hand.
“Patriarch Li, why not take your own advice? One shouldn’t poke their nose in business that doesn’t concern them.”
He didn’t raise his voice.
But the arrogance—the sheer gall in his tone—cut deeper than any shout.
Li Jianhong’s face darkened like a thunderstorm.
His aura surged.
One wrong word more, and he might just attack.
But Bai Tianheng finally raised a hand.
“That’s enough, Zihan!”
Bai Zihan obeyed, stepping back with a faint smile—but the damage was done.
He had said what needed to be said.
And he had made Li Jianhong lose face—in front of everyone.
Bai Tianheng turned his gaze back to the two warships.
“So,” he said calmly, “you’ve made your threats. You’ve shown your banners. Now let me be perfectly clear.”
His voice rang out, steady and cold.
“If you want someone from my Bai Clan… then come and try to take it.”
The words echoed through the sky like a gauntlet thrown.
And at that moment—the battle lines were drawn.